Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REF!. ECTOR CI.IFTON HIGH SCHOOL F E B R C A R Y 9 2 7 The music seemed to he sloxver than before. The American waited with eyes that seemed riveted to the figure of the man. He had taken his violin again, and closing his eyes he began to play. The melody was in a minor key, sad and melancholy. Then quite suddenly it bright- ened, and rippled like birds in spring and water splashing over rocks—then just as suddenly the first refrain. Instinctively the soldier thought of a life that might have begun very, very sadly, and then for a while been happy and free, like a spirit uncag- ed, and then, alas, a sad, horrible ending, that seemed to come before all dreams were realized and all purposes accomplished. The soldier knew the man had originated the masterpiece—as he knew also it was a master- piece. It reminded him of his own dream—his one dream that could not he realized—his dream of one day writing a melody that would tell a story, the story that this one had told. If only he could remember it—if only he could just put down a few bars that would help him to recall it when he got back to the bar- racks. If he could but play it just once on that violin the wonder-man held, he knew he would never forget it. The music seemed to be slower than before the sound seemed to come almost unwillingly— as if it were unfitted for its reception in this old French cellar. The musician's eyes had opened and they seemed even larger and more dream- like. Suddenly with one last stroke of the bow, the composition ended, and for just a moment the musician stood very, very still—and then he smiled a gloriously happy and satisfied smile —that filled the soldier's soul with awe. And before the eves of the astonished soldier the musician fell, and the soldier knew before he reached him that he was dead. And now could he—or would it be just too horrible—to play the music he had just heard ? The desire to fulfill in part his wonderful dream was too strong for him. and picking up the violin he gave to the old crumbling walls for the second time, the story of the sad and lonely life. When lie had finished lie seemed to be a person in a dream. Mechanically he laid the bow and violin beside the old man. gently kissed his hand, and followed the wall back to the world of reality. Outside in the cool air he wondered if it were true that he had really experienced this—he hardly knew what to call it. He hurried to the barracks and finally, with the aid of a candle and a borrowed three hours from his time allotted to sleep, he transferred to paper this haunting and beautiful melody. Then lie sealed and addressed a large envelope to a music publishing house in New York City. Vaguely as he wrote New York, U. S. A., he wondered if he would ever see it again. He transferred to paper this haunting and beautiful melody. The next morning found the soldier at the front gripping hard his musket and steeling him- self to the utter horror of the scene around him. His friend—his best friend taken he’d show them—But crash! Another shell, and he feil next to his friend. His dream—God. that won- derful dream—it had come true—he had writ- ten the music—perhaps it was not his to write PAGE SIX

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T HE R E F L E ( T O R C L I F T O N II I G H 8 C H O O L FEBRUARY 1927 A DREAM REALIZED At the corner of the flat looking grey build- ing he stopped and lit a cigarette. Above the faint glow of the match his face showed young, clear, and unmistakably American. Suddenly he turned his head and peered into the dense blackness of the open doorway. Sure- ly he was not mistaken! That was—that must be—the sound of a violin. Hut from a hallway like this—could it be possible? Straightening his rookie hat and bracing those fine young American shoulders, lie enter- ed the gloomy hallway. lie could still faintly discern the sound of the beloved instrument. But how to get to it? Where did this hallway lead to? These French places were so deceiving you never could tell where they might get you. With these meditations he walked about twen- ty yards, and suddenly felt, rather than saw, a slight turn in his path. Determined to trace the music he followed the turn, and began guiding himself by the touch of the wall. Several times he was on the point of turning back, but his instinct of daring was so great, and his love for the uniform he was wearing so intense, that he was commanded to go on. Again he turned, and this time he very near- ly stumbled when he came in contact with an old wooden box, at least he judged it to be a box. For an instant it seemed almost as if the music had stopped. Perhaps the noise of the box falling or the muttered “Darn,” disturbed the musician. He knew now that he must be quite near it. Some twenty yards ahead of him he could see a diagonal ray of light, the crack of an open door, no doubt. He walked the few remaining steps in a fever of intense excitement. Now that he was here, what would he find? There was no earthly rea- son why he should feel as he did. Anyone might live in a cellar—and play a violin—surely there was nothing especially singular about that. Hut why the uncanny feeling? The surroundings— this cold, damp cellar—the moaning strains from the violin—all added a sense of unreality. Reaching