Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

Text from Pages 1 - 82 of the 1933 volume:

P' I STAFF A R G U S Editor-inaChieI-PI-IYLLIS SCHWARTZ Associate Editor-SYLVIA HAGLER Assistant Editors-HELEN PRICE NATALIE KRAUSS BARBARA GRUSHLAW Annex Editor-ELAINE ISAACSON Art Editor Business Manager MURIEL FELDMAN PEARL GOLDMAN Advisers-MISS DOROTHY BUNKER MISS DOROTHY BUSH MRS. MILDRED LAWTON A N N A L IS Editor-in-Chief-RUTH GOLDMAN Advertising Manager-EMILIE MARCUS Knock Committee SYBIL AMSTERDAM EVA CHEPAW EDITH BAILESON LILLIAN ELSON ROSE BARON PAULINE GOLDSTEIN ANNE BORNSTEIN MILDRED LEVIN EDITH BURKE HELEN PRICE C O N T E N T S FOREWORD-Phyllis Schwartz ESSAYS and SKETCI-IES A SWISS CHALET, Virginia Paulsen MADONNA OF THE STREET LAMP, Ilma Schramm IN MEMORIAM, Alice Berge A STORE WINDOW, lean Libman MY DEAR BROTHER, Phoebe Rogoff CANARY COLORED WALLS, Alice Ames MELODY OF BEAUTY, Phyllis Schwartz REVEILLE, Mildred Levin SUBWAY STUDY, Anna Hertz VITTORIO PODRECCA, Beatrice Guarnier RIVER, Mildred Levin POETRY IF I HAD A MILLION, Alice Ames TO SOMEONE, Rita O'Neill MY WORLD, 'Ilma,Schramm , FAIR LOUISE AND THE KNIGHT, Iulian Klein ' if POEM, Anne Bornstein THE BETTER LIGHT, Rita O'Neill ,W I MILKWEED, Ilma Schramm Z ON SEEING A CAT CARVED FROM WOOD, Charlotte Fraser TWO OF A KIND, Alice Wren FREEDOM FROM BONDAGE, Lillie Fialkoff NIGHT, Bayla Vixman CITIES, Florence Haggerty I WISH I WERE, Ilma Schramm TO A DYING MOON, Elena Polk STORIES AN ALASKA FAIRY TALE, Barbara Grushlaw THE SON OF WONG SING, Edith Tannenbaum POOR YORICKH, Evelyn Rothman THE DIURNAL LEPIDOPTERAN, Sylvia Neiderman HERSHEL STAPOLYI, Sylvia Dodes TRIBULATIONS OF A TRIBAL CHIEF, Natalie Krauss ART COVER DESIGN, Muriel Feldman CUT IN LINOLEUM. Helene Waldner INSIDE COVER DESIGN, Helene Waldner ARGUS TITLE PAGE, Helen Price FRONTISPIECE-PEGASUS, Iune Sherman TOTEM POLES, Gertrude Stokes KNIGHT-Gertrude Stokes GIRL'S HEAD, Pauline Goldstein FISH, Margaret Krumm TREES, Marion Malloy CAMEL, Nives Hoffmann ANNALS TITLE PAGE, Phyllis Schwartz ELEPHANT, Edith Baileson ANNALS ORGANIZATIONS CLUBS PUBLICATIONS SENIOR SECTION P' N I d l Foreword HE tide of financial disability swept over many high schools this term, and carried away school publications. Magazines and papers of high standing were discontinued. The Argus has survived! The wholehearted cooperation of the faculty and the students has made it possible for our maga- zine to appear. However, our depleted resources have made it necessary to again combine the Argus and the Annals in one volume. WVe still feel that the purpose of the Argus and the Annals differ: that the Argus is designed to promote creative writing, and the Annals to give the seniors a last treasure to carry away with them. With these aims in mind, we have had two distinct staffs cooperate in bringing forth this volume. This issue represents one of the oldest student activities we have here at Hunter. Only the Athletic Association was founded before it. The General Organization came into being at the same time as the Argus in 1914. Since that time the school has grown. At its side, ever gaining in quality of content and appearance, the Argus has reflected that growth. lt has become the mirror of the literary ability of the student body. lt has become an integral part of our life at school. Let us strive to keep it so. Phyllis Schwartz. five A Swiss Chalet by Virginia Paulsen ose As our chalet was a good five miles wn the mountain, and it was getting rather rk, my friend and I bade goodfbye to our mpanions and started for home. All went l I . , . . 1 o PAY of strenuous skiing was drawing to a O . . . a 3 ell until I hit ice I lost complete control of y skis and the next minute I was lying flat ith half of one ski gone, no batons, and a rribly aching wrist. Far below I saw my iiend skiing absolutely unaware of my mis- althy yells could reach her. 71' 1 Fortunately about fifty feet away I saw a chalet. In ten minutes I was knocking at a small wooden door. It was opened by an old farmer who, seeing my broken ski and the remains of frightened tears, beckoned me to take off my skis and enter. I did so and found myself in a quaint picturesque kitchen. I sat on a small three legged stool in front of a big stone fire- place in which a merry fire was burning. Cver the fire was a big copper pot hanging from a chain. Something that smelt good was cooking in it. Beside me was a small stack of firewood, evidently brought in for the night's use. Above the chimney, I saw a shelf upon which different colored plates of rare beauty rested. Scattered among them were various steins. My interest in these things had turned my attention to the opposite side of the room. An adorable cuckoo clock probably made by the farmer himself faced me. The old man was in one corner of the room to the side of me churning butter. The churner was of unpolished light wood not unlike other bowls, dippers, spoons, etc., which were on the table next to the Swiss. The friendly peasant seeing that I had 'thawed out' walked across the room and motioned for me to follow. I'Ie lit two small lanterns and set one on the shelf among plates and the other in a darling casement window. These lit up a part of the room which I had noticed before. There was a long wooden table almost the length of the room itself. Around this were many three legged stools. To the left was a cupboard extending halfway down from six i I the ceiling. Below this cupboard was a long log of wood into which axes. knives, and other useful implements were placed. To the right of the table was a big wooden tub, overturned. I was amused for I immediately thought of the poem 'The Old Wooden Tub'. Around it were smaller wooden tubs, which I decided were used for milking. Meanwhile my host had filled a large jug of hot soup and placed in front of me a huge cheese and an immense loaf of bread. We immediately 'fell to'. As I was eating I noticed rafters stretched from one side of the room to the other. Garlic and dried red peppers hung in strings from these rafters and chestnuts in net bags. About a half hour later the tinkle of sleigh bells was heard, and a neighbor, whom the peasant had in some way notified of my presence, came to take me home. A few minutes later I drove away with some regret, for in the peace of that little Swiss kitchen, I had been strangely happy. If I Had A Million Oh, for a million! If I had a million, Would I wander far from my own native land In a plane, ship or car like the gypsying brand? Would I dress in rich garments Eat 'fabulous stuffs' Wear pure ermine mittens with red satin cuffs? Aye, I would that-and more, I'd have non-running hose And a maid to continually powder my nose. I'd run down to Egypt and startle the dead, lFor an 'Empress Eugenie' I'd float on my headj Ch, a bright yellow skirt and a purple 'vestee' And green shoes with points that curl up to the knee Would make me supreme as I 'fected a 'huff' In my pure ermine mittens with red satin cuffs. And thus I'd be borne on a brocaded pillion fThough I'll grant-with concessionl If I had a million. Alice Ames SCVBII An Alaskan Fairy Tale by Barbara Grushlaw Cumi Wangi squatted in front of the flickering fire. The reflections of its dancing flames sent mysterious, weaving paths along the wrinkles in her parchment-like face. She stretched out one skinny paw and selecting a gleaming red ember from the fire, lit her long white pipe, She smoked slowly, taking long satisfied pulls and pausing to meditat- ively watch the blue grey smoke spiral and curl, like a monstrous snake, out thru the top of the tent, until, at last, the writhing column seemed a veritable misty stairway to the heavens themselves. At the old woman's mocassined feet, her four little brown grand-children sat wait- ing patiently. They knew well that until this ceremony of smoking had been finished, she would not weave the tale they nightly a- waited. I-Xt last, the grandmother reverently laid the slim pipe away in a beaded pouch. Long, long ago, came her low dron- ing voice. fThe ears of the expectant child- ren were cupped to catch her magic mono- tone like little flowers lifting eager heads to drink the dew.l 'AThe Great Father, vexcd with the wicked world, sent a swift messen- ger to Mogui, medicine man of our tribe. fFor you must know that Mogui, who was as old as the grey hills, was as wise as the horny knotted oaks, the chieftains of the council fires of all the plant folk.l The mes- senger came to Mogui as he sat in his tent and said to him, 'Mogui, thou, who art well versed in the secrets and mysteries of our white earth, listen unto me. l bring to you a tale which no other mortal knowsf eight Mogui made a deep obeisance and offered the messenger a gaily patterned blanket on which to sit. He then lit for him the ceremonial pipe and bowed low saying, 'I am sensible of the honor the Great Father bestows upon my unworthy self. l will gath- er in his every word with mind, heart and spirit as earnestly as the lusty black ants do the millet seedsf f'The messenger puffed awhile and then related the following tale. 'Many eons ago, when the white earth, untainted by the guile of men, was still pure, there lived in the deep blue of the Western skies, two great black ravens and their grey mother. These ravens were formed so much alike that their cruel hooked beaks might have been carved from one dully glittering block of goldg and their huge black bodies cut from one fallen meteor. Such a fire of strength blazed within their veins that when they played in the skies, the Very earth trembled and all the animals cowered in fear and hid in the depths of their dark holes. Yet, be- cause of the benevolence of the Great Father, these fierce ones dwelt in peace and loved each other wellg but above all things they revered their tender mother. 'But sorrow threw her somber cloaked body across the happy path of their lives and one day, as they played, a faintly blushing cloud floated temptingly past them. It was an exquisite thing, of very rosy hue at the center fading until it became golden at the softly curving edge. The two brothers paused amidst their merry games, and agape with wonder and admiration, watched its airy flight. Slowly a deep covetous desire awoke within each raven and with great wings drooping they flew homewards. nine 'Their hearts had become heavy bitter stones within their breasts. QAS is the way with all things troubled by uneasy pas- sions.D They hid away in the deepest corners of their tent: and each tried to form a plan whereby he might gain this treasure without his brother's knowledge. For many a day and night they sat thus never stirring nor speaking. Their mother seeing them was sorely grieved. She knew that the little pink cloud was merely a shadow. an illusion of beauty that would fade if it were touched. She reasoned with her sons but they remained morose and silent. The mother knew then that they had forgotten those, which of all the Great Father's teachings are the most important, brotherly love and Hlial affection. Her pure smooth brow furrowed by sorrow, she hastened to the Great Father and begged him to remove this cloud which had marred the peaceful existence of her sons. 'The Great Father taking pity on her plight sent the wind to whisk the cloud away during a storm. When the anger of the storm had been dissipated, the ravens arose from their tent to see the cloud. At first, they could not believe that it was gone. Frantically, each searched the horizon for it, They poked behind high snow-tipped mountains and looked in the shadows of deep rivers in vain. At sunset, each returned from his search, despairing. When they looked upon each other, Gana, the evil demon of jeal- ousy, took great bites of their hearts, and they were blinded by angry passions and torn by suspicions. They violently accused each other of stealing the cloud. The teachings of the Great Father fled from their darkened spirits and they flew at each other. One of the ravens sent blinding fiery shafts of light at his antagonist from his metallic clawsg the other, roared so mightily that the earth shook and trembled. Their blue black feathers rained from the skies and soon covered the face of the white earth. 