Bennett High School - Beacon Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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16 Bennett Beacon LOVE CALL Musing, I heard it. The Hrst plaintive, golden note Swelling-dying. Followed by four higher, Silver clear. Longing, Desire unvoiced. Silence. The answer. Bursting upon the quiet, joyous and unrestrained, Expectant. Silence. Again the first. Now with exuberance. Exultant. Vesper sparrow's song of love. Dorothy Phelps Johnston 0071 1931 A DEEP SEA FISHING TRIP As I recall, the funniest, yet worst, day I experienced was the time at party of us went deep sea fishing, chaperoned by a nurse and her sister. Cf course we decided on the day after one of the most violent storms on the coast of Maine. The Captain said it was one of the roughest ground swells he had been on in a long time. When we reached the open sea we were all well and happy, but after going a mile or two I looked around from the bow of the ship and saw our chaperon with a weird look in her eye and the most beautiful shade of green on her face. I laughed as she dashed madly to the side of the ship, but he who laughs last, laughs best. After going about fifteen miles, we lost sight of land and the Captain lowered the anchor. Then the fun began. I had just cast my line over when I noticed that the ocean was heaving and, being of a sociable character, I joined it. To make matters worse, I was lying in front of a hatchway where the Captain was making lunch. It consisted of fish chowder and coffee. The odor of the food rushed out to me and I rushed to the side of the boat. A prize was offered to the one catching the largest fish, but our party were too busy catching their breath. After tossing around all day, the skipper weighed anchor and we were off. When the word passed around that we were going home, hope spread over our faces. Home at last! But for dinner they gave us fish. We looked at each other, gave a sickly smile and left. Mary E. Adams 12211 1932

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Bennett Beacon 15 As we neared the little Town Hall, which is in the middle of the road right in front of the hotel, we could hear music and many voices there. A girl who was going in told us that the Saturday night dance was in progress. We were tempted to go, too, but feared our presence might not be appref ciatedg so we kept on exploring the exterior of the town. Being very curious, we looked into a little place where some sort of cooking was being done. A woman standing in the doorway told us it was Fish and Chips. With some encouragement she became quite talkative. They sell the fish raw with chips, and every night they fry what is left and sell that. She works very hard because her husband has not been strong enough to do much since he came home from the war. At six o'clock in the morning she goes to clean the Catholic school across the street. flt is St. Catherine's Church and School, and its nuns are famous for their beautiful embroidery., She has to take care of her house and her husband and several children. We asked when she found time for the Hsh and chips business. Oh, I do that in between times, and she laughed and seemed happy and satisfied with her life. YVe remarked about the age of the town. She knew little about it, but pointed across the street to the house where her father was born and died, and which had been in the family as far back as she knew. This same woman told us that most of the townspeople work at farming or sheep raising. They arise early and go on foot or bicycle to their work on the hills outside the town. Wages are very low-about thirty shillings a week, which is only a little over six dollars. fCo11tinued on page 45J

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Bennett Beacon I 7 THE SUNRISE BREAKFAST It's three o'clockg time to get up! I slowly came to a sleepy, half- conscious state to find a coldfhearted riding councilor shaking me violently and repeating those unwelcome words. After rousing myself to the point where I remembered that I was still at camp and that it was the day of the sunrise breakfast ride, I bravely forsook the cozy blankets and encountered the icy air of a Rocky Mountain August morning. I discovered that my tent mate had also been awakened and was enjoying the experience even less than I was. After fumbling around with my bugflight for some time fit was still pitch darkj, I managed to get myself pretty completely dressed. I was still stiff with the cold and washing in water one degree warmer than ice did not help matters any. All this finished, I stumbled down to the stables where some fifty horses were assembled. When I had waited for several minutes with a number of fellowfcampers, I was given a horse. Soon everyone was mounted and we started down the road at a brisk pace. As we trotted along, it became perceptibly lighter, and rounding the bend from which one can look out over the tiny town of Steamboat Springs, we saw the street lights of the mountain metropolis suddenly blink out in tribute to the coming day. Vv'e passed through the town, crossed the river, and took a trail which wound up the side of a sage covered hill. By this time, our lingers and toes were numb with cold. ' As we climbed higher and higher, the sun seemed to be climbing too, although we could not yet see it, the scattered clouds near the horizon were tinged a deep pink as a token of its approach. Suddenly someone cried, There it is! Vvlith a single movement we all turned to the eastg a blinding flash of light had just appeared above the crest of the distant hills. Slowly it climbed until the whole fiery sphere was visible. Now the few wandering clouds had disappeared, awed by the stupendous spectacle, and the broad valley which lay stretched below us like a vast patchwork quilt was flooded with golden light. We continued on our way and soon reached our destinationha rocky cleft in the mountain side. As we were all too cold to admire the gorgeous view which the spot commanded, we scuttled around and collected wood for the fire. Soon there was a great blaze and breakfast was prepared. There is no need to tell of the steaming aroma of the coffee or of the fragrance of the bacon. Let it suffice to say that we ate as only those can eat who have been riding two hours in the frosty morning air. Breakfast over, we spread ourselves over the rocks and relaxed to our heart's content. We dozed, we sketched, we looked at the view. And when, after an hour or two, these occupations began to pall, we gathered the sweaters we had shed, fastened them to our saddles, untied our nags, mounted, and ambled slowly homeward under the broiling sun, feeling very satisfied with life and convinced that at all costs we would attend next year's sunrise breakfast fwith glovesj. Jean Brownell 1223, 1932