Bennett High School - Beacon Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

Page 10 text:

8 cege ,eenneff Beacon The Vagabond Strain By Robert L. Hanna Theres a song in my heart that is lonely and sad, And it needs but a chord to awaken the strain,f And its echoes are dismal, and yet they are glad When they speak of the fastnesses where I might reign. And they whisper so softly of far away hills, And keep calling me to respond to the urge Of the wild, and drink deep of the sweet piney rills That arise on the mountain tops, downward to surge. Through the lEyes of a Dish Stacker By john A. Handy HET pile up high-they fall, some break, yes,-but they belong to the school-who cares? A continual stream, different faces, different per' sonalities-in fine, a mixture of typical American youth. They pass by --some careless, some careful, some indifferent, some-there is just no per' sonality. Little do these girls realize how their innermost characters are dis' played by the way they place a dirty, sticky dish upon the tottering pile of other dishes. Little does it mean to them if the stack stands or falls-but yet they show themselves. A stacker of dishes in the cafeteria can't be inf telligent--no-he's just a cog in that humming machine, just another white coat, just a servant, but he thinks, he notices, he wonders-yes, he sees. It is sad that we do not realize how our every action paints our character upon a public screen, it is sad we do not think that perhaps others think too- yes, but it is human nature,--that convenient, proverbial expression is blamed for everything-but it's true. Many faces I see, unfamiliar as to name, true, but as to character, very familiar. I visualize a mental picture of these per' sons, their names are mere signs, but their characters are undestroyable sym- bols in my mind of their innerselves. ox f xj? 'hem -5 'X f,T 17 lsffnfii? ' v. Egg -.ifi,4,,,,. 'EQ' 55? ,-'its ' .:- i ll ji 'qffgjja ga, . p 5q.::Tp:.-ir ,, n:c'..62i' 11QS?Q,gV' '7 -'P 1 'm wh-9,-H1W'1l C l'gg7y,'Lge,'3'3 . .- - az-.. ,, ,. . e..i.1?T' get f---. 3, R 5 . 4-13.-'l.1'C -2 , I

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C-Cge menneff german 7 W'hen we arrived back at the ship we were tired, dead tired. We had to explain to the steward and return to him Mr. Renker's box. But it was great fun,-with a tinge of danger. Explaining to the steward was easy. We felt sure of the box's erratic ilight. The moment we arrived in the stateroom, Kent called the British Museum. They promised to send police to investigate immediately. We felt pre' pared for anything. And, indeed, we soon had need to be. Mr. Renkers is not a handsome man. He has an oily, shifty look. And when he is startled abruptly, his hand involuntarily moves toward his hip pocket. Too, his eyes flicker and narrow, and he spins about on his heel at the slighest noise. A most unwholesome man, Mr. Renkers. He had come aboard with us at New York. And here, in India we had seen little of him. His visit was unexpected and highly significant. He was polite, but unnecessarily curt. Nervous, he seemed, but it passed rapidly. Hello, may I come in? I mumbled something unceremoniously and waved him to a seat. Then l collapsed into a chair. There's really nothing to be nervous about, Mr. Renkersf' Kent's remark startled me out of my apathy. Well then, boys, let's mince no words. Our guest leaned forward, and his hat slipped from his hand unnoticed. You know I'm here For the idol. I know you've got it. Now, where is it? If we refuse to tell? Tourists are not respected in India. How do you know we have the idol? . Quite simple. You made the mistake of forgetting that every article in a shop has a price set upon it. The genuine Raschmund Idol has no price tag on the base! Yes, ruminated Kent, half aloud. Better luck next time. Well, are you going to tell? I've decided not to. And your companion? Addressing me. Ditto A moment later he rose, leveled a miniature cannon at us, and had the telephone receiver to his ear. ' For the next ten minutes my nerves were those of a man tottering on the brink of a precipice. My balance was not restored when I saw a group of ragged natives enter the room. Tie them up, boys, Renkers cut out his order in a crisp voice. The band surrounded us, producing thin cords, taut and stiff. Halt! Reach for the sky! In the doorway stood a uniformed Museum Attendant. And behind him, with leveled service revolvers were ranged the police. fConti'nued on page 47,

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.N NX f- l ix .X f WEB ylfd l 7 95j ' R ,, ,A 0 .51 .Sll J 'X, ix x S IM T' I Q N j T X K I ' i ' r l ' V ' Rhapsody Orientale By Laura E. Salisbury The moon looks down upon a garden fair, And is enchanted hy the picture there. Orange blossoms touched hy gentle winds Waft forth their heavy perfume, rare and sweet. A fountain tinkling midst a grove of trees Drips coolly on a dragons slimy hack, A green jade Buddha stares into the dusfg His red eyes ever gleaming halefully. From out the shadows slips a maiden still, Dark haired, and almondfeyed, and beautiful. Her lover follows, tall and strong, and straight, And listens as she speaks in accents low: Go now. Depart from me forevermore. Grieve not, and think not of thy lovc for me, Nor mine for thee. Forget me in thy work, Seek solace in whatever way you will, And now, hegonef' He clasps her in his arms Then vaults the wall and vanishes fore'cr. s The moon looks down upon a garden fair And is enchanted hy the picture there. She cannot know that cruel fates decree This maid he married to a man unknown: One chosen for his wealth hy parents stern. Nought can he done, suhmission is the law. The maiden glides away and all is o'er. The moon looks down upon a garden fair And is enchanted hy the picture there, Bells Clanging hell, striking terrorf-FIRE. Silvery hells, gay, happyfsleigh ride. jangling hell, shrill, insistentfftelephone. Bells of peace, Christ is horn fChristmas. Old hell, rings no more, cracked-Liberty Bell. Golden chimes, pealing out- -WCSfH1iDiStCf. Bothersome hell, eternally tinklingf- in EL study hall. Laura E. Salishury.