Miss Halls School - Hallmark Yearbook (Pittsfield, MA)

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Then ?here was Maxie ?he Taxi . This amazing specimen o? cab driverhood was on ?he verge o? suing Eddie Can?or. I was alone on ?his ?rip. which was ?i??y blocks long. I? seemed ?ha? ?he driver had once wri??en a book abou? ?he s?range experiences he had had wi?h various passengers he had driven. Eddie Can?or had s?olen his ma?erial ?o use ?or Maxie ?he Taxi , a s?ory which was ?old in children's books and on records. and which has ne??ed him ?housands o? dollars. For many blocks l heard abou? ?he speeches ?ha? my driver had made in ?ron? o? ?wo ?hou- sand people a? a big ho?el. abou? how he had a righ? ?o his royal?ies ?rom Mr. Can?or. and abou? his plans ?o sue ?ha? ac?or. Wi?h ?he money he planned ?o collec?, he was going ?o leave his na?ive habi?a? o? Brooklyn and go 'ro Europe on ?he QUEEN ELIZABETH. These are jus? ?hree examples o? cab drivers whom l remember. There was also ?he one who had recen?ly come wi?hin abou? ?our minu?es o? having a baby born in his cab, ?he ?a?herly one who convinced me ?ha? l should have a milkshake ra?her ?han a cigare??e. ?he ?ough ?emale driver wi?h dyed red hair. and-.?he so??ly-spoken man wi?h ?he big black mous?ache who ?old me abou? his you?h in Whi?e Russia before ?he Revolu?ion. Mos? drivers have a ?endency ?o seem shy. sullen. or rude. I have ?ound ?ha? in order ?o have a ?airly scin?illa?ing ride. one mus? draw ?he driver ou? o? his shell. And one may 'rhen discover ?ha? New York cabbies are o??en more in- ?eres?ing and amusing ?han ?he average person one meels every day! Alexandra Lukin. l955 THE BONFIRE Crackling brigh? on ?he s?ones O? ?he beach. S?re?ching ?endrils Of s?rong young ?lames. The ?ire ?reads air, aler?. People ?ading In and ou? o? range S?umble ?o arrange ?hemselves In ?he dark shadow O? ?he blaze. Bushes crouch and wai? Under ?rees. Whose valen?ine lace Ou?Iines Decora?e ?he solid sky. Sounds of 'T Plinking gui?ar And mellow voices. O? ?he secre? slap o? wa?er Massaging Rocks and hard sand. The swelling glow A Of ?he enchan?ed circle Reaches ou? To black in?ini?y. Jane Lowry, I 955 Page 30

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NEW YORK CAB DRIVERS Cab drivers compose an imporTanT parT of New York CiTy's popuIaTion. They will never Tail To inTrigue and amuse me. SomeTimes They annoy and oTher Times They fascinaTe me. BuT I always wonder abouT Them - why They have chosen Their profession. and if They are happy. One day abouT Three years ago. I hailed a cab in fronT of my house. I was irrifable. Tired, and lafe for my piano lesson, To which I had no desire To go in The firsT place. A cab drove up, and as I goT in, The driver said in a cheerful Tone of voice. Good afTernoon. Ma'am. IT seemed raTher sTrange'To me ThaT a Taxi driver should be so civil. Living in New York, I had become hardened To Their usual gruff nonchalance. I replied, wiTh a raTher surprised smile. Good afTernoon. and Told him where I was going. The nexT Thing I heard was a compleTe shock. Would you like Tea, coffee. or hoT chocolaTe? Who would expecT To be offered liquid refreshmenf in a New York Taxicab? ForTunaTely I remembered an arTicle in The AMERICAN magazine which I had read a few monThs before. This musT be The man. whose name-since I can'T remember iT-shall be Bill Brown. He had been wriTTen up in This magazine as The mosT courTeous and considerafe cab driver in The ciTy. His refreshmenf sysTem was considered a greaT nerve-sooTher. I asked him. raTher unbelievingly. Are you - THE ONE - in The AMERICAN? Yup, I sure am. he replied, holding up a copy of The AMERICAN magazine opened To The page conTaining The arTicIe abouT him. He smiled, and repeaTed The quesTion he had asked when I firsT goT inTo his cab. Two minuTes laTer. as I saT re- Iaxedly enioying a cup of hoT coffee IwiTh sugar and creaml which had been prepared on a STerno can. I asked whaT had ever prompTed him To sTarT his hoT drink service. He replied ThaT he found ThaT people liked. as he puT iT. To relax in hacks. Ma'am. so why shouIdn'T They have a nice cup of coffee or such while They ride? Also. pas- sengers Iikeza genTeel driver, so why shouldn'T I be ThaT way? Besides. iT's so much easier To be nice Than rude. Ma'am. LisTening To whaT he did noT say, as if reading beTween The lines. I gafhered ThaT he quiTe obviously had discovered ThaT The nicer and more courTeous he was. The larger his Tips would be--an economically sound discovery. We Talked for The remainder of The ride abouT various unimporTanT buT pIeasanT maTTers, and when I goT ouT, having-I mighT add-Tipped him much more Than usual. Bill said, Good-bye. Ma'am. Have a nice day, and God bless you. ThaT remark really resTored my faiTh in human naTure for The day. I have always wished l mighT ride wiTh Bill Brown again, buT I never have. T AnoTher memorable experience I had wiTh a cab driver occurred lasT ChrisT- mas vacaTion. On one of our many cab rides from my home To The BilTmore HoTel, my roommaTe and I realized ThaT There was a melodic sound issuing from The fronT seaT. As The Tune sounded raTher familiar, we asked The driver whaT he was singing. He Turned around. his dark PuerTo Rican face IiT up by an immense grin, and answered. HCONTIGO. You know eeT? I replied ThaT I did as iT was one of my broTher's favorife songs. and asked him please To sing iT To us. He did. By 72nd STreeT, we realized ThaT we had a one-in-a-million driver. By The Time we reached The BilT- more, we had learned ThaT his name was Adrian. ThaT he sang. played The guiTar. and was one Third of a Spanish Treeo. which, I mean-we seeng avery Wednesday nighT on The radeeo. We had somehow acquired a small. raTher grimy card wiTh his name and Telephone number on iT, een case you 'ave a parTy and wanT a Treeo, or a seeng- erI I sTilI have The card. Who knows, some day I may find ThaT I need a Treeo. or a seengerf' Since iT was Then Two days before ChrisTmas, and my roommaTe and I were in a singularly happy frame of mind, we Tipped him one dollar and fiffeen cenTs and wenT Tripping off To The Palm CourT wiTh CONTIGO ringing in our ears. Page 29

