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

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THE PARTINC-51 by ELLEN HAGGERTY IDE BANDS of slatey clouds still huddled menacingly in the heavy sky. The bay still tumbled with the foamy crests of myriad white caps. There was, above all, a great vastness that belied any friendly warmth, and even defied it. Full grey clouds seemingly bounded through a low wind-swept sky. The gulls didn't glide nor swoop, they rather flashed. Silver. Silver, but not metallic. Rather chilled feathered crea- tures, suddenly haloed by the flush reflections of the tendrils of a weak, thirsty sun, that had long since dipped slowly into a cold, bleak bay. An hour before, when the tide had turned, the stiff cold wind had abated, and now a sultry mildness drew a thick, misty sheet over the wet beach and the gaunt, scare-crow trees. A few vacant cottages huddled dark- ly along Beach Street, while naked trees unmatted their stiff black limbs and stretched slowly with great sighs of relief. Two of the three street lamps had been shattered, and the one re- maining cast a meek halo of hope through the mists. A night of light is a night of shadow, but the only fan- tastically evil spot, was the one on the road beneath the swaying street lamp. Here black shadows twisted and squirmed and sprang from the cob- bled paving into their black haunts, then dashed into sight again with pointed ears flapping and long skirts swishing as they drew into the night again. The shadows vainly primped in the mirror-like reflections of the wet roadway. just beyond the light, but guarded from the careening witches by a proud row of thick aspen, a sturdy skiff wait- ed on the beach. Her fore and aft decks were covered with weather- proof canvas, and the locks and oars were poised, waiting. Hick waited, too. Ten after nine. Where the devil was Bud anyway? Hick shivered ten- tatively. He followed the fading out- line of the beach and hills with his deeply shadowed eyes. The events of the past four days marched obviously before Hick's eyes in shadowy hollows, and along his naturally smiling mouth, were deeply etched lines. He tested the anchor rope, then seemingly satis- fled, recoiled it, and thrust it back un- der the canvas. His breath pushed whitely into the grey chill. But for him it was again summer, warm, liquid, heady. Mem- ories of years of summers floated be- fore him. The sun was warm again, the westerly breeze sifted through lines of lustily swaying trees, and touched him, softly. Soft blue days. Pale chilly dawns. Star-flecked nights. The great moons and tides of fair Augusts and fairer Septembers. Exciting camping trips with Bud. Bud! Hope the bay isn't running so high in the morning. Maybe Bud didn't get the note. May- be he did, but didn't want to come. ...J

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with us in second place,-. something begins to go wrong. I knew what it was right away. Cocky was going sour on us. I guess that's what the write-ups the papers gave him did to his head, because he was keeping late hours and going off his game. I told him to lay off once, but he told me to mind my own business. Not that he really went bad. His luck was too great. His playing was getting ragged. He no longer blocked hard, skated like the wind, was slowing up. But not his luck. Lots of times he got in hot water, but his luck always helped him out. His breaks were getting to be legendary. Wfell, the last game of the season comes and just like in story books, if we win this game, it means the cham- pionship. And who should we be playing but the Hawks, a team that never fails in the clutch. Joe don't seem worried, although I am. It's just before game time, and Stella isn't present. just before the third period, the locker-room door flies open and in dashes Mack Stella, disheveled and bloody but a sight for ten pairs of sore eyes. Where were you? gasps joe, who's nearly having a hemorrhage. Tell you as I dress, jerks out Cocky as he rips off his shirt. A bunch of men kidnapped me and promised me a big wad of cash if I tossed the game. I refused, and they took me to some room on Tenth Avenue. But they parked the car in front of a fire hydrant, and a police- man saw the car. Stella stopped talk- ing as he pulled his jersey on. He came in to give them a ticket and before they could gag me, I raised a rumpus, and he clapped the gang in the hoosegow. Drove me over in his car. He adjusted his skate and was ready to go. Well, his luck had gotten him there, and now, according to Hoyle, it should win the game for us. But for once, it looked like his luck had deserted him. Every time he got in Hawk ter- ritory, two men pounced on him and made him hit the ice so hard his teeth rattled like a Ford fender. just as the final minutes were dwindling, he got his stick on the puck and started on a do-or-die offensive. I follow right in his 'tracks and bumped out two men. Marty cleared the fore and it seemed as though a good shot might win the game. Cocky made ready to shoot the puck, but a strange thing happened. At the last moment, his stick slid over the puck, and the only thing he was carrying was ice chips. I saw this at a glance, and raced to- ward it right away. I guess no one else saw it, for they were all watching Mack. He drew his stick back to swing as I reached the puck, two feet behind him. We swung simultan- eously and the next thing I saw was the red light winking. The whistle blew, ending the game. At last, I had done something heroic-like and won a championship game for the team. But the crowd came down on the ice and lifted Stella to their shoulders, not me. Then I understood. The only thing the spectators had seen was Cocky swinging at the disc, and it had looked like he scored the point. No one saw me make it. Anyway, it seemed ap- propriate that the kid get all the glory for that. It was right up his line. I didn't want the point or the fame anyway. All I wanted was the game.

