Far Rockaway High School - Dolphin Yearbook (Far Rockaway, NY)

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Nature is a paintboxg God is just a boy 5 And this world at which we marvel Is just His little toy. The clouds above are whipped cream Srneared across blue silk. The deep brown bay u covers SIMPLIFIED PHILOSOPHY Is rippling chocolate milk. Q BY LEO SELIGSOHN Heaven's little windows Are the stars we see at night. The moon is heaven's beacon Guiding angels with its light. Meteors are spitballs That the angels throw around. And valleys are the wrinkles In an old and tired ground. I The morning sun reflects the gloom of night Ana' day is but an eternity of emptiness. There are a million voices shouting, The world is good - But I will always laugh a cynic's laugh For I know differently. A cloudless sky will not free me From the inner clouds Which blot out all laughter and gaiety. The path I leave behind is somber BY Where before was light. There can be no joy SANDRA BERNSTEIN' For I am md. II What does it matter if the earth tells of some future storm? The sun shines through a thousand clouds And rain speaks not of tears but laughter, overfull. The world may cry that it is sad and often hurt, And I will smile and think how wrong it is As I know naught of grimness or of pain. The path I leave behind is light Where somberness once was. There can be no sorrow For I, today, am glad. S6

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SOUVENIRS BY EMILIE KLIGIERMAN The author of this essay writes from personal experience. She came to this conu- try from Belgium three years ago, and has attended Far Rockaway for two years.-- Ea'itor's Note English homework . . . how many more words would she have to look up in the well-thumbed dictionary? M. Edmund Burke certainly spoke fancy English! Wearily, she wrote down the meaning of incubus, put away The Landmarks of Liberty and took up a history book. Funny how reading history late at night made you feel drowsy! Impossible to concentrate . . . a few words: General Giraud . . . DeGaulle. How queer these words sound in the mouths of Americans! With a smile, she repeated them easily, in her musical language: DeGaulle, Giraudf' Oh yes, it still seemed like a fantastic dream. She thought of the questions that still made her laugh. Belgium? Oh yes! They speak Belgian there, don't they? And when she had said they spoke French there, the almost spontaneous: Par-r-r-llay vous Francais? Or else the puzzled ones asked, Did you wear wooden shoes? How did it feel to live in a little village, always Wearing a costume? They were still more amazed when they learned she had lived in a big city, worn clothes a la Americainef' and even gone to high school. There were also those with a lot of patriotism who said, Didn't your heart beat when you saw the Statute of Liberty?', Yes, her heart did beat, not because of the majestic chef-d' oeuvre of Bartholdi, but at the thought of finally getting to this new country, far away from the threat of Nazi tyranny. It felt nice, thinking of it all. It gave her a queer sensation at the pit of her stomachg she was relaxed, the way people are after they have sighed deeply. just im- agine! The first few days, she was even afraid to go down to the candy store Camaz- ing place, selling ,many, many things besides candyj and buy stamps. And the first day in high school Uames Munroe High Schoolj . . . it was big, so very big, so very American. That day, she had gone in the elevator with her guide, but afterward she walked through the big halls, trying to find the rooms, after another look at a little white card always clutched in her hand, what they', called program card. Why were the rooms so oddly numbered, 312 or 411, instead of 8 or 9? But everything was big, even numbers. In her classes it was pretty tough to get along, always saying, I do not know any Engleesh! every time people rattled off, speaking so fast, with accents that sounded all alike, and intonations that made a funny little song to her ears so used to the French language. The students, too, were amazin . Bo s wearin om adours, and those funn I 1 , g Y g P P , Y suits, some one said were Zoot suits -no more of those now! As for the girls, they were a pretty sight, wearing gaily-colored clothes, and wearing make-up and oh, such fC0l1f. on p. 665 S5

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,- ' KID STUFF fav '95 TX. BY DAVID SEGAL Q f I'm not excited. I'm perfectly calm and collected. just because my face is purple -well, how do you like mothers who bring five-year old children to concerts, and park them next to you? Ihad expected to spend a quiet, restful evening until I saw faim there. He had a martyred look on his face that spoke of deep inward suffering. Later in the evening that look was transferred to the audience immediately surrounding him. During the first number he was rather calm. He just kept time to the music by banging his heels on the back of his seat. That would not have been so bad if he had kept time accurately. Or even inaccurately! But, no, his diabolical mind conceived of a far more hideous plan. His time was almost, but not quite, accurate. It was just enough off so that you were brought up with a start after every measure. He kept this up so pugnaciously that finally I found myself wondering who was wrong, the Boston Symphony Orchestra or my young neighbor. In the middle of the next number, which was a particularly heavy one, he asked his mother fin a loud, clear voice that reverberated through the hall, and awoke the man sleeping in the last row of the second balconyj Where's the drinking fountain? Half the audience screamed Shhhh, then the other half shhh,d the first half. By this time the boy had climbed through the aisle, gone to the rear of the hall, climbed back to his seat and Whispered, I can't find it. His mother got up, showed him the way, then returned and sat down again. Shortly, but not quietly, the lad returned. Then came the intermission. What a look of rapture spread over his face! Time to go home? he asked hopefully. I took a sadistic pleasure in watching his face fall when he learned that his suffering was only half over. Durin the second half he chan ed his tactics, and contented himself with 'ust I g 1 u g I u I being bored and chanting in a low monotone, Time to go home, time to go home? Soon his unfortunate neighbors were wishing with all their might that it was time to ,, go home. At long last his mother looked at her watch, bundled him up, and yanked him off. Now I could listen in peace. I slumped back and comfortably prepared myself for the joys to come. At that moment Dr. Koussevitsky lowered his baton. The con- cert was over. P S7