Kelvyn Park High School - Kelvynian Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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Ill! LIFE UJITH SHHKESPEHRE For years I regarded him with awe. Whenever a friend of mine casually mentioned that he had been reading The Tempest or Henry VI, I politely gasped. Even his name sounded impressive and mysterious, falling from the lips of intelligent appearing seniors. One couldn't help wondering what mys- teries English 4, 5, and 6 concealed when one saw upper-classmen cavorting madly about the corridors shouting, Is this a dagger which I see before me? or, in sonorous tones, Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears . . I wondered if that was the usual effect Shakespeare had on people, and shud- dered to think of spending the rest of my life in one of those institutions always mentioned discreetly in conversations as a result of my collision with those three distinguished gents: Iulius Caesar, Macbeth, and Hamlet. Aside from this, though, I somewhat happily anticipated the day when I, a mighty soph- omore, could languidly reply to the query What book is that you're reading? . . . Oh, just 'Caesar'! Rather decent stuff. At last it came. I smiled amiably at my fellow English-fours as We opened our thin blue books containing that work of works- Caesar. My jaw dropped. Pre-Shakespearean happiness crashed down around me. Here were creatures in gowns that appeared to be replicas of my grandfather's night shirt, brandish- ing knives above their heads, and speaking in-of all things!--poetry. It was a shock, of course, and one that we did not soon get over, but the end of the semester found us liking it, and actually clamoring for more. Class dramatizations were always amusing, whether the play of the moment was Caesar, Macbeth, or Hamlet. The kids roared with laughter to hear some blundering would-be actor. in a monotonous sing-song voice, mumble out the lines apportioned to Mark Anthony. In vain the teacher ap- pealed to his sense of emotion and drama: in vain he beseeched him to put some life. some feeling into those immortal lines uttered over the slain body of Caesar. It was ludicrous to the extreme to hear some mighty football player rumble out the lines of that silly little sycophant, Osric. Equally amused were we to hear some frail, studious individual's voice quaver over the part of the mighty Macduff. Excitement reigned whenever parts were being given out for class readings. Our teacher's eye would rove contemplatively over the classroom, trying to choose a cast that would do some justice to Shakespeare's genius, and not get tangled up after a line or two. Came the great moment: all of the parts had been given out with the exception of Hamlet. For a magical moment 34 minds hung in avid expectation. Who was to be Hamlet? But our dear teacher settled the matter by seizing this savory bit for himself. Thus it was with all the plays: he was always the shining Polaris of Caesar, Macbeth, and Hamlet. And you may rest assured that if Hamlet did not appear in some particular scene, this gifted teacher would then shift his dramatic abilities to the most prominent role in that scene. The rest of us had to be satisfied with minor and disgustingly 30

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Z9 THE DH! UF IIIU UEHRS Talk about chaos and confusion! That morning my home could have held its own with any madhouse! Mother was tearing madly around with an iron, pressing my blue and yellow ribbons from grammar school. To my protests that no one wore gradua- tion ribbons to high school, Mom only smiled a devastatingly sweet smile, and said in a tone of voice that one might use to an utter idiot, But, darling, you'll be different! I would be different all right! As for my carrying the diploma along, I was helpless against this particular woman's intuition that they might want proof! Grunts and mutterings were issuing from a corner where my father was sweating and laboring feverishly at a self assigned task-shining my shoesl And what shoes! Black patent leather-with straps! I knew all the girls wore sporty saddle shoes, but I also knew it would do no good to voice my in- dignation. In another corner crouched my kid brother, toiling over a ten pound brief- case that my father's father had used! It was awfully battered with age, and it was Sonny's job to shine it up! I could throw that in my locker because a person couldn't carry such a heavy load around without feeling the effects, and, anyway, I knew very well that when you enter high school, you don't bother much with books! I was nearing the end of my