Central Commercial High School - Hour Glass Yearbook (New York, NY)

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By George S. Daniels Fraternite

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Then Tlaingaf to me are fave! A bright sun washed clean by raing Dark skies with one star aglowg 'The calm and busy place of Sundaysg Dancing to the rhythm of soft musicg The fragrance and lift in sweet spring airg The songs of birds floating down from green tree-topsg The warmth and security of a cozy bedg The feeling that follows the raising of the flagg Reflective moments after reading a good bookg The good clean feeling after teeth are brushedg My mother's voice that echoes from my childhood years. Sweetness of taffy melting in the mouthg The glow of soft hairg The music of a tinkling piano coming from afarg The restfulness of pink clouds resting on a blue skyg The eagerness of dawn creeping into morning lightg PHILIP GUTERIVIAN The relaxed feeling when cool sheets touch a warm bodyg The eyes of a child to whom you are an idolg The richness and variety of living as you think backg Being wanted by the one you love. Enchanting music softly winding through the darkg Wfatching a marriage in a Hower-filled churchg Rain spattering on face and hairg Picking mushrooms in a damp forestg Fruit trees in full bloomg Bouncing on fresh-cut, sun warmed hayg Seeing dim city outlines as you go up a mountain in The skyline of New York from a ferry boat at nightg A goldfish gently waving his tail in a bowlg XVaves racing up and down the sandg The sun streaming through an opening in a cloud. Z8 SEENA GREENBERG carp ANN MIRONUK

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Cen tml Commercia' It's a building, small and rather awkward looking, dwarfed by high, shining structures. It's a part-time home to thousands of boys and girls. It's a place where all religions, races, and creeds are respected-an island of de- mocracy in action in a city where democracy is sometimes forgotten. It's two minutes to get to school on time and wondering whether to cross the street, treacherous with taxis and trucks, while the red light Hashes and the cop frowns. It's students going up the foot worn steps after the last quick gulp of fresh air or the last drag on the cigarette and facing the drab black and gold of Central Commercial High School. It's girls, girls, girls, and a solitary boy slowly tearing themselves away from the Automat. It's a stiff-looking courtyard like a tuxedo on a man not used to wearing formal garments. It's the backward glance at 42nd street where citizens rush to jobs and students learn how to take them. It's the turtle-like pace with which students enter and their flight at the end of the day like a flock of pigeons let loose. It's the honking of horns and ringing of bells and shattering of a silence. It's the exchanging of the ridiculous slogans about Kilroy and Richard, the steady hum of boys and girls talking, the continuous grind of teaching, the opening and shutting of books, the scratching of pens like thousands of ticks of the clock. lt's the monitors directing you to the right staircase even if the one which is ten feet away would save a long walk to the upper floor. lt's the varied activities of the Home Room, the last swap of bubble gum, putting lipstick on straight, tiling chipped nails, getting answers to American History questions. lt's the cheerful, excited faces in gym as of children playing, and the same faces in the English room now still as those of soldiers at attention. It's the height of hilarity that fills the auditorium at noon, the messenger service for teachers freely given by students who love to miss class. It's a school iilling like a mechanical machine with morning students leaving by rear entrance and the afternoon session quickly refilling the empty school. 30