'Their mother, finding them thus, shed bitter tears and besought them to cease their fighting: but they did not listen and the salty drops fell unheeded between them. Once more the mother vainly tried to quell her unruly sons: and then in great fear she went a second time to the Great Father. 'But even he, the all compassionate, was now angered. He arose from his throne and said in a mighty Voice like rushing tor- rents. 'Cease thy fighting, foolish birds, and listen well, You shall be punished for your disobedience to the sacred laws of love and trust. I condemn you for your folly to circle, fighting as you do ten now, the world. Thus all may see the crime of forsaking the true and hidden beauties of love for the shallow loveliness of a mirage. 'So the shamed ravens set forth on their eternal flight and their mother, weeping, followed, shedding her bitter tears be- tween her sons.' The messenger arose, wrapped his blanket about him and said to Mogui, 'Go forth, Medicine Man, and build of the finest and sweetest of woods, a Totem Pole. Choose the most skilled of the craftsmen of your tribe to depict upon the pole this tale. It shall live through the ages as a warning to the foolish'. Mogui faithfully did as he was bidden and the Totem Pole stands for all to see, the two wicked ravens fighting at its top. HDO you know the names of the ravens? said the Grand- mother to the sleepy children. One was called Thunder, the other Lightning, and the tears of the unhappy Mother, are Rain. To Someone Adventure led me by the hand Up a golden stair, And when I reached the top and turned, I found you there. Love kept me in that lonely place Ever by your side, Nor could all the Gods in Heaven Us two divide. And then that God who knows no law Came for you. And so, Though I prayed by your bed all night, I saw you go. Now, though adventure call and call, And romance shine anew, I must walk forever softly Because of you. Rita 0'Neill eleven Madonna of the Street Lamp by Ilma Schramm I STOOD by my window as the first really blue-black evening shadows began to stand out in startling relief on the buildings across the street from me. Everything was submerged in this sombre hue with the exception of one spotg the tiny circle of brilliant light which radiated from the street lamp. It is a spotlight on a stage! I thought, delighted with this fantasy. UAH we need now is an actor and we are ready for a drama. I had scarcely composed this thought before my player arrived on the scene. Out of the shadows emerged a figure clothed in dark. garments which I luckily could not see in the dusk. The light of the lamp, however, played full upon her face, I gasped! It was the face of a Madonna! For one brief instant she stood poised beneath the rays of the lamp and in that instant I saw just enough. I-Ier face was absolutely colorless in the glare. Her eyes were a dull, velvety black and seemed to be of enormous depth. I'Ier nose was straight like that of a Grecian gofldess and her lips, above a delicate chin, were a deep, mellow redi Her whole face expressed some overwhelming sorrow or martyrdom. She stopped for a fleeting second and then she was gone. I was bewildered for a moment and then glad that I had seen no more of her. For had I been able to scrutinize her at more length I might have found that her face was not so perfect as it at first seemed. I most surely would have discovered her dress to be modern and not just a black robe thrown about her. And what seems most disillusioning of all, she would, in all probability, have not possessed the spotless virtues of a Madonna. Yet this is not for me to conjecture, I should be satisfied that on to that perfect setting stepped the perfect character, and that I can add to those who people my mind the Nladonna of the street lamp. twelve I 1 In Memoriam by Alice Berge many ways but perhaps the deepest impres sion has been made by the late demise of my beloved friend Napoleon Neptune He a quiet retiring little creature had been my pet for many years-or at least for three. With soft, limpid brown eyes, and a singuarly smooth skin, he was, to me, the - epitome of beauty and affection. His ears were invisible, but this did not seem to pre- vent him from hearing me call him to dinner. He died, I am sorry to say, of an unknown affliction, most probably starvation or old age. HIS past winter has been memorable for me in I say starvation, because Nap , as I affectionately called him, did not live alone. He had, as a companion, a strong, husky old fellow, who, since he was much bigger than the late Nap, walked all over him, ate all his food, and usurped the little one's place in the sun. To all of this brutality 'ANap could only answer by hiding in his house till H0ssie -short for Qsmosis-had passed. Understanding now-when, alas, it is too late-the meek, resigned, and somewhat starved appearance of the deceased, I marvel that I had not noticed it before. We lived a gay and happy life together, we two, Each morning, on awaking, I would call--or should have-softly: 'ANa- ap! and always I would see him jerk his head. And too, when I went to feed him, he would move sluggishly over to me and then eat slowly what UOssie consented to leave him. During the winter months, he usually hibernated. This suited me since I could not be with him because of school. But during the summer. our intimacy grew by leaps and bounds. Then he and Ossie would show off in the sun, imitating a leaning tower-fwith Nap usually the basel. And if he had been exceptionally good, I would set him on the floor and let him stretch his legs, taking care, how- ever, that visiting dogs and cats were safely out of the way. Then thirteen P l he and HOssie would stage marathon races, although he knew full well he had no chance of winning. Perhaps it was the exercise that killed him, perhaps my late neglect of him, who knows? At any rate, he is gone, and Ossie is now living alone, but enjoying his more spacious quarters immensely, never once giving thought to his poor deceased friend. But after all, what could you expect of a turtle? A Store Window by lean Libman IT was a small inconspicuous store facing a wide brightly illu- minated thoroughfare. Gay laughing crowds filled with the joy and good spirits of the festive season hurried through the streets. Some looked at the many beautifully decorated store windows while others hastened on. But none cast a second glance at the tiny florist's shop on the corner. This little store did not attempt to compete with the large one featuring orchids, rare blooms and fancy prices, that the gay crowd patronized. There were no glaring lights or crashing colors in this window. Instead, it was a little section of nature's own fields transferred to the cold city street. There were no modernistic, flame-colored elephants bearing cactus plants on their backs, or silly dogs with purple striped leaves for tailsg but in the foreground of the window was a tiny field of daffoa dils demurely bowing their yellow heads. Behind them was a pot of iris, a splash of royal purple contrasting with the golden glow of the daffodils. The ground was carpeted with a velvety grass, while here and there a for-get-me-not shyly peeped out. To one side was a small rose-bush turning itself about a miniature trellis, while a tiny humming-bird buried its head in one of the fragrant pink blossoms. The arrangement of the whole window was so realistic that l was almost led into believing that the merry couples and the noisy traffic on the street were a dream, that only the garf den existed. l came again and again during the next few days, never tiring of watching the little window. for l Uhad found at last where the summer goes, fourteen The Son Of Wong Sing by Edith Tannenbaum 0 N a remote street in Chinatown, Wong Sings unpretentious antique shop was interesting only to those who studied Chinese antiques - and Wong Sing had discovered that few people do! Wong Sing had come to America to make his fortune. I-le was the seventh son in a noble Chinese family. Seventh sons do not receive much notice in China. A man's fortune must be of unbelievable size to warrant a noticeable heritage to a seventh son after all the more important sons have been properly looked after. Thus after his father's death Wong Sing found himself practically destitute. His only conceivable method of revenge was to go to America with his motherless infant, make his fortune, and finally return to China in royal state. I-le was determined to make good! On his arrival in America Wong Sing was befriended by another Chinese merchant who craftily induced him to invest the little money he had in a small antique shop. After a year of this. innocent Wong Sing realized that his friend was becoming a rich man through some of his enterprises which were unknown to Wong Sing, while Wong Sing was scarcely earning his bread. Wong Sings son, Wong Som, was now getting older and with his advancement in years VVong Sings desire to be able to support him also advanced. The father and son, entirely alone in a strange world, had developed the sort of companionship coveted by every father. To Wong Som his father was perfection personified and Wong Sing would rather have lost anything than the devotion of his son. Although, for a time. their every day life was serenely happy poverty and hunger gradually threatened them. This induced Wong Sings friend to introduce him to his own unlawful but money making occupation. Wong Sing had been reluctant to accept this life because of his son. Although it would afford Wong Som an opportunity for a better education, his father feared that as the boy grew older he would understand and lose faith in his father. Also, connection with illegal occupation was frightening. Wong Sing feared he could never bear the separation from his son which would be the inevitable result of discovery. fifteen V I Nevertheless, in a short time, Wong found himself in such a terrible financial condition that he was forced to accept the only way out. He was induced to cast discretion to the winds and take up a life of perpetual fear. Then the antique shop became merely a blind to the police. The inner part of VVong Sing's shop was the scene of uninterrupted activity. Day by day, business increased, The depression brought new patrons who wished to forget their grief and troubles through Vxfong Sings pipes of pleasant dreams. Money became Wong Sing's god! But in the midst of the joy of increasing fortune all the pleasure had gone out of his life, Wong Sing missed the pleasant mornings when he and his son rose early to put the shop in order and then, with renewed hope each ensuing day, awaited the first customer. He realized that his son too, resented this abrupt ter- mination of their former proximity and did not understand it, He allowed VVong Som to care for the outer shop but did not allow him to enter the inner portion. To each of his son's queries about the lolling music and queer noises from the rear of the shop Wong Sing maintained a pained silence, Within Wong Sing's grasp was unlimited wealth and he had not the strength of character to terminate his activities. Wong Som was the only probable agent by which Wong Sing could be forced to relent. Deep in the heart of this Chinaman who had once been noble but had succumbed in the unrelenting battle against penury, this deep love for his son was so strong that at times he had been near the point of allowing his love to overpower his greed, but life had gone on without offering sufficient excuse for a definite change in his mode of living. On his son's birthday in the early part of Iune, Wong Sing, slightly stirred by the occasion, was again attempting to settle the question of his future, He realized that the heavy brass door which separated his legal and illegal occupations was also the only barrier between the certainty