The Bush School - Tykoe Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

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TRAGEDY OF WAR Years of war which slowly passed Years of fighting which could not last, But peace then came, to France I re- turnedg The war was over, and happiness earned. But I saw only ruinsg my home waS not there, U I I stood a long time ln utter despair. I walked to the town which greatly had ehangedg I talked to some men who sad glances exchanged. It was hard to tell me, but I knew what they said. My family was murdered while others fled. Yes, the war was over, and peace was won, But my happiness died as my people had done. Susie Black, Sophomore DILEMMA Why didn't someone tell 1ne Three short years ago, To make a big eight college The things I'd have to know? Be warned, my younger schoolmates, Get ready for the worst, A senior's choice of college May not have been her first. Five years of foreign language, Two years of which must be Positively, Latin or German, Leaves me up a tree. It would have been so easy To have put myself to do Better work along the wayg This could have helped me through. The College Boards that plague me now, The grades I'd like to show Would look a whole lot better, Those registrars must know. They tell me they like western girls In those eastern schools, But why if they want us there Must they have those rules? Alas, I'm somewhat limited To a very few. It's lots of fun to wish and dream, Be seeing you at the UU. Jackie Wanamaker, Senior CEMETERY SCENE It was deathly still and the pale, white light of the moon was just enough to make shadows with the gray, cold tombstones. Trees and shrubs were silhouetted like dark figures point- ing toward the partly-clouded sky, and here and there one could catch a glimpse of the moon, peeping through with its wan rays picking out objects, and giving them weird and grotesque forms. Now and then a star made its cosmic appearance from behind a misty cloud and added its cold light to the ghostly scene. The silence was heavy. like a definite object which could actually be felt, and so quiet that it reminded one of an unreal visit to the land of the dead. Yes, it was like a dream, this gray scene, a dream of eternity and unknown things to come. Joey Kleinberg, Sophomore CHARACTER SKETCH OF ROBERT, MY LITTLE BROTHER Robert's behavior seems to be en- tirely governed by the particular mood he is in, and he has quite a repertoire to choose from. In the morning we have learned to depend on a rather stormy mood, and everyone is quite relieved to see him leave for school. We do not see him again until about 3:30 in the afternoon. This picture is quite different from the morning one. In fact, now, with three little pals behind, he is noisily searching the house for his guns, packs, and other equipment with which to carry on the backyard war which was so rudely in- terrupted by dinner the night before. With shining eyes and blood-curdling whoops, they pile into their foxholes for another afternoon of adventure under fire. If Mother was to suggest anything that resembled work in any form, there would be either loud pro- tests or he would be nowhere to be found. Because of aversion to work he never has any pocket money and con- sequently has a very rough idea of the value of money. Not until he has un- willingly washed for dinner and read the funnies does he seem to calm down to that sweet little mama's boy. The dinner conversation is spiced bv his vivid tales of what the teacher did to that bully, Johnny Wright, or how many children got A's in reading, all of which are so important to his exciting world. If we should happen to have company, woe is us! For his specialty is to show off. His ways of showing off vary between fantastic faces, bright remarks, and spasms of giggling which -33-

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Literary Accomplishments THE END IS THE BEGINNING, When the blue-gowned class of '45 passes down between the chains of sweet syringa with a sheaf of poppies in their arms to the long-sought-after diploma, they will sigh a breath of re- lief. Now we are educated, they will think. The four years of hard grind, of anxious exams and gruelling nightly assignments are over. Much fun and comradeship are finished also. This is the end of an epoch in their lives. A few years hence they will find themselves in many and varied occupa- tions, in different parts of the world under changed conditions, yet each will have brought with her the basic train- ing which harks back to this period which is just ending. There are certain abiding truths that will remain with them throughout life. These truths may be compared with the invariant which stays unchanged in mathematics: a constant such as pi. In poetry and religion, the form of presentation and the words may change, however the underlying theories will remain un- touched by time. In religion there will always be the invariants of God and the human soul, in poetry there will always be the relationship and har- mony between the individual and na- ture. If we can meet the challenge of this changing world successfully it will be due to the invariant which we have gained in this school. So let us think of graduation as being the opening of a door, not as the closing of a door in the course of our development, I would like to quote a verse from one of E. T. Eliot's poems: What we call the beginning is often the end, And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. Katie Clare Roys, Senior THE DESERT Pools of liquid moonlight, Sifting silver sands, Velvet palm trees swaying, Making soft salaams, Thus transformed, Sahara, In seething heat at noon, Lies in cooling stillness 'Neath the velvet moon. Barbara Peyser, Senior -82 CASE 104779 Steel gray eyes with a pained stare that penetrated far beyond the look of the other boys, Perhaps it was the expression that made me think he looked so like Carl. He was just another case on a crowded hospital ship when he came. Howard Vance, 104779. And there were so signs of emotion save pain and fear. He had nobody, maybe an uncle in Buffalo, or a grand- mother in Kansas, at any rate, they never wrote. I didn't get to know him as I did the other boys. It was never, Hil Janie! or Any cigarettes today, Janie ? just that icy stare and occasionally a gasp, Water . . . water. Dr. Waite said two weeks, no more. Though they tried to save him, we all knew that he didn't have a China- man's chance to pull through if he didfn't have some sort of faith in him- sel . It must have been the gray eyes, like those of my brother Carl, that prompt- ed me to take an interest in Howard Vance. But it was disheartening to receive no response. Every day I talked to him, and tried to draw him out. He replied yes, no, thanks Daily his chart showed decline in con- dition. Dr, Waite was grim. I've done all in my powerg only God can save him now. I thought a lot about him after that. Maybe it had been like this when Carl had died outside St. Lo in France. That night I prayed hard and long. But it dawned on me that if only he prayed too, it might be different. I found out that Howard Vance had no religion. Day after day, I talked to him, told him that I didn't believe he had to adopt a religion, just believe in some sort of eternity, some Greater Power. Gradually he began to believe and pray to God, somewhere, some- how. As he gained this hope, the line on his chart began to rise, each day a fraction of an inch. Don't ask me how, or tell me it is preposterous because I don't know why. But I do know that two people, one who as dying and one who was mourning the loss of a brother, reaped the benefits of prayer. Today I received a letter from somewhere in the Pacific and on the top of the manilla paper in heavy black script, it said, From Cpl. Howard L. Vance, and it began, Hi, Janie. Mary Ellen Greenfield, Freshman

