Southold High School - Snuffbox Yearbook (Southold, NY)

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THE SNUFF BOX 1 29

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THE SNUFF BOX we had imagined, all we had dreamed—its beauty and peacefulness defies description, while French’s statue of the Great Emancipator made one stand in wonderment and awe. We awoke from our reverie, however, when we were called to have our pictures taken. These cameramen! Their words are the most electric to startle one from his meditation, Come! Please hurry! You’re going to have your pictures taken!” In the afternoon we took a trip to Mount Vernon, the home of George Washington. It so thrills one to walk over the same threshold a great man did, to ponder over and to touch his belongings with reverent hands, or see the bed on which he breathed his last. Washington’s tomb was truly in keeping with this feeling—it being so calm, simple and peaceful. The evening we had to ourselves; some enjoyed a movie, while three nymphs went to dip themselves in a blue, sun-flecked pool, surrounded by waving willows bending gracefully—oh dear! what place is there for dreaming in a hotel swimming pool, where your goldfish turn into spouting, spluttering whales, the sunbeams turn out to be electric light rays, and the calm and peaceful atmosphere is continually intercepted by cries of: Now, watch this one!” Stop pushing me!” Can you float?” April 10—We visited a very beautiful monastery on this day. Its paintings and gardens were perfectly divine. On the way home we had a surprise in store for us. We were to be allowed to visit Admiral Byrd’s the City of New York!” This was so much fun! To visit the ship that had conquered the Antarctic! It was truly a remarkable and stirring adventure—indeed so magnetic was it that two members nearly missed their bus! Our trip to Annapolis was very satisfying. We visited many halls and saw the Marines in drill. This night we had a dance at the Lee House—a very charming affair. We all must have had splendid dreams to experience, for our day had been truly delightful. April 11—Goodbye to Washington! We were at her station, catching once again a glimpse of her skyline, the beauty of her huge fountain and busy streets—reluctant to depart from it all. However, soon we were rushing along full speed toward home—but first had to come that appetizing meal on the diner, which all looked forward to with anticipation. What a glorious meal it was! We wouldn’t have minded traveling to the Pacific Coast at all! Toward eventide we came to the really familiar part of this Island—Riverhead, Mattituck, Cutchogue, and finally Southold. From amidst the din of automobile horns, which sounded like a convention of klaxons, the smiling faces of our parents and friends rose to greet us. What a joyful welcome! The success of the trip was entirely due to the efforts of Miss Malone and Mr. Blodgett, to whom we express our heartfelt thanks and appreciation. 28

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THE SNUFF BOX Way, way back in our good old childhood days—that is to say, four years ago—some twenty-odd (be sure you connect odd firmly with the word preceding it) Freshmen entered the portals of Southold High and diffidently stumbled up the stairs and around the corner. We were as unsophisticated as Mary’s little lamb, or to put it more forcefully, as green as grass. But according to Webster, through the medium of the huge dictionary in Study (?) Hall, green” is defined as the characteristic color of growing plants”'—and who arc we to doubt Mr. Webster? As growing plants, then, with tiny shoots just beginning to appear, we greeted this new world, but nobody seemed to realize how timid and delicate we were—except ourselves. At the end of each day, after Miss Malone’s clear , soprano voice had ordered, Girls, pick up the papers from the floor,” it was always one of us Freshies who was obliged to tote the waste-paper basket up and down the aisles. The Seniors squelched us, the Juniors ordered us around, and even the Sophomores were bossy and superior. But we held our peace, hard as it was to do so, by slyly softening the Seniors with sycophancy, jovially joshing the Juniors with jargon, and simultaneously stuffing the Sophomores with sodas. By the end of the term, we had taken two important steps in our high school career. First, we were all proudly sporting nifty pins, and secondly, at class meetings Jerome Grattan presided as President— Muriel Young being Vice-President, Nora McCaffery, Secretary, and Francis Strasser, Treasurer. The summer quickly flew by, as summers have the annoying habit of doing, but September found a fine bunch of sun-tanned Sophomores rarin’ to go. I mustn’t forget, however, that we still were young plants, growing stronger day by day. True, some of us had wilted and dropped out, but for the most part we were flourishing heartily, according to the law of the Survival of the Fittest. We had grown older and slightly— very slightly—wiser, and now we basked in the sun of the Seniors’ favor (for they were patiently awaiting a picnic). We feared only the Juniors, 30