A B Davis High School - Maroon and White Yearbook (Mount Vernon, NY)

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MARGON AND WHITE SALTfWATER BUBBLES The other night in a dream I found myself aboard my own sailing ship, log- ging the impossible speed of forty knots. We were running before a gale with the wind fair astern on a pitch black night. Tearing along at this speed, we came to a crashing, sudden stop. The ship piled itself upon a reef, reared itself. backed off, and settled by the bow. All hands jumped for their lives, but I was some- how rooted to the quarterdeck. With the water swirling around me, I was quickly pulled under. The wreck settled gently on the bottom: to my great surprise I found that I could breathe easily. I walked the deck to the battered bow, stepped off, and floated gently to the sea floor. After exploring my immediate surroundings, I was walking back to the wreck, when a gigantic shape loomed out of the shadows, slowly taking the form of a fish. And what a fish it was! If you can imagine a fish, a cross between a whale and an angel fish, you will have a good idea of what this one looked like. lt had the monstrous shape of a whale, with the beautifully colored fins of an angel fish. He swam slowly toward me with wide, sad. staring eyes. looking me up and down. and working his mouth as though ready to cry. As I gaped at him. he took a sobbing breath, which greatly resembled a well known fog horn. Speaking perfect English between rasp- ing sobs, he asked me to help him find his way home. He went on, after a great crying spell, during which he took an immense red bandana handkerchief from behind his left fin, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose violently, making his nose a delicate pink. He told me that he was the youngest member of his family and had wandered away and was lost- as I could plainly see. My sympathy was aroused for the little fellow , and I told him that I would do my best to help him find his home. As I was a total stranger in this place, I hadn't the faintest idea where his home was located, and was sorry I said I should help him. Not knowing his own name, I dubbed him Sunshine . Why I Page One Hundred and Thirty-four chose this awful name I can never say: but Sunshine it was, whether he liked it or not. Having the greatest confidence in me, Sunshine tagged slowly at my heels, while I led him in the direction which was the easiest for me to walk in. As I proceeded along the sand, plants on the sea floor grew larger and higher, the farther I walk- ed. Ahead appeared an indistinct, dark mass of shrubs. The plants along the trail were now about one hundred feet high and were made up in very beautiful and strange designs. Merry Sunshine, who had now stopped his blubbering, and wore a wide-reaching grin, much more be- fitting his new name, took occasional, deep drawn sniffs, and bit off large pieces of the plants, which he chewed with an ex- tremely loud crunching noise. This crunching filled the vacant silence abund- antly, but I was sorry to see him eating the plants. The dark shadows ahead gradually be- came more distinct until I made out sea- floor growth, the same as that through which we were walking, grown to a height of two or three hundred feet. Sun- shine seemed quite natural in these sur- roundings, but I seemed less than a pig- my in a strange world of giants. As we approached the entrance. there seemed to be no life within, Sunshine. speaking for the first time since we left the wreck, asked me where we were. Not having the slightest idea myself I couldn't answer him, and said that I didn't know. As we approached the only visible open- ing in the mass of brush, a snail crept out from behind a leaf and squinted at us through sleepy eyes. He was fully six feet tall and was a shiny black all over with two white horns. He greeted us with a lazy, drawling, Hullo , and ambled slowly past us. Turning a corner around a tall stem of bush. I stepped into a wonderland un- der the sea. A village was spread out be- fore me. Houses of corral and shells that glittered in the dim light. and paths of flat shells greeted my eyes. Here and there stood huge corral houses NINETEEN THIRTY-THREE

