Loretto Academy - Laurel Yearbook (Kansas City, MO)

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Street, which emphasizes petty provincialism, and Our Town, which emphasizes great hearted life, Dandelion W'lne would rank with Our Town. Perhaps it is because Douglas sees in simplicity that Green Town is so beauti- ful. If cynical Sinclair Lewis looked at the same town, he might see another Gopher Prairie. But Douglas is a boy at home in the place that to him is life; he loves; and his eyes see goodness. The odd thing about this book is that Ray Bradbury is known mainly for his science fiction. And some of Bradbury the science-fiction writer does seep in through Bradbury the novelist. But this only adds to the air of fantasy in reality that permeates the whole book. Imagi- nation, one of the key requirements for any good writer or poet, is pressed down and running over in this cup of dandelion wine. In this golden book, his deep, green sum- mer-garden is a wonderful thing. For people interested in windows, this is an exciting book. For people interested in people and themselves, it is an exciting book. Because now your Ticonderoga pencil is stubby and your nickel notebook is crammed with scrawled wisdom. One sophomore seems to have solved the problem of tell- ing one set of senior twins apart. The first is the intel- ligent one and the other is the brainy one ... or was it vice-versa? I nominate a certain dramatic senior for ballerina of the year. She brings a certain dignity” and coordi- nation to the seventh period dancing class. The sophomores have all the luck! Remember that unannounced fire-drill? They were in gym! You better believe it—Loretto’s Peanuts readers will enjoy this one. We have a poochie in our neighbor- hood who has a “Psychological Snoopy Complex. All day long he stands on his dog house and sighs. To the fourth hour chemistry class: Are you a happy atom? At least one LA student is taking heed of the strictly enforced uniform regulations. One morning she even went so far as to polish her shoes with Dutch Cleanser! Exclusive Christmas presents, hand-made hy the handicapped Sugair Foote Creations U501 Fai mount LO 1-llUU Kansas City, Mo. 2961 E. 28th St, «Jack Genova Investment Go. £outh Qide BANK 383« MAIN STREET VA 1-8200 be Utse 3ur juf Potato Chips Ch£e.se Stu Nu.T.5 GeUt- % O.H. Gerry Optical Co. 4200 Blue Ridge Professional Bldg. 428 Ward Pkwy. Medical Bldg. 4140 W. 71 FL-6-5842 VI-2-1477 JE-1-2734 EN-2-7744 blaze j hair Park i an 1212 w. U7th Va. 1-021 6 THE KNIGHTS Music for All Occasions FOR RESERVATIONS CALL OR WRITE JIM CRUISE JA 3-5399 November 1962 11

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 Crossing the lawn that morning, Douglas Spaulding broke a spider web with his face. A single invisible line on the air touched his brow and snapped without a sound. So, with the subtlest of incidents, he knew that this day was going to be different. Ray Bradbury's book is a discovery, an exploring of all things familiar, yet unknown because they are so familiar. Dandelion Wine is full of the magic of a boy's summer, but it’s a magic that some people can’t believe in. Twelve-year-old Doug Spaulding, in the summer of 1928 realizes he's alive—he does the same old things, but it's like doing them the first time. All the old things are fresh and fascinating and new this summer because he is awake and real; and we see and feel them along with Doug. Together with him, we lick yellow Ticon- deroga pencils and write in nickel tablets “DISCOV- ERIES AND REVELATIONS. The first one he discovers is his brother, Tom. Tom is a lover of statistics. One of the funniest scenes in the book is a berry-picking session with Tom sitting calmly in the middle of the woods, eating a deviled ham sand- wich and reciting statistics. . . How many times I brushed my teeth in ten years? Six thousand! Washed my hands: fifteen thousand. Slept: four thousand some- odd times, not counting naps. Ate six hundred peaches, eight hundred apples. Pears: two hundred. I'm not hot for pears. . . Once they have discovered each other, Tom and Doug become great friends. Tom, said Douglas, “just promise me one thing, okay? “It’s a promise. What?” “You may be my brother and maybe I hate you sometimes, but stick around, all right? “You mean you'll