and uncertainty of his son's love, If this barrier was ever passed by his son or any other feared individual! . . . . Wong Sing got no further in this debate with his conscience because from the outer portion of his shop Wong Sing heard a loud crash. The police! In an instant Wong Sing had quieted the music and lowered sixteen I 4 the brass door which prevented anyone from gaining knowledge of VVong Sing's dual occupations. An investigation of the crash found his son in the front of the shop staring mutely at a broken vase. Standing with him was a man whom Wong Sing immediately mistrusted. The man ex- plained that Wong Som had been showing him teakwood boxes but unfortunately there were none in the front of the store that interested him. Perhaps there were some in the rear of the store that he might see? Wong Sing's wits were sharpened by mistrust, and he realized that his son, who was as intimate with the outer shop as Wong Sing was himself, could not possibly have been looking for teakwood boxes near the vases. This man would bear watching! Wong Sing cordially invited this man to examine the rear of his shop knowing that the brass door was closed and he had little to fear. He pretended not to notice that the man was not at all interested in teakwood boxes and allowed him to make a thorough search. Finally the man was forced to leave with a seventy-five cent incense stand and all suspicions banished. There and then Wong made his decision! Deeply moved he said to his son, Cn the next boat we return to the land of our fathers. There is onething more precious than gold. For that I shall attempt to restore my honor! And VVong Sing was glad, VVong Som would never under- stand! My World A little globe - I hold it in my hand, It's round and smooth and soothing to the touch, The nations' destinies at my command And if I ruin them F- 'twon't matter much. A little globe and I f- I reign supreme, This world to be my suppliant at willy I laugh a bit and interrupt my dream To place it back upon the window sill. llma Schramm SeVQUtCeI'l r l Fair Louise and the Knight A Ballad of Superstition There was a milk white maiden fair: She was sad and alone For her love had just passed away And been buried beneath a stone, She wept and called upon the gods And seeing the beauteous one The gods did grant her to see her l ove At midnight by the stone. That night when a' were sleeping sound, The maid to the grave had gone And there she sat till midnight came And waited on the stone. At midnight Came her lover's voice, Calling to fair Louise, Oh, I am held by fairy power The queen hath me in thrall, 'But I love thee, Louise, thee best, I love thy talk the mare. There is one way you can free me, If that you will but dare. To-morrow to Northshire you shall be g And to Livesy Hall you shall gae But spak to none, not e'en your mither Or live, I never may. The knight could not be heard again, So she walked down the lane, She did na' speak another word, After she reached her home. eighteen OHS Now Louise is to Northshire gone, And to Livesy Hall did gae, But never did she speak a word, Throughout the live-long day. At midnight by the same auld stone, Louise again was back, She knew her lover would be there, For never had she spak. And just as the church bells chimed the hour The knight appeared once more, Ye have broken the spell and we will go To my mither in auld Lochoref' Four and twenty days went by, Then she received her dower, She and the Knight were wed that day And she was dedecked like a flower. They lived so happily on the hill, They did until they died, And when they came to bury them, They buried them side by side. Iulian Klein Poem lt's in the vibrating wind, In the lift of the red flower, The still-green shrub of the yard, In the bit of sky I gleam. It lives-the reason for life. Anne Bornstein nineteen The Better Light You are like a star That stares unblinkingly into the dark, Fearless. l am like a lamp That blinks and may be blown out with one breath At will. Yet even a star May be torn from its height and flung into Darkness. And a little lamp May burst forth into flame and set fire to The world. Rita O'Neill O Milkweed Little bit of fairy-down, floating on the breeze, It was l who set you free to wander as you please. I who plucked you from within the dried walls of your pod And set you free to find a bed in the unbroken sod. I who watched your merry way as you hurried into flight I who smiled a wistful smile as you faded from my sight, Little breath of balmy air, blowing glad and free, Find that bit of fairy-down and waft it back to mel llma Schramm twenty My Dear Brother by Phoebe Rogoff Q HILE I would never have accused him of such f a thing, my mother insisted that my dear ' brother had leanings-musical leanings. And so, amid violent protests, dear loseph was placed, leanings and all, under the tutelage of one Mr. Tsutz. Now Mr. Tsutz was an Armenian and becomingly starving. Nevertheless he was a really hne player and never deserved the suffering ,he was hence- forth to undergo. For my dear brother's benefit, a piano was acquired at a moderate price, a piano such as one does not run up against every day. ln the first place, it had not the vigor which one ordinarily expects from a piano-it was a bit feeble, and this weakness was attributed to the fact that the instrument was, well, one might say, seasoned, To be exact, it hailed from the days when pianos were pianofortes, and it still retained that rare old flavor-no, better, tang-of the clavichord. Necessarily, it had developed in the course of its full life, a few odd habits, For instance, when an innocent player pressed one note, he was often rewarded by the sound of three, while if, at some more capricious moment, he pressed down two together, not a sound issued forth. The ivories were by now a deep, rich yellow, trimmed with black, which obviated frequent washings. Une leg was just a trifle shorter than the other, which gave the dear thing a Leaning-Tower-of-Pisa aspect. The stool, too, had a graceful slant, which necessitated intensive training before a sitter could feel perfectly confident of his seat. Scattered at random over the wood of the piano, were little carv- ings, evidences of the artistic inclinations of some former owner. And lastly, but by far the most perplexing, were the pedals, for on certain notes the right-hand pedal acted as a sustaining force, while on other notes it softened and on still others it had no effect whatsoever. We finally decided, however, not to use it at all, since we never knew whether the next note was going to sound anyhow, so why waste energy pressing down pedals? The glance which Mr. Tsutz bestowed on our venerable twentyaone l 1 instrument had not all the respect which was its due. Happily the Armenian had little or no sense of humor, and so he merely glanced once at it askance and then ignored it, humiliatingly- crushingly. Poor Mr. Tsutzl He had so many afflictions visited on him by nature-how cruel of my brother to have tortured him more! I can remember how he would enter the living-room and how his shoulders would sag miserably as soon as he caught sight of young Ioseph, perched perilously on top of the stool. The Armenian would unwrap himself hurriedly, find a corner as far from the piano as possible, clench his teeth and tell my dear brother to begin. Now my brother actually displayed originality in playing the piano. ln the first place, he would invariably play the right hand alone for the space of two or three measures, and then join in with the left hand, with which he would begin at the beginning! Imagine the horror it brought to a musician's soul, in realizing that his pupil's right hand has just finished the fifth measure and his left is but commencing the third! Nor was this all. My dear brother had another custom peculiar to himself. He would commence his piece in a rollicking, jolly rhythm, would suddenly swing into a whirlwind speed and then just as suddenly settle back into a mov- ing, funeral crawl. This metamorphosis would occur approx- imately five to six times during each rendition, and Mr. Tsutz's color would change as often. Another faculty which my dear brother possessed, and which l could never cease admiring, was that of starting a piece in waltz time and ending in march rhythm. Now Mr. Tsutz, needy as he was, was too much of a musician to stand such flagrancies for any fee. And so, having delicately informed our parents that Ioseph was not making all the progress that might have been expected, he quite abruptly left. This did not end my dear brother's musical career. After heated debating and fiery orations, it was decided that the sum of fifty dollars was to be sunk in the purchase of that far nobler in- strument, the clarionet. l seldom heard him practice, since that occupation was for- bidden him by our parents when the family was about. Whenever company came Ioseph must play. So, dutifully he would dig up his long black instrument and trot into the living room. Standing in the middle of the room he would place it to his lips-and now watch his face! The eyebrows move gently up to the middle of twenty-two his forehead. Look at the audience--all the eyebrows are adorn- ing the middle of foreheads. Ioseph's undecided blue eyes have taken on a new air of amazement and mild reproach. Look about you-all the eyes are amazed and mildly reproachful. Brother takes in a deep breath-the audience follows suit. He blows, they blow, a noble tone emanates, and they sigh in relief. One, two-again! Another good tone, finel One, two-Oh! A horrible discord re- sounds through the apartment. Ioseph looks up sheepishly and the members of the audience eye each other apologetically. They have not noticed that Ioseph is not playing a melody, that he is merely blowing notes at random, with no rhythm at all. When he played the piano, occasionally, frarely, 'tis truel an especially bold little melody would poke out its head for the space of a moment or two, but when he played the clarionet, never! Now the farnily's highest ambition is the avoidance of these discords. Well-one, two, ouch! My dear brother flushes, sighs and then suddenly- hiccupsl Saved! Ioseph has the hiccups and he can't play any more. The guests wipe their brows, wet with honest toil, and nod to each other in sincere admiration of such accomplishment. And so it goes, Every Sunday my brother drags out his clarionet and entertains us with a series of rare discords and heart- breaking whines, and then stows the instrument away again. How long is this to continue? 