Columbia School - Hourglass Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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stands. He walked deiectedly, his head bent over. Even theflashing of the bold neon lights could not penetrate this mood. A drooping form, he walked up the old hillof the city to the house where he had been born. The street was changed, too. Where was the tree by the last bend in the road where Cousin Angelo had had the mishap with the basket of olives? Soon appeared a bullet-beaten structure, empty and neglected . Passino moved about the house, cherishing everysmall bitof fami l iarity. As evening drew her shade and the declining sun set a blanket of soft, rich jewels upon the Mediterranean, his thoughts began to unravel . He had awaited these moments for almost a half century, but now, what was it that he felt? Until this moment, Passino had thought of Italy as his home and had often dreamed of the ioy of returning. But the reality was different, not as he had imagined it would be. His thoughts turned back across the Atlantic. Down on the next level of the hill, a bell tolled twice, and soon voices from the old orphanage proclaimed with exaltation the glorious Ave Maria , the same Ave Maria he had listened to in his small church in Amer- ica. As if an angel had blown a response to Passino, he felt theanswer in his heart. Amer- ica was his home too. Penny Critikos, '55 DISCOVERY The seventh house in the long row of tene- ments is hers. She is a small thin girl, red hair trying to curl around her delicate, rather peeked, face. Slumped on the front step, thoughts run through her mind. Resentful, sullen thoughts. How she hates this shabby street. On the broken cement sidewalk a man shuffles his way home. He is her next-door neighbor and she has never seen him look any- thing but tired and wan. A quick pity reaches her when she notices him, but it is quickly blotted out by scorn . lt isn't her fault that he leads the kind of life he does. lf he had tried hard enough, things would not have been as they are now. He turns wearily up the short dirt path leading to the door, by which some spring flowers are trying bravely to survive. The man stops and looks tenderlydown atthem. He stands there for a few minutes and then, as if on impulse, stoops down, all ofa sudden no longer tired, and gathers two or three. Then on into the dingyinterior he goes, carrying the pitiful little bouquet as if itwere made ofgold. The small girl looks after him with a mix- ture of pity and scorn. But her eyes are drawn from him bytwo small boys a few houses down. They are fighting and then the smaller one runs crying to his home. The other boy stands watch- ing him for a moment and then runs after him, calling. The one who is crying stops and turns. The older child comes up to him, followed by a small brown mongrel pup. The girl watches with wonder as their differences are forgotten in their simple ioy over this dog. Can it be that the life here on the street, on which she has lived as long as she can remember, has its own joys and moments of happiness? No, she quickly puts this passing thought out of her mind . There is no joy in their dreary life. Across the street, at one of the most run- down houses of the entire street, a poor boy selling magazines pauses, and then rings the doorbell. A shabby woman comes to the door. She looks compassionately at the poor hungry- looking young boyand invites him in. In a few minutes he emerges, pocketing some change and wearing a grateful smile. It is getting dark and the lights are begin- ning to go on in the houses. From her seat on the still warm cement block, she can see into the houses clearly. The windows with the cracked panes reveal bare light bulbs which shed a ghastly and terrifyingly realistic light on the water-streaked wallpaper and empty bookcases. She tears her eyes away, stinging with tears ofself-pity, and thinks passionately that she will escape from here sometime and never come back. She will forget all these people. What did they ever do for her? Had they ever had any happiness, or brought hap- piness into anyone's life? She thinks again. No, her parents are kind,

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into the darkness carrying a dream and a hope for next year. The campers then filed slowly to their cabins as we stared thoughtfully after them. Over the water we sang to them, hoping that they would hear and understand the words which meant so much to us: Remember beside the campfire, Remember when you're away, Remember the friends you've made here, . . .Remember where 'ere you wander . . . Yes, remember.. .remember and be glad that you've shared a bit of beauty in a world of excitement and nervous activity. From the diving float familiar words followed us as we paddled away. The Norway counselors had heard our song and had understood: Should old acquaintance be forgot... My paddle dipped, circled, and dipped again while I thought of this significant thread of understanding between strangers brought into acquiescence by the beauty and peace of the moment. Peggy Foxall, '54 CIRCLE The gong rang twelve. Darkness, The mystery of night, Blackness, A dreary, empty city to behold . It was night. The clock struck six. Now, light. Gone was the fear Of the night A peaceful, serene city to see, It was dawn . The clock chimed noon . Day, Clearness of step, People gay, A busy, happy city now. It was day. The gong rang twelve . Darkness, The mystery of night, Blackness, A dreary, empty city to behold. It was night. Nancy Lowenthal, '54 HOME Antony Passino, an elderly man with dart- ing