Girls High School of Brooklyn - Blue and Gold Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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Then he explained-our new house had a fence! This impressed us tremendously. Richford houses didn't have fences! It also made things simpler, for it would be much easier to pick our house out quickly. I didn't keep the secret. When my friend refused to believe some of my fantastic tales about New York, I blurted it out to prove my point. I even added that we were going simply because she was so mean to me, and furthermore, that she would never receive any presents from me. She was completely suppressed, and even tearfully begged my mother to stay, promising to mend her ways. The long-awaited day finally arrived, and we boarded the train with no other mishap than my brother's fall into a puddle and the consequent temporary ruin of a previously immaculate white suit. We entered New York through a dirty, squalid, section of the city, which certainly did not measure up to my fantastic expectations. Perhaps the only reason that the shattering of all my visions did not leave me un- happy was that things were so diEerent that they kept me absorbed. The bedding, hanging out of windows to air, the children in the streets, the pushcarts, and the crowds, were so astounding to me that my eyes seemed too small. My father, because it was convenient, and to oblige me, took us to our new home by the elevated railway. I never go around a curve on one to this day, without remembering that first ride, when I measured the distance to every housetop. . Now, although I have learned that little girls here don't all ride ponies, and can't all have red ribbons, indeed, don't even want glassesg although I know that the buildings are not gold, and the people are not as wealthy in money as they might wish, although I've changed these dreams for others, I still believe that New York is, at heart, a fairyland. Barbara Tripp, January, 1933. SYMBOL Pm past the age to romp and run, I have to live with little fung But still I have as wish and hope: A rainbow for my skipping rope. Aldona Mikolainis, June, 1931. Thirteen

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was light, curly because mine was relentlessly straight, and long because mine was kept short. I often dreamed of a miraculous growth of hair which shortened every time I played a prank-a result of reading Pinnoccio. My demoiselles wore red hair ribbons because my hair was too red itself to permit any indulgence in my favorite color. The glasses were probably added because my eyes were too keen to make it necessary for me to wear them. I had my answers all prepared, so that, if a terrible ogre should ask me whether or not I wanted to wear glasses, I could immediately say no, and pretend surprise and sorrow when he forced me to wear them. During this time my father went away for a week, and the night after his return my mother entered our room with such a mysterious air that we knew a surprise was in store for us instead of the usual Robert Louis Stevenson poems, and we curled, up in anticipation. First she asked us in a delightfully confident way whether we could keep a secret. We hastened to assure her that we could. Then, to prolong the delicious suspense, she gave us three guesses as to what the secret was. Because of my age and sex, I was yielded first guess. A puppy? I ventured, and immediately wished I hadn't, for I hated to hurt my mother by making her admit that it wasn't. Mother shook her head, but, much to my relief, not sadly. After Frederick had guessed even a tricycle, and she had said, Better, we could wait no longer, but demanded a prompt explanation. The only sound in the room after she told us that we were going to move to New York, the city of dreams, was a very weak '6Oh. My dreams that night were a wild farrago, the main current of which showed a girl with black curls, red ribbons, glasses, pony and all, who ma- jestically scattered gold coins left and right. As she rode nearer I recog- nized her as myself! The next morning we plied father with innumerable questions, and he told us about his trip, step by step. When we learned about trains which ran on bridges in the air, and others which ran under rivers, all of which could be ridden on for five cents, we were confounded. In our small town there was but one railroad, and trains meant long journeys. After the narration had continued for quite a time, father casually mentioned ........ opening the gate, and was stopped short. A gate? To what? '4Why, to the fence, of course! To what fence, Daddy? Twelve

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- -- Fourteen Felled Tree HIS tree, this tree, whose eager hands Were curving up against the sky To catch the swoop of beauty bound In April flaming, swift and high, Has had the emerald notes cast out Of its deep throat and the song-begun., And lies, a broken thing., against The smoky moving of the air, Its lips too mute for bitter moan, Its heart too still to care, to care- How can you know who are not tree, Who are not sister to the wind, Who are not mother to a bird, The sorrow of a body pinned Within a cerement of frost, The passionate negation and The breaking of the burning wings- Almost its opal tongue had thrown Into the day, a joyous word, But it was cruelly refused, Like a dropped star, a stifled bird, A crystal heritage, its all. Nearly within the tremulous hour, It was deprived of the dream, again, It was refused its heart's flower .... But if you had said to the cruel night That this was nothing-a tree denied Its April right, and beauty's spears And gloryis wounds, you lied you lied' Anna Elizabeth Bennett, June, 1931