Newport News High School - Anchor Yearbook (Newport News, VA)

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THE BEACON 25 Before a desk sits a good looking woman. She has black hair and fair complexion. Her jolly smile is surely attractive. I do believe its Dorothy Ryce. She writes fairy stories now for fifteen magazines. Last year she won a prize for fifteen thousand dollars, having written the best story for a childrens’ magazine. Dorothy’s English teacher used to marvel at her interesting stories of Fairyland. In front of a shoe shine parlor stands a handsome man. He bears a remarkable resemblance to the most handsome boy of our class, Walter Bohlken. Walter is in the shoe shine business. One of Walter’s greatest faults in his youth was being late for school. He always used to stop to have his shoes shined. Ah! What a marvelous looking court and what a crowd of people. Cary Hudson is going to play for the woman’s tennis championship of the world. Cary loved to play tennis when she was a young girl. Sometimes she could be seen on the casino tennis court at 7:30 in the morning during our summer vacation. Over the door of a famous beauty parlor I see this sign: “M. Inez Johnson, Beauty Doctor.” At last Inez Johnson is in her element. She sure- ly used to know how to put the most wonderful wave in her hair. Her curly coiffure was the envy of every girl in the February class of ’22. Our class produces one great virtuouso: I see Harry Green. After study- ing years in France he has decided to tour the United States. He plays the violin so exquisitely, it is said that when he touches his bow to his instrument that there isn’t a dry eye in the whole theatre. His music has so enthralled his soul that Harry scarcely speaks any more. He must be a changed man. I remember Harry as a talking machine of perpetual motion, when he was a student in Walter Reed High School. I am amazed. The scene before me is dazzling. Near a calm, blue lake ten beautiful girls in fairy like costumes are dancing. To the right stands the graceful woman, Annie Hutchens. She looks just the same, but she has taken up aesthetic dancing. She has abandoned all her college steps and dances altogether on her toes now. How weary I grow! My senses reel — my head aches, but I must see one more vision, but no, I cannot, I am tired so tired, but I must see just one more. Ah! I see a light, all is plain to me. A dignified looking woman steps into a limousine. She still retains her shy, modest look. Ah! I recognize her, it is Esther Kessler, the most dignified member of the class of Feb- ruary ’22. She and Frank Pape are married. Frank is the great Wall Street Magnate. He has made more money than Rockfellow ever heard of. I have seen all my friends of the class of February ’22. Fate does play her funny jokes! Ah! A sharp, piercing ache goes thru my brain. Tile exertion has been too great — the visions fade away and a dark, black, impenetrable curtain falls and I can see no more — it is black — Oh ! so dark and black. LOUISE BECK MARX.

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REMORSE HELEN BRULLE February ’22. Panic reigned aboard the “Eu- gania.” Half-dressed people were frantically struggling to gain the life- boats. Frightened children were cling- ing to their mothers’ hands; while the crew was vainly attempting to best the fire. A stooped, gray-haired man, fear stamped indelibly upon his wrinkled face, was pushed along by the force of the throng. He heeded neither the women’s groans nor the children’s screams. He was face to face with Death and all his past life stood plainly before him, for he was sure his day of reckoning had come. Oh! that he could meet his Fate with a simple, trusting heart! Alas! he knew too well he could not. A life spent in wrenching hard earned money from helpless widows and in piling up all other kinds of ill-gotten wealth pre- vented that. He had been a grasping, lawless, criminal, and now he would get his just deserts. Oh! he was sure of that. Had not his mother taught him that from his earliest infancy? If she had not died— But she had died, and willingly he had broken every rule she had laid for his guidance. God! how he regretted it all. His last chance gone, he could make no retribution. A hand upon his shoulder roused the old man from his trance. “You may get in this life-boat,” said the Captain, kindly, “All women and children have been provided for.” A ray of hope shot thru the man’s brain. Would he after all be saved? An instant later, crouched with many others in the little boat Z.i h « ' bravely breasted the sea, he snook )J-» orv head desparingly. The little boat was tossed terribly by the huge waves. Frequently, a great breaker entered the boat; and he had to bail con- stantly. His fear of death was very great; his trembling was not due to the cold. Several women, diverted for the moment from their own troubles watched him covertly. “ ‘Tis the millionaire Swinson,” whispered one. “Ay,” said another, “He may well tremble at the thought of his tainted millions. In times like these, a body is glad to be poor and honest.” Mr. Swinson heard this and de- voutly wished that he was poor and honest. “Oh, God!” he murmured again and again, “give me one more chance, I’ll pay it all back. I’ll never get another penny dishonestly.” But deep down in his heart, some- thing small but vital whispered, “You wouldn’t, you couldn’t, so beggar yourself. Every cent you have was gained by shady practices.” His reverie was broken by joyous cries from his fellow passengers. A cruiser was in sight! Steadily and surely the little boat approached safety. Suddenly all fear left the man. He would be saved! If there was a God (as his mother had told him) he had deceived that God seem- ing repentance. For now with safety in sight, he knew that he could never, never give up the money he had been forty years in amassing. It was too i i ' ch to expect. He was only fifty