Richmond Hill High School - Archway / Dome Yearbook (Richmond Hill, NY)

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MATT MASEM Soulh Sea Isle'

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apsis emoriae --By MARGUERITE BAUMANN-l HERE was a blanket of snow on the ground, two feet deep. Although the sun had not appeared, the ice made every- thing seem lighter than it was. The air was cold and breathless, as if it were waiting for something unknown. The bare branches of the bushes were black and stiff against the terrible whiteness of the earth's jacket. -lo my left there were several hills, and l decided that since l had no particular destination, l might as well climb them. After ong, hard going, l reached the summit of one of these mounds on the andscape, and sat down to enjoy the panorama. The shrubs were black stiff sticks thrust out of the icy snow which formed a hard, shivering background for them. As l looked at them l shuddered. Toward the north l could see an old, deserted farmhouse, dingy, unpainted, dilapidated, somehow frightening. Separating the prop- erty on which it stood from the hill where l was resting was an old stone fence. The boulders were grayish black, hard, discouraging. The recesses were all filled with the everlasting snow which made everything deso- late. Wherever l turned, l could see gray, cold, frozen, dreadful snow. My feet and legs were covered with the hateful stuff. l wanted to run away from it, but my feet had turned to solid chunks of metal, stuck to the ground as firmly as the dark, menacing, leering, exulting trees that sur- rounded me. The high wind that blew across the top of the promontory made the thick branches clash, creak and crack, as they seemed to laugh at me. The cloud-soaked sky seemed to descend on me as if it wanted to choke me, while the wind, in trying to blow me flat onto the cold hard earth, screamed raucous screams in my ear, You are only a mortal, a piece of living flesh that moves through the world unknown, unfeared, afraid of all the great natural forces such as we. My one desire was to get back home and find out whether l was insane, but l couldn't move. l sat on a stump for ages l thought were in- numerable and listened to the roaring wind, the death-promising sky, while l thought of the wind, the trees, the snow, all sared with the glory of claiming for themselves one more person who had lost his balance, his mind, his whole world. af A 4 ,I 4 in' V

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Lgccinsf Lifffce igoys -T-By PAULINE DUNlEFF- ' UMAN evolution from the infant stage to manhood is one of the marvels of nature, but l am sure that if the Lord realized all the trouble and bother entailed in growing-up he would have perfected some system of jumping across the hard spots . Let us analyze the social status of a member of the human race named Peter Pest. While wee, rosy-cheelced Peter is placidly gurgling in his cradle he is the object of profound feminine admira- tion. After having been called a veritable angel at least two million times, he is promptly forgotten and left in solitude to l4iclc his way into childhood. All by his little self Pete has raised himself from a mere minute individual of five, to a man of a half-dozen yearsz-and he's steadily aging. f'lere's where the trouble beginsl petrovitch Cas his friends playfully call himj has talcen it upon himself to utilize his last name. The spit-ball-throwing, gum-sticldng demons of young boyhood have at last laid their malicious hands on another victim. Playful Peter is now the cause of parental sighs and worried looks-all because he's a boy and happens to be growing up. Please donft misunderstand me. These idiosyncrasies are not monopolized by the masculine element. l'm not prejudiced against the stronger sex. ln fact l lov- well appreciate them when they've evolved into smooth date- making lads. The truth is that l was recently a chubby little rascal myself. l went through the mill of cheelc-pinching, flattering friends and relatives, and was ground into the inevitable pest. But girl victims of the chronic pest plague are never so strongly Hinpestedn as boys and they always man- age to udepestu themselves before they get that mischievous glint in the eye. To get baclc to our youthful hero, we find Peter Pest and a score of his earthly lilcenesses prancing about the sidewallcs in front of a gray wooden schoolhouse about three o'clocl4 one fine day. ln the distance are yours truly and a mutual friend walking home after the diurnal session at an insti- tute of higher learning. Yours Truly, always a pessimist, and recognizing that tell-tale Uglintn even from a distance, intimated to mutual friend that we cross the street Cthere was more sun on that sidel. But friend, always obstinate, and seeing no reason why a few prosaic urchins should warrant a deviation from the beaten path, further intimated that we continue on our way as usual. Before l even had time to prepare a slcetchy plan of war, the enemy was upon us. A whole company of Peter Pests gleefully charging, armed with spit-balls , pebbles, blue challc and blaclc-jaclcs Crulersj. Per- haps l shouldn't be so sensitive but little things like this bother me and l find it most difficult to lceep my Usang-froidn when confronted by a chaos of little ones . This is partially due to the fact that l have been singled out by fate to be the recipient of all blows that have the least inclination of coming Tl-llf SENICR DCME PageQQ