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

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,Q-X! I 6 W- Who Crank ' lesser! Be Yo lnlsgvxx X fav!! GLORIA SHAPIRO, 6 NO one knew how it got there. Some people were under the impression that Dubrow had swallowed frogs' eggs which had hatched in the course of time. Others supposed that a tadpole had managed to slip down while Dubrow was taking water from a well. One thing was certain. He had a full-grown frog down there that acted as if it had become a perm- anent tenant. Doctors tried many cures, but all the remedies had the same result-failure. And to what tortures the poor man had been subjected! They flung him upside down and fished down his throat with a hook and fly for bait, but that frog was clever, he did not encourage them with a single nibble. Dubrow worried more and more about the frog. I-le would not have minded it so much if the intruder had kept still. Life, however, became com- plicated at times. Dubrow was in love with a sweet country lass who professed a liking for him. He decided to make her a partner in his firm and a sharer of his troubles by requesting her dainty hand in marriage. The night arrived on which Dubrow returned to his home town to re- ceive the answer of his beloved. All the way there he thought of the lovely Isabelle and reflected nervously on his appearance. Dubrow had not seen his darling since his late teens, but remembered her as a charm- ing and intelligent young lady. Before Dubrow had left the town to be a success in his uncle's factory, Isabelle and he had been practically engaged. And now he was returning to claim her. At last he was coming up the walk. Isabelle looked most alluring as she reclined in the garden hammock awaiting her lover. Dubrow was pro- foundly and blissfully happy to be back at the side of this dainty creature. All his troubles seemed to recede. Humbly he knelt. Suddenly, he was reminded that he and his darling were not entirely alone. There was a violent tug somewhere in the region of his lungs. Dearest, said he, may I some day hope to-- Croak -sang a voice which had suddenly come to life. Isabelle jumped up. Goodness, what was that? she asked. Er-um, that is nothing, said Dubrow, abashed. Croak, croak, came the familiar voice. To cover the growing discomfort of the situation, Isabelle poured some tea for herself and the embarrassed young man. Dubrow took his very hot tea and drank it viciously, madly, with an I2

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ALICE FALKOWSKY, 4 I HAVE no privacy at home. The Brooklyn Dodgers have been living with us season in and season out. Now that my eleven year old brother cannot monopolize the radio with their thrilling exploits, I am still haunted by a smiling Dolf Ca:rni1li, a frowning Freddy Fitzsimmons, a leg of Arky Vaughan, or the bat Pete Reiser uses for luck, pasted crookedly but with a loving touch where you least expect to find them. Scattered in the book- case, and on other pieces of furniture Cuntil my mother clears them outl, are old scribbled boxscores with slightly dilapidated edges. He is the first one and the last one to read the sports page. Not even a moth would be tempted after he finishes with it. These articles and pictures which he tears out are carefully trimmed and are glued in a monster-size scrapbook. Only his best of pals are permitted the privilege of seeing this treasure. Every third word in his vocabulary is Dodgers . We don't eat chicken salad any more but Dodgers A La Mode salad. He can become a vicious person if anyone dares to say a single word against his beloved team. Nor is this all. There is still the radio over which he has supreme authority. Captain Midnight, Crime Doctor, The Shadow, Dark Destiny, flavored with lack Benny and Fred Allen, are my brother's perferences in the choice of radio programs. A loyal member of Captain Midnight's Secret Squadron , he will not divulge any decoded message unless he knows that you are a friend of Captain Midnight, too. He asks for Grape- nuts , instead of making his customary plea for Iello , perhaps because lack Benny's products have been changed. The modern generation prefers bullet-proof vests to fairies. Buck Rogers and Wilma have displaced Prince Charming and the Sleeping Beauty, the radio is now a substitute for mother's piano rendition of The Old Oaken Bucket. The modern generation also seems to be air-minded. As I write this, his homemade model airplane zigzags through the air while I frantically move my head to the other side. Harold, Nathan is waiting for you outside. He says you promised to trade him Superman comics for Batman comics. Uh huh, Mom, l'm coming. My brother takes his streamlined glider, which has now lost its strength and has fallen on the floor, and struts out, turning the propeller of the plane with his finger. He thinks he's Howard Hughes, Superman and Pee Wee Reese, com- bined, but to me he's just my kid brother. 11

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increasingly murderous desire to scald, kill it, do anything, if only he could be alone with his sweetheart for ten minutes without that croaking annoyance. Meanwhile, the frog, thoroughly alarmed by this sudden hot shower bath, dug his claws into Dubrow's somewhat delicate and sensitive membranes and waited with his head cocked over to one side for the storm to abate. The constant dripping made him rather playful, and, using Dubrow's appendix for a diving board, he proceeded to leap and perform all sorts of aquatic stunts. Each time he landed, a terrible splash was heard, which, sad to say, added greatly to Dubrow's unenviable plight. In a final desperate attempt, he shouted at the top of his lungs so as to drown out the noise coming from the subcutaneous swimming pool.-- Please, dear, say the word, and make me the happiest- Stop, shouted Isabelle. Who do you think you are? Do you think I'm deaf? Whatever is the matter with you shouting that way? Dubrow blushed guiltily and decided: it was time to confess. He moistened his feverish lips and took a drink of cold water. Then began the painful tale. As if to confirm his landlord's story, the frog croaked out his whole musical lesson-up and down the scales, prolonging the high notes, chang- ing to boogie-Woogie rhythms and Winding up with the lost chord. The ice water on top of the hot tea had given the frog a cold, and his voice was now unbearably raucous. The result was that Isabelle refused to marry her suitor. She said she could not wed a man with perpetual music in his interior. Poor Dubrow went home, slinking along the shadowy road like an outcast of society. On the way, he came to a church from which the sound of a choir singing a Handel oratorio could be heard. The music sank into the miserable heart of the scomed man. He entered the church in search of further consolation. Finding all the rear seats occupied, Dubrow was forced to sit in one of the front aisles. And blessed be ye who- Crock, shrieked the frog. The dominie looked up rather surprised. Croak, croak, sang the star boarder, starting in a low deep bass and ending on a strident squeak. The sexton walked down the aisle and ejected three young town hoodlums for profaning the sanctuary. The preacher continued the sermon. And we must resist all evil as if it were a-- Croak. The minister became uneasy. Mr. Frog, however, had not been brought up in a religious atmosphere, and since he had certain musical inclinations, he thought it was an excellent time to tune up. He sang lustily in a voice somewhere between the sound of a saxophone and the sound of a piece of steel scraping against a pot. The dominie pointed a menacing finger at Dubrow and told him to save his practising of ventriloquism until he got outside the church. Du- brow blushed and got up to walk out, a pathetic figure indeed. The frog, 13