McKinley Junior High School - McKinleyan Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

Page 46 text:

HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE The sky was blue, the water clear and the temperature was in the seventies. An ocean liner was slowly making its way up the Narrows. It was a perfect day to start something new. The Beatles were playing Get Back. It fit in with every- thing else at the moment. I didn't know the girl I was with. I mean I knew her but she was just an acquaintance. It's a very strange thing, getting to know someone you've known for two years. I said I would meet her at the shore again the next day. While I was waiting for her, Get Back was on again. I knew there was something in that song. Just as Jo-Jo was leaving his home in Tucson, Arizona, she appeared. I began to see her every day. The sky was gray, .the water polluted and the temperature was in the forties. A dirty freighter was inching its way up the Narrows. The Beatles began to play Get Back. God, how I hate that song. Ben Spitzer 9H1 IT They said we would never have it. I remember them saying that. They said no group of humans could accomplish it. They had tried and failed. What made us think that we could do it. Yes, we would show them, in twelve hours. If we could just hold out for twelve more hours we would have it, and there would be nothing they could do to take it away from us. Then I heard it, a dreadful hissing sound. They sent it, trying to prove to us that all our planning and hard work was in vain. They were trying to stop us. They couldn't bear the thought of us having it. They had to stop us, no matter what they did or how they did it. But I knew we could have it, if they only gave us a chance, I knew we could have it. Then everything grew darkg I knew we had lost it. Mona Thabit 9H1

Page 45 text:

FREE PEACE What time will it be, When peace will be ffree ? What song will be sung? What bell will be rung? What tomb will be covefred? What cify will be smotheifed? What words will be said? 'How many ave dead? THE CH ESTNUT MAN It was a chilly day in March as the chestnut man sold his chestnuts. People would buy a bag and hurry along afraid to be late to work. Sometimes they would stop and talk to him. On ve ry cold mornings people would buy a bag just to keep their hands warm. The chestnut man had been selling chestnuts for as long as the people could remember. He was a kind and gay old man. He would play with the children and then go back to his job and sell his chestnuts to the people coming home from work. One day the old man was gone and another man had taken his place. As the people were hurrying to work they bought chestnuts from the man. As long as people could remember they bought chestnuts from the same old man. Catherine Azar 9Hl by Gina if 5 ' -xi X 1 N11 46' Lv . .f :rv . ,Y S 't' I 1, J Gambino 9Hl I l fi 3 -'R . ,D I If . tt y - A153 0 ll- .2335 Z by E ,! my xx E

Page 47 text:

THE VISIT The scenery outside the taxi window seemed to change from good to bad to worse. Never before had I any doubts about bringing my friends home because of the neigh- borhood. As we turned down my blockthere seemed to be dozens of children running in and out of the street looking for some kind of amusement on this hot summer's day. Cindie talked on and on. I directed the driver to the house in the middle of the block with the red steps. How I disliked those red steps! They had been painted that way so that I could distinguish my ,house when I was very young. After all, the bitter thought ran through my mind, all these brownstones looked alike, one after the other, for block upon. block. The taxi stopped with a jerk, and, as I reached into my pocketbook for the fare, it slipped, scattering all my belongings about our feet. Why should I be so nervous, I thought to myself. After all, Cindie andI had gone through so much together. When we had first met, she had been sitting on the floor at campaign headquarters, licking envelopes and making faces to let everyone know how awful they tasted! Her clothes were almost identical to mine, from the frayed dungarees and the blue T-shirt to the sneakers with the holes in the same places. I had seated myself beside her and had offered to help. From the moment I had seen her warm, friendly smile, Ihad known we would be friends. Each day Cindie had brought a little bit of magic from her world into mine. It was funny how we had never really talked about clothes, or homelife, with one another. In fact, I had mentioned the subject only once and dropped it quickly because I had noticed a lack of interest, even a trace of anger in Cindie's voice. We usually talked about the campaign, his chances of winning, and what effect it would have on our generation if he were elected. I remember the fits of laughter we went into when we were giving out pamphlets and a passerby would make some silly comment. Now, all that seemed to vanish. All I could feel was the shame of my plastic pocketbook next to Cindie's real crushed leather one, the embarrassment of having a patched-up run in my stocking, and a hand-me-down dress with a huge hem on it. I snapped shut my pocketbook and stepped into the street. Cindie's expensive shoes clicked smartly as they came in contact with the pavement, and all I wanted to do was to turn and run away. Instead I went quickly, ahead of Cindie, so that I could walk on the right side of the steps. Perhaps Iwquld be able to hide the cracks in the cement. I rang the doorbell and mother answered almost immediately. She had probably been at the window, watching as we had approached. I noticed that she had really tried to fix herself up for my guest. How could she ever compare to Cindie's stylish mother whose pictures in the society pages each year seemed to look younger and younger? Her crisply starched white apron, that she wore only for special company, had yellowed with age and looked quite old-fashioned, like Something Cindie's great-grandmother might have worn. How I wanted to rip off that apron, but then her dress would show even more, and that would be worse. It was much too long, and the color of her shoes clashed with it. Qcontfdj