New Utrecht High School - Comet Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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And thre was so much to live for, So very, very much, That you died for it. What more to say? What the heart feels when it beats 130 million strong cannot be caught on paper. But treaties can. Treaties are made for paper- Empty words on pretty paper- Treaties that can be broken by little men whose hearts have been torn out by the roots and in whose place there grows an Iron Cross. Oh Lord, if our path must be shown to us with a bloody rod If we must be awakened thus, So be it. For we are marching now, and you are leading us From the salt flats of Utah The black earth of Alabama The sandy coast of Maine. We are coming And we Are not afraid. Thirteefz

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owfegicior PIIiZC Winning P06111 By Ernie Grossman Twelve the w1nd still stirs the sleeping waves, At night, III And the oon god still bathes your now silent island in a labyrinth of moo11 beams. And there's still just a trace of your blood in the pu ple sky. if time can be measured r There was a time, a by the be t of a clock, when your white walls were a symbol of man's faith and your stood like now blackened guns silent sentinels silhouetted against the sky. Yours was not an easy death- But who can say if death is ever easy? Can the wail of a hell-bent bomb be a seda lend itself tive to .an easy death? to peaceful dying? e marching feet of the yellow men Does the mud and lice of a foxhole ' h h e proper tune for the funeral march? And did t beat out t You were young You were brave You were strong. From the salt flats of Utah, the black earth of Alabama, the sandy coasts of Maine You had 13011161

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he oumey Prize Winning Story By Rum Margareuea THE PASSAGE WAS LONG, narrow, cold and foreboding. There were turns, twisting, winding turns, each as a dancing devil, filling the wanderer's mind with fuel, with the burning desire to conquer the next turn and the next and the next. The young man with open eyes and mouth, pushed onward, stumbling, then doubtfully rising to his feet again, at first doubting whether the next turn would be ample reward for his persistence. Then, as if an angel whispered in his ear to continue, he would conduct gallons of blood, red flaming blood, through his arms, legs and whole body, blood thundering through his body as the tons of water from a dam, invading a peaceful valley. 1 It washed from theacrevices all the evils that tend to decay the yet not strong enough mind. It filled his frame with power, hope and courage. With the mustering of all this aid, the youth was ready to battle and merci- lessly bash to a pulp anything hindering the continuance of his journey. He would gain a sharp fire in his eyes, a sort of guiding light until he could get around the next dark bend, the next milestone, the next step in the ladder. He had, by this time, noticed a difference in the atmosphere. The air seemed clearer when he breathed in deep draughts. The way in front of him seemed less hazy. The level of ground he walked on seemed higher. His feet were more buoyant, as he walked. Was this the reward around the bend that he was waiting for? lt might well be, for what more can one want than an easy road to travel on and easy road in making the journey? The passage seemed to be by no means nearing the end, however, and there were no chairs on which he could rest himself. He must continue, for there was no turning back, nor could be refrain from going on. He felt a gentle wind push him from behind as a signal to proceed, as perhaps also a companion on this journey. He continued. Time had passed . . . much time. Time hadechanged things. The young manis hair seemed slightly powdered, his shoulders a trifle bent. His step a little slower, and his mind and eyes not as keen as at the start. The air had grown heavier, the atmosphere close. He felt himself on an almost underground level of land. Each turn in the maze seemed harder to conquer than the one before it. All power, strength and courage, formerly instilled almost at will, had left his tired body, and even the will to have it return, was so weak, as to have no effect whatsoever. It came to the point where the wind pushing behind him was the only force keeping him going. They went on a few more feet, the wind and he-the wind, a never aging substance, he no FOZl1'l'66'7Z