0n Seeing A Cat Carved From Wood There he stood Straight and slim, Hewn from wood, But very trim. By his side, Two black balls, As are seen In feline halls. Charlotte Fraser twenty-three TWO Of A Kind in-4 i -angr. 41 L --Sf? f '5 A girl-back-home appears to be ln every universityg In every young collegiate heart She plays the most appealing part- At least it seems that way to me. For, When I spy with ecstasy The man who's surely meant for me, He has, you offer to impart, A girl-back-home. You say that all my Witchery Cannot convert his constancy Since he has given away his heart: Yet Why should I begrudge her art? Am l not just the same as she, A girl-back-home? Alice Wren twenty-four Canary-Colored Walls by Alice Ames HE turned the corner of the hall and there it was-the ward. At last, he thought, at last. He sighed and walked on through the high ceilinged corridor with its cream and pale green walls, into the ward. lt had been a long hard struggle to get money for medical school. It had been a long hard struggle to go through medical, scraping here and there, using lack of time as an excuse for missing lunches. He looked about him. The place was certainly a cheery one in spite of the suffering it harbored. The canary col- ored walls suggested spring though the snow lay blanketing the grounds outside, and the half frozen river sloughed on like a bowl of mud-green glue dotted with chopped diamonds. The pale green beds stretched along both sides of the room, each snow white cover's serenity disturbed only by the little mounds caused by the pairs of motionless legs and each pillow's smoothness dotted by a small face. Here a nurse was anxiously watching the effects of a Kleisig while a young student watched the fluid as it slowly grew less in the glass c. c. jar, which hung upon a white steel rack. There, up and down the right side of the aisle, a young 'proby' looked at her mysterious little slips and distributed pills to one, liquids to another. The head nurse hurriedly prepared a bed. She had scarcely finished when a young interne rolled in an operating slab containing a prostrate body. The body was swathed from head to foot in many blankets. Even the face was covered, as if the child no longer had need of air. The young interne grasped the motionless form gently but firmly by the ankles, the head nurse grasped the neck in the same manner, and the 'proby' placed all her strength upon the small of the back and on a third count, they raised it into the bed, covered it without a word as the ward maid wheeled the table away. The 'proby' went on her way. The doctor after recording the operation, gave the nurse some final instructions and left. Yes, it would be all that from now until the end, pale green beds, white uniforms, treatments, operations, prostrate forms, sad faces-and canary colored walls. twenty-Hve Freedom From Bondage by Lillie Fialkoff Can my soul be freed from bondage Though my body Chained, yet striving Straining -- hampered H Always fails? While the sun beats down upon me VVarm and soothing, full of greeting Soft and loving in his kindness Must I always stretch to greet him Never reaching, Unattaining? Go, my soul, forever leave me Leave this tortured Pain that racks me, Struggling uselessly, In vain. Rise, caress the sunbeams gently As they dance upon the waters, Bask upon the down-like cloud-beds Fly then toward the smiling sun-god Ever happy Go, my soul. twenty--six 'cPoor Yorickl' by Evelyn Rothman I THE EMPIRE THEATRE Clown tSingsj: A'But age, with his stealing steps, Hath clawed me in his clutch, And hath shipped me intil the land, As if I had never been such, tThrows up a skull.l Hamlet: That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw- bone. It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches. f LUTCHING the voluminous curtain, a man stood in the wings. He was shrouded in shad- ow, his body on tiptoe, his gaze intent upon the stage, where the blackness was relieved only by the flickering torches of the grave-diggers. The young man seemed to absorb every word of the actors: he followed every motion, each gesture. Suddenly he was disturbed by a hand which grasped his shoulder. I say, Lewis, did you get that job? No -and he turned toward his friend frowning. I went to see the manager, and he tried me out in that part I wanted. I did the best I could, but it didn't go over. It went badly. Every- thing was wrong. He didn't like it. He turned back, facing the stage again, muttering almost to himself. No one appreciates my ability. I suppose it's an old story with you, though. Listen , his friend urged, Why don't you do as I do? Things may happen. You may get some chance. Don't you see? Oh, I couldn't. I couldn't get myself to do such-such work. It isn't art: I want to be an actor. If only I could have a chance, now-a small chance. Even the gravedigger-in Hamlet. I could work if I had some small outlet. To shovel earth, toss skulls about, and murmur witticisms-that would be something, at least, It's been a long pull, and I've had no luck. twentyfseven 'AYes, of course. But you can't begin at the top, said Henry. Take my advice. Get some work here and wait your chance. I can get you some work here with the props, lt isn't hard, and will keep you going. What do you say? For a moment he was silent. Then he faced the stage. The audience burst into raucous laughter at some grim jest of the clowns. Then. Oh, l'll do it! ln this manner Lewis Hepburn became a stage-hand. His work was dull, monotonous, painful, so different from the ache for real expression that gnawed within him. But, it permitted him to hang about the wings, to watch the acting on the stage. How he envied the players! How he criticized them and pictured how he would do this or that. He would stand, in his overalls, his eyes em- bittered, seeing them in their costumes and grease-paint. He would envy them that exciting pause just before the rise of the cur- tain-that big moment. And then, the curtain, the speeches, the applause-the play! Hepburn liked all of Shakespeare, but most of all he loved Hamlet. When it was billed, then he could be found at the wings, watching. He pictured himself as Hamlet. He knew the lines, everyone of them, and practised them assiduously. When Hamlet flung his passionate accusations at his mother, Hepburn reached his highest pitch of excitement. He lived through their emotions as deeply as did the actors themselves. And he remained a stage- hand, dutifully and monotonously moving the scenery for those who strutted before it. II THE EMPIRE THEATRE Clown fSingsJ: 'AA pick-axe and a spade, a spade, For and a shrouding sheet: O, a pit of clay for to be made, For such a guest is meet. fThrows up another skulll Hamlet: There's anotherg why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits, now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! twenty-eight Hepburn, the stage-hand, crouched in the folds of the pro- tecting curtain. Twenty-five years had ravaged him, trodden upon him, grayed his hair, curved his back, quelled his spirit. But they had not deprived him of his ambitions. Still inconspicuous, un- noticed, a mere pusher of framework on wheels, Lewis yet offered his humble homage to the stage. The years between had served but to intensify his passion. He smiled a grotesque smile as he recognized his favorite skull on the stage. There it was, a little cracked after having been thrown about for many years. The large shining skull still grim- aced at Hepburn, the thoughtl, with its cracked, crooked yellow teeth. and its empty, hollow sockets where once two eyes had been. Lewis saw also a smaller, whiter skull, seemingly that of a child, which had become a prop with the first one. There were the others which he remembered, big ones, little ones, white, yellow, cracked, mouldy, gaping, ghastly skulls. He had something in common with them. He had watched over them through all of their performances in Hamlet, had polished them, stowed them away carefully, almost tenderly, after their scene. This night, as he watched the favorite scene of his favorite play, he saw his friend Graves, now promoted, enacting the role of a grave-digger. The last jest, now, and Hepburn heard the thundering acclamation out front, following the soft thud of the dropping curtain. For others! And what of himself? Nothing. Nothing. As he stood there, where he had stood for twenty-five years, a great sense of emptiness filled him, and he wondered at his friend's little hour and his own complete, crushing failure, At this moment the actors rushed backstage, hurrying past with their professional air, to the dressing-rooms where they must prepare for the next scene. Some of them, however, found time to fling cruelly sarcastic remarks at the stage hand. Well, if it isn't the great actor, himself! You could have done Hamlet better, couldn't you, Hepburn? They laughed in chorus. The object of their taunts stood dumbly staring at them, and refrained from speech. He was soon sent away, to assist in moving some large scenery, to be used as parts of the king's palace in the next scene. But he was dazed, utterly humiliated, and miserable. He hardly knew what he was about. He pushed against one of the marble pillars, Suddenly he pushed too hard, lost his balance, stumbled, twenty'-nine fell and dragged the heavy marble pillar down upon him. When his companions extricated him from the crumbled ruins of the pillar, they found him all but a ruin himself. His body was horribly mangled. Henry lifted him and succeeded in carrying him off-stage. Many minutes later he was able to ask in a feeble voice that he be taken home. Graves hastened to do so and, clad as he was in grease-paint and clown's mantle, called for the aid of another actor, They bore Hepburn outside, where a taxi had been sum- moned. Then to Lewis' boarding house, and up the stairs, to his little room. Graves deposited Hepburn upon the bed and sent his companion for a doctor. Meanwhile, he attempted to ease his friend by sitting at his bedside and patting his hand. Suddenly the sunken eyes opened and the shrivelled lips began to move. Hepburn was trying to talk. He spoke falteringly, gasping and choking for air. 'Al am dying, Henry- Nonsensel Don't say things like that! interrupted his friend in distress. You'll get over this. You must! Hepburn seemed to gather the last shreds of his strength. A'Why so? What have l got to live for? Who will grieve? What work will be undone? He began to tremble and shake and mumble under the covers. Henry's face, as he sat near his friend, wrinkled with lines of sympathy through its mask of rough grease and paint. As he stared at Lewis, he began to realize more completely the pathos of that futile life. Now Hepburn's head attracted his attention. How old and withered it looked in the flickering candle-light that danced and cast dancing shadows upon the dusty walls. The few grey hairs served poorly indeed to hide the great bony skull underneath. The eyes were deeply sunken. The whitish lips parted to expose yellow teeth in the involuntary grin of a death's head! Now the dying man spoke again, intent upon some last expression of desire before all desire and life should fade from him. Henry, listen to me. Do what you will with my small properties. They are worthless. But- Here his eyes gleamed with excitement- Take this- His finger pointed, like a lean, emaciated claw, toward his own damp skull- Take this-make it my part-fin-Hamlet! thirty Henry sprang from his seat in horror. The man was mad! He bent in anguish over his dying friend to question him, wrest that last meaning from him-but it was too late. Hepburn was dead. That last wish had wrung all life from him. Graves sank back into his seat. There, still before him, the bony finger still pointed, hang- ing out of the bed like a last, unshakable determination that would not die. It demanded. It insisted. Graves seized it and stowed it beneath the cover, murmuring- Yes, Lewis, yes-your part in Hamlet-- III THE EMPIRE THEATRE Clown fSingsj: But age, with his stealing steps, Hath claw'd me in his clutch, And hath shipped me intil the land, As if I had never been such. fThrows up a skull.l Hamlet: 'AThat skull had a tongue in it, and could sing onceg how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw- bone. lt might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches. The curtain rose on the churchyard scene. Hepburn's last wish had been obeyed. Graves, the clown, stood mutely beside his fellow jesters, ruefully anticipating the moment when after a final cynical epigram he must lift his spade and toss the withered skull of his friend across the stage. The moment came at last. He cast the shrivelled object into the air, and shrank in horror as he beheld it crash to the floor in flaky fragments. He bent dismayed over the pieces. The curtain fell. A few minutes later, a man sat lost in a labyrinth of thought. He saw Hepburn again, as he had been accustomed to stand, crouching in the wings, watching, wanting, a chance-Life had not given it to him. Death had been a relief from hoping, and a grim. opportunity-to play in Hamlet-But even that-even that. 