Broad Ripple High School - Riparian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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Twenty THE RIPARIAN MY GRANDFATHER As you sit there in your wicker chair, Arocking all day long, Now saying nothing, eyes a ' dreaming, Then humming an old love song — I sometimes wonder what you think, When your mind ' s so far away; Are you thinking of times when you were young. Or of loves of a by-gone day? Are you dreaming of old Kentucky, And the places you love so much; Are you dancing again to the music From an old-time fiddling touch? I, too shall grow old in the future And sit in my rocking chair, And then I ' ll know what you ' re dreaming As you sit arocking there. —DORAS CRANFILL. (Cut by Betty Applegate) FUTILITY For having failed to be a friend, Make me to spend the lonely hours. For having failed to see the beauty in the sunset, Take from me my sight. For having failed to find the loveliness of great music. Make me deaf. For possessing life and yet being so like the crawling things. Let me die. For I have not deserved to live. VANITY Hair pins, Powder puff, Cold cream, and tan. Nail polish Eyebrow stick, Ruffled gown, and ma n. -HARLESS WAGONER.

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Nineteen Thirty-Seven Nineteen SWEET SIXTEEN By VIRGINIA LANG ELOISE flounced across the room and flung herself headlong onto the couch. Promptly, she buried her chubby little face in a nearby pillow, kicked her feet high in the air and sobbed. Her young should- ers heaved convulsively as she hugged the pillow to her tear-stained face. Mrs. Adams gave a deep sigh and with a mourn- ful nod of her head, turned her attention to a towel she was embroidering. In a few minutes, she stole a slight glimpse at her daughter and at the sight of several fat tears wallowing lazily on the pillow, said sharply. Eloise Adams, enough is enough! Crying won ' t get you anywhere. No sir, not with me, it won ' t. You think I ' ll take pity on you, and I usually do; but no, siree! not this time. Now listen here, . . . you might just as well sit up and talk sense, because you certainly are getting nowhere. Don ' t you realize that girls your age . . . but Eloise, with a sudden alertness that had not been visible for the three hours, jumped to her feet and shouted, I am six- teen! Mrs. Adams wagged her head, returned her be- loved daughter ' s glare, and said, Now, don ' t shout at me, young lady. No use your having a tantrum and going into a fit of rage. I know you are sixteen; (goodness knows you remind me of it often enough) I know you like a good time. Who doesn ' t? But I also know that your father told me to tell you that you either come in at 11:30, or you don ' t go out! He means 11:30, too, Eloise, and not 11:35. At the conclusion of this speech, Eloise rose and made her way steadily to the door. Once there, she whirled about and with frantic swishing of her arms yelled at her mother, Sweet Sixteen! I don ' t see anything sweet about it. All I ' ve done and heard since my last birthday has been, ' But, Eloise, dearie, you ' re only sixteen ' . Well, I ' m sick of being sixteen! I ' m sick of being preached at about what time I should come in. Why, mother, I don ' t see how you can sit there and so placidly say those cruel things to me! Don ' t you realize (I don ' t suppose you do though), that they never serve the eats at a party until 11:30; and don ' t you know that the really hoi music is never played until then? Why, mother, that ' s early. Just because Dad goes to bed as soon as he reads the paper is no sign I have to, is it? With brown eyes filled to the brim with stormy tears, hands clasped tightly together at her breast, she ran across the room and knelt at her mother ' s feet. There she turned those pleading eyes upward until they reached her mother ' s level gaze. Mrs Adams bit her lips, made a crooked stitch in the hem of her towel, and turned her gaze elsewhere. Eloise, having noticed this sudden change, droned on. Now really, mother dear, you wouldn ' t want me to stay home all the time, would you? You don ' t want to ruin my whole social career, do you? Of course you don ' t because if you were my only daughter, I couldn ' t possibly say those things to you; and I wouldn ' t make you come home just when the fun begins, even if you were only sixteen. By this time Mrs. Adams hands were fondly cares- sing Eloise ' s bright curls, and she was murmuring, O course not, dear, every time her young daughter paused for a much needed breath. Meanwhile Eloise was aware of the soothing and understanding effect her words had produced on her mother; so she cuddled closer and pleaded again with those pathetic brown eyes. Mother, dar- ling, won ' t you please talk to Dad? And Mrs. Adams just on the verge of saying she would, was rudely interrupted by a noisy outburst. Jimmie was home! With a deafening roar he shouted for his lunch and, in the same tone, demanded Eloise ' s where- abouts be made known. As his shouts penetrated the walls, Eloise rose, cast a disgusted look in the direction from which his voice was rising, kissed her mother and said, Please, Mother dear, ask Dad for me. Just as she reached the door, it was flung back, and in marched Jimmie. His hair was plastered with mud, and in his grimy fingers he held a luscious fishing worm. At the sight of Eloise pressed against the wall, he gave a whoop of joy and advanced maliciously toward her, dangling the worm proudly in the air. When she screamed, he shouted even louder and laughed delightedly. Mrs. Adams rushed into the room, separated a squealing Jimmie and a very angry Eloise. Eloise Adams, she shouted, Don ' t you ever let me see you slap your little brother again. Go to your room immediately. And furthermore, you either come home when your father tells you to or you can stay home! Eloise looked in bewildered surprise at her moth- er ' s back, and only at the sound of Jimmie ' s taunting voice did she realize what she had said. The battle was lost. With a look in which icy-fury and mar- tyred self commiseration struggled for supremacy, she walked slowly and silently up the stairs.

