Dominican College of San Rafael - Firebrand Yearbook (San Rafael, CA)

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with you? Do you want to stay in this hole, month after month, just lying around, instead of being outside where the air is fresh and the sun warm? You could be out there getting inspiration for some composition, or something. Tom: (Slowly sits up and looks at her) Compose? Nurse: Of course. You should have been outside today, son, with most of the leaves turning yellow. August is the most beautiful month of the year, and you ' re missing it. How many pieces could you com- pose telling about the slow turn of the leaves from green to gold? An Atitumn Song, or something. Tom: Autumn Nocturne. (Gets up on his el- bow.) You ' re right. I can almost hear it now without even seeing the trees . . . Autumn Nocturne. Nurse: (Sniffs and gets up) Where ' s that bottle of cod-liver oil? You ' re not getting out of it any longer. (She goes swiftly out of the right door.) Tom: (Whispering) You know, fellows, she ' s not so bad. Henry: (Heartily) Good boy. Mike: Check. Harry: (C huckling) Hard hearted female. Marguerite Lussier ' 47 110

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Nurse: (Softly) Thomas, Thomas . . . time to take your temperature. (She pulls down the blankets a bit, revealing a blonde, tousled head. She sits down in the chair beside the bed.) Now look here, son, it ' s been a good four weeks now, and never once have I shown you my iron hand, now, have I? (A muffled sound is heard from Tom) As a matter of fact, I ' ve been most lenient, but now I think it ' s about time we got some things straightened out. To be frank, I think it ' s just aboiU time that you were learning to walk again. You ' re needed, and badly, on the outside. Tom: (In a bitter voice, raising his head a bit) Help? How can I be of any help, ever again? Nurse: So that ' s what ' s bothering you now, is it? And all the time I thought you were really sick. You disappoint me, Thomas Dewey. (Very soberly she looks down at his upraised face.) You know your fel- low companions over there, don ' t you? (She motions towards the other beds) Well, I don ' t like to give them too much credit, but all of them were worse off than you . . . much. But what ' s old Blain going to do? He ' s starting a night club for poor suckers. And what ' s young Mike going to do? He will be a big engineer in a few years. And Kline? He ' ll be teaching history again in a few months. And what about you? I, ah, hear you play the piano. Well, you still can. What ' s the matter 109

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MY SAN FRANCISCO NO ONE who has ever crossed the bridge that spans the Golden Gate and seen across the blue waters of the bay the city of San Francisco rising on its twenty-nine hills will ever forget the sense of magic that stiperb view inspires. Familiarity does not dim this sensation, for this jeweled city has many facets. Seen through the fog that rolls in from the Pacific Ocean it has the shadowy charm of Camelot. There is a bit of all the world in San Francisco. Chinatown, with its fantastic pagoda roofs, its dazzling show windows displaying rich brocades and beautiful rare jade, with its narrow streets and alleys echoing to the spiked heels of high school girls and the clop- clop of the wooden sandals worn by the ancient Chinese waiters with trays upon their heads, is a world in itself. Little Italy, clustered about the magnificent Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, boasts the finest restaurants in the world. To hear the fishermen sing- ing Santa Lucia in the early morning as they put their boats out to sea, is ample compensation for rising in the invigorating chill of dawn. Coit Tower, the despair of artists, does not keep them from making their homes on the slope of Telegraph Hill, where they can watch the ever-changing panorama of the 111