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

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l-lis hearf beaf wildly! Franfically, he plunged info fhe wafers below! Oh, how his eyes gleamed Wifh hope And faifhl The boafs. . . had come fo fake him. .. home. . . ! The sfruggling form never reached his boaf, Buf Mofher River fook him in her arms And rocked fhe fired child fo sleep. She bore him fo fhe ofher side- To fhe Cify-across-fhe-river. Langdon J. Collier Yamantalca A pof-bellied idol, girdled wifh forfy bleeding, horrible heads. his hundred arms grasping insfrumenfs of 'rorfure and deafh, his gaping moufh lined wifh green and crimson fangs, his iaws dripping saliva and his bulging eyes filled wifh violence. Yamanfaka, Tibefan king of l-lell. You may laugh af his squaffing sfance and his grofesque feafures when you sfand in fhe corridor of a museum surround ed by amused friends, buf go fo him yourself, alone, when fhe day is waning. You will see 'rhe shadows play fricks on his brillianfly carved and colored fealures. You will affempf fo laugh again buf if is hard fo be filled wifh humor as fhe lighf flickers soffly and his eyes reflecf fhe lighf info your own. Your smile will vanish. Your cheeks will pale and you will sfruggle fo draw your gaze from fhose bale- ful orbs fhaf gleam insidiously. No sound breaks fhe sfillness, no friend who laughs breaks fhe spell. Those arms each become a menacing weapon fhaf seeks fo grasp and formenf you. You cannof draw away. l-lis feafures now are alive: his pof-belly wiggles: his weapons iangle and his iaws drip ominously. You are fransfixed, gazing, gazing, deeper and deep- er info fhose merciless balls of hafe fhaf affempf fo mimic eyes. They are more fhan eyes, fhey are windows 'rhrough which you see an Orienfal purgafory: 'lhe weird. unspeak- ing forms of human sinful gods: war, famine, hafe, greed and jealousy: fhe lurid, hideous demon forfurers, servanfs of Yama, and fhe anguished, wrifhing shapes of souls in formenf. All fhis in fhe eyes of Yamanfaka. The sculpfor has done his work foo well. This fhing is alive. if wrifhes, if fwisfs and screams fo a hellish dance macabre. To your dismay and horror, fhe fapesfry behind fhis monsfer, depicfing all fhe hells and punishmenfs of a La- masf sinner, is now alive. Each ghasfly figure in fhe woven clofh is moving like fhe inha- bifanfs of a foy world. Buf fhese are no foys, fhey are servanfs of Yamanfaka coming af his bidding fo seize you for your blaspheming. Wrench yourself away, run, run, run, back info your lighfed world. Once safely fhere your eyes cease fheir sfaring and your hearf sfeadies ifs beaf buf your brain furns fhe quesfion over and over. Was if fhe shadows fhaf made Yama and his courf dance, a producf of your imaginafion. Of course Yama was iusf an idol. and fhose lighfs cerfainly played fricks wifh his feafures, you could have sworn fhey moved. Nofhing buf imaginafion yef, buf ... . . . . . . .. could ........... Impossible! This is fhe Twenfiefh Cenfury. Yef? Was if fhe shadows? TVaIter Fairseruis, Jr. 0I230

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The City-Across -The-River The gaunT wharT STuck ouT inTo The river Like a sore Thumb. DesolaTion BreaThed upon The windowpane OT The nighT - and The Tog rolled in. Shrouded Tug-boaTs Slipped soTTly Through The murky misTs Always ouT OT reach-l ouT OT reach. BuT he kepT hoping l-le was iusT a homeless waiT STanding wiTh gleaming eyes AT The edge oT The wharT. l-le looked down aT his splinTery, spindly legs And his sTomach l3loaTed wiTh hunger . . . . . And waiTed Tor The boaTs To Take him To The CiTy-across-The-river. GreaT ciTy! l-le could hear The muTTled laughTer And The music And The gay voices! This homeless bag oT bones Wifh The gleaming eyes Prayed Tor The boaTs To Take him There. The disTanT lighTs SiTTed Through The Tog And beckoned To him-- A soggy skeleTon, Bare, Shivering and cold, l-lis eyes Burning like live, glowing coals In The sunken hollowness Tha+ was his Tace. And he prayed! WiTh all The hearT ThaT was leTT in him I-le prayed For The boaTs To come To Take him There! --There TilTered Through The misT A deep-ThroaTed whisTle. IT was calling! BuT The Tog. . . so Thick. . . he couldn'T see. . l-le sTreTched ouT his bony arms In a helpless, hearTless plea And Tried To push aside The weT veil. IT only he could see. . . only see. OIZZO

