University Liggett School - Rivista Yearbook (Grosse Pointe Woods, MI)

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Mine For the Taking t Henry Van Dyke once wrote: They lay stretched out before us in the level sunlight, the sharp peaks out- lined against the sky, the vast ridges of forest sinking smoothly towards the valleys, the deep hollows gathering purple shadows in their bosoms, and the little foothills tanding out in rounded promontories of brighter green from the darker mass behihd them. . They were all ours, from crested cliff to wooded base, the plumed sierras of lofty pines, the stately pillared forests of birch and beech, the tremulous thickets of silvery poplar, the bare peaks with their wide outlooks, and the cool vales resounding with the ceaseless song of little rivers-we knew and loved them all: they ministered peace and joy to usg they were all ours. I have had such a feeling, a feeling of owning the mountains-in fact the very moun- tains just mentioned. I have lived in them, climbed them, walked through their valleys, and breathed their clean mountain air. I first realized I owned them one summer's day as I neared the top of one of them. It seemed the nearer I got the stiffer the wind was. It swept the heat of the July day from my forehead and blew the tiredness from my muscles. It made me run, because I wanted to get on top and look back on what I had accomplished. The trail was steep, but I forgot about it in scrambling over the little rocks and in pulling myself over the big ones. When I arrived at the summit, I received a reward ten times the worth of my efforts. I loved the feel of the wind whipping through my hair-a wind so strong I had to lean against it to stand up-a wind that tore up my sleeves and made me shiver. I thrilled at the marvelous vista before me-row upon row of immutable mountains-each higher than the other until they parted the clouds. As I followed with my eyes these protean shapes casting their shadows on the mountain woodlands below, I took in the vast blue beyond them and the brilliant sun that seemed to have a certain calmness and smoothness in sending its steady beam to the greedy land. The whole scene. made me feel as if I would stop breathing. It seemed a if the sky would envelop me in its vastness and the moun- tains and the trees swallow me. I gazed at the opulent kingdom at my feet-a kingdom that tretched across the world and back. It was a world of adventure and romance. There were mountains to climb, paths through fairy-touched forests, icy-cold, refreshing moun- tain streams with their crystal clear pools that had been ground out of the rock through centuries of toil. There were rivers overflowing with thrilling rapids, swift currents, slow currents, water lilies sparkling in the sun, and an occasional unexpected plunge to their sandy depths. I have had these experiences. They are stamped indelibly in my memory. They are not to be forgotten, and when I think of them I live them again. I cherish them because of the glowing sensation I have when I realize by whom these wonders were created and given to me. I owned not only the mountains-I owned the world! It was mine for the taking. Ann Davila, '43. 27

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NAMES Adams Boyd Carpenter Carr Christiansen Cook Cosgrove Crapo Crittenden Davis Font Fry Genthe Gould Hearne Herbst Lafer Lange MacKenzie McKean Pulfer .Sayre PRESENT The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The best conversationalist best athlete l'l10St most lT10SlC original class spirit individual best sense of humor best dressed smartest best figure 1'IlOSt versatile prettiest face most cooperative most gracious manner most most most most most talented efficient vivacious hospitable intellectual best sport Done most for the class The best actress The wittiest 26 FUTURE Head of Mrs. Boswell's seminary for girls Chief matron at the Detroit House of Correction Holding a six-month filibuster in the Senate A public speaker 1990-sitting'home waiting for Dick Third from the left at the Avenue Writing autobiography to appear in the Times nightly Applying for a parole Running the commuter's special to Ann Arbor Detroit's political boss Librarian at the Detroit public library Sweetheart of the army Street-car conductor Piano - hopeless-taking up the flute Striking for longer hours and harder exams at Vassar History instructor at Harvard Crashing the Metropolitan Suing for fourth divorce Duchess of Loudenburg Editor-in-Chief of the New York Herald Tribune Owner of Wright Kay's 1972-just learning the last bar of Tangerine

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To Dust Returneth Mike wasn't dead, but the rats weren't quite sure. One scampered across his chest. The spark of remaining life frightened it away. That odor-it seemed to come from something close to his face. Its source had been evading him until his cheek recognized the substance against which it was resting as a filth-matted boot-heel. Gradually, for his mind moved slowly, he realized that underneath him and at right angles to him, was a man's leg. Regaining his power of movement to a slight extent, and curious to find out whether or not his comrade was dead, Mike inched his, hand slowly up the leg. It progressed as far as the thigh, and there his fingers encoun- tered a sticky splinter of bone. Hoping to discover the amount of life in his new-found friend, Mike pulled. Pain ran screaming through Mike's body... So this is how things were! Here he was, lying half submerged in a muddy ditch, unable to turn his eyes or face from -the sight of mud. Worse yet, his leg-he couldn't tell which one-was off. Oh, to have a glimpse of a blue sky filled with white, drifting clouds! Was he dying, or was he dead already? No, he couldn't be dead, for that one twist of pain had been no dream. Numbness crept slyly upon him. He seemed not only to be detached from his leg, but from his whole body. Only his mind was functioning. Silvia. What was she doing now? If she were only here to rub his hands and face! He was alone. Was she? Could she be thinking of him as he thought of her? He wanted to pray that she be kept safe, but Mike knew'not where God was. He did know that God was not in this forsaken crater of mud, but in some beautiful place far away. Maybe Beauty had been devoured by Evil, so God was gone too. Time did not seem to be an element. How long had he lain here? How long did each thought take? Was it seconds, minutes, hours, days, or even longer? Was it only a fancy that he seemed to be looking up at life, instead of back upon it? Perhaps. He had seen the zero plane coming toward him and kept his finger on the machine- gun button. Suddenly Mike's eyes had filled with blood, and his plane had begun to dive involuntarily. He had landed on the tree tops of an entangled jungle forest, and was thrown from the plane to the ground. He had struggled to his feet and had time to stumble only a few yards, when he had met a raging, distorted man charging forward with bayonet out-thrust. First had come a thundering blast very close to him, and then- nothing. Now this broken, bleeding remnant of what had once walked upright proudly on the face of the earth. Darkness seemed to be falling. But how queer! Not as night would fall, but as a black wall moving toward him. As it approached, it brought serenity and peace. Mike realized then, that this was It. This was the time to which all men came, and of which no man should be afraid. He had time for one word- Silvia . Mike was with her, and peace had come. The rat approached again, and sat on the chest of this shell of a man. Celia Chriftiansen, '43. 28