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

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Water Front Night spirals above the water Like fog, above the ferry whistles Which sigh along the harbor streets. Grab that rope -scraping on the boat's side, The dock trembles at the impact. Wind changeg faint noise of far auto horns Sounding across from the Palisades Through the grayish sea-weedy water. I walk alone and watch the lights Distort themselves before my eyes. H arold Silverxtein

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HIS is an excerpt from the nefar- ious career of a member of a certain clan which goes under the name of the High Order of Lunch- room Pests, the extermination of which would be a most welcome plank in the platform of some alert G. O. presidential candidate. Most high school students await patiently the moment when the bell rings, and they can skip down the hall to the hum- ming lunchroom. Can you imagine the happiness of a student who has settled comfortably at a table and has had his sandwiches unwrapped and ready for vanishing when suddenly a group of gallant friends swoops down unmercifully upon him? When the smoke of battle clears, the poor, depraved young man sits dejected, disgustedly peering into space and, where a few minutes ago his luscious repast rested, now all that he can see to satisfy that gnawing feelingwlin his stomach is the wax wrapping of what once was . . . lunch! Alas!-seems his friends were a bit hungry too. Not long ago, we trailed one of these clan-members to the scene of his daily atrocities and observed him as he sidled up to and opened fire on his blissful, unsuspecting victim who had just deposited a food-laden tray. XY1hy, hello jimmy, old pal! That's LUNCHROOM SAGA by CHARLES RABUSE a fine looking special you have . . . What's that you say? Nobody's my pal during lunch hour? Well, now, I must admit that I have noticed the existence of a certain amount of cool- ness toward me during this time. But I just can't understand. Say, what an unusually large slice of chocolate layer cake! Do you mind if I-OW! My hand! Well you could at least have said 'no' in a more gentle manner. If I'd known you felt that way, I wouldn't have--- Why, that's a mighty fine stack of bread you have there. At least five slices. Do you mind if I-Ha! Beat you that time. Mm-m-m-Good bread. It is rather dry though. Would you consider it a breach of etiquette for one to dunk his bread in cocoa in order to moisten it a bit? You don't? Oh-if he has his own cocoa. Why, look! There's johnny Green behind you. My mis- take. That wasn't johnny. Now what's that? Are you sure of what you're saying? Of course I didn't dunk my-er-your bread in your cocoa while you turned around to see johnny. Well-maybe I did a little bit. But only ever so slightly. You say, did my lingers go into your Cocoa while I was dunking? Well- er now, yes, they did. But they're clean. Oh, a little inky I'll admit, but what's a little ink among-say isn't that a salmon sandwich you have there? Do you mind if-Say! Wl1at's that strange gleam in your eyes? What are you looking at me like that for? Stay away-4help, monitor, guard-

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,Ti-Y 7 l I Ola, infinite time! lWhat .ftorier you can tell. A year, or ten, or A fleeling moment are all Eternity. PRINGTIME in Scotland is a gor- geous panorama of loveliness, In the neighboring sections of Glas- gow are huge, spacious fields of blooming life. The fragrance from the flowers seems to fill the invigorat- ing airs of the whole of the land. It is the time of the year when the Scots, proudly exhibiting their native gar- ments, roam the countryside to enjoy the simple, yet penetrating beauties of their land. Killin is a little town in the prov- ince of Perth, and stretched around it are the huge estates of many a noble Scotsman. The old castles of the clans, dating back many centuries, are still standing as the few remnants of that glorious age held so dear in the heart of the kilted laird. In the highland, near the outskirts of the town, is the wealthy estate of Bruce McCosh, winding itself for many acres around Killin. There is an old castle on the grounds, but it is quietly resting while the echoes of the past centuries reverberate within it. In the old castle have lived the long line of McCosh's who have, in the traditional way, handed it down THE AGAVE PLANT by MILTON STEINBERG through the years. The McCosh's were a fighting clan, and Bruce not only inherited the old castle and land, but the proud individualism of his ancestors. Bruce was a kind man, but firmness and force were his laws. He was living in the twentieth cen- tury, but acted as would have his ancestors. He had married a simple Scots maiden, whose parents were honored for having as kin an old Scots family with traditions. Since their marriage they had lived in the old castle, which to Bruce was life. However, for Flavian, his wife, it was misery to be kept in a cell without seeing much of the outside world. But as the wife of a noble Scotsman, she did not com- plain. The McCosh's had two children, a girl and a boy. When the first-born was a girl, Bruce was sad, for he had longed for a boy to carry on with the family crest. When the second child was a boy, Bruce should have rejoiced, but he was sad because the child was in feeble health. He was christened Bane. Bruce was indifferent to the boyg the mother had a maternal love for her child, and the child in turn had great feeling for her. Mary, the daughter, was a scholarly girl. As a child she would pass her time with