Rye Neck High School - Scraps Yearbook (Mamaroneck, NY)

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CAMERAS I'm not going to even try to tell how cameras are made, how they work, or any- thing like that because, in the first place, I d0n't believe I know, and, in the second place, I don't believe you care. But camer- as are interesting enough when you think of the pictures they see, the different types and characteristics of people which they reveal. Who, even the most unassuming, does not try to look his best to the piercing eye of the camera? More people wear their best clothes, look their prettiest, smile their sweetest, appear as important as possible for the camera than for any state occasion. Think of the different kinds of people the camera sees. The young girl who loves to have her picture taken, but always says that it will not turn out well. Then the young man who wants to have his taken alone or looking the jolliest of a snappy group. Then there is Papa looking important in the family group, Mama smug, complacent, probably a trifle proud, and all the lovely little tots, with different expressions, according to their age and sex-the littlest either trying to get away from the camera, or else staring at it with one eye open and one shut. But there are so many types that one could not analyze them all so I will not try. -Ruth Clarke WALLS Wall, a noun: a solid inclosing fence of brick, stone, etc. The etc. is the most import- ant phrase in the definition. Ordinary Walls of brick and stone are frequently seen. But the etc. may stand for the four walls of a happy home which mav be made of wood and plaster, or, the walls of pretension, which are surrounding everybody and which though not visible to the eye, can be seen by the mind and the soul. There are many shut in by the walls of ignorance barring them from walking the broader and higher paths of life and happiness. The visible walls that mountains make can be cut through by the modern inventions, but no one has as yet found an invention to destroy forever the in- visible walls. -Mary Borel Eva: I'm going to New Paltz Normal. CU I'm going to teach History. Joseph: I'm going to Annapolis. I'm going to make History. WINTER NIGHTS When the fresh fallen snow thro-ws a pale Silver light, On the trees making silhoutte shrouds, I glance toward my friends in the palace of night When they're not kept at home by the clouds. Ursa Major, the dipper, the first one I met, Always greets me with her little bear. They are always near home with Polaris, so set Who does not let them stray from their lair. Then there's Cassiopia, a very old friend, I shall sit in her chair if I may, As I talk to Andromeda, who seems to be penned In her move 'cross the great milky way. Then I never could see why the Pleiades fair Could stay so near Taurus, the bull And Orion does not seem to notice them there Or I'm sure his brave heart-strings would pull. There's the Gemini, Castor and Pollux, who frown When Auriga can't tell who is who, But my, favorite, I think, is Corona. the crown, And Cignus the swan, I like too. When I walk by myself and no one is around, I'm not lonesome when I look above, I have friends in the sky when there's none on the ground V They're the stars, whom I always shall love. -4Dorothy Fitch FREE VERSE In the deep sky there was a cloud, A fleecy cloud yet real, ' From afar it seemed bright and luring But underneath it was dull. Its shade was cool enough, even cold, For there were no companions there. Before, I had been in the sun. The work was hard and tiresome, But. then, my labor was lightened by the thought That round me toiled my friends. A kindly word here, a helping smile there, And the feverish heat is forgotten, The work is made easier, lighter and more enjoyable All because of one's companions But now I am alone in the shade of the multitude. -Willard Meyer Page Five

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l w A FANTASY It was in the town of Cremona, the year 1630. Nicolo Amati had become one of the brightest stars in the fiery constellation around the sun of violin-making, then at its glorious zenith. The master, in the -un- selfishness of his musical love, had given to Pietro, a poor young man with a talent and passion for music, one of his greatest violins. It was an instrument with the elegance of design in curve and scroll, the fiery, glow-M ing varnish, and the exquisite purity and delicacy of tone that belong exclusively to the Amati school. To the dark-eyed, hungry Pietro this violin was the embodiment of life, love and God. It was his only passion. It was his fulfillment. In his bare, ugly room, he would place it lovingly to his chin and pour out his soul in melody. It alone could sympathize with him. Only when he was playing it was life worth living. But his evil genius appeared in the guise of his step-mother Teresa. She sold the violin to a foreigner traveling thru the val- ley of the Po. Pietro, separated from his only love, died of a broken heart. Thru the years that followed, the soul of Pietro, reincarnated in many different bodies, kept up the search for its complement and fulfillment, the Amati. In various ages, iu various places, the music-loving world was startled and intrigued by a dark young man, who played always on a different violin, al- ways mysteriously, questioninglyg looking for that which he found not, futilely seeking for expression where there was no sympathy. And the Amati, thru the ages, passed from hand to hand, likewise puzzling the world of music. For, tho the experts could find no flaw, no violinist, however great, was able to draw out the depth of beauty that must lie within. So it came to be called the Enchant- ed Violin, waiting for the master hand that would break the spell. But for ages the two never met. In the beginning of the twentieth century, Pietro was born again, in Italy, to continue the task assigned to his eternal soul. By his twentieth year, his musical ability had at- tracted universal attention, and he was re- quested to give a violin solo at the San Carlo theatre of Naples. As usual, he had no special choice of an instrument. His friend and patron, Baron Rossini, promised to bring him a violin of great fame, that he had recently purchased from a traveling English- man. The night of the performance came, and Rossini met Pietro backstage. The Baron had with him an old-fashioned, wooden case. Jietro opened it with his usual eager anti- cipation. The case had been relined in re- cent years, and there, against the scarlet vel- vet of it, lay a violin of exquisite workman- ship, like a fiery, yellow tongue of flame against red embers. Tenderly, tremblingly, Pietro lifted the violin. Passions and recollections of ages past stirred within him. The call boy knocked at his door. Hastily tuning, he took his position on the stage. As he placed the instrument to his chin, a thrill passed over his whole body. It was followed by a feeling of familiar com- fort. He played the opening strains of Shumann's Traumerie. The audience looked at each other with wondering faces. This was more than mere mastery of an in- strument, it was absolute sympathy, the man and violin were as one. Then they ceased to look at each other. and while some watched the boy, others sat with eyes closed, trans- ported from all the troubles of lifc to a land of perfect joy and peace, the peace of a task completed. Amidst a perfect, sanctified silence, Pietro played the last delicate strains with a loving, lingering touch. Then, having expressed every remnant of the passion for which he had lived, contentedly he fell to the floor, the violin under him. They had reached the ful- fillment. Somewhere, amidst golden celestial spires. the spirit of a dark-eyed bov plays heavenly music to God and the angels, on the soul of a. violin. -May Coakley INSEPARABLES Willard and his compact. Clara and her basket-ball Ted and his genuine laugh. West and Milton. Marge and her permanent. Eva and her sweet smile. May and an imaginery dictionary. John and his saxaphone. Vera and her lisp. Charles and his Sophomores -Mary Borel Page Four