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Nineteen Thirty-Seven Twenty-one ▼ V V W V JUST YOU You came when skies were cloudy: You made them all look bright; You made me want to live again; And do just what was right. You awakened music in my soul- True happiness I could feel, But somehow I would always ask, Could all these things be real? You taught me how to live and laugh; You smiled and I was gay; Could there have ever been a time When all the skies were gray? And now my heart is singing, With a song of pure delight, For you ' ve changed my life com- pletely From darkness into light. —DOROTHY McCLEASTER. HOW I KNOW! Spring is herel How do I know? It isn ' t the robin that tells me so, It isn ' t the buds on the tr ees, or the sap, It isn ' t the grass waking up from its nap. It isn ' t the flowers peeping up through the ground, Or all nature changing to green from the brown, It isn ' t the sun or the warm, balmy breeze, No, I can assure you it is none of these. But in through my window, there comes a loud call, And it bursts on my ear, the cry of Play ball! The thud of leather, the crack of the bat, A bystander shouting, That field- er ' s a gnat. So it isn ' t the flowers, the grass or the buds, It isn ' t the breeze or the usual spring floods, It isn ' t the birds, or the songs that they sing, But the cry of Play ball that tells me it ' s Spring. —FRANK REESE. WHAT THE SCHOOL BELL SAYS It is wonderful what unlike things The school bell says to boys, when it rings; For instance, the laggard, who drags along On his way to school, hears this sort of song. Oh — say — hum, Why did I come? Study till four — Books are a bore! Oh, how I wish I could run off and fish! See! there ' s the b ook, Here ' s line and hook. What ' s that you say? Hurry away? Oh — hum — ho! S ' pose I must go, Study till four. Books are a bore! Then the boy who loves to be faithful and true, Who does what his parents think best he should do, Comes bravely along with satchel and books, The breeze in his whistle, the sun in his looks, And these are the thoughts that swell up like a song, As he hears the bell with its faith- fu l ding-dong: Cling — Clang — Cling I ' m so glad I can sing! Heaven so blue, Duty to do! Birds in the air, Everything fair; Even a boy Finds study a joy! When my work ' s done I ' m ready for fun. Keener play For the task of the day. Cling — Clang — Cling — I ' m so glad I can sing! These are the songs which the two boys heard, When the school bell was ringing, word for word? Which do you think was the truer song? Which do you hear, as you ' re trudging along? —BETTY MURNAN. XXX THE RAIN DROPS Little drops so crystal clear Are music to the Dreamer ' s ear. Ah! to go to bed and sleep, And listen to the dark skies weep. In spring the rain drops patter fast, To let us know that winter ' s past, To make the grass so smooth and green, To serve as a carpet for nature ' s queen. —SHIRLEY TALBOTT. XXX LIFE, LOVE, AND DEATH Living and loving and dying, Life is complete in the three; Smiling or sobbing or sighing, All are for you and for me? Hoping and struggling and striving, Dreaming success by and by; But whether we ' re driven or driv- ing, We live and we love and we die. CHARLES WEISENBURGH. r w w v v T