'iprovidentialln-He buried his face in his hands - Alas, poor Yorickf' he muttered, l knew him. thirty-one -i Melody of Beauty by Phyllis Schwartz I WALK slowly to the top of the hill, and pause. It will never do to walk on, with this heaven of motionless beauty before me. All the majestic grandeur awaiting the touch of God's fingers, he had poured into this simple scene. Surely the sloping green of these hills has been poured by the most delicate of I-lands. At my feet the grass is ankle-high. The delicate lavendar of clover brushes the soft yellow of tiny buttercups. A daisy whose stem I have bent, but not crushed with my foot, slowly raises its fringed head. A hurt child, it is, with reproach in every motion! I move a few steps, and my shadow falls upon it. The sun, warm on my back, is sinking lower in the heavens. The green of the hill opposite me gradually softens. Far, far below the river flows, like a silver girdle amidst folds of velvet, I half close my eyes and there at the bend of the river sit the Fates. They are lovely. Their long grey hair, wafted in the wind, trails the water. They are the end of life, as they are the end of the flow- ing streaml I close my eyes, then open them-to brush away the haziness. The willows at the end of the stream are mere shadows in the deepening twilight. The hill on which I stand shades the water. Only a broad ribbon of light bathes the slope beside me. The shadow creeps higher and higher, The sun is no longer warm on my back. Softly I turn and walk back across the grass. Beauty of God's making is at rest. Night Magic, majestic, encompassing night, Closing serenely the portals of day, Curtain the sun in her rosy array- Kindle the stars as they turn in their flight- Cradle the world in your comforting dark- Station the moon as your heavenly mark- Magic, majestic, encompassing night, Out of your darkness, reveal me the light, Bayla Vixman thirty-two The Diurnal Lepidopteran by Sylvia Neiderman HE butterfly-catching craze hit our camp this year. It struck all, from the little Midgets to the high and mighty P. Cfs fprivileged campers J. In the boys' camp, no one, from the directors baby to the conceited waiters, was exempt from the craze which swept over camp like a prairie fire. One of the directors, a biology teacher in high school, originated the fine art of but- terfly-catching - with disastrous results. During a basketball game, a butterfly might be sighted-then the chase began. Some facetious person remarked that the camp's star in track, trained to run after butterflies. Indeed it seemed so, for he was always in the van of the pursuit. No matter where one secluded himself, one was not safe from the prying eyes and net of the naturalist. The nets, by the way, were made from wire hangers and mosquito netting. One place was still sacred to the girls-the hill on which the old bas- ketball field had stood. The seniors repaired, immediately after lunch, to this hill with a supply of the inevitable movie magazines, melting chocolate or fruit saved from the table. VVe spread our- selves on the blankets, disregarding the stones underneath or the ants and occasional worms crawling above. There we took sun- baths more or less in the altogether. Yet even here were heard shrieks of horror, embarrassment and terror when one of the fanatic butterfly chasers stumbled into this female sanctuary. Outside of the social hall was an erstwhile lilac bush. One day it rained torrents, and, on poking our heads out timidly, we noticed a number of figures attired in raincoats, braving the storm, seemingly to pick leaves off the bush. This was too tempting a bait for curious girls to neglect, so we braved the elements to see what they were about. We came up with a shout. Hush up! they shouted. A'You'll disturb them. We found 'ithemn to be a very rare kind of butterfly, brilliant in color and larger than average, which fasten themselves underneath thirty-three leaves in a storm. We were sent flying for cigar boxes in which to imprison the beautiful creatures. In the infirmary we had to witness the poor things being killed with ether and then having pins stuck through them. I still can't see the pleasure people de- rive from killing butterflies, the most helpless of creatures. I have said that the craze hit the Midgets as well as the seniors. lt did not strike all, but the one it did was hard hit. Selma, the enthusiast, had all the features of a Rose O'Neill Kewpydoll. Belying her appearance, she was a trial and torment to her counsellors. She liked the butterflies, but since she could not run fast or far enough to catch good ones, she contented herself with ordinary 'yellow cabbage butterflies or moths, It was during Color Week that Selma committed her worst crime. Our most important baseball game was about to start and roll-call was in progress for each team. Selma was missing. The judges gave her five minutes and then proceeded to subtract a point per minute until she appeared, The captain of her team nearly tore her hair-her own, not Selma's-she only wished she could tear the cherub's hair. When five points had been taken off the score, a round figure was seen descending the hill. lt walked slowly, then suddenly rolled down with a velocity which rivalled the Maelstrom. Where have you been? they shouted at her, Little Selma looked up, displayed her dimples and 'one missing front tooth and said calmly: Catching butterflies. Look. She extended a pudgy, dirty hand. lust a minute, ordinary, lepidopteran was breathing its last. This malady even crept in at the social dances. While dancing with the aforementioned track star, I observed him gazing raptly at the ceiling. I remarked that l thought my countenance more pleasing than that of a few rafters and spider webs. Quick, he shouted hoarsely, a ladder. An obliging boy brought a ladder, and, without his net, the runner went up, with eyes fastened on a spot invisible to us. He suddenly reached out and grabbed something. 'AA lunar moth! howled the mob gone mad at the sight of the rare eye on the wing. Half of it's mine! clamored the ladder carrier. Oh Yeah! thirty-four Things got to such a state that the director, on seeing a picture in town of a boy, chasing a butterfly with a net, similar to the homemade ones, brought it back to camp, hung it over the camp banner, and called it the Spirit of Saginaw . The crowning laugh came when medals were announced at the banquet. They didn't give many medals that year, but they had to give a nature medal to the boy who displayed the greatest interest in nature, and had the greatest nature collection. However, the capture of the lunar moth, was slated by public opinion for the all-around athletes cup, much coveted and envied by the whole camp. At the banquet, his chest as well as his head had swelled and the expanse of blue sweater was alarming. When the awards were called, everyone looked toward him expectantly. Stanley Lorber is hereby awarded a medal of great worth. It signifies his interest in the main sport of camp, his determination, his sportsmanship, and his dogged perseverance. Lorber, I present you with the butterfly medal. Cities by Florence Haggerty L ITTLE black ants swarming in myriads at the bases of their high grey ant hills, in and out, futile, inconsequential, and inevitable. Long, bright, sparkling underground glowworms scuttling under the earth pausing now and then for ant-passengers only to scuttle on again. Winged carriers, fireflies darting through the night air to other ant hill colonies. Myriads of patient toilers striving for the mass perfection: ants for their ant hills. Then the breath of the unknown blowing down their ant hills, scattering the hurrying hordes far and wide, and then, for a time nothingness. Then slowly, slowly, ants creeping back, building crumb by crumb and speck by speck the ant hills-making their glowworms and fireflies again-new civilization only to be breathed away again-only to be built again-ad infinitum-everywhere futility. thirty-five Reveille by Mildred Levin QA prayer for a young woman who was overtaken by sleeping sickness more than a year ago.j GNE year ago she fell asleep. Not since then has she uttered a sound. Not once has she opened her eyes and seen the tender faces about her. Were it not for her soft monotonous breath- ing, one would think her dead. They say she lives-if an existence that does not know Life may be called living. Perhaps she does not even know what has befallen her. Does she realize that gentle Sleep has become her ruthless kid- napper? Many months ago Sleep came on the cool air of the evening to claim her. Nor did he release her when the bright sun rose on the morrow. He keeps her bound with heavy chains. Until this day he holds her, sullenly refusing to give her either to Life or to Death. Meanwhile a golden year of her youth has slipped by. VVhen the earth went to sleep in winter, she followed it. Spring came. but forgot to awaken her. Water lilies bloomed last sum- mer, but she did not see them. An autumn came and wentg she does not know it. She did not behold the world as it grew more beautiful every day in leafy garments of red and gold. She did not hear the soft snows of winter as they fluttered down. There have been cold, life-giving days which she hasn't felt. Now another: spring has come. Laughingly, we welcome it. All the world except her begins to awaken. Yet while she has slept, all the world has known sorrow and pain. She did not feel the scorching sun of summer, nor the biting winds of winter. The faces of hungry men mean nothing to her. People have fought each other. There have been tragedies. Tears have been shed. She does not know it. I am sure she'd be happy to open her eyes and to experience both joy and sorrow. Ch, Father, awaken her now. Touch her gently, very gently with Your wand. Let her rub her drowsy eyes and, as they flutter open, let her behold smiling faces. Let the day of her awakening be one of sunshine and brightness. the most glorious in the history of mankind, so that she may know the living world is glad to receive her again. thirtyasix Hershel Stapolyi by Sylvia Dodes HUMOR travels in curious garb. Picture an old shaggy look- ing man walking along a highway of Russia. On his head he wears an old dilapidated hat pushed back on his gray hair to reveal his Uyamelkan, a black skull cap worn in a synagogue. When the wind blows his beard up, one can see the remains of a shirt whose color would be hard to determine. Who knows, it may have been white, once upon a time, The old black coat, which reaches his muddy shoes, is barely held together by huge safety-pins and patches. Perhaps it once belonged to an ancient dweller of the town Stapolyi. Hershel Stapolyi passes a cottage on the road. From the open window comes the delicious, fragrant odor of warm porridge. Hershel goes to the woman who is stirring the pot of porridge, and asks for a little of it. I have no porridgef' says the woman sheepishly. Oh, l thought you were stirring some in that pot, answered Hershel, feeling a bit hurt. That . . . why . . . a . . . Yes . . .l mean no, that's a dress l'm boiling to make clean. l-lershel, pretending to believe her, asks her permission to sit down for awhile and rest. The woman, greatly relieved that the subject has been changed, consents, and leaves the room. Meanwhile Hershel, overcome by hunger, eats up the luscious porridge with the stirring spoon. Suddenly he hears footsteps of the mistress returning. R-R-R-R-Rip goes the shirt off his body and into the pot where had been the tasty porridge. A'Horrors! What have you done? exclaims the woman. Oh, answered Hershel nonchalantly, I thought as long as you were boiling your dress in that pot, you wouldn't mind boiling my shirt also. Hershel leaves the woman in a state of stupor and as he passes the cottage, he removes a new silk shirt from the washline. As he jogs along the road. he keeps repeating how good that dress tasted! thirty'-seven I Wish I Were I wish I were a million miles away from this dull place- A million miles away - beneath a tropic sung And that the thing I fear and dread, I'd never have to face, My failures all wiped out - I'd just begun. I wish I were a million miles away, beside the sea To watch the flying fishes acrobatics My mind and body rested and forever free f- A million miles away from mathematics! thirty-eight Ilma Schramm Subway