DeWitt Clinton High School - Clintonian Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

Page 25 text:

Fourteen years of being alive. A boy alive: a million of them in eirery country, of every race, creect, religion, anct I am one. Ii is all flung wide anrf far taut is still a mystery to me. Deatti. Xvtiat is ity Beyond, is ttiere onep I ctieg years from now, crustiect by a car, Heart, tang, liver, wtty cto I have to cliep Fourteen years of life. Parties . . . girts, tbe Weenie roast, ping-pong, back, back, sitting on tbe steps ttie First tong, rainy, fog-btactc day .... HFigt1t team tigbt., 7...6 KDe Witt C., ,... tbe tootbatt team cractcs tbrougb . . . no time to tbintc . . . in scboot and out: day upon ctay upon ctay . . . martcs . . . wortc, work, work . . . swinging tbrougti witb time, bard, tougb, btoctcing out everytbing but tbe pen and smett ot text-bootc paper . . . Tben: Armistice, Tbantfsgiving, a stretcb ot Hat grinct . . . Ctiristmas . . . Nbfterry New Yeart, ,... Two parties . . . rigbt bactc . . . A buttet sbot ttirougb tbe tbirct term . . . mecbanicatt, tve ctone it, every minute, tiour, steacty, pounding, pouring, beating, ink anct ruters, ptung- ing it into me, Engtisb, Frencb, Bio, tearning, ctritting, exptocting tbe otct tbougbt, rivers ot tbe new one stream- ing ctown into my brain, a cross-current ot mittions ot minutes, atoms, numbers, I am spinning in a roaring stream .... June cties suctctenty at tbis gictcty pace: tbe tast ctay, tbe tast nigbt, ctanc- ing, parties, girts, cigarettes on tbe sicte: tbe twetttb . . . sixteentb . . . August, smacking time in tbe face .... September, spinning into tbe two- year martc . . . a ctactcing routette ot tcateictoscopic speect anct cotor . . . Wttbe Rest-anct-Btactct, ,... SL. men . . . footbatt practice . . , eating ctirt . . . bitting tbem down into tbe cteat-ground green . . . Spirit . . . Drive . . . Burning . . . sweating your guts away two bours in tbe cotct, rain-soatcect afternoons . . . ctasses tumbting into one: tbintc wbat itys att about, a stop, time to matte it ctear, to uncterstanct, but no, not now, youtve got to keep soctiing, ptugging, tearing, no rest, itts just one, two. tbree, tour, up anct clown, titce a robot .... LATE SQUAD LIBRARY SQUAD

Page 24 text:

LUNCH- ROOM OFFICERS i I I SERVICE LEAGUE OFFICERS Quivering, coId, afraid, and dressed in baggy Icnickers . . . trudging up to tbe main entrance tbat bIistery, snow a-foot-deep-bigb day in February 55... Xvbat wiII it bep XViII tbey IiIce meI7 I'Iow sIiouId I act7 . . . grown up, brave, donyt Iet tbem see bow scared . . . ready to Iet tbe tears stream out . . . Ilve got to bite my Iip and IioId tbem in: even if it bteeds, tbey Iiave to see not a bawIing Icid, but one tbat bas tbe guts to bite off I1aIt a Iip to Iceep from sobbing . . . A Iaerd of cattIe . . . IittIe men . . . stubfed into a room. Tbis is it. CIinton . . . rigbt smacIq in tbe midst of it . . . :Stop tI1attaII4ingIU . . . 'Tbis is bigb scbooI, not a nurseryIn . . . :Fro- gram., I... Vxfberef . . . Wbatp . . . Yvbenp . . . I'Iow7 . . . numbers danc- ing before my eyes . . . ist period . . . 1, 2, 5, 4, 5, 6 . . . a Iiundred miIIion names, noises, teacbers . . . notebooIc . . . HG.Q.H cut rate . . . Frencb . . . Civics . . . Science . . . tbe wboIe worIcs tumbIing, crasbing down . . . DeIaney Cards . . . music . . . RT .... uniform, sneaIcers, IocIc, pants, socIcs . . . a wI1irI- ing, maddened jumbIe screaming into time and space .... Tbe montbs ride by on swift wings . . . system sIowIy . . . smootbing . . . caIming . . . Do I Icnow wbat it,s aII aboutp . . . Senior, tbat,s tbe great tbing . . . Vxfiii I ever get tberep . . . montb: Marcb . . . cIean, crisped, windy, tbe grass tuII-bIown, waving down tI1e Iengtb of IVIosboIu . . . ApriI: mid-terms . . . cramming . . , burning tbat midnigbt oiI . . . Easter, a rest, Iong bours out of it aII . . . IVIay: days Hitting witb sun-sbadows pIaying against tbe sIate waIIs of CIinton . . . June: warm, Ianguid, poIisI'1ing off tIie subjects witb jqnesse, tbe Ineat and smeII and eIectric rumbIi,ng of tbe eI. Tbe Iast days ot scbool, witb two montbs abead of tbe cooI green waterg tennis: basebaII: out in tbe Iresb bot sun: Icnowing, IeeIing, boping, as swarms of tbougbt wbirI inside my brain . . . .Iune ends: IiIce a sbeet of steeI bIocIcing off tbe rest: tbrowing sparIcs on tbe sbimmering bot unknown future ....

Page 26 text:

y yy A Aq, G .O. EXECUTIVE COUNCIL Decemher, the coId, freezing hite of the winds . . . Novemher, stiff staIks of I-Iarvest wheat and turkey . . . Qctoher, Iong twiIight shadows-1 My God, what happened to yesterdayp Like a revoIving door: HHappy Christmask, New Year . . . same girIs . . . same soft hair, and Iips . . . same parties. . . . But where are those streaming ideas: those pungent First-term ideaIsP Those mature, massive thoughts of death, Ioeyondfa Buried down deep heneath the speed and tearing coIor of the days. Sunday night . . . a soIemn night, quiet, time to reIaX and understand . . . Now under the yeIIow gIow of the Iamp, in the aIoneness of the kitchen with penciI and paper hetore me and text hooks stacked on the hare surface of the tahIe . . . I can work diIigentIy, catch up with those Iost hours of waste and speed and girIsg I can write down the numhers with sIowness and thought. YeIIing from the window . . . UI3arty.H Come down and join the fun, free for aII, sweII time, sweII gaI, HI'Iey, you gonna gIue your eyes to those hooks for the rest of your Iitepy ,... A spIit-second of thought. To go or not to go. that is the question. fSmooth crackj . . . SIamming the hooks. Hcoming hoys, he right downf, Un the dark stairs, step hy step, smoothing the new grey fedora . . . Why am I going7 Xvhyp . . . The throhhing heat of conscience: Heading tor an awIuI 1CaII, a crack-up, it,s coming, coming, coming, take it easy. watch your step . . . No . . . not me . . . shake it otli . . . HI'Iere I am hoys, rarin, to go., J... Back Iate, no home work done, the sour taste of cigarettes, throw mysehf on the hed. Youyve done it .... Unprepared again . . . zero, zero, zero, mounting on the record-hooks . . . no work done, snap out of it: conscience hattering in that hidden corner of my hrain . . . DAY OF RECKCNING. . . .