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

Page 13 text:

CAUGI-IT THE humidity that hung about the docks had penfaded the tenements and made sleep impossible for Peter. His small forehead was damp with heat and the fear that his older brothers might awake. He lay listening to their even breathing. All day they had mocked him and made him the butt of their ill-humor. He was better off with them asleep. A faint glimmer, appearing through the skylight, told him that it was light outside. He crept from his meagre portion of mattress and slipped down the stairs and out into the early-morning fog that stretched along the wharves. His bony feet sped over the piers. He dodged from one to another, feeling in crannies, pulling out yellowish, well-thumbed books minus covers. Skipping along the river's edge, his bundle of books clasped under his arm, he reached his favorite nook among several piles of wooden railroad ties that had been discarded at the end of a wharf. The tracks from which they had come lay behind him. Some empty cars stood upon them. Beyond these were a few stores, dirty and uncared for. Below, he could hear the gentle lap of the water. No one used this pier any more, but he took his usual precautions against the possible arrival of his brothers. Unearthing the rope he kept on the pier, he tied one end of it to a wooden pile and, holding tightly to the other end, scampered back across the pier to his retreat. If his brothers should come, they would trip over the rope into the water and he could slip away before they climbed out and discovered him. Satisfied with this make-shift protection, he settled down to read, his feet dangling over the water. As he grew more absorbed in the books, his pinched face rounded with pleasure. The rope grew lax between his fingers and stretched limply across the uneven boarding. Further along, the hoarse laughter of longshoremen broke the silence. A ferry boat hooted and steamed across the river-its smokestacks issuing forth a mist of their own. The sun rose further, and with it a hum began to rise from the city. Voices sounded louder and at more frequent intervals. Trucks rumbled along Tenth Avenue. Voices of stewards on one of the liners lying in dock re-echoed. One liner nosed its way down to the upper bay, people shouting and waving from it. Still the boy's small head was Page 9

Page 12 text:

normal, for although his free time has been spent in many ways, and he has given much of it to Richmond Hill, his marks have not suffered. Johnny never quite had the marks to make Arista, but he has managed to get com- mendable grades in most of his subjects. Johnny is just one member of a large class, but he is our idea of the typical Hillite. He has devoted himself to furthering his school's progress, in a small Way perhaps, but with as much energy as any important officer gives to his job. We who have Worked for Richmond Hill throughout our four years here feel that we have gained more than academic knowledge from our experiences. We feel that the spirit of activity and the thrills of accom- plishment have broadened our horizons as Well as given us an interesting world to live in. The experiences we have stored up and the lessons in sportsmanship, cooperation, and leadership cannot be easily recorded, but surely they will serve us in later years as we have served Richmond Hill. To those of you who have never. known the joy of being unceremoni- ously ushered out after the five o'clock bell has rung, because the school must close, we offer our deepest sympathy and we urge you to experience this sensation at least once before you leave the portals of Richmond Hill. It is, therefore, because of our feeling about the significance of Rich- mond Hill's projects in our lives, that we dedicate this book to the enter- prises carried on in special classes and after school. This book is intended to illustrate and honor the work done by those who spend their years at Richmond Hill-g'Giving faithful service ever, Richmond Hill to thee. g etty Page 8

Page 14 text:

bent over the yellowed books. Still the rope lay gray against the drab wood that was streaked, half-wet, half-dry. A cry, like that of one of the gulls swooping close to the water, rose and mingled with a ferry whistle. From beyond the empty freight-cars, a running figure appeared. The longshoremen had ceased their laughter and the stewards were jabbering excitedly. Two figures appeared behind the first. Peter glanced up for a moment-his eyes resting on the Jersey shore. The water broke gently against the wooden piles, the gulls slowly circled above. The running figure dodged between the stationary cars and faltered a moment. It was a man. He headed for the pier next to Peter. The other figures appeared and entered the same one. ln a second, a wooden pile near the entrance came to life and the pursued made for the wooden railroad ties among which Peter was hidden. More than the usual number of waterfront workers were scattered along the shore-well-back. Peter stopped gazing across the water and listened. Above the lap of the water he heard a deeper, more even sound, like that of footsteps. If it were his brothers . . . But they didn't know this place . . . And they didn't get up this early . . . But . . . The steps drew nearer. Peter's small hands clasped the rope till it was taut. His books were pressed close under his arm. He peered out. Above him, knife flashing in one hand, towered a large, grim-faced man, running at full-speed. The rope bit into Peteris fingers, but he couldn't let go. The impact of the man's foot, catching in the rope, caught him oil-balance and wrenched him from his place. He was swung far out over the water. His body was bumped against the tiers and the cool water submerged him. The rope, reaching its limit, jerked to a stop, and he remained, swinging thus from the pier. More footsteps thudded above him and came to a stop. He was dragged up. Panting, he was laid on the pier. His hands were streaked with blood and his skin was torn. Opposite him lay the man he,d tripped, a dark trickle from his mouth streaking the wood. The crowd, which had gathered, whispered above him. His mother's Page 10