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THE DEBTOR Scene: Farmhouse of Mary Cass, a wi- dow. Time: 1840. Supper time. Place: Illinois. Enter Mrs. Cass, to prepare the meal. A knock at the center door. Mrs. Cass: Come in. QEnter a tall lanky boy with deep eyes and black hair.j Mrs. C: Why Abe, what brings you here this time of night and such a long distance too! I hope nothin's wrong. ' Abe: Yes, Mrs. Cass, somethin's wrong. but 'live come to make it right. Mrs. C: Surely, Abe, anything I can do. Is it a book? Abe: fAwkwardlyj: No, not this time. It's about something of your's. Mrs. C: Somethin' of mine! Whatever are you talking about? Surely you can't be meanin' the butter crock. ' Abe: No, it ain't about that, either, al- though I'm going to return that tomorrow. It's about when you were at the store this morning. Mrs. C: Well, for the lands sakes, speak! I can't for the life of me guess what you mean. I Abe: Well, you see when you was at the store this morning-well-well-I just hap- pened to charge you more than the right price for the lard. Believe me.. Mrs. Cass, I didn't mean to do it. It was just a sort of mistake. Mrs.-C: Of course, Abe, don't I know you well enough by this time to know that you ain't going to cheat anybody? How much was you off on the price? Abe: One cent. But- Mrs. C: A penny! And you come all this way for a- penny! Abe Lincoln, you oughter be spanked! The idea! Now sit down and have something to eat. The Lord save us! CExit Mrs. Cass to kitchen. Re-enter with some bread, butter and bacon. They sit down.j Abe: You see, Mrs. Cass, I didn't want you to think that I did that on purpose. Mr. Jenkins, he'd never forgive me. Mrs. C: Abe?-listen-You don't need to be worryin' about your reputation in this town. Everybody knows what you are and everybody trusts you. Now, you go up to Jim's room and pick out a book or two to take back with you. fExit Abej Mrs. C: Lands! What a boy! fRe-enter Abe.j There! take 'em with you. No hurry about returning 'em. Jim don't know how to read 'em. Abe: Thank you so much. I'll bring 'em back Monday. Good-bye. fAt door.j Mrs. C: What did you take, Abe? Abe: fSpeaking at doorwayj: A Thesis on the Criminal Law of Modern Eng- land and An Examination of the Political Government of The United States. Good night. fExit.j Mrs. C: That boy will make his way. mark my words! The End. -Donald Stevens A STORM Don't you love to sit and watch a storm- The driving sleet, the slowly twirling snow- When all your friends, if old or new, you know Are under shelter, dry, protected, warm? The world seems different I think after the snow Has covered the earth with a blanket of white, Whicll shines in the light of the moon and makes day out of night, While the vales become hills made of drifts by the winds which blow. If you donit stop to think of the ships out at sea or the planes Which have to fly in weather fair or foul, Or, in time of war, of soldiers fighting, dreaming Of a cozy chair, by a warm, cheery fire be- hind panes Through which one sees the snow and hears the winds which howl, Don't you love to sit and watch the snow fall, gleaming? -Ruth Clarke SUNSET The sun is slowly sinking in the west Casting shadows o'er the calm blue sea, The lofty clouds of purple, pink and blue, Are changing now to dark and somber hues As the day fades into the darkness of the night. --Clara Wendel Page Six