Bennett High School - Beacon Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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18 Bennett Beacon ANGEL PAVEMENT Angel Pavement, a new novel by J. B. Priestly, has been compared by many critics to the works of Charles Dickens, this compliment is certainly deserved. For those who find enjoyment in the study of human nature fand who doesn't?j this book will mean four hundred and ninetyffour pages of fascinating reading. It is the story of the occupants of an office situated on an outfoffthefway London street called Angel Pavement. The plot, which happens to he the least important part of this book, is concerned with the effect on each of the characters by the arrival of the blunt, crude, domineering Mr. Golspie, not to mention his lovely daughter, Lena. There is not one of the characters who is not drawn in a perfectly natural, lifelike manner, the reader has the same definite reaction toward each one as he would have toward an actual, fleshfandfblood human being. He feels liking for Miss Matfield, sympathy for Mr. Smeeth, amusement at Stanley, the Nshadderin' ofhce boy, and so on down the list of characters. Anyone who reads Angel Pavement will make the acquaintance of a whole bookful of intriguing characters and also enjoy many hours of real entertainment. Jean Brownell f223j 1932 NEXT! Who's next? Don't those two words sound rather ominous when the dentist comes to the door of his office and you find that your toothache has disappeared? You just know he'l1 bring it back again with the added stiffen- ing of your entire body, when he lays his shining, coldly sinister looking instruments or the tray before him. just then, as you recall that particular one saying Painless Dentist, you realize that you are a conirmed non' believer in signs. Ah! You have a pleasant time until he is saying Next! to someone else. Next, says the grocer to you. You know he's in a hurry,-there are several after you, but still you can't remember what you came for. It is a none too pleasant experience as you mutter confusedly to yourself, Coffee, bread, butter, sugar, no, oh, what was I supposed to get? Finally, after taking a great real of time, you either remember or go home to find out and then return to wait impatiently until the grocer again says, Next Then-the barber has a peculiar way of saying that exasperating word when you are debating within yourself whether or not to have that hair which took so long to grow, cut. You seat yourself reluctantly in the chair and tears coma to those beautiful eyes fas you fondly' believe themj as you watch your tresses cut off mercilessly. You feel very blue indeed until the time comes when he has finished. Then you regain your self-respect as you realize how nice it looks and you walk with happy heart and light step out of the picture as I run out of words for this article. Marion E. Klein fl23j 1933

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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

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Bennett Beacon 19 SQUIRREL HUNTING Contentedly I made my way toward our meeting place. Everything about me seemed so bright and cheerful, yet so quiet and beautiful. More than once I slackened my pace to enjoy more fully the beauty of that August morn, to listen to the plaintive call of a distant bird or to study the brilliant colors in which the trees were already bedecking themselves. I reached my goal and found my companion there. He was sprawled on a bed of moss, happily smoking his pipe. His gun lay beside him. From a distance, his arms and legs seemed of ungainly proportion to the rest of his body. When I had come closer, he sat up and greeted me in his own cordial way, his face shining with the joy of anticipation. He was dressed in trousers much patched, and scarcely long enough to cover his legs. His footwear consisted of homefmade moccasins in which he could glide noise- lessly through the woods. He wore a light brown jacket and his cap only half covered his mop of dark hair. Here was a character indeed. His face was cheerful, and his eyes alert. His speech was all his own, and I have never heard anyone else use that same odd dialect. It was with him that 1 was to go squirrel hunting. We started up the mountain road planning to go through what is known as the cut and to skirt the large swamp on the other side, a jaunt of eight miles. Red squirrels were the desired game, and I felt sure of getting a few, for Marsh, my companion, had never been known to go hunting and come back empty handed. He knows the woods better than we know the rooms of our own house. The walk through the cut was an interesting one. The many woodland creatures were all stirring and about their business. Often a shrill cry of warning heralded our approach. All sorts of game crossed our path. We saw a large buck deer, chipmunfks, rabbits and one red squirrel. I told Marsh to take the first shot, as I thought we might make sure of the first quarry. He raised his rifle and taking quick but deliberate aim knocked off number one. Around the swamp, the squirrels were in abundance and when we hit the back trail, we each bagged six. All moming we had circled the swamp and that with great success. Now at noon of that glorious day, we returned well rewarded for our trip. Walter A. Noehren f206j 1931 STACCATO Clear October day . . . impetuous crowd . . . swarming stadium . . . orange clad players . . . scarlet opponents . . . kick off . . . brilliant play . . . run . . . excitement . . . cheering . . . foul . . . disappointment . . . losing battle . . . game over . . . spirit not crushed . . . early autumn twilight . . . orange sun . . . finer day tomorrow . . . more games to come . . . better luck. Mary Templeton f207j 1931