Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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buxom, and although she was almost as old as Tom, her face showed no wrinkles, except when she laughed. Tom loved her laugh 4- it was high pitched and ringing. It was such a laugh that he heard as he ap- proached Mary now. Hello, Tom, she said as he kissed her lightly on the check. I was just laughing at your sober face. You look very serious today. And I am serious today, he replied. Then he told Mary of his intention to leave the Church as organist. Mary laughed and said he was foolish. There isn't a better organist in Kendal, said she proudly. Tom looked at her, and pinching her cheek, replied: Aye, but you're the only one who thinks that. The two talked the thing over, but Tom's decision was made. Sunday came, and as Vesper time approached, Old Tom felt blue and melancholy. He thought of changing his mind and staying on as Oragnist, but then he laughed at himself mockingly. He wasn't wanted. He had his afternoon tea and cookies, and after bidding Mary good-bye, left for Church. As he approached the Church, Old Tom heard the bells ringing in beautiful tune. They seemed more beautiful tonight than ever before. Walk- ing up the steps in the graveyard, Tom felt a queer twist at his heart, and he had to stop a moment to rest. Oh, he was old, all right. And here all along he had thought he was as young and chipper as ever. As Tom opened the side door of the Church, he heard a great many voices talking in hushed tones. His heart beat faster as he walked through the Church into the Choir Room. Could it be possible that all the Choir was out tonight? Tom hoped it was, but told himself it couldn't be. But it was! There they were, men and little boys, all in their vestments. The little boys' faces shone eagerly and the men were happy. Tom greeted them all, laughing and joking with each other. He hurried into his vestments, and entered the Sacristy to tell the Vicar the good news. It's happy I am tonight, said Tom, breathing fast and smiling. And why? , asked the Vicar. Have you heard some good news? . Aye, Aye, said the happy old man. The lads are all in their places tonight. And with that, he rushed out into the hall and on into the Church to the organ, his organ. As Tom played through the prelude, he changed his decision and became determined to stay on at the Church as organist. He'd show them he wasn't old or feeble. He played the entire service through beautifully and the Choir was splendid. Their voices were hushed and soft. As the Choir marched out of the Church, the Vicar looked at the tired and happy Tom, and told himself that he must compliment him for his music in the evenings service. People didn't bother much about Old Tom. He had come to be regarded as a permanent fixture in the Church. The vicar removed his vestments and waited for Tom to come out of the Chuch with his music. But Tom didn't come-he couldn't. He had passed away, seated at the organ. His happiness had been too much for his old heart. The REFLECTCR ' 29 E l F

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The Organist By Myrtle f. Wood IS fingers quickly glided over the keys in a triumphant march. But Old Tom wasn't triumphant. For sixty years he had sat at this old bench and accompanied the Church Choir, but of late there hadn't been much of a choir. No, he wasnit triumphant. He wasn't even happy- The march ended suddenly and Old Tom sat back on the bench, his eyes closed, thinking,-thinking of his sixty years of service in the parish church at Kendal. He had never been paid anything, he didn't want that. All he wanted was the joy of sitting at his favorite instrument, the church organ. Sitting there now, Old Tom wondered what could be causing the poor attendance of the choir Was it his playing? No, it couldn't be that, for the men and boys had always complimented him. And he wasn't unfaithful. He had never missed a service during his sixty years there. It must be something else. Old Tom closed the organ, gathered up his music, and left the church. The brisk air made him feel better. He straightened his stooped shoulders and felt young again as he walked through the graveyard to the latchgate. Old Tom remembered the day he first walked through that latch- gate. He was young and strong then, and about to be married to the sweetest lass in all England , as Tom called her. Mary was still the cheery person she had been as a young girl, and she had made Old Tom happy. It was only lately that he was unhappy, and the choir had caused his grief. Tom loved England. He had never been outside the Lake District of Kendal, so that was the part of England that was dearest to him. Walking down the lane, one could look up at the near-by mountains and see tiny white dots moving about. They looked like moving snow flakes, but any native of Kendal knew they were sheep, grazing on the mountainside. The stone walls, built in olden times. formed a checkerboard on the high hills. Tom looked at all this and tried to forget his unhappiness, but his mind kept going back to the choir. Suddenly he came to a decision there in the lane. He would resign. Yes, that was the only thing to do. Maybe he wasn't wanted any more and the Choir didn't know how to get rid of him. He was old, going on eighty years, and perhaps a younger man would be better. Old Tom decided he would tell the Vicar Sunday evening after the Vesper Service. He lit his old pipe, and walked the rest of the way home deep in thought. Home to Old Tom was a little white-washed cottage with a thatched roof. As Tom opened the rickety gate he spied Mary in the garden, working on her flowers. The garden was Mary's favorite pastime, just as the organ was Tom's. Looking at Mary, one would not think her English. She was not tall and thin, characteristic of the average Englishwoman. She was short and The REFLECTOR 28

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The Cornell ll Know CELL Nole-The following article was written by john Gordon Dobson, an undergraduate at Cornell University. He was graduated from Clifton High School in june, 1931, and entered Cornell September, 1952. He is a member of the Editorial Board of the Come!! Daily Sznz, a student newspaper published daily except Sundays, by a board of 17 members without faculty control. Mr. Dobson is takingia mechanical Engineering course. The Editor hopes that more contributions of this nature will be received from graduates in the futurej HEN the name Cornell', is mentioned to most of my readers. I imagine that it will bring to their mind some indefinite place to the nprth or west of Clifton. If their knowledge goes farther, they may also have heard that it is far above Cayuga's waters . It has, of course, gained for me in the last two years a much more definite meaning. I know that it is 250 miles north-west of Clifton, at Ithaca, New Yorkg that it has 5600 students and over 1800 in the faculty and adminis- tration departments, that one can be so unfortunate as to have two successive classes in buildings over a mile apart on the campus, that the campus is 350 feet above Cayuga's waters and the town up the worst hill I've ever climbed. Cornell, to the undergraduate, is not a bunch of statistics like the above but a smooth flowing vibrant life in contact with men, both of the faculty and students, who are worth knowing and living with. I must admit, however, that the life is not so smooth flowing about the time of examinations and house parties. The University has taken its share of the attack that large institutions can never give the human contacts of the smaller college. This, I feel, is unfair. Cornell, to us who are a part of her, is not a milling mall of 6000 students as she has been painted, but rather a number of separate groups each with its own interest. We are in contact, not with the students of Cornell as such, but with educated people of similar interests. I doubt very much if you can name an activity in which you cannot flnd a fellow enthusiast in Ithaca. To illustrate this method of group association, let me run through a few examples. Better than 60 percent of the men live in fraternities so it is in these living and eating clubs that one makes his most intimate contacts. To be able to live for four years with boys from all over the country from all kinds of homes, gives the most valuable contacts and gives the most liberal education that I know of. Perhaps second stands the contacts made, in the class room and out, with the faculty members. Most of the faculty make it a point to entertain in their homes the outstanding students and give these students an opportunity to deal with the great minds of the campus. Third among these contacts, I would rank the life-long friendships