the tiny shaft of light, he made out an old wooden door hanging by one rusty hinge. He quietly pulled the door toward him and stood very, very still. Standing in the center of the room, with the ghostly glare of a gas jet above him, was an old man. His fine chin rested on the violin. His hair hung long and white to his shoulders. His eyes were closed, and the whole expression of his face was decidedly strange and sad. It seemed almost as if the god of sleep had come to him as he stood there with the violin. His face showed shadows and fine lines, its whiteness in- tensified by the long black coat and the deep shadows of the room. As one awakened suddenly, he opened his eyes and gazed long and steadily at the visitor. For a moment the soldier knew nothing but those eves large, deep, and filled with dreams, —sad, very sad dreams, it seemed—then in- stantly the expression changed and the strong stare of the blind met his gaze. The musician put out his arm and muttered something in French, which his visitor did not understand. The musician waited a few min- utes, and the silence seemed to imply that the presence of a visitor had been a mere fancy. PAGE FIVE

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THE REFLECTOR FTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1927 The next morning found the soldier at the front. but then, who would be more happy than the white-haired composer—true he would never hear it played never know whether it had been accepted but God had been good to let him try —he hoped—it—would—do. George Brunt, June '27. THK HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS MEET RESPONSIBILITY In this life here in school we seem to play no great part. We merely come here, day after day, trying to enlighten ourselves with the aid of others who are spending probably the great- est part of their lives in helping us. We grum- ble about the homework. We feel that so much is expected of us. Some do it because they know they have to do it if they expect to pass, some because they realize its value, and some just as a matter of form. So many things are done, just as a matter of form, that they have lost their originality and interest. Everyone is so anxious to get out into the world, to do things for himself. He looks for- ward to the time when he will have accomplish- ed all that he has planned, and will have people look to him for help and guidance, and honor and respect him. Many, we know, leave school for just that reason. It is the wanderlust, the hope and ambition of youth. When he leaves high school he feels confident that he can step into any position, and that it is only the ques- tion of a short time when he will be “monarch of all he surveys.’’ He is fascinated for a while. Every thing is new. It is what he has always hoped for. Then comes the rude awakening. He soon finds himself engaged in work that is every bit as monotonous as his school work. He finds that he has very little more freedom. He knows too that he has no teachers to encourage him or pull him through. He realizes now for the first time in his life that he must fight alone. Why? Be- cause he has never become acquainted with Re- sponsibility. He is startled for a time, but af- ter a gradual change, he becomes hardened and, looking back at his high school days, wonders what he ever saw in them to complain about. Let us come back to school again. We come into another person’s life. He too has dreams and ambitions, and desires to become great. He hopes to have the world think well of him. But he is a noticing student. He looks into the fu- ture, and behind youth’s silvery screen he sees the world. While still in high school, he looks for ways to meet his future problems. He triej himself, avails himself of every opportunity. He thinks, concentrates. He wonders a little and is probably puzzled. He finds himself quite interested in his school work. He realizes that people are beginning to depend on him. A big problem faces him. Many are counting on him to pull through. He does. Why? Because he HAS become acquainted with Responsibility. His school life has meant something to him. It has been his ambition to make it mean something to him. The realization of others’ approval stirs him. He knows that he has not had to wait until he finished high school to do worthwhile things. After he finishes school, he faces his new op- portunities with confidence, but his confidence is based on experience. He does not expect bountiful measure until he has worked for it. He remembers his high school difficulties, but the principal thing that he remembers is that he overcame these difficulties. He is sure, not only because he has met Responsibility, but he has kept pace with him. It is he who helps his weak friend to know Responsibility better. He is the one who en- courages and guides, who is looked upon as a leader, a man capable of doing great things. He has the distinction of being looked upon as an admirable man. He knows the other secret, that he started when the first ray of opportunity shone upon him. We look more closely into the picture. We see our old friend, School Spirit. He opens the door to the halls of Responsibility. He stands there, day after day, inviting everyone to en- ter. He even begs and entreats, for he wonders how many of us are going to succeed. PAGE SEVEN