Newport High School - Blunita Yearbook (Newport, PA)

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10 Hbc Blue anfc 'QBlbite. dark-haired, brown-eyed, sweet-faced girl, clad in a stylish blue suit, had seen too much of what Joyce termed “blissful.” While withdrawing from the studio, she was thinking only of the things which Joyce was planning to give up. Joyce decided to ask her for some inside information, so timidly she approached and asked, “Oh, Miss Valera, may 1 speak to you for a few minutes? I—I have something important to ask you.” The actress, supposing that the child wished to become an actress, replied, “Yes, dear, indeed, you may. 1 am always willing to answer questions. Will you come with me to my apartment where we will be able to talk uninterrupted?” Joyce answered, “It is very kind of you. I am in town in my father’s roadster. Shall we go in it to your apartments?” After a short drive, during which neither spoke—the one being absorbed in deep thought, the other thrilled that she wras driving an actress through New York—they came to the former’s home. They entered the living room and after they had sat down, the actress opened the conversation. “My dear child, it is needless for you to tell me that you wrant to become a star. Already I have learned that much. I must confess that I, too, one day had that desire; if I, as one who talks from experience, may advise you, let me say that the life of a screen favorite is one of work and worry. Patience and perseverance are needed to succeed. The path is difficult. Each new butterfly is welcomed, but, alas, how' soon it is left to die! The best thing for a young girl, who has the opportunity, is to finish High school and then decide on an occupation. Your parents can, doubtless, help you decide what to do. I am very happy just now, because I have just succeeded in getting back to real life. Little girl, go home and finish school.” Joyce had been very thoughtful during this talk and when the actress had finished she rose and said. “I thank you very much for your advice. I didn’t wrant to go back to finish school; but, I think it will be best for me.” Joyce left the building and started home, a little disheartened that her ideal had not emphasized the lovely gowns, and the rich surroundings, and she didn’t offer to help Joyce! It was with a heavy heart that Joyce Jordon drove home to finish school. Little she knew that some day she would be thankful that her ideal had directed her thoughts along the right lines. Mr. Pthen—“What is an imaginary number?” Park—“A million dollars.”

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£be Blue aub White. 9 expense. Since he had been frightened, he vowed that he would never again cause anyone to experience such terror as he had that evening. He made the resolution on New Year’s Day and became a better boy by keeping it. Leah Smith. STAR BRIGHT IN THE SPRING when “exams” were drawing near, Joyce Jordon, a tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed, attractive girl of seventeen, after a hard day at school, wearily entered her father’s ofiice. This was her Senior year in High school; just a few more weeks until Commencement. After that Joyce had planned to become a movie actress. The city and the desire for fame called Joyce very loudly. Why finish school at all? Wouldn’t it be great to avoid all those “exams”? If she should take the next car she would be in New York, away from it all, in twenty minutes! She had just about decided to pack her travelling bag when her father returned from the hospital. He had had a very trying day and there were still a few patients to visit before dinner. He a ked Joyce if she didn’t want to play chauffeur. To this she readily assented. To Joyce as well as her father the ride was very delightful. The surrounding landscape was most pleasing with its signs of new life, and the air was cool and invigorating. Joyce was so much interested in the beauties of nature that she soon forgot her hard day at school. As they rounded a curve before entering a small village, she and her father witnessed what might have been a fatal accident. A small child, while crossing the street, had failed to see an approaching car and as a result, was knocked to the ground and run over. Dr. Jordon administered first aid and then told Joyce to take the child to a hospital; while he proceeded toward the home of his patient. The little child sat motionless while Joyce “short-cutted” her way to the hospital. Soon she brought the car to a standstill in front of the hospital and in a very few minutes the child was in care of skilled hands. Joyce was turning homeward when she decided’that, since she was but a few miles from a famous studio, she would drive around and see what chances for a “career” she might possess. She soon parked her car near a large building and was entering when she beheld her favorite star coming towards her. Wouldn’t it be wonderful when she would walk along like that, and be admired by the whole world! This actress, a

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XTbc Blue ant wabitc. 11 THE CHURCHYARD AT STOKE-POGIS 'HE CHURCHYARD AT Stoke-Pogis, immortalized by Gray's Elegy, is the very dwelling place of peace. This quiet, picturesque spot is situated In England, and is as beautiful a picture as any artist might wish to paint. I made my way to this solemn spot late in the afternoon. The day wras one in early autumn, and the verdure was, as yet, green and flowering. To visit the scene of that beautiful poem, to view those “nodding elms,” to stand under the “yew-tree’s shade,” had long been the desire of my heart! 1 approached the church by a winding road, which seemingly endeavored to envelop me in a maze. My eagerness grew', each moment, more intense, and it was with great joy that 1 caught my first glimpse of the place. The road widened directly in front of the gate, and seemed almost to force one to the entrance. I entered the gate and gazed about me. The church stands at the right of the pathway, and it is surrounded by the yard, with here and there a tree or verdant shrub. The building wras in much the same condition as when Gray found it, with the exception of its spire. This latter is a modem addition, and seems to be regarded as an intruder by the ivy which covers the building, for the spire is entirely avoided by the clinging vine. Throughout the yard, memorials have been erected, to mark the resting places of people long forgotten. Some of these memorials are of w’ood, others of stone, but none shows signs of neglect. All seem to have been scattered there in that secret disorder which is the perfection of real loveliness. As I w'alked nearer the church, I noticed the place w’here Thomas Gray is buried. I paused for a moment, then proceeded into the church. The interior of the building, like the exterior, was in perfect repair. It has been kept thus without marring in the least its antique beauty. As a whole it had practically the same appearance it must have had many years ago. The benches, pulpit and desks were fashioned, probably by amateur carpenters’ hands, but w ith the greatest care and pains. The colored w indow panes lent a beautiful glow’ to the scene, and touched up the rough spots, producing a most pleasing effect. I left the church and lingered again on the turf winch “heaved in many a mouldering heap,” and allowed my mind to wander in revery for a few moments. I thought of the people buried ’neath my feet, and felt certain that each, in his own way, had done something to make the w’orld a little better. I recalled the poet. Gray, buried in the churchyard he