Bennett High School - Beacon Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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is The BIIJ-lXC0N that are called high shoes , both laces are broken and clumsily knotted. As they stand on the busy corner, they are joined by a square, roughly-woven basket that is lined with newspaper and filled with pathetic bunches of drooping bittersweet and Chinese lanterns. There is a dreary finality about these shoes as they continue to stand beside the untouched flowers. Click-click, click-click! High-heeled, absurdly small patent leather pumps pass. They are shiningly new, and move as if in time to some remembered dance tune. They shed an air of assumed sophistication with their gay buckles, but their walk brings a smile of sympathy for the gaiety of youth and beauty. And so one may stand and simply look at shoes. Still, life, in its many phases of joy, heartache, and disillusionment, is passing by. -Doris Call 12233 1930 OLD JIM'S YARN Old Jim, although retired from the seas, was still an active spinner of yarns. Some were true, the others-well, they were very interesting. Wal, he began, when we requested a story one stormy day, the brig Nancy was a good ship. I know, for many's the storm we weathered together. But about the queerest thing that ever happened aboard her was when the news got round that three desperadoes had stolen a ship and were sailing in that part of the sea. A reward was oifered for them, dead or alive. We were well out at sea when we sighted a ship. She was sinking fast. We veered toward her and as we approached saw three men clinging to the mast. 'Ah, lads, here's our would be pirates,' I cried. We took them, none too gently, and locked them in the hold. They foughtg so we had to persuade them with a gun. They told us to put them oif at the next port. 'That we will, my robbers,' I said, 'but in irons! They opposed this, so we put them on bread and water. Three weeks later we sailed into port and turned them over to the police. I'll bet you got a lot 0' credit, interrupted old Bill Jones. Wal, I dunno 'bout that, said Jim slowly, ye see they were the wrong men. -Elizabeth Lindow C1235 1930

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SHOES Did you ever stand and notice the shoes that pass a busy cor- ner '? There are so many kinds and they all tell their own stories. First came a square-toed pair of oxfords, black in color with heavy cleats at the heels. They swing along with the lithe stride of athletic youth. Invariably the wearer is a college boy, clad in the everlasting crewneck sweater and golf knickers. No doubt these shoes are home for the holidays. They have stamped with impatience and excitement at football games. In their better days, perhaps, they danced opposite high-heeled tiny slippers to the music of a battered victrola in some fraternity house. A gay life and a short one, is their sentence. Along came a pair of buttoned patent leather shoes, topped by nothing less than brave but shabby pearl-grey spats. Without difficulty one may conjure their owner's picture: a tall, thin man, with a sallow under-fed appearance and in need of a haircut. His clothes are of flashy color and cheap cut, and are long past a com- fortable middle age. The shoes drag just a little, but are forced and coaxed into a disillusioning jauntiness as they hopelessly pro- ceed from one employment oflice to another. Next approach two pairs of shoes side by side. The larger pair are sensible, low-heeled slippers with two straps. They are well-worn and have been re-soled, but they are equally well pol- ished. Next to them patter tiny buckskin baby shoesg the kind that lace to support the unsteady little ankles. Suddenly these little shoes stop and turn toward the toy display in a nearby win- dow. The sensible slippers hesitate, almost start in that direction, suddenly turn back and continue toward the oflice building where gas and electric bills are payable, accompanied reluctantly by their smaller companions. The next shoes proceed very slowly, and finally stop altogether on a corner. These are downright old shoes, broken down, mud- splashed, and with heels worn down. They are of that passee class

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The BEACON 19 IN MEMORIAM Ralph Butts was one of the very best of the many fine boys at Bennett. He served in many conspicuous positions, notably as baseball manager, but he also served in many unpretending ways, notably as typist for the Beacon, telephone operator in the office, and carrier of the morning mail. He seemed possessed of one desire, to do all he possibly could for his school. And he did his best, for he stood among the highest on our honor roll. He seemed to have the respect and affection of all. Now that the Heavenly Father has taken him from us, many realize with a pang how much we loved him, but we think also how fine it is to have lived such a life, to win the victory with shining armor. ' -Oliphant Gibbons THINGS DIVINE CThese verses were found among the papers of Ralph Butts. They were written just a short time before his death, with no idea of publicationj These are the things I hold divine: A trusting child's hand laid in mine, Rich brown earth and windtossed trees, The taste of grapes, the drone of bees, A rhythmic gallop, long June days, A rose-hedged lane, and lover's lays, The welcome smile on neighbor's faces, Cool wide hills and open spaces, Breeze-blown fields of silver rye, The wild sweet note of the plover's cry, Fresh spring flowers, the scent of box, The soft pale tint of the garden phlox, Lilacs blooming, a drowsy noon, A flight of geese, an autumn moon, Rolling meadows, storm-washed heights, A fountain murmur on summer nights, A dappled fawn of the forest hush, Simple words, the song of the thrush, Rose red dawns, a mate to share With comrade soul, my gypsy fare, A waiting fire when the twilight ends, A gallant heart, and the voice of friends.