John Adams High School - Clipper Yearbook (Ozone Park, NY)

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Little johnl' clenched his fist tighter around his lucky-piece and opened his eyes which he had shut during this seemingly painful but favorable announcement. Again, Windy', at the binoculars was announcing the latest developments. l'Keller an, Thomas nearin' the pylon together. Say, 'joimyr that fool pilot of yours, Thomas, had better quit his maneuvering and cut the throttle this time. ,Tain't human to take every turn at that speed and live to tell about itf' All the pent-up feeling which had made Little Iohni' act queerly all morning, broke forth, as he jumped up in a terrible rage crying, 'iShut up, can't yalu Vfith that, Little john started out of the hangar under the wondering stare of the group. In a lowered voice 'lWindy', con- tinued, 'lKeller and Thomas takin, the pylon together. Thomas goin' wide. 'Little johnv paused to listen. 'lThomas made it again, he's in line now ahead of Keller, came the reassuring voice. . Thomas' leadin' down the home stretch. It's those fool turns of his. He won't throttle 'er down. Here they comef' Wfith that, the planes came thundering into clear view, throttles wide open, and each one keeping its same distance in the long string of planes. A moment later, Thomas, with Keller on his tail, swept past the last pylon amidst the thunderous applause of the excited spectators. As he stood in the doorway of the hangar, l'Little johns face broke into a broad smile, and he seemed to lose all his cares and the anger of a moment before. Little john having apologized to his friends for his strange actions, Windy', ventured to ask, Hjohnny, what kind of a lucky piece have you got? We'll have to get the same kind, huh Fellas?,' Righto, they all joined in, Let's see it! Little johnn appeared to be taken unawares and was clearly puzzled as to what to do. Finally, making up his mind, he declared, Half my luck was the skill of Captain Thomas. Here's the other half V' He opened his clenched fist, and, as a small spring fell to the floor of the hangar, they recognized the true meaning of his statement and actions. There on the floor was the small spring without which an airplane throttle cannot be closed, once having been opened. 1 1 If 1 7i1., ,,i L

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speed, wavered a moment, one-hundred feet from the ground, and then fell into second place as it rejoined the other planes which had made much sharper turns but at reduced speeds. In the midst of the mechanics, Little john really looked scared as he saw this dangerous maneuver on the part of his pilot, and he quietly slumped down into his seat as the plane again tore out toward the second pylon at the west end of the field. At this time, the group of mechanics burst into a really serious discussion of the possibilities of the race, planes and pilots. Almost immediately a blunt fellow called XXfindy queried, Say johnny, whats wrong with Thomas? He never even cut the throttle on that turn. May gain a little distance that way, but he'll probably end up in the boneyard if he does it againf, And so it was that almost everyone was puzzled at the strange tactics of Captain Thomas. lt was known as a fact that to take a turn, in a tricky army pursuit plane, at well over two hundred miles an hour was almost certain to result in a side-slip, which is really deadly at a hundred foot altitude. Strangely enough, every pilot had throttled down just before making the turn. Except Captain Thomas. Those who knew the cautious Captain Thomas could not understand his queer action and to question his mechanic Little John brought no further solution to this controversy. Little john now appeared to be sick. He was breathing heavily and chewing and pufhng nervously at his cigarette as he watched the dim outlines or the planes on the horizon. His fellow mechanics felt lze had good cause to feel sick. As is the custom of both pilots and mechanics, each mechanic in the hangar was fondling his good-luck piece during these exciting and trying moments. Since each mechanic had done his utmost to have his oflicer win the race, they now resorted to supernatural powers. Little johnu was no exception, for in his strong right fist was held some such lucky-piece. Meanwhile, X5Vindy had secured a powerful pair of field glasses and with the glasses trained on the planes on the horizon was letting out short excited cries to his anxious audience. l'Nearin, the west pylon now. Keller's around. There goes Captain Thomas. Takin' it wide. Didn't cut the throttle at all, darn fool. 'S fallin' in again. Lven with Keller nowfl

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Oh, The Pain of It By George Bo gin HE rasping, hacking, slash of cut glass rakes your finger, and blood spurts like a wild geyser and trickles hotly on trembling skin. Groping blindly in your pajamas, your big toe bangs against a chair leg. You screech and leap, while radiating twinges of hurt squirm madly in the stubbed member. Someone playfully cognizant of his own humor, grabs your wrist with both paws, and each stretches your skin in a different direction, the Indian Burn. There are livid pricklings of fire push- ing from the hands of that grinning humorist. An elbow shoots from emptiness, splats against your nose. There is a dull solid sort of pain that embarrasses you by making your eyes water. There is the swift, shooting, shrieking pain of a needle pierc- ing the skin. Flame leaps from air, licks with the stinging of bees, the pierc- ing of needles, the boiling of lava, and slashing of daggers. The burn, most torturous, most horrible. There is a sudden clip. Grinding teeth crash down on your tender tongue. It jumps crazily around the concave sides of the roof of your mouth. Your eyes are wet. You moan and wail. A door slams . . . on your linger. Meditate on that pain. Think slowly. The door slamming on your finger. Think of what follows. Think carefully on each minute hurt. Add them up. Two running feet meet space, and a body falls through noth- ingness and earth rushes up to meet with amazing speed, your back. All air is squashed out of you. You make motions to speak. Your mouth utters nothing. You choke. Your lungs beg for air. You cannot breathe. A needle that whizzes, comes slowly and painstakingly into your mouth. It moves toward large caverns and . . . like a hack saw on tin, the drill shrills into your tooth. Swirling, thin, sharp pain that buzzes. Relentless, not stopping. A hair curling sweetly on the end of your chin, is squeezed by the tightness of tweezers. An instant and it is gone. In the interim, dwell on the sensation. Now that I have charmed you with this delightful aperitif, I warn you. Be careful. Do not trip down the stairs. Don't gaze at the heavens while approaching the abruptness of a pole. Don't-- don't-! Ten