Battin High School - Red and White Yearbook (Elizabeth, NJ)

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Y l .fdcfagio Applause filled the air. Excitement reigned. I was making as grace- ful a curtsey as I could manage with a pair of very wobbly knees. Happi- ness mingled with weariness surged through me as the curtain descended slowly. I Hitted off the stage with my net skirts bouncing about my legs. My mother greeted me with open arms. Doting relatives and friends, puffing with pride, emitted exclamations of joy: Success! You were wonderful! But a nagging worry lay at the pit of my stomach. I won- dered how Well I had really done, but I let my worry be turned aside to join the glitter and excitement of being a dancer. From the moment I had seen the sparkling sequins and the stiff skirts that made powder puffs of the beautiful slender ballerinas, I had wanted to join their clan. Nothing seemed more glamorous and exciting to me than to go through life, twirling on shimmering pink satin toes. fl have since learned, unhappily, that those stiff perky suits become sag- ging strips of limp cheesecloth, that sparkling sequins soon lose their sparkle and fall off, one by one, and that the whole costume droops in a state of utter dejection. But there are always new costumes and new glitterj One sight of those enchanting ballerinas and I was on a ra.mpage. I imitated the dancers constantly. I kept exclaiming resolutely to my mother that I was going to become a famous dancer. With a knowing smile, she condescendingly said, Yes, dear. 1 Dear passed through her childhood, prancing mercilessly on the polished Hoors of her home. My mother's patience finally wore out and I was sent to dancing school to do my prancing. I had embarked on my career! . I started twirling on my pink satin toe shoes that turned into a sullen gray after the first few wearings. I said, twirling, but more than once I found myself not on my toes, but on the floor. I soon discovered that there is more to dancing than a fluffy costume. I had many a chance to dance for admiring audiences of my long-suffering relatives and schoolmates. With confident heart and deter- mined eye, I exclaimed to my mother that I was ready to conquer New York. .

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.jd .gifeet .Saville It is an ordinary street. The houses are neat, even though they aren't the best in the city. A few cars parked along the curbs are mainly jalopies. The sidewalks are marked and remarked with hopscotch blocks, and a pair of roller skates lies forgotten near a railing. Overloaded garbage cans line the street, and a cat atop one is busily investigating the fish bones from last night's supper. On the corner is Gray's candy store. Mrs. Gray stands outside, a big woman with a heart as big as herself. Bob Dara and Sally Maretti come walking slowly down the street with stars in their eyes, not seeing or hearing anything, lost in each other. And all the neighborhood kids! There seem to be a million of them! Billy Thompson is fighting with his sister lane for is it Susie?j over a toy. A car comes speeding down the road. That Mason boyin his bright yellow hot-rod! There he goes! Right through a red light! On the porches of adjacent houses stand three women, discussing the weather, new styles, and how much weight Mrs. Racowski is putting on. In the street below Mrs. Harrigan is having a friendly argument with Mrs. O'Riley as to which one did the larger wash- ing. Gloria Fallon and Kathleen Tampler are trying awfully hard to be be grown up as they discuss new hair-dos and their favorite movie -stars. It is a street in any city in the United States. CLARA SCALZO, '52 lqclfure The old man was sitting on the park bench with his eyes closed. Everything around him was as peaceful as he was. He came to the park frequently to hear the birds sing and to smell the fragrance of the earth and flowers. I was compelled to stop and watch him for a while. The sun glistened on his white hair, making it like a halo around his head. His work-wom hands clasped his cane loosely. His head began to nod. He paid no attention to the squirrels scampering around his feet, eating the peanuts he had given them. Suddenly he was brought into the life of today by a tiny, blonde- haired girl who came skipping toward him. The dreamy look in his eyes changed to a lively twinkle as he smiled at her, then put her on his knees. The child put her arms around his neck and said, Please tell me a story, Grand-daddy. A sudden warmth came over me as I watched the two sitting there on the bench. I walked away silently, feeling at peace with all the world. MILDRED FLORCZAK, '50

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I am now attending an institution for dancing in the big city. There is a sure-iire method for singling out ballerinas. They spring down 57th Street with elastic steps. Their ebony hair streams dramatically behind them. They stare sophisticatedly through long lashes, literally dripping with mascara, and their scarlet lips are painted into an expression of boredom. Being a member of the Arteestes, I do some pretty unconventional things, although at one time I was a slave to convention and if anyone dared to do anything the least bit shocking in public, I would stare in horror. Convention is now a word that is slowly being eliminated from my vocabulary. I have been rejuvenated. You can see me wandering down 57th Street in a black leotard underneath a gray coat, with a huge black poclcetbook clasped in my gloved hands. A glance downward reveals my feet clad in socks and ballet-slippers. And often the wind mischiev- ously tugs at the hem of my coat, suddenly whipping it away to reveal a pair of bare legs. People's eyes bulge and I have the greatest desire to tap them on the shoulder and say, Pardon me, your eyeballs are showing! If you see me pirouetting through the halls of Battin, think nothing of it, for I merely have delusions of grandeur. I hope to pirouette some day in the halls of fame. For the present, however, let's leave this dancer posed in as graceful an arabesque as she can execute. IANET GOLD, '51 The ballet! The orchestra! On with the show! Be quiet! The footlights Are starting to glow. NANCY HOFFACKER, '50