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

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SONG OF TWO LOVES BY KENNETH COHEN He sfopped bmi once in fbe ligbi of fbe moon Tbai played on ibe sea by fbe way, Wbere zfbe eresfs, like glass, would sbaiier and sfnasb, Wbere eyes would dance in fbe spray. Tben be followed ibe sand fo tbe knoll by ibe strand Unnzinding tbe breeze from ibe sea, And bis stride was long, bis sfep was sfrong To wbere bis darling would be. Wbile ibe sky looked down on ibe billoel2's crown He siood wifb bis love and ibe sea. Wbere ibe moon laid ber beams across .ibe sound He was happy-I know- I was be. Susie's Dilemma CCont. from P. S45 She grabbed a tissue and took the make-up off her face. Her mind went back to Windy and her age. Life was terrible. To be or not to be. She undressed and slipped into an old flannel robe. She'd go down to the kitchen and have a snack. She went into the kitchen, and there was her mother with a sailor. Oh, he was cute, he had uit. It was much better than oomph. Susie, her mother said, This is Wally. Wally, did you say Wally? Are you sure it's not Windy? No, ma'am, my name is Wally. Wallace Rebenton Jones, to be exact. I'm Rickey's brother. Rickey was Jimmie's friend. This was his brother, the one who wanted to meet her. They were baking a cake, her mother and he. Would you like to join us, Miss Susie? Wally asked. Yes, I'd like to, very much, said Susie, with a glint in her eyes. Who was Windy? Who was Alan Ladd? Who was Frank Sinatra? This is Wally, Susie thought. Life was wonderful. 65

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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

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Souplime to Ridiculous QCont. from P. 60D First tip the soup plate toward the rear so that if anything goes wrong, the liquid will spill either on the tablecloth or into the unwilling but dependable lap of the person sitting opposite you. Now come exhibit A, the pump, and exhibit B, the drill. The latter is used for drilling holes in the soup plate. Considering the size of the average pump, it would be extremely diiiicult to manipulate it by hand, especially if your neighbor is lefthandedg therefore, pipes and pedals are connected to the pump which is operated by the foot like an old-fashioned sewing machine. CEd. Note: This article was written before shoe rationing.j The pipes in the pump are adjusted in the holes made by the drill and the machine is now in working order. Of course all of this pre- liminary work is done before the hot soup is poured into the plate, otherwise the soup may pass down into the pipes, thereby giving the innocent diner what is commonly called a hot foot. If the apparatus is correctly employed, as the foot treads upon the pedal, the liquid in the plate is forced up into the pump by pressure, and the soup squirts out through a special nozzle. Obviously, the mouth of the person must be placed at a 1800 angle to the mouth of the pump or else the soup will, unfortunately, not reach the desired destination. Happily, one does not need a complicated mathe- matical equation for the best results, the sole essential tool being a 12-inch Board of Education ruler which one of the art teachers will gladly donate for this use. If, by chance, a ruler is not obtainable by this method, I possess one which I shall gladly lend for one package of dehydrated soup. s , In conclusion, I offer humble apologies to Orson Welles and the manufacturers of Cambellis Soups for any sales losses they may suffer as a result of the wide-spread use of my invention. Sozwenairs CCOnt. from P. 555 fancy hair-do's. All of it seemed a dream. Even when she walked home from school, the houses all alike in some streets, the numbers at the corners, the square, flat side- walks, all seemed imaginary. How could she be here? No, she would wake up any minute. But how silly! Of course it was all real. The ocean separated her from the objects of homesickness, and it was no use hurting herself, recalling them. That history homework! What! Already 11:30? She closed her books. To- morrow, in section and lunch, she would catch up on the rest. It wasn't three years ago any more. Now, she could read and write easily, and even, in casual talk, be some- times mistaken for an American, which gave her a great thrill. Oh, yes, now she knew why the Statue of Liberty made her heart beat . . . .51 'PLAY The Tramp CCon1f. from P. 615 I can not stay anywhere, but I must go. You have been very kind to me these last three weeks, John. Good bye. isl- U -',' Yaroslav turned to the closet, took out his box of paints and walked out, closing the door slowly after him. 66