James Monroe High School - Monrovian Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

Page 18 text:

THE SENIOR BOOKAW MMM Autumn X M-ORAL character is attached to autumnal scenes: the - X' - leaves falling like our years, the flowers falling and fading - lv like our hours, the clouds fleetinjj like our allusions, the , l light diminishing like our intelligence, the sun growing cold' flrligl er like our affections, the rivers heceming frozen like our 4' E f .lL l 1 lives. Who is there who at this season is not depressed hy melancholy? Wlicm is ahle to resist that current of thought, which from such appearances of decay so naturally leads him to the solemn imagination of that inevitahle fate which is to hring on the decay of life, of empire, and of nature itself? However constant the visitation of sickness and hereavement, the fall of the year is most thickly strewn with the fall of human life. Everywhere the spirit of some sad power seems to direct the time: it hides from us the blue heavensg it makes the green waves turhidg it walks through the fields and lays the damp, ungathered harvest lowg it cries out in the night wind and the shrill hailg it steals the summer hloom from the infant cheekg it makes old age shiver to the heartg it goes to the churchyard and chooses many a grave. ESTELLE WASSERMAN , C 9 , XJ 2 - , xnxx! y i Q' ' 2 XA xi iqvlllil' X V .Q I, XX : H Y GW ' 1 X XX j xx . . - --.. . x-v1 1 f X f S, ,Q rs X ' e , X news Li. WENT! ' Senior Class-Fourteen

Page 17 text:

Eg . ,ag g - tt s we K -Maw 3 V Wg ll E I4 xrst w as St i r A X at Id' ,I 3 S I 7 W ff it a sm it C . S' I o A SX t i . 3 X ' i ..,--iiififffis il ' f 0 4 ' E Z. x X ' -V-..,. V V WN fi 1 y 1 . 2- ,pi V 9 QQ ,- 1 114i S 'fs kfi f ll' c an i ,lf ' wi Z K' 'ii fs' lg' --nl-.X Hif i i 1 0' of-N' l ...mtxf AMES and places associated with scencs visted in the past are always surrounded by a glamorous aura and although the incif dents coming to memory may have had a most sordid history they are always regarded with sympathy when compared with happenings and personages met in later years. The class of June, 528, so far as school administration is concerned, is now nothing more than a set of names and records, filed away in a metal bound book for future reference. Suppose we were all to meet, the seven hundred and twentyffive of us, ten years hence, in the old school! Suppose all the members of the faculty who have come into contact with us, as students, were to renew their friendf ship and see the product of their labors! What would that scene present to the eyes of an onlooker? Professional meng doctors, grave and methodical, lawyers, ready to wrangle and beam upon their former classmates with ingratiating smiles, highfpowered salesmen, twinfsix gofgettersg insurance agents, postmen, book' keepers, teachers, writers, all hardened by their contact with the outside world, smiling upon all this so superciliously, all that this place meant, where they spent four years of their youth. The teachers, older looking, more tolerant, those who were young in our time, slightly less enthusiastic about this system of mass education, all smiling, some not as if they meant it, remembering old times, But under the skin of all of us, should we be as composed and affable as our faces showed or would our hearts beat just a little faster and would a lump creep into our throats as we again saw the nooks and crannies that we had haunted a decade before. We are all cynical people living in a cynical age and laugh at sentiment, but shouldnt we all feel a little sad when we realize that never again in this strange interlude called life can we live the days when we were all one camaraderie in James Monroe? JGSEPH D. DREYFUSS

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IAMESNMONROE HIGH SCHOQL iliuin Come out into the rain with me, you'll find it warm enough, It's only a cloudfslippered mist-you nee'dn't fear the cold. Ymfve never known the body smell of thick damp earth? The soft wet touch of rainffilled applefblossoms Tipping gracefully from their shining branches, Ur the sight of our willows like children of the fog Beside the brook. The grass is ldewfwet lushg you havcn't felt it sweep up In dripping folds against your bare skin. Even through the windows there's little you can see With eyes like yours, looking inward or far away To other lands. I tell you, stringed webs must hang across the windows of your soul . . You dream When the urge to live is on every side, When the earth stirs And raises its parched lips to filled skies. . Come now-come out into the rain before it's too lateg It's only a cloudfslippered mistfyou needn't fear the cold. LYDIA ROSOFF. I m 3 :59 Wy rr 49 e Senior Class-Fifteen