Study by Anna Hertz IF it hadn't been for that sudden lurch of the train as it ferociously made the bend and shrieked its way into Queensboro Plaza Sta- tion, I would never have noticed her. As it was, I had been caught unawares with a Physics text clutched wildly in one hand and an armful of other school paraphenalia in the other, and I had all I could do from depositing my entire self upon her somewhat spac- ious lap. Only my purse and an unfortunate notebook made the hapless fall. Gingerly, I picked these latter up, mumbling some- thing quite inadequate in an attempt to excuse myself. I had gotten no further than the first word, however, when she broke out with-- f'You clumsy person, what do you mean by dropping your belongings upon me this way? Why, when I was your age, I daresay we were taught a bit more respect for our elders. What- ever is this world coming to that a body can't sit in a train peace- fully mindingiher own business anymore without fear of-why of the Lord only knows what-falling down on her head! By now, the eyes of every person in the train had focussed in our direction and I could feel a slow red creeping about my ears, What could I say without making myself more conspicuous? VVhen I had gained my equilibrium I took a look at the indig- nant woman before me. Two bright-red spots had appeared in her cheeks during the course of her outburst. They gave her a wild and garish look. Her black eyes, below a pair of bushy brows seemed to flash sparks of fire at a contemptible world. I-Ier cheek- bones were high and her nose was very straight and rather dis- tinguished looking. Cnce her hair had probably been glossy black and plentiful, but now, what was left of it was hidden under a severe black hat with only a few graying hairs escaping, as though it was ashamed of itself. I let my eye wander over the rest of her appearance. She wore a dark and sharply tailored suit and her rather large but well- gloved hands held, defiantly possessive, a worn leather case. I-Ier stockings were of practical lisle and her shoes conservative and well-polished. The man next to her just then got up and battled his way to the door as I thankfully dropped into the empty seat. When thirty-nine I -i I had settled myself, I took another look at my quick-tempered neighbor. The red spots were disappearing from her lined cheeks and her eyes, having ceased to snap, had actually taken on a more amiable look. Before I knew it, she was whispering something to me, her eyes by now, twinkling with amazing friendliness. HI am sorry I was rude, girl. I guess you'll have to forgive an old woman's hot temper. Very embarrassedly I murmured that it was all right. Then she took out a morning newspaper, and began to read the financial section avidly. I resumed my much disturbed Physics homework but in a few minutes the train arrived at my station, and I left my odd friend much absorbed in an article on 'AI'Iow to Plan Your Spring Garden . Aff .six forty Vittorio Podrecca by Beatrice Guarnier MUCH to its own surprise, sophisticated New York was de- lighted this winter with the marionette performances pre- sented by Mr. Vittorio Podrecca's troupe. I too, enjoyed these presentations and was fortunate enough to gain an interview with their famous producer. I went to the George M. Cohan Theatre. and the doorman led me behind the scenes. I was met on the stage by Mrs. Podrecca. who explained to her husband that I wanted an interview. Mr. Podrecca nodded his head rapidly. Come in, Signorinaf' said Mrs. Podrecca. Vittorio will take you into the ofIice. ' Bon giorno, Signorina. WOL1ld you be so kind as to follow me? We stepped across a dark stage littered with great boxes of puppets, and innumerable wires. As we came toward the oflfice, Mr. Podrecca greeted me again. You wish an interview? Eh. bene! I have just three min- utes. Today I am busy. Tomorrow I go to Washington. Sol Now I turn journalist? Mr. Podrecca gave me a kindly smile. He seemed to be just the type of person who could love puppets, In his cutaway coat and striped trousers and with a rather rotund waistline he appeared to be a doll, too, who didn't want to be dressed up. Ijlis face was oval, and the heavy horn-rimmed glasses he wore gave him a kindly far away expression. I perceived that Mr. Podrecca could not converse very rapidly with me in English so I invited him to speak in Italian. Ah, you understand the Italian? Sol You are my friend already. 'fWe must not waste time. What would you like to know? 'fWould you tell me a little of the history of the theatre? It was in Rome, when I was director of the Primavera , a forty-one magazine, that I one day thought of a theatre that would have a wide range in program. I spoke to friends who were interested, and we evolved the Teatro dei Piccolin. It was to be one of wide scope, yet small enough to be friendly. I soon devoted all my time to it. In the afternoon we gave children's performances. In the evening, we gave operas and dramatic pieces that held our aud- iences spellbound. Soon we were using material of the greatest writers and musicians. Our audiences experienced every emotion, so varied was our production. Our company of eight hundred became known, and we travelled. We have been in uncivilized Africa, and in the palaces of kings. 'AI Iow many are in your human company? We are twenty-four all together. We work with perfect harmony of song, gesture and music. A little story I tell often is this: Hln Monte Carlo, they were celebrating the birthday of the prince. Someone suggested that my puppets entertain. The prince was disgusted at the idea of such amusement. Someone finally won him over, and when he left our theatre, he was en- rapturedf' Tell me, do you like the New York audiences? - Ah! Qin Englishj They are divine! Do you understand the French? - Un peu, I replied. - Un peu. Ah! Elles sont magnifiques! Ravissantes! Piacevole! Bellissimo! Incredible! Amiable! He was becoming so excited that he was getting his lang- uages twisted. As I was a native New Yorker, my heart gave a bound. -- Gracie tanto, I said. - Ah, no fin Englishl. You think I say that because you are here? No, no! Of course a little persuasion was necessary. New York is sophisticated. I could not come and say, 'See, I have puppetsg it is a fine showg you should come.' No, that would not do. I must earn a living. I announce the Teatro dei Piccolin. forty-two Everyone comes the first time. Then what matter if they know I have puppets? '- I saw that your operators were of the same family. Is their work traditional? - Yes. It takes long years of training to work the piccoli, Ten, twenty years: you must be strong. The piccoli are not so light. The fingers must be nimble and quick. Perhaps you think you could work puppets? If you are an amateur, it is different. Eighteen inch dolls are not forty inch puppets. - Are you going to increase the members of your com- pany? - Ah not now. I am busy. We travel much. I have not the time to give. Some day perhaps my company will be one thousand. See! He upset the piles of paper on his desk-'AThis is the first step, tHe showed the drawings of the puppets as they first look.l I have no time for more. You have seen the evening performance? No? A pout- ing disappointed look flashed across his face. Then you do not see 'Iosephine Baker' dance? I am proud of her. I felt that I had taken more than three minutes of Mr. Podrecca's time, and I rose to go. I thanked him for giving me his attention, and expressed a hope that he would return to New York. He in turn thanked me profusely for coming to see him, and told me he hoped one day to give a performance for our school. I left him with a feeling of having spoken to a friend who conversed warmly and frankly. To A Dying Moon You were once a crystal goblet- A crystal goblet drifting on the foamy blue of heaven, Ever moving and ever fixed, with the cold wind pouring forth your frozen silver Till it stained the earth with its passionate glitter as it sank through the deepening dusk. Now, broken and wan, emptied and drained away, You lie there in the darkness, only a fragment of shattered crystal- Of a shattered crystal goblet sinking in a foamy sea. Elena Polk forty-three nd River by Mildred Levin I F I should ever leave my native city of New York, I'd soon for- get about lofty skyscrapers, about sidewalks crowded with a million people and their million stories, and about dazzling gaudy lights. In time, I could even fail to remember dirty little street urchins, hungry beggars, and haunting faces that have passed quickly by me and never come my way again. All these I could gladly leave behind me, but I shall never cease to think of the Hudson as it nestles near Riverside Park on one side, and near the Iersey shore on the other. Although I have seen the Hudson many times, I have but two recollections of it. I shall always remember what happened in the sweltering noonday heat of a summer day. As I gazed out over the water, life departed from me. Under the touch of the blazing sun all the world died with me except the river. Even the earth had ceased to turn on its axis. While a lifeless haze hung over everything, the river had turned its cool waters into glistening diamonds of pure white. How those tiny, myriad pieces gleamedl All through that afternoon nothing lived but the Hudson. Then, as evening approached, darkness descended to overtake her jewels, until there was only a patch of radiance left. Soon it vanished, too, and the world was cloaked in the cool shade of evening. Life had come back. My other recollection of the Hudson is its appearance one dreary October day. New York was awaiting the arrival of a storm. Chill winds played about freely. Gray clouds hung heavily in the sky. Even the waters of the Hudson had lost their calm. They dashed against each other with mock fury in a sad endeavor to imitate the angry surges of great, swollen rivers. The waves reflected the murky thickness of the skies. From somewhere near the banks came the doleful sound of a boat's fog horn. All was a picture of dejection. Yet, my heart was singing, for I loved the sad beauty of the scene. What if the picture was painted in only black and gray lines? It was a masterpiece. Sometimes I wish to leave New York and travel to other lands. Yet one thought holds me back. Are there Hudsons in other parts of the world? forty-four Tribulation of a Tribal Chief by Natalie Krauss ., ICKEY MacARTHUR sat on the old deserted dock, her knees up to her chin and her strong, well-bruised fingers idly snapping in two twig after twigg her lackadaisical attitude belied the activity of her mind. From the moment the camp bus had crossed the narrow wooden bridge over the frog pond, and coughing and . sputtering, had jerked a final stop before the canteen three and a half encampments ago, -- - camp had been a glorious, care-free adventure for Mickey, especially since this was her first season at Camp Sabago. Why, oh, why did this responsibility have to rest upon her shoulders now? Through the trees, she could see the vivid colors of bathing suits, as girl after girl leaped from the spring board and deftly cut the water. How well she remembered the day she had taken her swimming classification test! She had sanguinely assured Neptune that diving was child's play to her, but it had been a sheepish Mickey who climbed upon the float after hitting the water more flatly than a collapsible high hat. She could laugh at that conceit now, because only yesterday she had broken the last strangle hold for her Iunior Life Saving test. It was strange, thought Mickey, that after six weeks of failure she had within the last week gained the necessary skill and confidence in the water. These might have been achieved through Neptune's rigorous training. but Mickey chose to attribute them to Robin's aid and encouragement. That train of thought, however, forced upon Mickey the reminder of her present perplexing situation, Robin, of course, was an easy choice for her. Everyone knew that, although these had been