Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON H I ; H SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1 9 2 8 At five o’clock he went down to the flying field, carrying with him a pigeon which he had kept in his observatory. A large crowd was at the field, even though it was early morning. Forte came in the hangar, smiling as he waved his arms to the people. Forte was very much surprised to see Davies as one of the spectators at the field. Me had said goody-bye last night and the professor had told him that he would not come down to the field. Forte did not ques- tion Davies, who gave Forte the pigeon. Davies wished him good luck and started back to the observatory. He stopped near the wood which bordered the field, looked back to where Forte was standing and proceeded to his astronomical building. He gazed through the telescope and saw Forte flying toward the sea, amid the shouts of the people. The papers had a large write-up stating that Forte would reach land within thirty-five houre. Seventy hours later a pigeon was seen to alight on the large dome of the Paris observa- tory. Several minutes later Davies was read- ing the following note which was attached to the leg of the pigeon: Land below, broken wing, dropping fast, willing to die in H. B. Davies folded the note containing the grue- some contents and slowly walked near the tele- scope and gazing through with tear dimmed eves said, “What you predicted, I am afraid has come true.” A. Kaplan, Feb. ’28. H ETTIE ’S D IS ILEUS IONMENT People came. People went. But they al- ways left her there in Taville. She could see them, silhouetted against the western sky from her kitchen window. She was so forlornly mad to travel that she hated the trains and the people on them for not taking her along. She had no gifts, no beauty, no brains. She might have been pretty if she had pretty clothes or a graceful carriage. But she slouched all the time. Even her name was ugly: Hettie Slatmire. The town she lived in was the stupidest town in the world. If only she could get some money to go east with. That was her one ambition. “What you wan’na go east fur? You ain’t got good looks nor purty clothes or lots of money. What spunk have you got? You’re just nachelly born lazy,” her mother would rail at her. But Hettie thought differently. If she only got to New York with other women, swell clothes and money! In her spare hours Hettie went to the neigh- boring farmhouse and did odd chores for a few dollars a week. At the end of two years she had six hundred dollars saved under the floor board in her bed- room. One morning when Hettie went down to the kitchen as usual her mother cried, “Lan’ sakes! Don’t you know today is washin’ day? Now you march right upstairs and take off yer good things and none of yer high falooten idears neither, young lady.” “But, maw, you know you said I could go east if I got the money. Well I got it and now I’m leavin’ for New York on the eight o’clock train. That’s why I’m dressed. You call this dressed? Wait till you see what my things will be like in New York. I’ll send you some to show you what you’re missin’.” Hettie’s mother was too astonished for words. To think that the daughter she thought had no gumption at all should save all that money and then go east. For the mother her- self had a longing at certain times, for the life of ease and luxury, but she never admitted it to a soul. Hettie boarded the eastbound train bravely with her small suitcase, containing all her worldly belongings, clutched tightly in one hand and her pocketbook, with all her money, in the other. She was shown to her compartment and pro- ceeded to make herself comfortable. She lounged in a seat and dreamily watched the passing landscape. This was what she termed the essence of life. Just merely to sit and travel away from Taville. The train stopped at several stations on the wav and at one Hettie bought some candy to nibble on. Arrived in Chicago, she stepped bewildering- ly from the car a forlorn looking little figure. She inquired for a hotel and was directed to the Hotel Blackstone. What a pretty room but oh, such a lot of money to pay for it. She began to realize how small six hundred dollars was in a big city. She was afraid to venture into the street alone. It was her first night in a big city and she was a little awed. A few days later Hettie again got on a train, this time bound for the great city. Time seemed eternal but finally the train pulled into the terminal at New York. This time when she stepped onto the plat- form half a dozen men rushed up to her and shouted Taxi! taxi!” right in her face. The nerve! If a man had done that out in Taville she would have slapped his face. But, New York was different. When she found out what a taxi was she stepped gingerly into one and directed the driver to take her to a good hotel. What buildings! They made her shudder. What if that big tall one on her right should PAGE NINE

