The Bush School - Tykoe Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

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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-.

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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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I strove to find musicians, But no one could I see Who might with human hands Produce the etheral melody. Then for some hidden reason The keys would play no more, And the bow of the ghostly cello Lay inanimate on the floor. The reason for the sudden end Was not hard to understand, For the words of a worldly skeptic Had the mysterious music banned. The person who entered the room Could not but perceive That the music was dev'lish trickery Meant only to deceive. He started at the apparitions And calmly, without leave Of the spirits who produced it, Said, I do not believe. ldalice Squire, Senior A QUESTION What does it mean When a sky serene Reigns like a queen O'er the earth below? Why, it's a sign That this heart of mine With joy benign Is aglow. Barbara Peyser, Senior WHAT IS VICTORY? I saw bright colors in the sky Andbwatched the white clouds drifting y. A robin from a dogwood tree Chirped to his mate so tenderly. In peaceful meadows just beyond Two ducks swam on the pond, And while I sat as in a dream My sad thoughts wandered from scene. this I saw a soldier lying dead, A bloody battlefield his bed. If he will not return to me How can there be a victory? Marion PeIIy, Eighth Grade TRIAL BY FIRE The man lay motionless, sweat run- ning off his body and a tense, tight- lipped eager look on his young face. He appeared to be straining to hear something, and occasionally a distant scream of excitement or pain reached his ears, then a still more distant rat- agtat-tat broke the stillness. Sounds like a rivet machine repairing a city street, he thought. He always jumped at these sounds but settled back with a sheepish look on his face. The minutes ticked by unbearably slowly, and his thoughts wandered back -85 to his girl and white-haired mother, who, he knew, were waiting at home. A wave of emotion hit him, which he fought to conceal from his companions. Suddenly he heard a noise like a foot- step on wood or hard-packed dirt. A powerfully built man trotted up, mut- tered a tense Follow me, Jenkins, and went on. The young'man-jumpedrup, muscles tense, waved a quick good-bye to his companions, and was swallowed from sight. The powerfully built man wearily wiped the sweat off his own brow and watched the figure of jenkins disap- pear. That Jenkins is a funny guy, he muttered to his companion. He comes in here every week to lose weight, but when I go get him in the steam room, he decides he's going right home to his girl and mother. Nancy Lee Hanson, Senior A THOUGHT The foundation of a thought is not in the mind But in the heart. Through each ember of emotion It arises. Over the nerves to the brain It travels. In each dark channel of the mind It grows. Through the genius of the human brain It materializes. Beyond materialization of its motive It vanishes. And only as a memory It returns. Mary Ellen Greenfield, Freshman THE BREMERTON NAVY YARD The Bremerton Navy Yard is like a great cauldron always seething and boiling with activity. Crowds stream in the gate, each person a small ingredi- ent working to make the whole con- coction a success. Inside the Yard, the noise is over- whelming. There is the sharp, searing whine of welding that cuts into your nerves like a dentist's drill. There is the deep, muffled beat of the pile- driver thudding like a native drum in the distance, and bells, whistles and sirens sound like a perpetual New Year's celebration. Various types of vehicles are con- tinually rushing everywhere, making the pedestrian's life a nightmareg jeeps bouncing and skidding along like small, playful puppies and large snorting trucks lumbering along like awkward St. Bernards. A giant crane comes creeping along the tracks like a huge