Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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10 IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE into almost unbearable beauty, and the man spoke softly. ' Moonbeam, I suppose that idealism is a stage that everyone goes through. Some of us build our thoughts so high that nothing can touch them, and others come tumbling down almost as soon as they are erected. The foundations of some of our ideals are firm, those ofothers are built on earth-work no stronger than your light. Mine are still strong. That's why I'm sitting here enjoying the beauty you have made. After reading An Apology for Idlers, I feel more than justi- fied in doing so. No answer. You know, Moonbeam, you might be one of us. One of us idealists, I mean. You've a never-ending job on your hands just as we have. No matter how much lovli- ness you make tonight, your old cousin, Sun, will change it all with a few strong charges from his sun-ray machine. We build our loveliness too, and after repeated shots from practicalness we're done for a day. But we come back, and sometimes we Win. That's why I feel rather sorry for you, Moonbeam, something bigger than yourself controls you. Father Moon is taking you away already. It's dark now, but 'Out of the night that covers me, Black as a pit from pole to pole I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul' H. BARBARA BURNS THAT DREADED MOMENT Being called down to the ofhce is noth- ing unusual, and experiences similar to this one are probably not uncommon. The telephone rings during English class and everybody glances up to see who is a public enemy now. After answering the tele- phone the teacher turns around, and with a shock you find that YOU are the victim as she' says, You are wanted at the P. A. Unite- You're out of your seat and ready to dash. -at the end of the period. In your seat you try to think back. Gee, what have I done now? I didn't skip any classes and I wasn't late. I bet I know, that teacher must have seen me reading the paper during that speech in assembly today. No, it can't be that. What in the world can it be? You glance at the clock and figure out that there are still eighteen whole minutes to Wait. Since it is perfectly obvious that you are not paying attention to the class work, the teacher asks you to continue reading. Your friends try to help by telling you that the place is on the next page. A great help- theretare only six paragraphs to choose from. After wasting a few more precious seconds in deciding which one to read, you take your chance on the last. lust your luck, it was the Hrst. The teacher, who has reason to be disgusted, tells you to report in Room 3 at 1:45. With the best of your ability you try to concentrate. The ticking of the clock tempts you to give it one more look. Iust one minute to go. It seems like three. The bell finally rings. You elbow your way out, but your pace slackens as the awful thought comes to you. At last you think. Mr. McLaren must have seen you leave school bounds at recess. Gee whiz, if I ever get expelled-1. You pivot around for another drink at the fountain to delay the dreaded moment. What will Mother and Dad think of me? Honestly, I'll never go near Bill's Lunch again. You Hnd yourself just ten steps from the outer door. You gather up all your courage but really you know you look as if you were doomed for the guillotine. Face to face with the submaster-your heart has really stopped now. Mr. McLaren looks up and says, The Red Cross would like to have you help with their Roll Call in Ward Z. SOPI-IIE PINSKA

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IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE 9 You Spare A Dime becoming the leading vocal cry. Composed during the depression, you can readily see-those of you who are well acquainted with its words, that it cer- tainly must have been inspired by the bank- closings, money hoardings, and even the piti- ful sight of ragged men selling apples on street corners. Occasionally it was sung with bitterness, but it conformed itself more close- ly to the American spirit on the occasions when it was spoken with humor, mirth sus- tained under hard conditions. For the boon of the decade, we would naturally be obliged to return to the old ditty, My God, How The Money Rolls In-but we all are certain that during aperiod of easy money, the spirit of the day was in Makin' Whoopee. As the former expressed the economic joyfulness, so did the latter express spiritual recklessness. In the late twenties a new source for popular songs arose, those written as theme songs for the talking pictures whose purpose was mainly to aid lovers and Sweethearts. The general effect was to create self-pity and lament about life. Helen Kane, a pert little vaudeville singer, achieved her fame by in- serting meaningless syllables such as boop- a-doop here and there in her song. In accepting so far as you can my theory that popular songs are inspired by the spirit of the day, why not analyze the connection between our up-to-date songs and the spirit of our era? Do not listen to these hit tunes without thinking about them. Have an in- quiring mind concerning their economic and social background. In other words, sing and be happy, but know what you are singing about. RUTH BROWN FEET Ballet feet, Hat feet, Chinese feet, big feet, small feet--there are so many feet of different types' and characters. The tall, skinny girl has long, bony feet, and she toes in selfconsciously when she walks. The football hero has large broad feet and some- times a few hammer toes for decoration. The society charity ball sponsor has short, fat feet, which she squeezes into black satin opera pumps two sizes too small and which look painfully uncomfortable and top-heavy. Of course there are the Astaire-Rogers mil- lion dollar feet. Then there are the campus feet-unshapely but by far the most content. PRISCILLA LAFLAMME RENDEZVOUS Elusive and intangible, a moonbeam walked through the dark paths of night, bringing peace to earth men. It tinted the leaves of the quivering aspen with silver and glided among the rushes at the lower end of a lake, revealing a doe and her fawns. It rested on the ripples of the water, then shed its light on the figure of a solitary man sitting on the beach. It caressed the night

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IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE 11 A TIGHT GAME Give me the game Where the pitching's tight, And the score is close In a bitter light, Where the play is smart, And the Fielding's tops, And the lads come up With some dazzling stops, Where the innings bring To your burning gaze Some gorgeous throws And some circus plays, And a hit is real, And they earn their run, And the game's tied up With the setting sun. Then your nerves are tense, And the stands are still, And every play Is a silent thrill, Until at last, NVith the winning hit, You just explode In a roaring jit. Brother, you take Those slugging spills, Where the pitching's loose As an ocean breeze, And a homer's cheap, But Iopine That I'll take the close, Tight scrap for , Mine. DON E. STILLMAN IT IS WORTH IT? 8-l. 1-7! The steady beat of signals fol- lowed by the pounding of feet as eleven men run toitiring signal practice. Up and down the field for a half hour halted' only by the familiar 'cry from the coach, All up. A little questioning of players on how they feel and then a curt command, Get your hel- metsf' For an hour and a half the grunt and thud of smaking bodies sound out from the scrimmage. Now and then a pause to demon- strate to some player the art of taking his man. ' Darkness falls swiftly over the gridiron and scrimmage is stopped for the day. The players rush to the locker room in order to be sure of hot water for a shower. A great deal of shouting and singing pours out from strong lungs of healthy boys under the warm soothing water. The squad soon disperses in groups headed in every direction-east, west, north, south. Arriving home to a warm supper, a few hours study, and then bed, for the eye- lids seem to hang as lead. Nothing is on his mind but the thought of a similar day on the morrow. For three months this steady routine is kept by about fifty or sixty boys in our school. Do they kick? No, they enjoy it. People have often asked me if it is worth it to slave five days a week to play or sit on the bench for forty minutes on Saturday? Ask any football player. If he is a true ath- lete his answer is always YES. CARL OSBERG THE FARM I know what a farm is-an old house with a monstrous barn, some chickens, cows, horses, and a lot of land. But a few, only a few, know what a farm is really like. To me it is a place of discoveries, of pleasure, and of wonder. . When I left my city home and moved into the country, I felt very much like Alice. Everything was new, strange. I saw for the first time what a potato plant was like, how carrots and beets looked as they grew, and I found that I could not tell where the onions were planted by merely sniffing the air. Being on a farm makes you feel much