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Nine fifteen. No-Bud would show up. Hick ran up the beach, inspired with a sudden idea. A iire. Give him something to do, anyway, while he waited. Hick hated to wait. Wfhere would there be any dry wood after the rain they had today? Sure, under one of the bungalows. Summer people combed the beaches all season for wood, so's they could have it warm when they came down in early April to paint the houses. Marie was one of those summer people. He had prom- ised to write to her, strange how he never came around to it. Too late now for that, too late for everything. Hick ran across Beach Street, carefully cir- cling the ring of mystic dancers, and drawing off his gloves, knelt by the lattice work of one front porch. In a moment he had loosened the lattice and drawn out three dry logs. Bone dry. From under the porch next door he took three more, then hurried down the beach. just shave off some of this one with a pen knife. So. Good kindling. He thought of a fire they had last summer. At a beach party. Bud's birthday. That was fun. Hick kicked at a marginal stack of sun-blanched shells. He'd made up his mind, he would leave to- night. The red Hame spread eagerly, biting with its short hot tongues into the dry black wood. Hick leaned against the skiff and shoved his feet toward the fire Hick heard someone approaching, whistling softly. He was about to jump up to smother the fire, when he recognized the strain. just a Song at Twilight. Crazy song to be whistling in january when the night lacks the courtesy of an introduction by twilight. Bud was late-something must have happened. Bud always made his ar- rival known when he wished to. I-Ie never did anything without reason. Steady guy. All around O. K. Hullo, Hick, Bud saluted, as he smoothed some bumps out of the sand and took his place before the fire. Nice fire. Yea, why so late P Oh, the folks had company, and dicln't go to bed till late. Oh. Gee, wish Bud was going along. But he hasn't anything to run away from. Lucky guy. But no swell-head stuff. W.liy did you decide to go by boat? The train's quicker, Bud re- marked. The station agent has known me for years. He'd surely tell everyone be- fore I was half out of town. If I went to Mastersville to get the train, I'd have to get there somehow. And only farm wagons go through. Well, Bud asked, How are you going, and where to P You see, Hick explained, I have enough supplies in the skiff for tive or six days. It should take me about two days to get to Masterville. When I get there I'm gonna turn out of the bay and go up the river to Browns- burg. I did it last summer in four days. It'll be easy. Yea, Hick, Bud argued quietly, but january is different from August. There'll be storms. So, Bud, when it rains, I can heave to, and camp till it's over. After what happened Monday night, I'd do anything to get out of this place. Yea, Hick, Bud nodded, I know. Bud always stuck by him. He felt sort of ashamed that he had thought of leaving without saying goodbye to him. Bud had a rich dad and a car and a mother who never screamed