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

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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

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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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EXPENDABLE BY DAVID I-IoF1-'MAN Ill fff LONE Q 1 Q 5 Six words stood out on the front page of a large metropolitan newspaper. 'tUnited States Forces Retire on Luzonf' The sun beat down without mercy on the fox holes and slit trenches. Now and then a Japanese sniper,s bullet would whine over the head of an unwary American. The Japs are gaining on us. Prepare to retire to rear positionslv The order was passed from mouth to mouth, from slit trench to slit trench, from fox hole to fox hole. It was an order which was very often heard, perhaps too often. Break for the road! At the command, figures of crouching men darted up. The earth around them was being hurled high into the air. They made for a road that was impassable on both sides. When the last man had reached the road, an officer addressed a subordinate. Cover the road with a machine gun. Hold them off for as long as you can. Per- haps it will be a few minutes, or an hour, maybe . . . well, anyway, hold them. Any questions? S8