Julia Richman High School - Spotlight Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Beneath the roar of the Third Avenue Elevated, and tucked away inconspicuously between stores much larger than ,YJ33llf itself stands a tiny little candy shop known as HJoe's. It is M, Osxq named in honor of the proprietor Now, it could have been 9 called Ye East Side Candy Shoppe or the ululia Richman Stationery Qtore being situated a few blocks from this well- Ats known institution of learning When we questioned the pro- prietor about the christening of his store, however, we discov- ered that he didnt want to put on a1rs,7, as he expressed it. Besides he thought the good plain well-known name of Joe was quite appropriate for his little shop. We promptly made 5 r I apologies and assured him that no offense was meant. Upon considering what he had said, we came to the conclusion that Q .gf Joe was right. The name did suit the store. 'X .-.5 is WWQ, -. I ff a'i' H ,iz AA- -! 1,-0 .L . I 1 D i fab if 7 . i I . f at gi' . . . ' . t t 5 - 7 - ca ' il I . 7 O' 1 i 7 -F.: i Danna-Q ay V f ' Now, let me tell you a little about Joe himself. Joe is a small, inconspicuous man of about forty-eight. He is the kindest, most sympathetic man, I think I'11 ever know. From six o'clock in the morning until about ten at night, Joe stands patiently behind the little counter, living in a world all his own. He continually scours the silver and marble fixtures. Joeis patience holds us in a sort of awe. He can stand for fully ten minutes fwe timed himj pointing out candy to a dirty-faced little boy. When the speechless customer finally decides what he wants, Joe accepts a copper penny and chuckling softly to himself, watches the little feet run out of the store. When we reprimand Joe for being so patient for a penny, he simply smiles and says, HPatience, my children, costs you nothing and gives you a great dealf, Joe has an 'chonor system. He says he cannot be bothered with writ- ing up accounts for his various customers fand he has manyj. He puts them on their honor, seeming to forget all about their debts until they pay up. We have used this system many times when our allowances were diminished. When we pay him back, Joe simply looks at us a moment and says, '4Yes,

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GB 0 Barron, Bafffm, 'IXUAOQ got' Me Miran- The interests of people are varied. Some collect stampsg some collect autographs, some collect books, some find scrap-books an interesting pas- timeg others have discovered that collecting humorous sayings and witti- cisms is fascinating. I guess I'm just different. I collect buttons. Buttons? Those ornaments on one's dress, coat, suit, or blouse. They serve their purpose. Some say theyire old-fashioned. It's zippers that are in vogue. But, I like buttons-modernistic cork, old-fashioned pearl, wooden Mexican sombreros, tiny Schiaparellian hands, classic circles on men's suits, sparkling sequin discs on girls, gowns, huge moon-shaped knobs on a manis overcoat, minute delicate specks on babies' undergarments . . . buttons! To me, buttons are not solely, ua fastening to be sewn on an article of dress usually as a catchf' as Mr. Webster terms them. Buttons are people. Individuals with a life of their own. They come into the world shining and glistening in their immaturity. How do they go out? As a child of average intelligence, my parents were ever trying to comprehend my total lack of interest for dolls-those adored objects of girlish devotion. I refused to play with Mary Jane of the flaxen curls and Patsy Lee of ringlets. For hours I would sit in the remotest corner of my father's department store, oblivious to all my surroundings. There Was Johnny Doughboy going off to war, marching in the midst of all the other soldiers. I had hundreds of round brown buttons. And there was Mary Rhine- stone-a dazzling creature. The illumination of her character showed itself so aptly in the brilliancy of her features. Perhaps she was destined to marry George Broderick F itzmaurice Patent Leather-the happy-go-lucky playboy of her dreams. The blackness of his tuxedo always recalls the density of his career to my mind. And Andre Splotched-who was destined to become a great artist. I can visualize the Vermilion, the green, the aquamarine and multi-colors of his palette. They were in readiness for the slightest wim of his brush aspiring towards a great masterpiece. The study of buttons is the study of people. Yes, richman, poorman, beggar man, doctor, lawyer, Indian Chief-theyire all there. BEVERLY SUSER QD ef Qt' Q o Q52

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yes, that is correct, thank you. I remember asking him why he didn't write down these accounts and he said very kindly, uVVhen I cease to trust my friend, then will I close down my storef' During the cold weather we became aware of ,Ioe's winter costume. Let us start from the bottom up in describing it. First, his summer socks were discarded and in their place we saw heavy-knitted green stockings. We some- times wondered who had the patience to make them. Not wanting to appear inquisitive, however, we did not ask. We laughingly called his trousers uSharpie Pantsy' because they were baggy and the cuffs were turned up. In fact he looked so comical whenever he came out from behind the counter fwhich was very seldomj that we always laughed. Ah! At last we come to ,Iake's sweaters. He wore at least six, some with zippers, some with buttons, and some with hooks. He topped these off with a thick wool scarf, wrapped many times about his neck. Lastly, there was his ever faithful cap. Winter or Summer, rain or shine, Joe is never seen without his little brown cap. We asked him why he ,always wore it. He replied that he was so accustomed to his cap that he sometimes went to bed wearing it. However, I think I have discovered the real reason. I was in the store one torrid day last summer. .Ioe apparently forgetting himself, took off his cap to Wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Lo and behold! Not a single hair was there on the top of his glistening head! With a stare he remembered me, and quickly put his cap back. He turned nonchalantly to see if I were looking. I, of course, became deeply interested in a magazine at that moment. I seemed to sense the relief he felt in thinking that I had not discovered his great secret. Tomorrow when I come in he will great me with a cheery good morning. Wfhen I ask him if any of the girls have come in yet he will say, uNot yet, not yet,', and either go back to his polishing or to showing candy to a greedy little boy. MARTHA SCHLESINGER IVIETROPOLIS NIGHT Daggers of steel Velvet sounds in the muffled night That wound the sky, That cause my soul to ache, And for the sunset glO1'Y vie- Velvet sounds in the muffled night RITA SCHWARTZ My! how they keep me awake! RITA SCHWARTZ