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1928 Forte only exclaimed, “The same old Davies. I thought you would change in my six days ab- sence, but I see you still believe in your stars.” They both laughed and began to talk about the successful flight from Constantinople to Paris which was the cause of the presence of throngs of people at the aviation field. “The journey was wonderful, the Humming Bird functioned marvelously and I am happy for I have brought honor to my country;” ex- claimed Forte with a wave of his arms. “What has the company said concerning your trip?” asked Davies who was very interested. “They have raised my salary and will permit me to make a non-stop flight to New York City, next month!” replied Forte, who was excited over this glad news: “Imagine,” he continued, “what honor I will bring to France if I succeed in accomplishing this flight to New York, and I am sure of succeeding with the Humming Bird.” The next day the papers gave full accounts of the successful flight made by this daring young pilot. For days, his name was on the lips of all people. It was the first time an aviator had made a successful non-stop flight from Con- stantinople. His name was not the only one in the news- papers, for a misfortune had befallen an aviator by the name of Tellanca, who was returning in his aeroplane from Berlin when it suddenly burst into flames, Tellanca being killed instant- ly. Tellanca ranked next to F'orte in ability and accomplishments. He was heralded as one of France’s best air aces. The country felt a great loss in the killing of Tellanca. So it was not extraordinary that this was the topic of the day. Two days later, after the misfortune of Tel- lanca, Forte payed Davies another visit. When- ever time permitted, Forte always came to the observatory. Davies was considered a father to Forte. He had raised Forte from the age of five, when Forte had become an orphan to the age of sixteen when Forte was able to sup- port himself. They spoke about the Tellanca incident. “Well,” spoke Forte, after he and the astronomer had spoken for an hour, “I would rather die in my plane than live to tell the tale of being in a wreck. I would gladly die, like the captain of a ship who goes down with it when it is sinking. Furthermore, Davies, I cherish my Humming Bird so much it would break my heart to see it demolished, but if I were to die, I think it would be better. Davies did not reply but calmly twisted his short white beard. Silence followed. Davies walked to the huge telescope, focused it on the heavenly bodies which were visible as the sun had set half an hour ago. Preparations for the trans-Atlantic flight were in progress. The Humming Bird was given a thorough overhauling and Forte took several trial flights. As the day approached, F’orte seemed to be- come happier and happier. His dream was to be realzied: the dream to be the first flyer to make a non-stop flight to the North Ameri- can continent. “Davies, I do wish that you would decide to come down to the field when I start off. You never have seen me ‘take off’ since I have been flying.” “Well, replied Davies, “I can see you better through my telescope than I could if I were down at the field among the crowd. Every flight you have taken you were seen by me through the help of my telescope.” This conversation took place in the observa- tory two days before the scheduled flight, which was to take place Saturday morning, if weather permitted it. All day F’riday, Forte was busy preparing himself for this perilous voyage over three thousand miles of water. Friday night, Davies busied himself by look- ing through his telescope. He focused it toward the north and wrote something on a large sheet of white paper which was lying on the desk which stood near the telescope. For several hours, he continued this tiresome task of focus- ing and writing. During this task he would mutter words under his breath and sometimes would say, “I guess they are right.” He was working more swiftly now as a storm was ap- pearing on the western horizon. At last his tedious procedures were over. He seated him- self at the desk and began to write again. The storm came in all its fury. For one hour it raged, sending flashes of lightning in all direc- tions. The thunder shook the huge glass dome, it seemed as if the glass would fall. F’or one hour, Davies studied the chart on the white sheet. They were drawings of the heavenly bodies. He was so concerned over the white paper that he was unaware of the storm raging with- out. PAGE EIGHT