Robin's first seven days at camp-at any camp, she was just the kind of a girl to take along on a five day hike. On the last breakfast hike, when both the girls and the councillors were grumb- ling because somebody had forgotten to include the silverware in the pack baskets, Robin had laughed and exclaimed: What fun it'll be to eat blueberry flapjacks on twigs like lollypopsln Again, when it had rained for three successive days, I H . forty-five nd and everyone looked as though it were her last day at camp, Robin had instituted Grin Day to bring sunshine back to Sabago. Yes, there was no doubt that Robin should go on the hike. But who was to be the other representative from Tip Top Tent? When Mickey had been elected wigwam chief, she had been supremely happy. Yet gladly would she change her position now with anyone willing to accept the responsibilities allied to it. Ever since she had first learned that there was to be a long hike, Mickey had thought and dreamed of nothing else. What an experience it would be to sleep under the stars for four whole nights with the soft protective earth beneath one and yarrow or evening primrose gently caressing one's face! Oh, the glory of tramping mile after mile through cool, fragrant woods, of emerging occasionally to climb upon barren, sun- beaten rocks to gaze at a beautiful panorama stretching to a distant horizon! The stories Mickey had heard about previous hikes and gipsy trips aroused her desire to go. Her hopes were cruelly shat- tered when she was told that, as chief, she had the duty-privilege. the councillor had said-of choosing two girls from her tent who were to go on the hike. They must be reliable in emergencies and cheerful in times of tribulation. That meant, of course, that she could not be one of the hikers, since it would not be at all proper to insert her own name after Robin's on the list. Yet she had been as good a camper as anyone else throughout the summer. Mickey clenched her teeth as she jumped to her feet. She had no regard for the creaks and groans of the condemned dock as she strode in- dignantly up and down. It wasn't fair, she decided, to place a girl in this sort of situation. I have a good mind to write my own name and tell 'em it's my honest opinion that I fit the requirements, thought Mickey, halting suddenly. lust then she saw a form clad in green and orange scramble down the steep path, calling, UMic-key! Yoo hoo, Mi-ick! Oh, there you are! I thought l'd find you here. Polaris is going to charge into our unit any min- ute now if you don't go to dinner. Chimes rang ten minutes ago. What's the matter? Didn't you get a letter today? The girl paused and looked anxiously at her friend. Oh, I got two letters. replied Mickey. Then she added gloomily, It's not that, Robby. lt's the hike. I wish I knew whom to choose. That's easy, responded Robin. Choose Tubby. She's so fortyasix sleepy all the time that she never disobeys the silence-after-taps rule. But let's hurry. I'm simply famishedf' and Robin chatted on and on in an attempt to raise her friend's spirits. That night Mickey was at the star gazing class in body only. Her usual questions were conspicuously absent. When she had snuggled into her iron cot, she had no ghost stories with which to thrill her tentmates. She wondered if the other wigwam chiefs wanted to go as much as she did. Would they be brave enough to write their own names? What would they think if she asked them their selections? The sharp Katy did, she did, she did which sounded through the night air seemed to change to an accusing cry of, Mickey did, she did. she did. Later in the night, Mickey was aroused from sleep by the far-off rumble of a train. The forest was illuminated by the bright yellow harvest moon. In the sharp, clear night air, the stars ap- peared to be suspended midway between the vault of the heavens and the seemingly motionless earth. Mickey felt exalted by the re- alization of the magnitude of the universe. Suddenly, she won- dered how a petty desire to go on a hike could have so completely occupied her mind as to obscure thoughts of the really fine ideals in life. She wavered not for a moment: her decision was irrevocably made. Tubby would go! Immediately the stillness of the night was interrupted. The katydids, as though waiting for a signal, broke into a new cry, Mickey didn't, she didn't, she didn't. No, thought Mickey contentedly, Mickey didn't surrender to the mischievous elf within her. She turned to the other side of the cot with a sigh of satisfaction. Another sigh, this time, one of relief, escaped from Mickey's lips the following evening as she handed to the pioneering coun- cillor a slip of paper on which were written the names Robin and Tubby . After lingering near the gadget tent until she was sure that Robin had been notified of her good fortune, Mickey returned to the tent to learn her reaction to the news. As she clambered into the tent from the rear, the beaming face of Robin encountered her. Mickey, you're one big mistake. You should never have been put on earth. Anyone who could send me on a five day hike after I had removed all the buttons from her gym suit and after I had ruined her tent's color guard by putting a councillor's pajamas on the flagpole surely must be an angel, exclaimed Robin. Then forty-seven she added eagerly, USay, Mick, will you be my buddy on the hike? lVliCkey's heart grew considerably warmer as she said re proachlully, HYou don't think l put my own name on the list, do you? The list? asked Robin questioningly, Aren't you Coming on the hike? 'lOl Course not, replied the other, trying hard to smile. HOnly the girls Whose names are on the lists are permitted to go. Robins face lit up with a grin of relief. A'Oh, you big goopl Didn't you know that tent chiefs go on all hikes? V -Q Q forty-eight ff...-i,..--Q..- -Q-.., ,..'- H, .. ..-.., - i. GENERAL ORGANIZATION ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION fifty BIG SISTERS fifty-one SIGMA GAMMA Pl HISTORY CLUB DRAMATIC CLUB fifty-two FRENCH CLUB ! I fifty-three GERMAN CLUB PHYSICS CLUB STUDENT AID FUND fifty-four GLEE CLUB Hfty-five ORCHESTRA 1 WRITING GROUP ART CLUB fifty-six ARG-US fifty-seven WHAT'S WHAT , S ,.,-LM ffl. I F...- Jt L- 'P-lgn .3 ni fifty-eight SENIOR CLASS GRACE MILLER MARGUERITE HUNTER JUNE SHERMAN MARY JOY ISAACS SELMA BLOCK ALICE WREN NIVES HOFFMANN ULLIE FIALKOFF KATHYRN JACOBY PHYLLIS SCHWARTZ fifty-nine 41 ADLER, IUDITH And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine. ALLATTA, CAROLINE She is never alone She is accompanied by noble thoughts. AMSTERDAM, SYBIL mind with high ideals A hand with work well done A heart with friendship loyal. A ASHKINAZY, RUTH Earnestly and capably she has fiirsued the ideals of know- ledge and wisdom. AVRLIS, IENNIE And still we gaze and still the wonder grows That one small head can carry all she knows. awww! W' sixty E o T , ' Clever an witt a inlg Q Q as de to r nds as aSunshi BARON, ROSE Withiii her heart she cher- ishes the desire to learn the ways of these strange crea- tures: fellow men. Q A A 7 I , BAZZURO. CATHER NE A smooth and steadfast mind Gentle thoughts and calm de- sires. A heart with equal love combined. f . '5..,,1nu, ww BEHM, ADA Anklets, or no anklets, her charming childishness will forever betray her. BELLFORT, HELEN En somnie charming. sweet and most fair. X -25 f n U ,P . M X ' 0 M BERGE, ALICE 'Tho' silent. unassuming, and retiring. We know her to he ever aspiring Towards the cherished goal of literary success. BERLINER, MILDRED Her hearty laughter fills the room And hastily dispatches all the gloom. BERNSTEIN, SOPHIE f'VVith thee conversing I for- get all time. mf ,mx 05,4 WLIAC' guru' F' BICK, BERTHA If void she seem of joy Disdain cloth make her Cov. L--My Bent- A BLOCK. SELMA To me more dear, congenial to my heart One native charm, than all the gloss of art. .tiki 5 1 X I BORNSTEIN, ANNA The poet's scrolls will out- live the monuments of stone. BRENNHAAR, ANNA MThe victory of success is half won when one gains the habit of work. BRETT, RENA A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye - Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky! She attempts the end and never stands to doubt: 4 3 Nothing so hard but her search will find it out, BROVVN, FRANCES Sweet maiden with glowing eye It glads me when thy face I spy. . Q ! A 4 BURKE, EDITH 'AI-low exquisitely minute A miracle of design. E5- 35 ' f CHEPOW, EVA I5 ' wit, humxor and a cheerful . ' dis' on constitute a good QA companion, Eva n ed not ' ' I 9' bd. worry. P . 'N 3 CHIESA, ANITA Anita is fair with golden hair. And quiet doth appear. But I protest, and not ir fear. That looks deceive, my dear. J f - ' 9+ J CHRISTENSEN, , 1 GEORGIANA v 'iHer smiles that win, her W M ' tints that glow , K ' I Tell of days in goodness fp Q spent. 5' CY l COHEN, HAZEL Ep! A daughter fair, Y F 7s -slender, blith , and 5 de ' . g X X M 'W P . sixty-two f l . Justus .,,,,,.w,uf Co EN, MOLLIE i A charming girl whose active mind For one much older was designed. COLLINS, GRACE There is likewise a reward for faithful silence. 1 J 1 DAVIDSOHN, THERESA Bravery never goes out of fashiorrfy' HV' I X f 0 Ri Nr 5-, , . r . Q u,, ? d e My if ,f ANJ' V'-r fl., l nv +,s'i .s f DAVIS, EDITH ' She has kindness - which conquers surer than demand. DUBINSKY, CECILE She is indeed a Senior rare For she still has that Freshie air. EISENBERG, ILILIET Like Tennyson's brook, she runs on forever. X ELSON, LILLIAN ' passes: art alone u endures. ul ENNIS, RUTH 'ASO on the end of her sub- duing tongue All kinds of arguments and questions deep All replication prompt and reason strong, For her advantage did wake and sleep. FAEGRE, DOROTHY Soft voice and smiling face With a gentle lady's grace. FELDMAN, MLIRIEL You have a nimble wit: I think it was made of Atlanta's heels. sixty-three FIALKOFF, LILLIE Hers is the desirable combina- tion of ability and good humor. FLACKS, LILLIAN So be I written in the Book of Love I do not care about that book aboverl' ' FRASER, CHARLOTTE As fair and welcome as May! FROMM, NORMA Like a swift river through a silent plain. FROST, DOROTHY Seasoned kindly H Behold the child by Nature Il Penseroso, Don Quixote and Beelzebub spriskled finely. K fb 50? NJ , os., .rw R - GADALI, DOROTHY And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. GLASER, SYLVIA A' usic with unsuspectcd x e e e can move, An .l ' c e art. l GLASSBURG, CLAIRE Hers is the understanding to direct and the hand to execute. GOLDBERG, Rl-IODA Her eyes are so bonny blue, Her lips like roses wet with dew. GOLDBERGER, BERNICE Charming little person she, Blithe, gay and ever carefree. sixty-four GOLDMAN, DEBORA 'AOne inch of joy surnioutnts of grief a span, Because to laugh is proper to the man. GOLDMAN, ROSE 'Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South Roses are her cheeks And a rose her mouth. GOLDMAN, RUTH A sense of the beautiful is God's best gift to the human soul. GOLDSTEIN, BEULAH Displaying every promise of future success. GOLDSTEIN, PAULINE Her mouth is a grin with the corners tucked in And her laugh is so breezy bright That it ripples her features and dimples her chin With a billowy look of delight. GORDON, MARIORIE A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet. GORDON, PERA Her name, her smile and her cheer save Her for all time from being. inconspicfious. i .A D 1 'fav fin ' iz LL1s mer os n Jver urheth . A a aff r 1' X . x A.: S HAAS, MARIORIE Modesty seldom resides but in a heart that is enriched with maiden virtues. HABER, HANNAH My crown is in my heart, not on my head: Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content. sixty-five HAGOPIAN,iIQORENCE Out of the East and out of the West 'no man under- standeth me-Oh, the hap- pier I who confides in none but the wind. HAIR, ALICE Blessed with that charm, That certainty to please. HELD, DOROTHY Write me as one who loves his fellow-men. HENRY, MARION In character, in manners. in style In all things the supreme excellence is simplicity. 