let me follow you and the older guys when you go on hikes?” “Well . . . sure . . . even that. What I mean is, The reader rampant shares a little boy's summer secret with leaf'bound students. don't go away, huh? Don't let any cars run over you or fall off a cliff.” “I should say not! Whatta you think I am, any- way? Cause if worst comes to worst, and both of us are real old—say forty or forty-five some day—we can own a gold mine out West and sit there smoking corn silk and growing beards. Growing beards! Boy! Like I say, you stick around and don't let nothing happen. You can depend on me, said Tom. It's not you I worry about, said Douglas. “It's the way God runs the world. Tom thought about this for a moment. He’s all right, Doug, said Tom. “He tries. But the two boys aren't the only characters in the book. Everyone in the book makes some kind of dis- covery. There is accident-prone Elmira Brown, who's certain she's been hexed by Clara Goodwater. Leo Auff- mann's happiness machine teaches him that he can t man- ufacture happiness. And the best happiness machine, the one that runs all the time, is a family. Old Mrs. Bentley learns something the children always knew: that she was always seventy-two, and never a little girl with long yel- low curls. John Huff teaches Doug the best way to say good-bye to a friend. You freeze him playing statue, whisper so long, and run before either of you realizes you're gone. There is also the strange, haunting affair of William Forrester, thirty-one, and Miss Helen Loomis, ninety-two. This is summer, 1928, in Green Town, Illinois. But it is also all summers ever in any town anywhere. Brad- bury has the power to make reality real; be blends ordi- nary things and people into a song of extraordinary won- ders. Stories about small boys growing up in small towns are not unusual; but this one is. If we were to divide the classics on small towns into the separate camps of Mum 10 the UureletM

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“Mary, come on. It's your turn. Go get some more.' “Oh, all right. I wonder what Mommy will say when I tell her we're all out. “She'll prob'ly think we're the best salesmen on the block, I said. We were selling lemonade. In fact, we had sold it all morning and now it was afternoon. We had a sign hanging from the folding table It said—“Lemonade 5c a glass.” we had a lot ’ cus the weather was hot. It was very hot. in fact. It must have been at least a hundred degrees! Everytime somebody came up to the table I'd ask 'em if they wanted to buy any. Sure, they'd say, but I’ll buy it from this cute little blonde. That's Mary. She was blonde and she had big brown eyes that could really sell lemonade. I counted the money in my box—25 cents. Then I counted the money in her box—40c. That meant that she sold more than me. Darn! Just 'cus she's littler than me they think she's poorer. I heard the side door smack and Mommy came around the side of the house with a big pan of cloudy, pink lemonade. It even had ice cube icebergs bobbing in it. “Oh, boy! Maybe I’ll even earn a dollar. Mommy, do you think so? Mary stuck her 'ole fingers in the pan to taste the pink stuff. “Maybe, honey. But don't be disappointed if you don't. Mommy ladled up a spoonful for me. “See, Phyl. We made it pink this time so it would taste better. I think it's too pre e-tty to drink. “If you don't get your fingers out of the pan. nobody will buy it. Besides, 1 gotta sell more than you anyhow. I'm the oldest.'' “That doesn't matter. I'm the youngest. “But I'm the oldest and I should lead in everything. Huh. Mommy? Mommy was mad. “If both of you don't stop this bickering I'll take the lemonade back into the house and neither of you will get a chance to sell anymore. “But she started it all. I was mad too. There wasn't any reason why she should have everything her own way. “I did not! Tou started it. “All right. If that's the way you want it Mommy picked up the lemonade pan and started for the side door. “Oh no. Mommy. I'll stop. I'll be good. Let us sell some more lemonade. Please? “All right. If you promise. Now if you need anymore, Phyllis, you can come and get some. She set the pan down again then went back into the house. The man who lives across the street saw our sign and came over. I guess he was coming