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Is there anything particularly queer about her? Why, no, answered Mrs. Magus, she's rather good-looking, and, -oh, 'yes-, the little finger of her left hand is missing. Godfrey grabbed the telephone, called headquarters, and gave terse orders to send a detail at once to the Magus house, to watch all ferries and trains, and to search all the thieves' haunts in the city for Kate Travis- Lady Kate. Headquarters seemed to know perfectly whom he meant. You won't get her, said Jemmy calmly. as Godfrey hung up the receiver. She's got a good, half hour's start. Come along, said Godfrey roughly. MAROON AND WHITE Mrs. Magus could see that he was deeply chagrined. Good night, Mrs. Magus. l've made a botch of this thing. I've got to catch that woman. But he hasn't caught her yet, and when Jemmy finishes his term, he probably will find his share of that fifty thousand dol- lars waiting for him. Nevertheless, the next day Mrs. Magus' sewing room was rid of that massive, roll- top desk. She locked the room and never again did she enter it, and most assuredly hired her next servant with five fingers on each hand! V1viAN A. ENELLO. Class of 1933. STORM Carrying a sqwirming puppy in her arms, little Elizabeth trudged up the dark. winding stairway to the lighthouse tur- ret. The door fell to the floor with a heavy clang as the child and her com- panion emerged from the passage into the faintly lighted tower. Accompanying the metallic grating of the lock, a peal of thunder rumbled menacingly and a flash of lighting pierced the dark bowl of the night without. Quickly, Elizabeth turned to the curved window-seat where, out of the depths of blue plush cushions, she and Toby looked upon the storm. This was her refuge: here she enjoyed security during an interlude that the elements crowded with their play. Quick drops of liquid silver spattered against, and then rolled down the leaden panes. The rushing, roaring wind sar- donically made mock of the damp land. Sparsely scattered pine trees writhed and twisted convulsively in their gritty, sandy beds. Elizabeth shivered and hugged Toby closer for comfort, while the little terrier whimpered in the deafening crashes. The NINETEEN THIRTY-THREE windows rattled under the shock: instant- ly a transitory blaze of electricity shot the sky--beautiful pieces of sky-into blind- ing daylight. The rocks, strewn with bits of driftwood, shone wet and revelled in their nakedness. Grains of stinging wet sand were whipped from their beds to meet briny spume. The ocean had transformed into myriads of churning, chaotic cesspools that ceaselessly swirled around lost pieces of wreckage. Ebony waves dashed white. showering foam upon rugged rock altars. The barren, windswept, ever shifting dunes resembled strange fantasies beneath the display. Elizabeth thrilled to the storm-call, flat- tening a cold nose to the barring glass. The wind was abating now and plain- tively sobbing night-songs, while dark- ness, the accompaniment, pressed closer to its world. Soon only the vigilant beam of the lighthouse beacon was visible to the little girl and her dog. IMOGEN BOWERS GROESCHEL. Class of 1933. Page One Hundred and Thirty-Ihre

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in which the fish liveu. Immense fish, twice as large as Sunshine, swam majest- ically about, nodding to one another with slow fins. The place was a riot of color. The shrub, surrounding the village, was multi- ple-colored. Some plants were a deep violet at the bottom, and gradually grew lighter as they went up. fading into a light blue. which in turn, grew dark and changed to green. and then a light yellow at the top. Others were just as varied in their shading. but of different colors. Suddenly I looked at Sunshine in alarm, for he had taken on a most ferocious ap- pearance, and was slowly swimming toward me. I could not take my eyes MAROON AND WHITE from him. Unable to move, I could only stand and stare at him. He was now on top of me, and had opened his mouth wide. I looked down the interior of his mammoth, cave-like throat, and felt his breath like a warm breeze against myself. I was now inside his mouth and still un- able to move a muscle. I was covered with perspiration and trembled all over. His mouth closed behind me and I started to fall into those inter depths. I fell down, down, down, losing consciousness. I felt light and was being suffocated. My breath was getting shorter. I could not breathe. I was falling, falling, going, going, . . . STANLEY HENRY, Class of 1933. JOHN GALSWORTHY On January 31, 1933, the world's newspapers proclaimed in headlines the death of John Galsworthy. Why is this English author deserving of such honors on both sides of the Atlantic, when there are so many hundreds of outstanding Writers? Why are the lovers of goold literature mourning his death? John Gals- worthy has found a spot in the hearts of the people not only because of his ex- cellent work as a novelist, playwright. poet, ,and lecturer, but also for his charm and the genuineness of his democratic ideals. One writer has said that when he re- calls Galsworthy he sees his smile. It is not an impulsive smile, not the smile that ripples over a face unbidden: it is the smile of one who seems to have set him- self to smile, and would rather cry. For Galsworthy being such a sensitive person was greatly affected by the sorrows of life. but one only learned this through his writing, for in public Galsworthy smiled. Above 'I have said that this great author is remembered for his democratic principIes. and I may illustrate my point by the fact that when he had built up his fine reputation, a knighthood was offered him. but he declined it. This tall, gallant gentle- man was unlike most masters of literary production in that he was characterized by a restrained, deliberate habit of mind. Gals- NINETEEN THIRTY-THREE worthy's style seemed to be very much like himself, for this lean, subdued person em- ployed an exceedingly direct and clear method: he displayed extremes in emotions sparingly but his sympathies were broad and deep: he was most certainly a humani- tarian in his love of birds and animals. After reading Escape, a play, and some of Galsworthy's poems, I was struck by the note of reform in his work, and his likeness to Charles Dickens in that both exposed moral and economic evils in their work. Prom Galsworthy's intellectual, digni- fied countenance, his firm features, his de- tached and distinguished manner, We would expect that he might be a judge. We are not very far amiss. for the author studied for the bar in his early years, but although he became a barrister, he did not practice law. However, the legal atmos- phere is present in his novels and plays: he must have the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth: his plot may be compared to the building up of a case, and his legal trait may be shown in his analysis, in the details of character and inanimate objects. and in his sense of pro- portion. But let us consider solely Mr. Gals- worthy's contributions as a poet of mod- ern verse. In this phase of his work his ability to see life as it is and to convert Page One Hundred and Thirty-Hu