rope when Grandma bustled up and handed me a lunch box as big as a breadbox! It was a treasured relic that she had dug out of her trunk. I smiled feebly and thanked her in a thin voice. What else can you do when your mother is glaring at you with o: Go-on, take-it-or- else look in her eye? So I took it, but I was sure that I'd have no use for it! I had been reliably informed that when one enters high school, a strict coke and hot dog diet is a necessary part of the curriculum! I did reach the end of my rope when mother dragged out the dress I was to wear. I shrieked so that even my best friend, on the next block, must have heard me! But there was reason for my madness! It was a horrible, icky- colored green monstrosity that was at least six inches above my knees, one I had always hated!! Visions of high school girls flashed through my mind- girls in sweaters that would fit the aveage 6'4 burly lumber-jack, sweaters so enormous and long that only a few inches of skirt showed. And how would I look? All the while I was being dressed I heard bits of advice. Use big words when you recite. That's how you get good marks! This from my mother. When they put you up for class president, l'll let you use a speech that cinched the election for me! Dad's two cents! Finally I trudged out with my old lunch box, heavy briefcase, ugly green dress, blacked strapped shoes cmd long braids! The family all stood on the porch waving and shouting last minute in- structions. Every time a neighbor's head would appear, Dad would shout, Look, my daughter is going to Q , Q' high school! Too bad a scout for We the People wasn't prowling around looking for prospects, or I'm cer- tain that next week my dad's voice would have been booming through millions of radios telling the world l of his extraordinary daughter! I- But I swallowed hard, turned and waved to a proud and grinning family, and disappeared down f - - the street-off into a new life! .. X - - V I Lois Schaefer rf I! !'l !I I X.. ! it .

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small parts. But while we pretended outward discontent, we knew in our hearts that not one of us could fill the leading role as well as he. and we admired his wisdom in saving the role from the ravages of an amateur Hamlet, Macbeth, or Caesar. When we expressed rebellion at being made to study Shakespeare, this same English teacher would stroll about the room, genially extolling upon the greatness of Shakespeare's works. Oftentimes he would stop in the middle of his reading to tell us how fortunate we were to be studying Shakespeare or to exclaim, Beautiful lines, those! Everybody get those lines doWn! But he was a good fellow at heart, and we forgave him this blind appreciation. At home it was another thing. My family had bravely endured my im- personations of Marcus Brutus, Polonius, and Caesar. BUT, when I tried to imitate Lady Macbeth in a high-pitched wail, meanwhile rubbing my hands with a bar of Woodbury, I nearly ended my dear parents, brothers, and sister in the psychopathic ward of the nearest hospital. In short, I was not appreciated. It added to my distress to hear them emit long, low, tortured groans when- ever I sat down to my English homework. Once, hearing To be or not to be for the one hundred and thirty-first time in one evening, my eldest brother leaped from his chair, howling with pain, and ran from the house. Outside, he paced feverishly up and down the block, stubbornly refusing to come inside unless I stopped reciting Hamlet. After that he would hide my English text so I couldn't study, but I always found it. This befuddled him, so that he developed a mental quirk and began to study Shakespeare himself. Today he is a profound Shakespearean scholar. You can imagine my sorrow, my deep regret, when my sixth semester began to wane and I saw the impending departure of Hamlet. Ah, the pangs of grief endured by me outweighed all of the suffering of the entire world! I even tried to flunk my final exam so as to be able to study Hamlet over again, but my teacher ruthlessly passed me. if 'k Q- Today whenever I see some poor unfortunate trying to master the long lists of Shakespearean quotations in the study hall, when I see a Iulius Caesar tucked securely under someone's arm in the corridor, or whenever I thumb through a chance copy of Macbeth in the library and vision old Hecate Cackling, Double, double, toil and trouble Fire burn and cauldron bubble! I am reminded of my hectic life with that ancient, but nevertheless delightful sire, William Shakespeare. Lorraine Dabe is let - 53 Signing I' Q. N216 I r5 .l'Xl ll ,ff 1'iQi.?:lffc: is ' '