6 sf' -- 4' , .rx ' ou., V9 ,ww gala? WMV JG HOBBS, BARBARA Determination is manifested in all her ways. In every gesture, dignity. I- i I-IOETER, DORIS Wealth has she galore, VVith grace, kindness, and love in store. HOFFIVIANN, NIVES Stern daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! If that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprovef' HOROWITZ, LEAH Was this the place to launch a thousand giggles? Oh. Leah! 'fy X jp I-IORWITZ, SHIRLEY Shirley doesn't believe in sadness 9 Her policy is perpetual gladnessf' I-IUNI 'ER, MARGUERITE HShe is monarch of all she surveys, .G U 5 sixty-six ISAACS, MARY IOY 'AAII below is strength, and all above is grace. JACOBS, MILDRED A'The brave Go out unbidden Unto the forefront Of all struggles. IACOBY, KATI-IRYN There is a soft and pensive grace, A cast of thought upon her face. IAEGER, ETHEL A'Swifter than arrow from the Tartans bow. KAAS, EMILY A cheery laugh, a happy smile, a delightful giggle that does your heart good to hear her. 0 KATZ, HILDA One of the literate she A poet laureate, she'll be. KESTENBAUM, ANNETTE No words sufhce the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence E44-1711. Ad- - to woe. 5' ,.l KLEIN, IEANNETTE A sweet litt girl with swe l' Her merrimen .inger the A I ngest while yrfkllvllf . C l ti' iii' I-'yu 'OLKER? Build little webs as spiders do. With their story, try, try again, Accomplishment will come to you. KOZINN, GLADYS My shortest answer is action. ,gf nil 2 we ' tae KRAMER, ADELAIDE A well-disposed nature Ioined with a pleasant feature. KRLIMM, MARGARET UO ye with banners and battle shot, And soldier to shout and praise. I tell you the queenliest victories fought Are fought in the silent ways. KWALWASSER, SARAH Of all the paths lead to a womans love l7ity's the straightestf' LA MA CHE, MARIE Laughter is her prime delight, . Hers is a cheerful nature. LENSH, MILDRED Diligence and patience have rewarded her with a great store of knowledge and a brilliant mind. , JN , Y- sixty-seven M yi LEVIN, MILDRED Deep violets, as you liken to the kindest eyes that look on you, Withotit a thought disloyalf' LEVINE, PEARL Be glad of life for it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up to the stars. N 4 LI ' AN, ALICE ' fxce W' gladness over- spread f iles by human kind- ness bred. LOTTERMAN, ELEANOR MA poet loving all the ways of words MARKELL, DOROTHY A daughter of the gods, Sweet and most divinely fair. L sixty-eight 'GMU D .YM ,if , I . .Y . .ff U MILLER, CONSTANCE Never boisterous, never gay. But you can never judge them When they come that way. MILLER, GRACE L A'From the Crown of her head to the sole of her foot, she is all mirth. MUCKA, MARY Kind tongue that never wounded Sweet mirth that knows no scar. MURATI, GRACE Happy am I, from care I'm free! NUSSBAUM, SELMA Oh, why should life all labor be? OCONNELL, MARY An ounce of hearty mirth is worth indeed. a pound of sorrow ODONNELL, GERTRLIDE They can best relish life who have quick wit and gay humor O'NEILL, RITA Beauty is truth, truth beauty -that is all You know on earth, and all you need to know. OUGHELTREE, BEATRICE She is fully aware That to care is to open the portals to sorrow. PEARSON, MARGARET Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. sixty-nine PELLEGRINI, IOSEPHINE A'On bokes for to rede, I me delytef' PLITNICK, RENEE Simplicity in all things is the hardest to be copied. tin POLK, ELENA 'Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain. And never wake to feel the day's disdain. POLONYI, LOUISE Let me dream as of old And be loved for the dream always For a dreamer lives forever And a toiler dies in a day. POLSTER, DORIS I sing of sincerity, strength, and simplicity. K 0 .L Jw' L f .rf POPKIN, LILLIAN With malice toward none, with charity for all. JM . PRICE, HELEN are compound of oddity f frolic and fun: Who relished a joke and rejoiced in a pun. I' REIMAN, LILLIAN She thinks her thoughts But she says nought. ROMOFF, LILLIAN Lee's goal is a scientists fame, And with her good nature and and kind heart. She'll surely gain her aim, I :dw 'J' G'Cjx, ' , ROSENTHAL MARIBRTEL' ' who knows and knows - that he knows is a wise man. seventy ROSENSTRALICI-I, IDA 'lLet it be said of me that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow. ROTHBACK, ELEANOR A'To be good, great and joy- ous, beautiful and free: This is Life, Ioy, Empire and Victory. 'L 'M ia f Q ROUTBAN, GLORIA 'i Lucky are those who With God's wishes Have the power to create. SAIPT, ALICE Alice has laughing eyes Mournful eyes, dancing eyes: Alice's eyes are very wise Darkly wise, brightly wise. SCHOOLMAN, EDITH An hour is long if lost in care, They only live who life enjoy. A .1 SCHWARTZ, PHYLLIS Ml am part of the sea and stars And the winds of the South and North, Of mountains and moon and Mars, And the ages sent me forth, SCLAR, GUSSIE A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance. SEMMEL, ALICE She walks in beauty like the night Of cloudless chimes and starry skies, And all thats best of dark and bright Meet in lzer aspect and her eyes. SHERMAN, IUNE The force of her own merit makes her way. SIEGEL, SYLVIA Seek! And thou shalt find. seventy-one SILVERMAN, ANNETTE MShe keeps the golden mean between saying too much and too little. SOLINS, RIVA Her speech is a burning Fireg With her lips she travaileth. wifi' 'wiki I SPARBER, EVELYN Her heart is the sun Giving off rays of Gold with her smile. sucATo, FRANCES ' Be strong in faith and Courageg ever true To that still Voice which urges you along. SWICK, ESTHER HThe music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. TAMAN, NORMA She most lives Who thinks the most, feels the noblest, acts the best. n Jlnufdlf-if 46141 , walk. URIEFF, FANNIE Others suffer in silence: She suffers when silent, 1-...-1 D VAN ETTEN, ETHEL MAE Icy rules the day. sz mid' fb x.8KANI!!vl-mls Charms strike sight, bu merit wx VATTELLE, DORIS It is good To lengthen to the last a sunny mood. VEDOVI, IOSEPHINE Kind her manner, bright her eye, With smiles her mouth is wreathed. VILLA OSA, AN Neither careless in deed, nor confused in words, nor rambling in houghts. f-'Z VIXMAN, BAYLA She will find the sails of her soul set for one of those high voyages of the spirit which give to life its most exalted meaning. VOLLMER, FRANCES Madam, alas! Your glass doth lie, And you are much deceivedg for I A beauty know of richer grace. QSweet, be not angryl, 'tis your face. WASSMAN, JEAN Action and pleasure make the hours seem short. WEISNER, SHIRLEY The fates do augur well for her who is Light of mood and nimble of mind. WOLMAN, BERNICE She's ever willful, never wild, WREN, ALICE Self-reverence, self-knowl- edge, self-control'- These three alone lead to sovereign power. U 79 ' YEARWOOD, LEoL1N ,ohm H a Some day while gazi-ng 'at L the clouds shell trip over A very quiet bashful child. ebblev .M fig. flu! Y .630 M7 loull-f-f',sl.2f, Q y, , ' Q SENIOR SUPERLATIVES Always in Dutch ......,...L...,uu..........,i,...................,......,. Edith Baileson Best all around ......., ......e.. N orma Fromm Best dressed ...... .,.Frances Vollrner Brightest.. ..... ........ I une Sherman' Class baby ...... .. ..,.,..... ...Ada Behm Cutest .................,...,................ ...... C aroline Allata Did the most for the school ...,, ............. A lice Wren Most athletic ...............,. .....a . .Sara Kwalwasser Most'attractive .....i .. Dorothy Markell Most dignified .............. . Marguerite Hunter Most likely to succeed ...,e. ,....c....... R ita O'Neill Most popular ............... ..,.,.. S elma Block Peppiest .........., .......,., D ora Frost Wittiest ........ ..i... G race Nliller seventy-three I -.A L Last Will and Testament S A 7 E, the exciting seniors, bereft of our senses fa la Aeneidl 7 in an endeavor to mete out punishment and reward do hereby bequeath what we haven't. To To To To To To To To To To To Nliss Bruyere: A little phonograph that will automatically say, mon enfantn in answer to a stupid question. Miss Ward: Insurance for all her pictures against Hre, water, and students' hands. Miss Beach: Students who use the art classes for art only. Miss Gallert: An edition of the Aeneid with notes by Messieurs Knapp and Fairclough. Maybe they'll all agree. Miss Koehnke: A fine silver string stretched from the ceiling to the head of every pupil. Oh dear Miss Koehnke, we hope that this will make them sit up straight and tall. Miss Kelly: An automatic machine to make and correct her daily tests. Miss Ver Planck: A class that' knows enough to sit down before the bell rings, when to go to the margin, when to open the windows, when to close the door, and how to take a zero with a smile. Miss Ver Planck: A set of topics that are neither too narrow UD or too broad for senior speeches. Miss Cloyd: A bust of Cicero that will inspire the coming generations of Hunterites. Miss Snyder: A surplus in the treasury. Miss Vincent: A vote of thanks for having shoved us through the two year regents with flying colors. seventy-four Miss Beirne: A vocabulary that will tell that such and such a word appeared in book 2, on page 21, line 427, third word from the left, Mrs. Weill: A German Club large enough to fill three rows. Nliss VVebster: A few dozen yards of name tape to sew into rubbers, Coats, etc. Hunter: Ceilings that stay on the ceiling and not on the floor. Desks that don't knock your shin or your knees. Sara Maria: Vlfe hereby make you executrix of this, our last will and testament. seventy-five A Best Wishes From THE FACULTY CLUB Cempliments of HUNTER COLLEGE HIGH SCHOOL PARENT-TEACHERTS ASSOCIATION President Genevieve Burke Crotty t The .... PHOTOGRAPHY For The YEAR BOOK ...of Ihe . .. . . ANNALS . . was done by The CHIDNOFF STUDIO 469 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY All phofographs made personally by MR. IRVING CI-IIDINIOFI: S6V6I'lty'S6V6I1 M O N R O E SECRETARIAL SCHOOL INC. Boston Road and East Tremont Avenue Chester Theatre Bldg. Fordham 7-2600 INTENSIVE SUMMER COURSES Iuly 5 to September 1 SECRETARIAL BOOKKEEPING TYPEWRITING STENOGRAPHY Day and Evening Sessions Catalog on Request ENROLL NOW LOW TUITION FEES -Iaffii ii H' 'fi1'E'v::'ifQ:15':T, CLASSES .IJ ' fir .5 Qii. - ' - IN ALL -fi CL L-'MEM fjQzg,9lDfNT Co M M E RCI AL --..-..-.,4u I 1-N--Q.. ....,.f-....-......-V H,,....-1.L..,--1 DO YOU WANT A JOB? LEARN TO EARN A SALARY EASTMAN SCHOOL prepares thoroughly tor COMMERCIAL and CIVIL SERVICE ern- ployments and obtains paying positions tor all graduates who can be recommended as worthy in capability and character. THE SCHOOL otters intensive tinishing courses under experienced etticient and taithtul teachers. The studies taught include ACCOUNTING, BANKING, CORRECT ENGLISH and SPANISH, STENOGRAPI-IY, TYPEWRITING and OFFICE MACHINES. NO VACATIONS.. Day and Evening sessions. Coeducational. Good location and buildings. Congenial associates. Continuous tree employment service attords exceptional opportunities tor graduates to obtain positions and, in due time, advance to higher salaries. IF YOU want to tit yourselt to begin in business and get a good start in lite call any weekday IPhone I-IArlem 7-OSISI or write CLEMENT C. GAINES, M.A., LL.D., LENOX AVENUE and I23rd STREET, NEW YORK, N. Y. seventy-eight Beauty and the Beast This Tairy-Tale is Tamiliar To all OT us. The kindness oT The beauTiTul princess To The beasT caused him To lose his ugliness and become a handsome prince. UnTorTunaTely The day OT Tairy-Tales is over. The beauTy of an annual enTrusTed To a beasT oT an incompeTenT prinTer, despiTe all The kindness oT The sTaTT, can noT Turn The ungualiTied prinTer inTo a Tine craTTsman capable oT producing Tine yearbooks. The besT arTwork, The mosT beauTiTul phoTographs can be spoiled by poor reproducTion. Our modern eguipmenT, our compeTenT craTTsmen insure The beauTiTul prinTing ThaT you see in This book. Even The wriTTen copy gains added digniTy and inTeresT because OT The aTTracTive layouT. THE COMET PRESS 2632 ATLANTIC AVENUE BROOKLYN, NEW YORK Telephone APplegaTe 6 - 90804 i , l seventy-nine N ...J