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

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RDBMS CREEK LEADERS CLIPPER SENIORS PUBLICATIONS ART STAFF W AD PM X954 ,WWWA Q . A xl CAMPUS SENIORS xxxwbs

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vl I idduvfv Sr is J X. ffl 1 X . f .f M IH J XLX TNGS LOOK AT it reposing there. Now it moves. Is it alive? Is it breathing? It moves again. What force is driving this object onward? What mystifying power impels this object to obey? Perhaps man will never know. Per- haps it will be another wonder for man to unravel. Wait-it moves again! I can see it move clearly. The contour is more distinct, the color more vivid. The lines move. I know what it is! The secret is out. It's a dozing senior. Edith Goldberg DID YOU ever stop to think how beautiful a tree really is? Let's look at a tree with its shapely body and its dress of bright green leaves. In the summer, she always manages to keep trim, and her overwhelming beauty catches the eyes of both young and old. Although she never has to comb her hair, it is always neat: washed with the rain to keep her looking her very best. In the autumn, she changes her dress from a bright green to a red and tan cover, a perfect match for her brown body. She is always there for people to see and she makes a perfect home for birds to breed their young ones. The next time you pass a tree, stop to look at it and really notice the beauty that everyone seems to take for granted. Theresa DiBernardo THE SKY was dull gray and the overhanging cloud seemed to reflect the gloom in Iim's heart. At last the time had come. Secretly he had hoped that the dawn would forget to break this morning, or that God might somehow overlook this calen- dar day. lim had awakened early. Undoubt- edly his troubled thoughts would not permit sleep. As he lay there think- ing of his past, he wondered just what he had done to deserve this punishment. The gallows itself could not have presented death in a more realistic manner. Automatically his body performed the daily rituals of dressing and eat- ing breakfast. His mind was saturated with thoughts of the fast approach- ing moment. Iim heard the clock strike six, and decided it was time to leave. As he walked through the familiar streets, he noticed the clouds were beginning to lift. Perhaps this is a good sign, he thought, encouraging himself. He was not long in reaching his destination. Nearing the assigned building, his heart began to pound and his body ached with fear. Upon entering, he found that he was early. Another was awaiting sentence before him. Time ebbed on. The moments seemed to numb Iim's mind, as he patiently awaited his doom. A voice was saying, Iames H. Stewart, please step forward. Doing so, Iim was at last face to face with his fear. Time traveled swiftly, though anxiety never faded. A few spoken words, one signature, and it was over. Iames H. Stewart was in the United Siates Army. Elizabeth Ward Eleven

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THE LONG JOURNEY THE M1-XCHINES of man grind slowly but they grind exceeding fine. Man depends upon that machine. The machine that opens his can of beans, that machine that makes his car run, the machine that keeps his food cold, and that which prints his books. Man stands proudly with his head high and boasts of his mighty deeds. He boasts to the beasts of the forest from whence he came and shouts to them, Why did not you this? The beasts watch man and his ways. are meeting. Maybe on a a small town, yellow wheat, I cannot say. The great armies Where, I cannot say. lonely hill overlooking on a field of blowing in an autumn forest, Yet men are dying on this day and will travel to their last home. They shall leave theirs behind: their loved ones, their enjoyments, their sorrows, their sleep, their waking up, their eating, their starving, all these things shall be nothing. Their blood shall stop flowing from their heart and they shall rot-in the ground. Rot, not like an apple, for an apple has seed. They shall rot and break up and nothing will come of it. Why! Why! Why! Why does he die and not the other one? Why does anyone die? Roger lladon Why must he go to war? Why must he carry a gun? Why must he walk through dirt and muck? Why must he lose an arm? Why can he not see? Why am I here living when they across the sea are dead? Who is one? Is it they that right? Is it the victorious the mighty one? Or is it believe in God? I notice that both armies claim some sort of affiliation with the Lord. Their gods may be different and very possibly the same yet the ground is drenched red. They love God but hate their fellow man. What hypocracy! Maybe, someday, there will be a great war. A war that will never be written down in the annals of his- tory, for there will be no history. A war that really will end all wars. Oh, mind you, man will fight alter that. He will fight his neighbor with his bare hands, and with his teeth. He will fight not for hate, just for food. He will never strive for any- thing. He will never want anything. Art, sport, music will mean nothing and will be nothing to him. He will retrogress until he will be another wild beasts of the forest. And the beasts shall say, Welcome back. Thirteen