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

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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. . . .

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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

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BOARD OF GOVERNGRS Gut of the future, the midterm, the Final week of plunging across . . . Cram . . . cram . . . hiting on the sharp pencil point . . . Outline. Review. tve got to pass . , . Got to. . .. Itys come: FLUNK, 2 out of 5. How can I face them: mother, dad, excuse, what to sayp Somehow the days pass, and everything smooths itself out. it think, stowty, caretuuy, now. Xvhat have 1 accomphshed: foothau, SL. Squad, what can they mean with a 72 averagef Have I any reat teacher-friends7 Do the fellows like meg or are they only pretendingp Have I 'lived tuuyp is there an improvementp Xvhat have I done with two-and-a-halt yearsp Thirteen to fifteen: I have heen in the Service League, the toothau squad: and a 72 average. I used to think when I was in ifirst term. I didnt know what a cigarette tasted like then. I didnt know girts, I was shy, htushing like the devit when I spoke to anyone. I couidnjt dance, I was htunt .... Dad, teu me ahout myself . . . Shrewd, matured, father sinks hack in his chair . . . Five . . . Ten minutes pass quietly, softly . . . tong-thought-of words that seem to How from him . . . I sit and listen: true, tetting words, ctear advice, the ifirst reat wisdom in these two years. From eight tiu ten. The icirst hours Vve spent with my dad in a tong white. Thanks. Thatys au I can say or think. Thanks, dad. Qver two months, the long Summer cools and hardens my thoughts: time to think things out, to understand the fundamentals ot good and had. Time to appreciate my mother and dad: time to reahze their sacriticesg time to strengthen vivid new ideals. Time: time to took ahead: to make them proud: to crystatize some glowing amhition. Like diving from a high steepte into the rushing water, chithng you,