Central High School - Cog N Pen Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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Verse By Rose Baskin THE RIGHT NOT TO LAUGH In the theatre, at the party, If your sense of humor’s hearty, You must laugh. Though you find the joke’s not fu nny, Even though you don’t feel sunny, You must laugh. If you don't laugh, they will tell you, From the club we will expel you. You must laugh. For to be a jolly fellow, You must find each wit quite mellow, You must laugh. If you do not they will brand you; “Grouch and killjoy, they will hand you, You must laugh. Watch your neighbor, if he’s grinning, That's your cue, that's your beginning, Y ou must laugh. All these smiles that are expected Make me weary and dejected, Must we laugh? CORRIDOR GOSSIP While walking in the hall one day, I chanced on maidens fair and gay, All of them merrily chaffing away, Ten reps a minute they could slay. What this one wore, What that one said, What dress, what hat, Who smoked, who swore. All of this gossip, then some more, Spoke these maidens, near a score, Branding one or another a bore, What do you talk to that girl for?” Who went with him, Who took her out, Where did they go, Do you like Tim? Small wonder that those damsels fair, As shown in class, have heads of air, For Latin grammar they don't care, Math never gave them one gray hair. What kind of lace, A velvet sash ( She uses rouge Upon her face!’’) “You need a touch Of powder, dear.” ( She gads about With boys too much.” ) A gentle stab, Of malice, too. To shorten my tale: A girls’ confab. THE ANTILLES The sun beamed down on the sea, With a brilliant blessing, Parting the waves with light, Creating jewels on the water. Calm was the sea and quiet ; No burly wind interrupted The courtship of sun and wave. The sight moved even the rude clouds Hurrying from sterner regions, Staying their course, abashed and softened. Into this field of peace Rushed the Antilles, loudly proclaiming By shrieking whistle and engine, That she was the great, the wonderful transport. Hurrying ever onward, This body of iron and wood, With heart as indifferent, Emblem of Man’s hateful warfare, Watchful for the unscheduled death That lay beneath the innocent water. It came, sudden, though expected, As invisible and stealthy, As though ancient gods had clothed it With a magical cloak of darkness. Reaching its begrimed hand From the deep, and dragging the ship down, Sending our sons to wet darkness, Boys not yet shocked into manhood, With eyes open and unafraid, And alight with valor and romance. Rapidly was this enacted, Planned and directed by Science, The traitor son of Mankind. Soon were the signs of battle Impatiently brushed aside By disturbed Madame Nature, And the sun beamed down on the sea With a brilliant blessing.

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In the Studio Bv Rosert Housman GASKAE, Italy, Dec. 2. Early this afternoon the friends of Guiliano Cartele, an American black art master, who fool- ishly decided to sleep over night in the haunted Castle De Morte in spite of his friends’ repeated warnings, was found dead in the studio. heart was the only bruise on the body. I am too much the master of that Ha! it I may be able Bah! Pouf! game to believe any such nonsense. seems Greek Fire to me is second nature. Tis really a joke. A healthy man like Antonio! But he is sensitive; he has been painting too hard lately; how hard I tied my laces this morning! And such a beau- tiful place! What unique wainscoting! And that armor! The Count must surely have gazed on these walls with pride. What a noise that shoe made! Sounds are greatly exaggerated in a room as large as this. Wax tapers always have a gloomy effect. | must not forget to have some tapers in my act when I get back. These shadows are exquisite for effect. Now—how soft the cover of this canopied bed is; let me draw it back with care. I do so honor the unique. Poof! Out goes one. Poof! And here goes the last light. Now—-how soft and downy this feels; exquisite; and a Count's bed. Ah, I dote on unique things and——apparitions—ha! ha!—appari- tions—ha | —— to show those ghosts a trick or two. super- Hah!— have been dreaming; 'tis dark here; yes, it is dark; that old Count —I wonder what ails me? I must be getting soft; what?——yes, something—er— could some poor burglar—I am going to light—I must light—a taper—a taper— Jesu! I cannot move—my God Antonio Salvator — Help! The deceased man was found with his hand tightly clutched over his heart. A blue mark on the chest over the Mother of God, I cry, but without sound—they can- not hear—nor help. It must be dawning; a light has entered the sky- light—that cannot be—there is no skvlight—whence comes the light? and how ghostly—blue—gray— heavy—it is growing—filing the place with the hell- ish glow What is that—in the corner? Is—that armor—moving? God!— yes! What a hollow clank—the visor is ris ing— tis a fire-eyed death- head. It is coming toward me. What shall I do? My pistol—beneath my pillow—a little closer—at the head -nay, at the chest—at both- -thing of hades hades !—there—bump, bump, three sickening bumps the lead drops to the floor—it—it—nearer—nearer— my brain is rising—nearer—away! Away—it grows taller—taller—at the foot—of the bed— those eyes those eves— and how my eyes smart—they alone can move; they are stealing from my head. It is beside me— the helmet drops lower and lower—those green they are green flames—of hell lamps—no, green flames, tall, devouring— Ah, I know now—they are the phosporous flames of Hell. I cannot see, but I feel—the iron hand is moving—I must close my eyes towards my heart—I cannot—away—away- My breast—ah-h-h cold—very cold stop—stop those eyes—that hand— Almighty God— my heart my hear—MY HEART!—MY-—-GOD. Class Song of January ’Eighteen By RoBERT HOUSMAN Central, fairer than the fairest, Treasured as the maid of Troy! Crowning thee with glowing halo, Rise the thoughts of days of joy! As thy flag by breeze full-bosomed Flutters proudly o'er thy head, So shall we, moved by thy mem'ry, Show our pride in days long sped. CHORUS Farewell, dear Central, not goodbye; Though life unfolds anew, Thy white reminds of purer lives, Thy blue bids us be true. Faster fly the magic moments On the whispering wings of time; In our hearts, now faster throbbing, Mingle joy and pain sublime. And so January, Eighteen, leaves thee, As of fleeting years we tell; But Central, our Alma Mater, In our hearts will always dwell. [CHoRus.]

