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

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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

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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

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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