Lincoln High School - Quill Yearbook (Jersey City, NJ)

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On Rowing Near the Shore of a Lake at Dawn With beauteous tranquil world my eyes are met, And sights which halt description at the start: These oars that stroke the water deftly part With eddying whirls that flaw this glass, the net Of clinging mist so easy to forget As time and life go on. 0h heart! Sing with yon winged creatures as they dart From brake and branch. Oh flesh! thy senses whet. In many sorties made upon this lake With gliding waterfplow and petting oar, How was it that I did not care to wake My slumbering soul, and so in this see more Than to the eye was present? Hence, God, make Me keener to the garb that this dawn wore. Albert Engel. The Glistening Cross Money! Money! Fifty thousand dollars! The type stared up at Jim Darnell. Fame! Glory! Honor! Publicity! Contracts! All were his if he could win that hop, New York to Paris. Dangerous, but what rewards. Jim's imagination painted fantastic pictures of what he would do with the A. L. Cresant Prize ..... London, Paris, New York and Broadway. Pk 2k 214 X Pk As Jim shouldered his way through the immense crowd that surf rounded the airport, the raw, misty morning increased his already churlish mood. While giving a cursory inspection to his large Fokker, by now fully oiled and gassed by his mechanic, Jim sullenly pulled on his flying equip' ment. There was yet five minutes to wait for the starting signal. Promptly at fivefthirty, the ships began to take off. One by one they left. Darnell, the last, roared his motor, taxied down the field, and started in immediate pursuit of first place. The wind seemed to freshen as Jim flew toward Newfoundland. Soon the Fokker was in the midst of a violent storm, the plane was tossed about lie a toy by an angry child. Darnell cursed and groaned, consoled only by the thought that his rivals might possibly be in worse straits than he.

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Q l Bill, with a terrible look on his face, rushes over and shuts off the radio. He sits down. Once more he begins to drowse. As suddenly as before, another terrible noise is heard. It is the voice of a crooner, coming from the house of the neighbor on the right. Tuna Bass, the groaner, is singing about a park, a girl, and the dark. This fact annoys Bill, all the more because his last play has been severely criticized for containing the same sub' ject matter. At once, however, the neighbor shuts off his radio and goes out, saving Shakespeare from becoming a murderer. Lucky that wasn't an opera star, mutters Bill. Hardly has he said these words when from the house on the left comes the voice of a soprano. The neighbor on the left, by name George Bernard Shaw, once was Bill's best friend. Bill goes behind the couch, and comes out with a shotfgun. A woman rushes up to him and screams, Stop, Bill! Where are you going with that gun? To kill my pal next door, says Bill sarcastically. His wife, for it is Anne Hathaway, ponders and then says, Weren't you and Shaw the best of friends? Yes, up till today. This afternoon he said that I stole the play Hamlet, from him, shouts Bill. I didn't mind the accusation, continues Bill in a lower voice, but the thing that makes me mad is how he found out that I stole it. Anne, taking command of the situation, says, Now, Bill, you come and have your supper and forget all about him. You're right, Anne, Bill exclaims. But before I forget, I want to change a line in my new play. Anne, wonderingly, Which one is that? Bill, enunciating syllable by syllable, The one that begins, Music hath charms ..... l Russell Apolant. ak wk as wk wk Teachers, teachers, when you meet One whose ways are not discreet, One who murmiirs classes bore him, And his homew0rk's too much for him, One who keeps assuring you That your tests are none too few, And that schoolflife is the bunk- Teacher, do you always flunk? Ethel Swid. Rita Weiss.

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The squall, however, was local, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief as he flew out of it. Now the Newfoundland coast was receding, the leap across the Atlantic had begun. The rays of a red sun, just risen, were reflected as points of light from the crests of tossing waves. All seemed well-too well. Forty miles out Darnell was startled to discern far below a silver cross, glistening in the sun. On closer inspection, he recognized it for the rem' nant of a smashed plane riding the water, its pilot clinging to the floating wing. jim's first sensation was of smug satisfaction as he beheld his oppof nent's plight. 'He attempted to send a call for help. In vain. The storm had injured the radio beyond repair. Satisfaction gave way to disgust: no means of help lay open, save Darnell's return to the coast to summon aid. There was little chance of another plane's passing over the wreck. The Fokker turned toward Newfoundland, hesitatedfa man's life pitted against possible wealth, honor, glory, and fame. Gold won. Darnell straightened his ship and proceeded on his course. Small was the chance that his baseness would be discovered. The figure on the glistening silver cross was doomed, crucified. , Doom and a silver cross ..... one man clinging to a glistening cross ..... doom and a silver cross ..... Again and again the picture returned. Night approached. Still returned that visionfone man on a glistening silver cross. Darnell's steady fingers began to shakeg he endeavored to cast aside that omnipresent vision. It was inescapable. The apparition drove Darnell into a condition bordering on insanity. When dawn approached, Jim was a nervous wreck. Forward rushed the plane, At last the great French airport appeared in the distance- a field surrounded by a throng waiting to greet the victor. The victor, muttered Darnell, as, nearing the field, he saw that he was the winner. The vision again returned, Darnell attempted to brush it away- again in vain. A silver cross zoomed from behind and swept in front of him. Jim realized that this was no illusion, but, ironically, the shimmering plane of a competitor roaring toward the field. A frenzy seized Darnell. Was he to be defeated after he had-squarely he faced the ugly truth-crucified a man? With a snarl of anger, he sent his Fokker into a power divehany means to defeat his sudden rival. The field was still five thousand feet below. Faster, faster dove the plane. The struts screamed, the wings shivered. His silver rival was rapidly outdistanced. At five hundred feet, Jim attempted to pull himself out of that headlong dive. No plane could stand that pace. Attempted-that was all. With a roar of applause, the multitude greeted Jim's oncoming plane- a roar that was quickly stifled in ten thousand throats. The wings of the