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1928 topple over? And to think of trains running under the ground. Well nobody would ever get her to risk her neck in one of those under- ground contraptions. As for those running in the air. Heavens! She would be in mortal dread of capitulating through the air and landing on the roof of some building. When she walked into the lobby of the Hotel Wolcott she stopped and gasped. What a wide staircase and what splendor! Women in evening gowns and men in full dress! Suddenly she felt shabby and coarse. She drew back into a corner and watched the peo- ple. The girls seemed to have no pride. There they were paradin’ up and down laughing, and all sparkly with jewels. Well if they had no pride she had. So stalk- ing up to the desk she stammered a few words to the clerk, signed her name, and was shown to her room. Trembling and embarrassed she threw herself on the bed and began to cry. She was lonely and so all alone. How she longed for Taville. She had no idea New York was so big or held so many people. And never in her life had she thought so much of Taville, here so many hundred miles away from it. She did not go down for supper. She felt too miserable aand was afraid to appear in front of all those dazzling people especially after her humiliation in the Chicago restaurant regarding the silverware. Instead, she went into the street where at least it would be dark and no one would see her. But, to her dismay it was not dark. All the lights of Broadway were lit. She wondered how there could be so much light. Finally, tired and spent, she went back to the hotel. In the morning she did some shopping. She couldn’t buy much but she remembered her mother and father. With her bundles in her arms, once more she boarded a train this time bound for home. All the way she thought of the large pleasant farmhouse and longed to hear her mother’s nag- ging voice calling her “the laziest thing God created.” She watched the wide sweeping prairie with a new wonder. Never before did these scenes hold so much attraction for her. What were the lights, money and splendors of New York compared with the wonderful beauty nature had made? How she cried with joy when she was once more in her mother’s arms back in Taville, the stupidest town in the world. Margaret Sturm, Feb. ’28. DILIGENCE IS SUCCESS The glorious ball of golden fire stood sus- pended in the air amid a mass of gorgeous col- ors. Gradually it began to sink, casting a last loving glance upon the earth. Its dying rays found their way to the lone, silent figure which stood silhouetted against the horizon. Tenderly, caressingly, they played about the bowed fair head, which caught the mellow rays of the wav- ering sunlight, as a soft stray breeze stirred the silken hair. The soothing peace of twi’ight had settled upon the earth as Douglas Danials turned with a deep sigh from his father’s last resting place. So great a love had grown between father and son that Douglas was loath to leave the calm peaceful solitude of the little grave-vard on the hill. His steps faltered as the turmoil within his breast increased and, try as he would, he could not keep back the scalding tears which coursed down his tanned cheeks. People turned to gaze pityingly at the heartbroken young man who was a picture of utter misery with his rumpled hair tossed to the breeze while the im- print of great loss and suffering has already left its mark upon his features. The tiny wainscoted cottage behind its im- posing row of maples and velvety green lawn brought a momentary ray of happiness to his tortured soul. He stood for a moment on the broad veranda his eyes staring unseeinglv far away into the gathering dusk. “Dad, Dad,” Douglas softly whispered, “I’ll fight, yes fight to attain but one goal which now seems so far away.” His head went up, as with added energy he cried, “Your wish must come true, I will make a success of my ven- ture, I will some day be the healing hand to the sick, the doctor of mercy, that you had planned for me.” His frame shook as he exclaimed, “Oh, Dad ! How I wish you were here to help me on, as you would have done had you lived.” Entering the comfortable library he gazed upon his father’s treasures, always held dear. A smoking jacket together with a pipe still lay where they had been carelessly placed bv the tender hands now still in death. A pair of felt slippers under the table seemed to indicate that their owner had thrust them there in a hurrv. Strange memoirs! Ah yes! Strange memoirs of a happy past! V ith the feeling of one utterly exhausted, he at last sank into a chair close to the open wood fire whose merry crackling resounded in the strangely quiet house. Thus he sat far into the long hours of the night with the dying em- bers of the fire casting a ruddy glow upon his thoughtful contenance. He seemed to see in the dimming firelight the dearly loved image of the one who had been to him both father and mother. page ten