High School of Music and Art - Recolte Yearbook (New York, NY)

Page 33 text:

School Days, School Days, I was in that old building when from the hall I could barely make out the cracked voice of that voice student, the goon who thought he was the biggest wheel in the whole school, or so the wheels say. Anyway, I didn't want to get stuck making conversation, so I ducked into the nearest staircase. That wasn't the only reason I took to the stairs. Actually, my hall pass is last year's model Land the wrong colorj, and it isn't really safe to be caught carrying something that isn't in. I can remember when I was a freshman, all the seniors seemed to get around so well, but now, well I AM A SENIOR! I seem to manage. You know the freshmen just seem to be getting smaller and smaller. I know I was pretty big myself when I came in. Boy, those were the good old days when we wore jeans to school. Man, that was comfort. Gosh, I just seem to get cheated out of my major subjects. They are always the wrong periods and I can't get to class. And lunch, I always get the wrong lunch period. All my friends are in the other ones. That never fails. And besides that, the lunch room is always the dullest place during your lunch period-so what I usually do is take 2 lunches and then go to my Survey class, to the tune of my teacher's boosted ego. Anyway, today I am thinking of going over to City for dessert, but I may not, as I have heard that He is on the rampage again and I might not get back for my next lunch. That is when a guy I met yesterday from City is coming to see me, so I really ought to be around to cultivate the relationship a little. You can never guess what has happened. After I went to Survey, I went to Cyou would never think it of mel English. That is such an easy class that I never bother to attend, but there are times I want to go to a big name college fyou must forgive me for using that dirty word butj, so on those days I ambitiously attend classes. Where I would really like to go is Swarthmore, but I don't think my parents would like it. My father writes me every year from Kalamazoo, and last time he wrote he said he thought Radcliffe was better for me as far as Freud goes, but that just isn't the type of school I want. Anyway, Ma says she thinks I should go to Reed, or something in that area. Clt isn't that she doesn't love me or anything, It is just that psychologically we aren't right for each other,-or at least that is what her psychiatrist says. Mine thinks differentlyj So, I am torn between the two-both want me about 20,000 miles apart, according to the location of my parents, they meet in exactly two places. One is in the Arctic Circle, the other in the Atlantic, and neither has a school that is right for me. What do you do with such parents? I don't know, I just don't know. Thea Brodsky Good Old Golden ..... blockprint by Rose Lau

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Child a singing child plays and Uihrating with the heat of summer runs - half nahect through streets fx taughing Q' X R shouting ,Q living not knowing why I' f '5 N X Old Woman She wakes, Pmetieviiig it is yesterday Until she rises. Amt, with tarnished hancts, Sets about to do yesterdays tasks. ROFCDIJCUV The Smattness of The Day 28 SUSIIVI SIIGUJH X 'YL -IF :fax -. KX 1, A ,A f' Xfgigs Selig get fy 4U'tft 'f! 'i '-Y. ,ri'..' 'J Chiba FQ-, ey i :Nui g f , 9 f 1: thins 5' -'B 5- tif ' xkgx i . .x 1 ' s it ':u' K N :Q ji Q 'rf 4 uf it V 17 G its drawing by Harriet Russell The smattness of the clay is emphasized by whispers. The tow, little ties infect a lhousantt tips that witt not shape heyontt the teacup rim of courtesy. The ctrawiiig room of progress amptihes the lesser speeches with a lemon slice, aint our hrief truth expancts to nothingness. Katherine Katty

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AIUI' STIBTTEY BETTISITEII The caveman was a heastty sort, he murdered mammoths just for sport. And then desiring friends to know, immortalized them in Lascaux. ln Egypt they hetieved in after-life and trial they huitt their pyramids upon the Nite. I think, though hierogytphs have never said, they spent their whole tives wishing they were dead. Ashtaroth, Bet and Mardulc comprised Chatdean helief they sculpted gods who looked like ctods fall done in has-retiefj. The Greeks were the greatest of sculptors who in the world dares deny-4 old Phidias and Myron inspired Lord Byron and were gone in the Hiclc of an eye. tnot to mention the Parthenon, precursor of Romeys Colosseum, which now does reside, to Lord Elginys great pride, in the glorious British Museumj. BFHDH 1.401361 illustrated by Brana Lohel