Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR WI 5 THE CHINA BANK T was not fair, she thought, to make her sort these endless boxes of useless bric-a-brac. Better to throw all of them away rather than to waste time in pick- X But her mother did not see it that Way, and so she had been given the task of separating the good from the bad. It was not very interesting to her, and the girl fiercely reflected on her motheris injustice. She sat up straight among the boxes of wrapped china, the piles of wrinkled news- papers, and the pieces of crockery scattered haphazardly over the floor. Far better, she rebelled, to have gone hiking with the girls. It would have done her more good than sitting in a dingy, cobwebbed, open-raftered attic sorting china, a job that could have just as easily been postponed to a rainy day. And it was a wonder, she inwardly grumbled, that the attic itself was not cleaned. Why, it was filthy! But, she supposed, that would be part of the spring campaign against the onslaught of the Powers of Dirt and Dust. She returned to her task with an inward detestation. China statues, big and small, a porcelain slipper with a gilded gut. Squat bowls, deep bowls, fancy bowls, plain bowls. Tall vases, short vases, cracked vases, Japanese vases. Paperweights, whatnot ornaments, glass Bibles, hollow china books labeled Spirits . All formed a seemingly endless procession through her hands, roughening and intensifying her irritation. In the course of her labors, she came upon a small china ornament, consisting of two little pickanninnies seated on the ends of a log, facing each other. The larger one was just beginning to chaw a huge, crescent- shaped piece of crimson watermelon, while the smaller one thumbed his nose at him. She stared at it for a moment and then gave a sharp laugh, cut short by a quiet pause. It was but the calm preceding the storm, her spirits overflowed, as she swiftly raised the ornament above her head and dashed it violently to the floor. It was shattered into countless pieces-irreparable. It was then that she remembered. It had belonged to her little brother. Her pale blue eyes, so hard and unyielding such a short time ago, filled and overflowed. She mixed her tears with the fragments of china as she slowly gathered them up and deposited them in an empty rose jar. After closing the jar and hiding it in a dark corner for safe keeping, she returned to her task. Steadily she worked on, and soon but one box was left. Near the top was something large and rectangular, carefully wrapped. Curiosity raised its head, and, heeding its command, the girl un- wrapped that package first. A box about six inches long and four inches wide was revealed. She removed the lid, carelessly throwing it on the floor, and drew forth a china bank. ' ing them over. If A ' 5 1 Seven

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VDGNO'k9Q.J0fDQJOfDGNO'kDGNO'kDQ.?0fDQJ'OfDGNOkDQJa00'DGS ls c c lf, lg l 4 Qhangc of llbolicy I F The year 1934 has been one of changes in all ranks of F0 life. Things that dreamers longingly hoped for in the dis- tant future have been precipitated upon us with startling by P rapidity. We in school have been amazed at the suddenness P of change in the world about us. In the High School we have experienced similar and not Q less momentous changes. Enrollment figures have mounted l in the upper grades. The need for economy has forced the introduction of a daily double session. The need for adjust- 24: ment has brought Vocational Guidance. We consciously feel ourselves growing up more rapidly. This trend of affairs has suggested the desirability of changes in our high school magazine, The Reflector. We L, have felt that it, too, should grow up. This year we have therefore abandoned the uswaddling clothes of its old de- partmental organization. We have dropped the introduc- 4 tory full-page illustrations which formerly began obvious departments of literature, news, sports, and humor. We have introduced the illustration of stories. We have welcomed 'ga original verse in the Senior Section. We have broken with l tradition and have invited the faculty to contribute articles of interest to us which we could not adequately handle. We 'Q have put some color into the book. We have departed from the old type illustrated cover to one of newer design. As in the world about us, the process has been one of peaceful change. The student body has been waiting for it. We have all secretly desired it. We do not know, as yet, whether or not the change is for the better. As in the case of the other changes going on about us, we leave the decision of the merits and the demerits of the transformation to the future. For the present we are satisfied to present something different. THE EDITORS. g.9L0'0fDL00iJL00iJCLl05JfL0W7TJL0'OfJCTNf0kDCTYf0'kDCTWf0kDQ2

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THE REFLECTOR VW In It was in the form of a medieval castle. There were the walls, draw- bridges, towers. A mounted knight stood without, demanding entrance. Gothic windows, arcades, balustrades-all were faithfully reproduced. Only one feature belied its authenticity. This was a wide slit, large enough to receive a silver dollar, which ran in the crevice between two peaked roofs. She held in her hand the bank of a child of a departed age, but she also held a splendid work of art. She shook it, and it rattled. It was an imaginative girl in a lonely attic who heard the rattling of coins inside. She turned it upside down and shook it. Much noise, but nothing came out. Again she shook it, and again and again, but each time in vain. Setting it aside, she finished the last box. Then she returned to the castle. She shook it, rattled it, knocked it, but the coins slid into the roof on the one side or the other of the slit. She kept up her efforts until finally a quarter slid out, as if reluctantly. The shaking became more vigorous than ever. Suddenly a familiar call shrilly ricocheted up the stairs. Dinner. The girl started, and then hesitated for a moment. The setting sun shone in the grimy window and threw patches of light on wall and floor. She had but a short time to decide. She gazed at it musingly. Then, with a faint shrug, she placed the bank upon the floor. Quietly and carefully she stepped upon it. There was a crunching sound, as something crumbled. Eagerly the girl scattered the fragments of the fairy castle, then, more slowly, from among the ruins she picked up-seven little copper pennies. GORDON Ross SMITH, June 1935. Song of Spring Fleecy white clouds mounted high, Lazily drifting. Watching them, I close my eyes, And with a little sigh Send my thoughts soaring high and wide, Drawing phantom kingdoms in the sky. Church bells pealing forth their sweet melodies, Daisies blooming thickly In a nearby field, Song birds singing sweetly To the azure sky. The breeze bends the slender blades of grass, Golden sunshine plays On newly budded trees, Willows bend over the laughing, rippling brook. In Spring the whole world seems created just for love. CAROLYN LEIBACH, February 193 S. Eight