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On Skipping By Rose BASKIN Skipping is a word sometimes applied to what little girls with patent leather belts do on sunny spring mornings, or to escaping some predestined fate. Very often the word is applied to the innocent habit of cer- tain readers of reading a few pages and cruelly ignor- Many are the pages which I know ing the following. Chap- feel neglected and hurt after such treatment. ters of description in partic ular come in for a goodly dose of skipping. Skipping has its advantages. started a poor book, we were forced by some law adding to the miseries of mankind to stick it out to the end, how much more suffering would be added to the swelling list! Also, if we could not repo rt on books unless we had to read them through entirely, how much straighter would father’s mustache look when we showed him our monthly report card! To be able to skip properly is an accomplishment. Some persons skip irregularly, according to their own fancy Suppose, if we or time, reading only the part where the heroine is carried away by the hero’s speech (and Ford) ; others (and these are the ones I envy) skip systematically, reading enough of each paragraph to give them a general idea of the whole book. Then there are people who read the first and last pages, and then talk about the book. Introduction, prefaces, explanations and notes are ordinarily skipped except by professors, spe- cialists and other people with tortoise-shell glasses. When authors realize this, much paper and ink and many eyes will be conserved, and we shall have a lower per cent. of illiteracy. There are certain rows of books in the library skipped entirely, the reader passing on to O. Henry, after looking at “The Archaeological History of the Ancient Egyptians.” Liberty Loan ads are just naturally skipped by the man supporting a wife, five children, and an epicurean cat on $15 per. Class Bibi [First and second places are given. ] Most Popular Girl 13. Best All-Around Boy Wittiest Person Alice Gibbs Helen Lilien Most Popular Boy Norman Collier Gerald Hauser Most School Spirit Leon Kranztohr Gerald Hauser Best Looking Girl Laura Lewandorf Alice Gibbs Best Looking Boy Norman Collier Charles Graham Best Boy Athlete Theodore Augenstein Gerald Hauser Best Girl Athlete Helen Lilien Ethel Pearl Best Boy Orator Gerald Hauser | eon Kranztohr Best Girl Orator Rose Schaffer Laura Lewandorf Best Dresser H. Norman Collier Charles Graham Best Girl Dresser Alice Gibbs Fannie Katz Best All-Around Girl Rose Schaffer Ethel Pearl Gerald Hauser H. Norman Collier 14. Class Pest 19. 20. 2 Philip Mintz Walter Prosch Best Mixer Gertrude Steinhart Leon Kranztohr Most Studious Boy Theodore Augenstein Leon Kranztohr Most Studious Girl Mae Levey Minna Strauch Best Girl. Dancer Sophie Horrowitz Helen Lilien Best Boy Dancer Walter Prosch H. Norman Collier Quietest Girl Claire Howard Ethel Hamburger l. Quietest Boy Stephen Nowinski Theodore Augenstein 22. Biggest Bluffer Leon Zeckhausen (Unanimous) 23. Best Singer Ruth Benz Eleanor Beckleman 24. Class Baby Harold Merz Philip Mintz 13 32. 33. Pearl Okin Leon Kranztohr Class Politician Samuel Grubin Walter Prosch Liveliest Boy Gerald Hauser Walter Prosch Liveliest Girl Alice Gibbs Rose Schaffer Most Conceited Laura Lewandorf Leon Zeckhausen Hardest Worker Leon Kranztohr Morris Rubin Most Obliging Person Loretta Schwartz Walter Prosch Biggest Braggart Ethel Pearl Leon Kranztohr Most Boyish Girl Helen Lilien Laura Lewandorf 34. Most Girlish Boy 35. Left out by special request. Laziest Person Abraham Goldblatt Harold Merz Tied.