Bennett High School - Beacon Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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20 The BEACON CONEY ISLAND Coney Island !-the noise and colorful movement of it all. Ever-changing, yet always the same. The rumble and roar of the roller-coaster, the tinny music of the concessions. What a glam- orous picture it makes! We went to Coney Island. For the fifth time in as many years we made the pilgrimage. Somehow you haven't really been to New York unless you have gone to Coney Island. It is a terrible place -noisy, dirty, and overrun with pleasure seekers of every nation- ality. fAmericans are in the minority.J But the lure remains. Chinatown, Harlem, the Village-all these you see once, and go home and tell your friends about them. But Coney Island! If you go once, you go again and againg and yet you never tell your friends-at least, your New York friends, for they will tell you, No real New Yorker ever crosses Brooklyn Bridge unless he is being buried in Greenwood Cemetery. We did the usual thing on our arrivalg that is, we bought bal- loons-red, blue, and silver, they were. Within fifteen minutes they had all burst. Q Coney Island balloons have a way of doing that.J But we didn't care, for already we were munching cotton candy and popcorn balls. fWe were deathly sick that night.J Then, as a matter of course, we squandered our money on that famous concession .which guarantees to give more bruises per square inch than any other in the world. We started down the circular shute with a rush, and with shrieks of merriment landed on the revolving floor. Within a minute's time, we were thrown, still shrieking, into the wide trough at the edge. Then through the revolving barrel-a merry chase, punctuated with tumbles and spills. And so on to the end-when we hurried out a sudden gust of air blew our skirts up around our heads. Frantically we clutched at them-but a merry little clown was paid to drag the hands away-much to the delight of the spectators. fThere are always spectators-many of them, laughing and shouting loudly- for that is the spirit of Coney Island.D Oh, we did other things this summer-just as we have done in other years, but now, as always, that day at Coney Island stands out from all the rest. -Elizabeth Winspear C 207 J 1928 Miss Brettle: When was Rome built? Dummy: At night. First: Who told you that? Second: You did 5 you said that Rome wasn't built in a day.

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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.

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The BEACON LADY MOON The moon looks in at my window, Aloof is she, and cool, Her face makes a shiny shadow That glitters on the pool. She walks down the garden closesg Her slim hands, silver-white Caress the ivory roses That open to the night. -Kathleen Donnelly 11095 1927 AS OTHERS SEE US 1 was walking slowly homeward, When I saw approaching me, Quite the oddest little figure, Gracious sakes, what could it be? It was leisurely advancing, With a graceful, languid mien, Robed in colors that would waken Envy in a Gypsy Queen! Draped about the gorgeous vision, Was a trailing, scalloped gown, Matched in splendor by a headpiece Without equal in the town! Scarfs and beads were gayly dangling, On this figure so petite, That was slowly drawing nearer, On two most amazing feet! From one arm a bag was swinging, Made of silk and ribbon grand, Surely this wee gaudy creature Must have stepped from Fairyland! But just then, the vision spied me, Waved a hand, and then I knew! For a voice called gayly to me, Auntie, look! Fm dressed like you! -Louise Mroszczak C3239 1931