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keep Mother in anxious misery. His time from dinner to bedtime is spent in the kitchen where he carries on lengthy conversations with our maid. He and she are very attached. In fact, he has attached himself to every maid we ever had, and they too have always fallen for him. Sitting in the living- room we often hear the most intimate family secrets being exposed in his aimless chatter. When it is time to go to bed, he carefully chooses which par- and, after ent is to do the honorsg carefully explaining to the other why he or she has been slighted, he goes contentedly Cin most casesj off to bed. Ruth Helsell, Sophomore THE NIGHT The night is a velvet cloak Spread o'er the sunny sky And held in place with pins of stars Until the dawn is nigh. When finally dawn begins to rise The cloak is swept away And then before our very eyes Is born a brand-new day. Jean Watson, Junior ON BIOLOGY Will the girls in back please be quiet, Screams Mrs. Gall, at the major riot. Today, I'll explain, while you fight and squirm The digestive tract of one angleworm. You've already seen, tho' it seems quite crude, That an amoeba merely flows into its food. Each day we trudge in with books on ' our arm. We look at our victimsg on our faces alarm. There are beetles and bugs and a little pig's heart, With our two little hands we pull them apart. We struggle and ponder over the bee and the bird, What good is all this? I think it's absurd! Josie Kubley, Junior SOPHOMORE Goodbye, goodbye, my sophomore year, Full to the brim with memories dear. Farewell, instructors, tried and true, Sincerest thanks I give to you. Did I annoy you in the past? Please don't let that memory last. Dignified, courteous, charming and sweet, A junior I'll be when next we meet. I hope as a sophomore I wasn't too bad, For a million couldn't buy all the fun I've had. Marjorie Cronkhite, Sophomore lL PENSEROSO With due apology to John Milton, I have written a poem which tries to il- lustrate the conflict between fun and work in a study hall. Hence, all frivolous reading matter, Idle gossip, pleasant chatter, Never let your face be seen Vulgar Cosmopolitan, Modern Screen, For in this silent, hallowed hall, On stately learning I shall call. Goodbye, dear spitballs, hurled at a chum, Farewell, refreshing Wrigley's gum, All spirits of impish sports depart, For now staid knowledge has my heart. Come forth, oh wisdom, let me see, That for which I've given up glee. Do not forget to bring with you Examinations, Mondays blue, And monstrous worry, who doth even creep, Into my dreams and steal sweet sleep. From your dusty, shelves arise, Ye progeny of the old and wise, You books that long have muted lain, Parade before this tortured brain. Tyrannical pedagogues appear, No longer your rods shall I fear. Come laborious hours of toil, Schedules to which one must be loyal. Enter Philosophy and thought, Though I know they'll teach me naught. If from you, wisdom, these I may borrow, Adieul I'm leaving school tomorrow. Betts Hansen, Junior THE ETERNAL WATCH The snow fell, and as it fell A stillness blanketed the village. A stillness so quiet, so breathless That comes only with the snow. In the twilight a slender figure stood, Alone, staring toward the sea. The snow floated about her It settled on her hair, But still she stood, Alone in the quiet. In her eyes shone the brave faith, The love, that lives only in young eyes In wartime. She is not alone. The hush surrounds her, The snow creates a world of her own, She lives in her memories. Midi Sawyer, Senior MINIMIFIDIAN The music echoes through the halls, And through the open door I witnessed such a spectacle As ne'er was seen before. The piano keys were moving And the tone was sweet and mellow. Before my eyes there also played, Without a player, a cello. 84-.