Bay Ridge High School - Maroon and White Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

Page 54 text:

But the kittens flourished and grew. By the time Mother came home, they were two months old, and I didn't have a decent pair of stockings to my name. But then, neither did Mother, for, during her absence, I borrowed them under the pretext of later replacing them. Pop's working trousers were full of snags and pulls, where the kittens had made their ascents, and Sis's legs were a mass of scratches. Yes, by the time Mother came home, we were all thoroughly convinced that the only thing to do was to give them away, with Sister, twe were taking no more chancesl to the first people on our overwhelming llwaiting list. This we promptly did, taking Sister to a farm in upper New York, where she and her future kittens could enjoy to their hearts content the art of perpendi- cular ascent via legs. tContinuecl from Page 7m ties here tonight. On our right, Virginia Keegan, well known feminine prize fighter. Grace Kelly, charming artist of distinguished Circles, and with her, the noted designer, Jean Marie Carlsson. Toward the center of the crowd, the outstanding writer of the year, whose best seller, Come With the Breeze' is so popular-Louise Outlaw. HTo our left, I perceive that popular star of the Folies Bergere, Odette Adams. Near her, Ann Hardie, famous for her twinkling keys. Up here by the microphone is the famous Metropolitan Opera Singer, Madame Patricia Conrad, and with her the leader of the Boston SymphOny Orchestra, Jeanne Brand. And now for further candidateseNorma Cary and Helen McCulloche Don't go any further, young ladies, I'm sure we all are well acquainted with your work. In case you don't know, my friends, you see before you that famous story team Cary 6c MCCulIoch, who have just received a contract for a series of film stories. If this fair lady at the left will step upeNameeWanda Wisniewskie Right, and if I remember correctly, President of the Senior Grade of Ianuary 1938. What are you doing now, Miss Wisniewski? Married?eIndeed, and a most charming wife to the lucky man. uWell, my friends, you've had a rare opportunity tonight-emeeting these lovely young women. I m sure we all appreciate their presence here this evening. At lastethe name of the winner--Miss Levine has it readye here it is, folkseGrace Kelly, lovely artist of today, and picked as the most popular girl of her grade ten years ago, famed for her dramatic ability even at Bay Ridge High School. Permit me to congratulate you, Miss Kelly; a new career is open before you. Let me wish you all possible success. uWell, folks, that's all for tonight. This is your friend, the Vox Pop reporter, Dotty Bloom, signing off! I.L.B. One hundred-six

Page 53 text:

this door, a shy and eager youngster. Now you draw back your shoulders and hold your heads high. It will be hard, leaving . . . So many memories of happy moments . . . of little triumphs and failures that only llspurred the sides of your content. You have another life ahead, separate from that which you have had in Bay Ridge and yet an intrinsic part of it. Will you remember? lContinued from Page 61D HLook at that cute sharpy or llWhat do you think of that Apollo? or llWasn't that mink coat gorgeous? or Hlsnit she pretty! This goes on until it grows a little too cold for comfort, or more probably, until your high-heelecl shoes begin to pinch. But up to this point, it really is fun-this strolling on Shore Road of a Sunday afternoon. Continued from Page 68i their way over the walls of the confining box, Sister suddenly decided that they were getting too much attention, or rather, that she was not getting enough. So, after much hunting around, she decided that in back of the bathtub was an ideal place for hiding them away from our eager hands. However, she did not know how to carry them in her mouth, so, after several unsuccessful attempts, she stopped trying. Now she just sat and looked at us as we fondled the kittens, her eyes, which were always expressive, smouldering with unconcealed jealousy. . By the time they were about six weeks old, they had the run of the house. They climbed up the furniture and slid down, only to land on their noses. We had also successfully, we hoped, house broken them. All of which brings me to the point I was at in the beginning of my story. They had all learned to climb furniture, and found that their nails were very use- ful in accomplishing this feat. They were now ready to graduate to another phase of perpendicular climbing, one of which could also be helped along by the use of their nails: that of climbing legs. It didn't matter to them whether it was my silk stockings, my sister's bare legs, or my father's trousers; legs they wanted to climb, and legs they climbed. However, al- most invariably they chose my silk stockings. Those little clears didn't care that my silk stockings must be bought with my rapidly diminishing allow- anceeoh no! that only made it all the more fun. However, when I spoke of either giving the kittens away, or sending for the A. S. P. C. A., Mother sided with the rest of the family in the decision to keep them just a little while longer. About a week later, Mother received a telegram saying that her Aunt, Who was very dear to her, was ill, and was not expected to live. Mother packed immediately, and boarded the train for Kansas. This left me the Hchief cook and bottle washer, all of which I appreciated not in the least. The prospect of cooking for four, with two grown cats, and four still in the process of growing under toot, plus my school homework, was not appealing. However, the family survived my attempts at cooking, and bravely tried not to see the perfectly obvious unmade beds and unwashed dishes. One hundred-tive

Page 55 text:

iContinued from Page 67l that its poetry was in all poetry. His mind was whirling with lines of poetry, disconnected and meaningless save for their common relation to all things living. It was from some volcanic source that these bits of poetry came. He could not stop them. They came madly, in tune with the people and with the land and their cadence was that of all of laughter and of living . . . This he could not forget. The wind blows out of the gates of the day The wind blows over the lonely of heart e And the lonely of heart is withered away,e- II he thought. His eyes were shining with the involuntary rememberance of the place where in that garden, black and white, Creep whispers through the grass all night, and where he had never been. He walked to the beat of the metre. 9! 3k it He knew that he had money with him, and half sought a store that sold books but forgot his search and was home once more with a hate that he could not attach, save perhaps, to himself for having accomplished nothing. He went to his typewriter but the words took no reasoning form. He went to his books but his eyes would not read . . . He had been standing before his window watching the lights across the town and forgetting everything but the idiocy of their brilliance and the sadness of them when they were dim. Watching them, he perceived a rhythm in the quiet lights and the rhythm was a sound and the sound had been always within the rhythm of the lights. He had turned, and was gazing at his bed, with the wild pulse of the neons filling the room. More than any other thing he desired sleep and he pronounced the word, softly. He would have cherished sleep but it would never come. He knew that it would not come. He was so tired that to move his facial muscles, to smile, required supreme effort. He laid himself gently across the bed. . . . Out of the delirium of sound there came to him a voice, his own, as it had been when he was young, at a time when he had been learning poetry at school. He could hear the old familiar lines, repeated, distantly and with a hollow sounding: HO sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul. He did not know that he fell asleep. One hundred-seven