eyes, stood on the dock, dressed in awell- fitted navy suit, gleaming maroon tie, and highly polished black shoes. But behind his lustrous facade dwelled a bewildered antici- pation . The docks were active with the usual bust- ling and busy-ness of the docking of the ocean liners from the United States. Shouts in several languages sped about among the thronged crowd which stood behind a heavy cord. Passino's eyes flashed hurriedly, as he looked around in confusion . With a small bag in one hand and his passport and papers clutched tightly in the other, he moved. It seemed as though a strong undercurrent rushed him to the custom's office . With hesitation in his voice he spoke in Italian to the efficient officers. The imposing movement of the dock was being left behind now. Taxi horns blasted in the narrow, cobbled streets, and dark-haired policemen blew their whistles furiously in an attempt to untangle the impatient traffic. Beyond this scene ofcommotion, the quiet, tired buildings of Genoa patiently, like the old retired fishermen, listened and observed new life . Time hurried by as Passino wandered among the streets and markets which were all that he had known forty-eight years ago Now that he was at the place which he had longed for so often, he realized that it was not as he had left it. Instead of the colorful vender, shouting i0CUnd songs about his wares, he saw symmetrical buildingsaligned along the narrow walks, with glassy lettering spelling brand names of breakfast cereals, electric heating blankets, and radios. The music of the organ grinder had faded and in its place was the harsh blasting of car horns and radios. Across the street from the big church where flower stalls stood there was now a cluster ofcheap souvenir

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even though always tired. It is dark now and her father should be coming home from his tire- some iob selling magazines on the downtown street corners. She turns and searches the dark, narrow street for his figure. Five minutes pass. Ten. Then he comes into sight. How tired his face looks and yet how kind and understand- ing! She wonders if he hates the tenements and small grassless yards as much as she. He turns up the walk, bends down and kisses her on the forehead. She follows him into the house. A few minutes later, the family sits down for their supper. There are six children besides herself. She picks up her fork and then puts it down again. Between her parents has iust passed a proud and tender and loving look . Theirdaugh- ter suddenly realizes of what they are proucl, and strangely enough, she also is proud of her family and their life. As she turns and looks happily upon all of them, she picks up her fork. Jane Knight, '55 THE DOLL THAT SAVED THE DAY Nan Dennis was scratching in the dirt with a stick. N. D. Then the date - I775. There! That was how her sampler would look. With roses all around the border. Nan, come here, called her mother. Nan ran into her house. Her mother continued, l have had word thatyour father was captured by theRedcoats. He is in a campalmost a mile from here. His general has sent me a very im- portant note which is in code. He also gave me this doll. You see, its head screws off. It is hollow inside. Listen carefully. The note I will put inside . You must go to the camp where your father is being held . Secretly unscrew the top of the doll and slip him the note. He will be able to read. it. Do not let anyone see you do this, even the other prisoners . I have packed your lunch, for you must go now. Nan put on her sweater, got the doll and her lunch, and kissed her mother goodbye. She started down the road feeling very much afraid . All sorts of terrible possibilities could happen. She shuddered! It was getting hot. Nan took off her sweater. The-road was awfully hot and dusty. Nan decided to eat lunch. She was so thirsty! At three o'clock she reached the camp . There were little tents among the trees. Where are you going? asked a man pok- ing his head out of a tent. l'm going to see my father who is being held here, she answered. Where is the pris- oners' tent? The man showed her and she ran in . Fa- ther, Father, when will you come home? she asked as she burst into his arms. l've started a sampler and you must see it! When the war is over, I will come home, he replied, and then added, lf ever it is! Nan secretlyunscrewed the head. Even her father hadn't noticed. She slipped her fingers down into the doll and brought out the paper. Then she screwed up the head. It worked! Nan then held her father's hand, putting the paper into it. After a while, Nan kissed her father good- bye and ran out. She ran skipping happily down the road with the empty doll. She had delivered the message and her mother had promised a cherry pie when she returned . Julie Harding Grade 7 WHICH TROPHY? ltwas Friday night, the night before the most importantevent in the Alaskan year that is, the event most important to the Alaskan boys. Once a year on the last Saturday in December a big dog race was held . Only boys who were between the ages of twelve and eighteen and who had owned and cared for their own dog teams for at least three months could participate in this race. The race this year was especiallyimportant to Rob Jackson, an American boy who had been living in Alaska for three years. When he was eleven, he had come to Alaska with his parents and his two younger sisters. The family had liked their new home so much that they had decided to settle down and remain there per- manently, much to Rob's delight. This year was the first year he would be eligible for the race,