Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR The Feeling of the Sea I climbed onto a lonely rock And looked upon the sea,- The curling crests, the gliding gulls. I thought of poetry. My mind began to doze and dream But suddenly I jumped- A swirling, sloppy, soapy wave Upon my face had thumped. I slid down from that lonely rock As wet as I could be. I then knew I had come too close To its reality. WALTER FIELDHOUSE, Feb The Firefly At morning, when the earth and sky Are glowing with the light of spring, We see thee not, oh little fly, Nor think about thy glowing wing. But when the skies have lost their hue, And sunny lights no longer play, Oh then we see and thank thee, too, For sparkling o'er the dreary way. ruary 1932 ALICE LOUISE BORNEMAN, February 1932 T0 cz Meieor in u Museum How cold and stiff and still you are Fmbalmed in plaster on the shelf. Yet once ablaze-aye, once afar You dimmed the haughty moon, herself. . You whirled aflame across the sky And filled some humble soul with awe And then were gone . . . but still the Could see forever what it saw. And now, tho stiff, inert, and numb, And set in plaster on a shelf, You make us pause and strike us dumb- For you have lived a life yourself. eye VERNON GROUNDS, February 1932 Seventee

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THE REFLECTOR Beside it were several pieces of glass from the crystal front. Slowly he worked his body around. Finally' his fingers closed on a piece of the glass. Bending his wrist back he commenced to saw on the cord, back and forth, furiously. Hold the NWestern Mail! He must hold the mail! Frantically he worked on. His wrist pained him sharply. Once he stopped to rest. Then he kept on, spurred by the thought-Hold the mail! Suddenly he shivered with fear. What was that? It was the faint, clear note of the approaching Western mail. Savagely he jerked at the cords that held him. The mail was round- ing the curve that led to the Y',! With a cry, EfHe felt the cord suddenly give. One hand was free! Now the other! He dragged himself to the desk and pulled himself up- ward with a mighty effort! It was too late to set the signal against the mail. The board was locked. It would take too long to unlock it. Effiels eyes swept the room in despair. The chair was still tied to his feet. He could not move. Near him lay the little clock. Like a flash he stooped and picked it up! Leaning as far over his desk as the chair would permit, he hurled it toward the cab of the mail as it lurched by the tower. Again things grew dark. He fell in a heap on the floor. As the glass of the windshield in front of him was suddenly shattered, Gerther, the engineer of the Western Mail, felt a small hard object strike his arm and bound to the floor. With an exclamation of surprise and pain, he stooped and picked it up. Eflieis clock! He suddenly applied the brakes. A minute later the long train was at a standstill, and hustling train- men were racing back toward the switch tower at Lonesome. There is an unusual sight to be seen today in one of the main offices of a big western railroad. To get to it, one must first pass through a door which is inscribed: Mr. E. George Effingwell, General Passenger Agent. After one has been seated for a time before the large desk, he may notice a peculiar object upon it. It is a somewhat battered and dented mahogany clock. It is mounted on a bronze base on which is inscribed: K'This clock stopped to save a train!', If one happens to be a good friend of Effie one may ask him how it happened to stop. I don't knowf' is his reply. I've thought it over from every angle and have studied the case thoroughly, but I can think of no reason, save the one that I was so mad at that electric clock that I forgot to wind this one! H. M. Ross, June 1932. Sixteen

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THE REFLECTOR Antiques V iiHmi 'lATRICIA STEWART had worked three years for Bitt and ' Pl Company, a large New York newspaper concern. Six days A a week she struggled to write off two thousand words of latest L Ju! i-I fashion copy. At S o'clock, putting her desk in order, she ' slipped papers under the green desk blotter, filed other writ- ten material for future use, covered the ink-well, drew the shades, and after one last look around left the office. But today she lingered longer than usual, until everyone had left. The sun, streaming in at the window, picked her out as she sat staring into space. Patriciais thoughts were far from her surroundings. Today was her last day at the office! The resignation had been handed in two weeks previously, and the firm had expressed its regrets at seeing such an earnest worker leave them. But, oddly enough, the fashion writer was not thinking of future employment, for her mind refused to be troubled with such details. Instead of tea gowns, sport dresses, and children's clothing, Patsy visualized only a little white farm house, with green shutters, and a directing sign over the doorway, Antiques.U How fortunate it was that she had been named after old Aunt Patricia! And how lucky she had been to inherit 53,000 at the death of that particular aunt! Patsy had always wanted to become the owner of an antique shop, and now her dream would be realized. As she sat in the dim ofhce, she could pic- ture the huge fire place, the Oriental rugs, the spinning wheel, the colo- nial furniture, the pictures, and the old, hand-painted china arrayed on shelves about the room. Everything seemed to be in existence already, and Patsy knew just how to arrange it. Finally, shaking herself from her reverie, she rose, slipped on her hat and coat, took the accustomed last glance about, and left the building. Deciding to celebrate while in high spirits, Patricia took the sub- way uptown and visited Maureen, her pal and confidant. Maureen re- ceived her with open arms. Why, Pat, dear, what have you been doing lately? I haven't seen you for four days. Still dreaming about wormy chests and rickety chairs?,' 'lMaureen, you,re horrid to laugh at me! Aren't you glad that luck has at last found me? Or that I have found luck?,' 'IThere, I didn't mean thatf' consoled Maureen. But you know it amuses me to think of the sedate, intelligent, business woman engaged in the antique trade. After I finish this design, let,s go down to Daubys for dinner and celebrate. I'm starved, after painting all dayf, Patsy quickly acquiesced to this plan, as no one can live on dreams alone. So the odd pair-sensible, businesslike Patsy, and temperamental Maureen, who posed for silk stockings, hat, glove, and jewelry ads, and painted fashion plates during her spare time-had dinner together at a Eighteen