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

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'i Q., - yf., . .,, W , :I ,N f UP I: l ml .I ff 7 f . f ff 11 'm 'Iu 1 K ie Z 'I wf h'N fs 5 A NN , ,, I I A 1 I 1 'fx X k AL 'E A lf, y K W 4 -. as C Z sq I I I W ki 'xv X , A x , X - I , I ' , amy f 1 1 IL D 'figagf I ily X f R xg -V' A i.. j I K H 1, ll 0 0 .. A IFIIIFTJEIEN BY PAULINE NEWMAN I am an impotent Fifteen, .imprisoneil by Time Only fifteen, when the Wforlcl fries for men anzl women, Cries, sereams, falls to heazfen For men anal women. Hel pless, hapless ffteen: Not young enough to he im mersea' in play Ohlizfio-ns to reality 5 Not olil enough to grasp with firm hanzls The sworal of Liberty Or Death. Come, dear, anal knit this soek, Anal folfl this gauze The while the clock Withozit a pause Tielzs off the livesg Perhaps my hrother's among the others. Fifteen, I sleep alt home in down-y quilts, My table ileelzea' with Copeland ware: While Twenty sweats and thirsts and burns In roaring hell of gas anel flame No matter where he turns, Ami fights and flies, In seas and jungles Over There. Fifteen, and all I do is prayg Dear God, at last when vietor3 s come, At last, when Liberty is won, Wloezz Peace and Brotherhood are true, Not mere aspirings of a dreaming few, Give me strength to Cherish with nz y life This Freedom bought with worldtorn strife. air if 'I xr 3 K - ,v A 1 X t' Y 1 y X J iii X -,,-4-'5 'O S 1 F, V!-A 1 X I . s X5 I 1 .I 'Q ff? S. , W al-f ?T-:4Tg' . Q - : T - 1 r , 'V I-1 ' i - fg 'L s Q iff' :Et ,Q 45 1 Q J - i' v .4 I 5 C , ' ' Ar, A T ie TT 6. :'g1RlII:iAuiiu- 'T' 1.2, ,kr I muuf ss ll! L 1 f'f-- - '3' EY! IKA 3 213: e, , if ,nl 'T ' - .'.4 l4f .2 ' IW' .5 , C S - Li -.N XX xl X N YU f ' . fn' - m 4 i I Q misfit f im. ll

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When I was just a local guy, The girl that I adored In my presence yawned away, And seemed completely bored. Knee-deep in sundry other heaux, She gave me not a glance, But flashed her smile the other way 5 I didn't have a chance. The busy line I always got, W'hen I pleaded for a date. Every time I asked her out, It seemed I was .too late. And thus I worshipped from afar, Worship ped all in vain. Others may know joy in love, I only knew the pain. Then came the draft, away I went, To march and drill and train, Then, trim in army olive drah, I went hack home again. I chanced to meet my lady love, This time she was not cool, My unifonm intrigued the gal, But I, I was no fool. I saw her eye my three proud stripes, The insignia I sported, And suddenly I scorned ,the miss I once had vainly courted. Love me not just in khaki, For when we've won this war, And I'm only a civilian, You will drop me as hefore. Beware, oh fickle lady Who goes for things G. I. For the girl who's khaki-wacky Will he left alone to cry. A SOLDIER SPEAKS BY ADELAIDE SCHIFF

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, W f LIFE'S DARKEST MOMENT l ' 17 ii a Agia ' J il BY MARTIN POLAN Once in every term comes the dreaded day when teachers have their troubles get- ting senior classes to order, although bells may ring and salmons wave. Everybody is hanging on somebody else's neck, yelling, Let's see yours or Mine are awful! How are yours?', All students despise Regents and detention, but something more terrify- ing than either of these awaits every senior-the taking of senior pictures, and getting back the proofs. The photographers are confronted with many types of seniors. First, there's the one who poses a la Napoleon, and try as he may, the photographer is unable to change the pose. Then there are the glamour girls who experiment with new hair styles re- sembling the Empire State or the Chrysler Building, coiffures which usually topple over at the strategic moment. There's, always the bright boy who decides to grow a mustache or get a crew haircut for the occasion. Whatever your particular mode of preparation has been, when you enter the room fthe boys' emergency room generously donated by Mr. Luft and magically trans' formed into a studioj you are met by a barrage of cards to be filled out. You want to cooperate, but you are so excited that you can't hold the pen. Having completed the job by hook or by crook, you are told to relax and be yourself - as if that were possible. You are then seated on a piano stool behind powerful white lights and in front of a white screen, which makes you feel as though you are about to receive the third degree. The great moment has come. The photographer puts the black hood over his head, tells you Hold it! and snap! It's all over, for better or worse. Now you can go back to history, physics or English, and worry about fbem. Some Hne morning in section, after about three weeks of suspense, you are handed a small booklet which reads Blank Studios. At the first glance inside, you are sure a mistake has been made-but no. You discover a family resemblance to yourself. You have no time for careful contemplation of your portrait, you are soon mobbed by your classmates screaming Let's see!', The class bursts into hilarious mirth. You aren't too much disturbed, though-you'll have your chance at them later. No, you're not alone in your glory. Some of the remarks you hear aren't overenthusiastic: The camera wasnlt in focus , Look at that awful shadowing , Which,ll I choose for The Dolphin? A little comic relief is always afforded by the joker who manages to borrow some of the pictures and decorate them with mustaches and vandykes. However, if this ordeal is part of your future instead of your past, be not dis- mayed, it is one of life's great experiences! 64