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The Last Straw Q l'm one OT Those simple souls who Tinds exciTemenT and advenTure in a chocolaTe soda. I rush wiTh gusTaTory anTicipaTion To The nearesT TounTain OT my enioymenT, buT any drugsTore aTmosphere desTroys my Theories OT a non-conTormisT. The pink-eared bunnies, Tied wiTh blue ribbons To bars oT chocolaTe, leer aT me as l sliTher around on The leaTher s+ool and Tinally esTablish myselT on The edge, my TeeT gripping The iron TooT-rail. l order a chocolaTe soda, simply because l'm Too nonplussecl To dare To Think oT anyThing else and Then look hopefully around Tor a cheery sign ThaT will read, Please Pay When Served . The mirrors are plasTered wiTh many gay signs, so ThaT l have To duck To caTch a glimpse OT myselT llaTer regreTTing I Took The Troublel. Garish red and blue leTTering meeTs my eye: and l read, TascinaTed, HOT ChocolaTe l-loTl , Hawaiian TempTaTion wiTh Whipped Cream-lOc , Special: SauerkrauT Sand- wich . lvly bleary eyes are Tocused on my Tellow eaTers, all perTecTly in harmony wiTh The gliTTer oT chromium and The claTTer OT silver. The perT young blonde nexT To me is deTTly brandishing ThaT womanly weapon, The lipsTick. l-las she a check? I glance Tur- Tively. I-las anyone a check? My soda has suddenly slid across The cold slab OT Tuckahoe marble and boldly conTronTs me, a gob oT whipped cream sTanding as sTiTT and menacing as an exclamaTion poinT. NoThing To do buT delve inTo The TroThy mixTurel You can'T drown your Troubles in a chocolaTe soda. Don'T be misguided by any Tool who Tells you ThaT! A pineapple soda maybe: l, Tor one, wouldn'T know. BUT a choco- laTe soda neverl Each TasTy sip brings nearer The gloomy momenT when you will have To Tumble amid The rubbish oT your purse Tor a mere TiTTeen cenTs: a dime and a nickel, or, if you preTer, Three nickels. The English would call iT someThing like one and Tuppence hapenny. Once, unable To geT The aTTenTion OT a clerk in l.oTT's, l leTT my change on The counTer and sTarTecl To slip unnoTiced To The sTreeT. I-ley you! boomed The clerk. The chromiums reTused To gliTTer1 The silver, To claTTer. l crepT back To The salesman Tollowed by The pepperminT eyes oT every chocolaTe rabbiT in every glass showcase. You goTTa have a check! snapped The subiecT oT many nighTmares ThaT have since filled my sleeping hours. A slip oT cardboard was clapped inTo my hand, and somehow l handed iT To a very much amused cashier. EveryTime l'm meT wiTh such a predicamenT, I resolve To organize a socieTy Tor abolishing This socially embarrassing rouTine. A plan musT be devised so ThaT peaceTul, Tun'loving ciTizens will be able To sip nonchalanTly Their sodas wiThouT worrying when To PGY- ' Marcia Freeman Snow SoTTly, soTTly iT Tell, And cloaked The world in iTs spell, WhiTer Than whiTe iT gleams On The banks OT The silver sTreams. Elaine Baxter 0 I24 0