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

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The Lost Art of F ainting ll ,. ' ' 0 O A iq , 4 ' if v 591 A N I fi , te - .4 I -- J -Joan Schusterman Has anyone ever actually taken time out from the trivial happenings in the average every-day life to contemplate the fact that no longer do people faint? That is, they no longer indulge in fainting-for-a-purpose. Time was when a well-executed faint could change an entire course of events. A graceful slump to the floor could decide a person's fate. A suppressed moan and a slowly crumpling body could change the history of the world. Why then, you will ask, has the art of fainting become virtually extinct? This is a very disturbing question and one which is difficult to answer. Not having actual proof of the origin of fainting, I shall have to do some oonjecturing. The first faint must have been used in the era of cavemen. A caveman, let us suppose, orders his wife to haul into their cave the results of his day's hunting which consists of some one hundred pounds of meat. The wife, complying with her husband's wishes, starts to rush to the mouth of the cave but her flight is interrupted when she trips and falls over a rock, striking her head on the wall. Her husband then has no alternative than to haul the load into the cave himself. Thereafter, wifey dear, whenever asked to perform a similar duty, immediately throws herself upon the ground in a dead faint, forcing Mr. Caveman to perform the loathsome task himself. However, even a cave woman can cry Wolf once too often and eventually friend husband, to use a colloquialism, catches wise and whenever he finds her lying on the floor, seizes her by the ears and forces her to do as he says. In the seventeenth century the art of fainting reached its peak when the court ladies learned its technique and proceeded to adopt and use it to gain their own ends. Picture a king in majestic array condemning to death a man who has com- mitted a ghastly crime. A beautiful lady-in-waiting fin alliance with the con- demnedl utters a low wail and, throwing her right arm up into the air, slumps gracefully to the floor. The king, his heart filled with compassion, pardons the condemned man. The latter immediately approaches the lady, wrings her hand warmly and strenuously thumps her on the back, by way of thanking her. He then proceeds about his own business. After this stunt has been successfully accomplished several times, the king realizes its purpose, thus exhibiting his amazing intelligence. After this, when a lady in his court faints, he either calmly ignores her, or has an attendant throw a pitcher of ice water in her face. After this, the art of fainting was resorted to by all types of people, whether or not they were qualified to use it. One must realize that this science should have been used only by the most polished and subtle, those who were absolutely I 'WWISGAWMF

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Veteran, World War II - -Blossom Neufeld On January 3, 1946, Lieutenant George Stacey came home to stay after serving overseas for two years in the United States Army. Two weeks later, George Stacey, civilian, was the most disillusioned veteran ever to walk the streets of New York. It was a fine afternoon. The sun was brilliant, and not a cloud was in sight. Men whistled as they went to work, and older women walked with a new spring in their steps. It was the sort of day when all seemed right with the world. But the young man sitting on a bench in a park looked as though he carried all the burdens of the world upon his shoulders. Although he was a handsome boy with dark hair and smoldering brown eyes, his face reflected discouragement of the deepest degree. There he slouched, hands thrust into his pockets, and head sagging dejectedly on his chest. The man was George Stacey. George was thinking of the things that had happened since his homecoming, two weeks before. Upon arriving at the old white house on Chestnut Street after his long absence, George had been given the welcome he had dreamed about every night on the ship while coming home. He had not been able to conceal his disappointment, however, upon discovering that the room that had been his ever since he was a youngster, was now occupied by his older brother and his wife. At first this had aroused a feeling of anger in George. He resented the intrusion into this room which held countless happy memories for him-many dating back to his childhood. But his overwhelming happiness at being reunited with his family had overshadowed all else. The second blow fell when he discovered that Marge, the girl to whom he had written ever since he entered the service, was engaged to be married to someone else. George shifted his position on the bench and thought of the third and final disappointment he had received. Hoping to find some comfort in returning to work, he had gone to the plant where he had been employed prior to his army career, with high hopes of regaining his former position. What a shock it had been to see the slowly moving picket line surrounding the building! His many ideas for the future were drowned in this new turn of events. All the joy he had held at the prospect of resuming civilian life had turned to chagrin at the thought of this room-less, girl-less and jobless future. How the actuality differed from his golden fox-hole dreams! Suddenly a thin ray of hope seemed to glisten for a moment in the darkness of his face-another second, and the ray had become a beam of delight on the face of George Stacey. He rose from the bench with a low exclamation, looked about him once, crossed the street, and was lost in the mid-day crowd. George did not return home that night, but early the next moming this telegram arrived for Mrs. William Stacey: 'Am writing from U. S. 0. Centre. Will catch early morning train back to camp. From now on, Mom, Uncle Sam will be my boss. He's got a room for me, and plenty of jobs. I also have heard that those soutbem belies are pretty easy on the eyes! Will write soon. Love, George

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certain of doing it justice. But this was not the case. To faint became common and vulgar, and gradually it lost its charm and meaning and almost disappeared from the earth. Many have tried to restore the lost art but as yet none have attained any degree of success. Perhaps those who finally achieve success because of their convincing eiforts will be the horde of bobby-soxers who, every time they hear the voice of a rather thin crooner, immediately set up a loud wail and swoon in unison. More power to them, say I, for the art of fainting is one which should not be lost to the world. Are You an Idiot? -Audrey Marx I have devised another one of those scientific quiz tests calculated to discern whether you are a flock of idiots. It is not like other tests. It's new. It's different. And I can pass it. The latter is one of the big advantages of the test. When I see one of these tests in a magazine, I read the first question with trepidation. When I look back to page 169, where the answers are found, to verify my guess at the answers, I sneak a glimpse at the answers to the second and third questions. When I look back to check whether I have remembered the answers to the second and third questions, I peek at the answers to the fourth, fifth, and sixth, and so on into the night. All the questions are written by someone who knows the answers. This time I am the boss. You have no idea what efforts I've put in and what headaches I've suffered evolving this novel test. I have put in a lot of research work on this matter since last night, when I was floored by one of these tests. The title of the test was Are You an Idiot? It was made up of ten questions on ordinary subjects. I knocked oil' the test in merely one hour. I added up my score, 27.08. Excitedly I turned to the ratings: 100-90 Genius 90-80 Almost Genius 80-70 Brilliant 70-60 Fairly Brilliant 60-50 Passably Brilliant 50-40 Not Too Bad 40-30 Idiot As the magazine fell from my hands, I conceived a plan of making my own test. This is it: There aren't ten questions in my test. If you can't answer one, you can't be expected to answer ten. So I limit mine to one question. The correct answer scores 100,000,000 A high score, you say, but this is better than any other quiz. It's a test to end all tests. Thinking caps on, everybody, and sharpen your wits. Here is the question: How much dirt is there in a hole 8 inches by 8 inches by 8 inches? Note the word Hole, It contains a clue to the correct answer. My own score is 100,000,000 but, you see, I know the answer!