home from work 'cus he had his black lunchbox in his hand. I didn't know why he was coming home in the middle of the afternoon. My daddy always came home when Mommy had dinner ready. He took one look at Mary with her 'ole brown eyes and bought a glass from her. I was getting hotter and hotter. We waited for forever, but nobody else came to buy any lemonade. Mary stuck her finger into the pan every once in a while to taste it. I kept telling her to stop 'cus nobody would want to buy ole dirty lemonade. It made me sick. Her sticking her fingers in the lemonade like that. Finally. I said that I was going to get my bike and ride across the street to Shirley's. (Shirley's my very best friend at times.) Mary put our money in our secret place behind a post on the porch and ran to get her bike. That made me hotter than ever. “Now listen, Mary. You're not goin' with us. You're just a little kid and it'll be hard riding up the hill to the park. You play with your own friends. You're not big enough to play with me! “You're just mad 'cus you didn't sell as much lemonade as I did. So there! She got her bike anyway, though. The ride to the park was hard 'cus we had to purnp going up the hills. When we got there we stood with our fingers through the holes in the swimming pool gate and watched the other kid» splash. There was kind of a hill leading from where they played tennis to where they played baseball. I thought that it would be fun if we rode our bikes down it. I was the first one down. The ground under my bike tires was hard and bumpy. I left a trail on the baseball diamond like one of those you sec behind a cowboy when he rides off on hu horse. When 1 got to the top of the hill, there was 'ole Mary with her sticky fingers in her mouth. She just stood there not doin' anything. If she was big enough to come with me then she was big enough to go down the hill. But she didn't want to. She only wanted to ride where it was flat. Come on, Marv. It's a lot of fun. You can ride on the back of Shirley's bike if you don't want to go on yours. She kept standing there like that until he said, “Oh, all right. But just watch me all the way down. 1 could tell that she really didn't want to go but I made her. 1 told her to hang on tight. I could see her bouncing on the back and 1 shouted to go faster. All of a sudden she fell of. Boy, did she cry! She had this 'ole ugly sore on her knee. It was blccdy and terrible. Something was wrong with two of her fingers on her right hand. I didn't know what the matter was. “Phyl, I can't move my fingers. They hurt. Phyl i i-s, do something. Her face was this funny color of pink and her 'ole nose was running. It kind of made me sick. Come on. Mary. Quit playin' games. All you do is play games. You're not hurt very much. Look. All you got is one sore on your knee. I don't either. My fingers hurt too. 1 want Mommy. I couldn't tell Mommy cus I didn't know what she'd say. She'd prob’ly be mad at me. Darn! Mary’s 'ole sticky, hurt fingers made me mad and scared. Some kids had come around 'cus they heard Mary crying. One of 'em wanted to know what happened. When I told him, he said he'd take Mary's bike home and tell Mommy. Mary was crying so hard that she made me cry. We started walking home. Mary could hardly walk 'cus she had that 'ole sore on her knee and 'cus she was a little kid who was bawling all over the place. Mommy met us half way. She still had her apron on and her nylon stockings were rolled down to her ankles. She picked Mary up and carried her all the rest of the way home. Mary was too heavy for her, but she did it anyway. I walked my bike and sobbed till 1 couldn't sec. Daddy came home from the office and we all went to the hospital. I guess they wanted me to go 'cus then if she was dying, she could put a final curse on me. I didn't need a curse. I was going to hell anyway. I waited outside the emergency room and watched the people go by. 1 counted the money in our lemonade boxes. I grabbed the money from our secret place on the way to the car. Mary was a real good lemonade salesman. Even though she always stuck her 'ole fingers in it. Now those fingers were so rubbery. Daddy came out and told me everything would be okay. I tried to smile and my face felt like smiles had been away a long time. 12 the laurelette