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THE RED RING Billy had buck TeeTh and a crew cuT. His TeeT were Too long Tor The resT oT him. and he was shy. BuT aT The age oT seven he was one oT The sweeTesT boys I have ever known. IT was during The war and There were abouT Tour Tamilies living in a liT- Tle valley cuT oTT Trom The road. The houses were connecTecl by small lanes, and There were shady gardens and. aT The boTTom oT The valley. a huge ravine wiTh a wooden bridge over iT. IT was our world. and The war seemed very Tar away. Our bungalow was builT inTo a hill which had been Terraced inTo a garden of diTTerenT levels. InTo This garden you could walk Through The French doors on ThaT side oT The house. In The TirsT spring days we used To have lunch on The wisTeria Terrace. Trom which we could see all The liTTle houses below in The valley. The sun made pale, warm paTTerns on The old TlagsTones, and every day we waTched a Tamily oT cardinals in a nesT in The vines. In The evening we could see TireTlies in The silenT darkness and smell The rich cool loam in The garden. The TirsT Time I played wiTh Billy was in April. The crocuses were up and everyThing smelled damp and springlike. My broTher and I were hiding behind a bank waTching him play by his house wiTh The mosT beauTiTul liTTle blue sTove I had ever seen. We waTched his inTenT Tace wiTh a sorT of haTred, and The more we waTched The more we wanTed The sTove. My broTher picked up a rock and Threw iT aT him. WiTh The ThoughTless cruelTy oT children we conTinued To Throw sTones unTil Billy ran inTo The house weeping. Scrambling up The bank. we snaTched The liT- Tle sTove and Tlew back across The ravine. We hid The Treasure in our secreT hideouT and hoarded iT Tor days. BuT Then one morning when my TaTher was working in The garden. he called us To him and Told us reprovingly ThaT we musT reTurn The sTove ThaT we had Taken. How did he know? We looked aT him wiTh eyes round in amaze- menT. IT seemed illogical Tor us To have To reTurn iT, like a deTeaT oT our superior inTelligence. buT aTTer an hour of procrasTinaTion we wenT sheepishly back across The ravine wiTh our Treasure. Billy looked aT us wiTh grave, hazel eyes when we silenTly handed him his sTove. Then his Tace broke inTo a shy smile and he asked us inTo his house. I remember The liTTle blue and yellow Tlowers on The kiTchen oilcIoTh. and The Tizzy gingerale and buTTer cookies. When The cow bell sounded across The hill calling us home To dinner. Billy smiled aT me, his eyes crinkling aT The corners. and said. Here, This is Tor you. as he puT The liTTle blue sTove inTo my arms. From ThaT day Billy STuarT was our Triend. IT was The beginning oT a Triendship ThaT was parT oT one oT The mosT pre- cious years oT my childhood. In The winTer Billy and I used To go sledding on The Top oT an old Table. Holding each oTher very TighTly we would go spinning down The icy hill like a Top. One grey aTTernoon we seTTled down on an upside-down card-Table To Take a Trip To The Yukon. Billy Tucked me in wiTh blankeTs and comic books, and we sTarTed down The longesT rouTe we could Tind. BuT we TorgoT ThaT a card-Table could move so TasT on an icy crusT. and in no Time aT all we were Tangled up in a whiTe. Turry heap aT The boTTom oT The ravine. comic books and card-Table legs sTrewn everywhere. ATTer ThaT very shorT Trip we gave up The Yukon. I remember Billy's house. I can sTill see The TronT hall and The grandTaTher clock wiTh The blue-glazed halT-moons. I can sTill smell The hoT milk and The waxed Tloors. Because Mrs. STuarT was TerriTied oT illness, The house always had a hoT. op- pressive air abouT iT as if someone were very sick upsTairs. ThaT March Billy did be- come ill and They Took him away To The hospiTal. When he was gone, I used To play wiTh a liTTle girl named Flossy Morison-and almosT TorgoT Billy. BuT when spring came. They broughT him home. I remember when I saw his window open Tor The TirsT Time, ThaT I ran lickeTy-spliT down The hill wiTh Tears sTreaming down my Tace Page 3I