Schuylerville Central School - Schuyler Yearbook (Schuylerville, NY)

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MY ATLANTIC TRIP April 21, 1928. What a hurry and bustle! About noon we started for Southampton in the little twelve-passenger coach. When we got there, we went to a friend's house for the night. At one o'clock the next day we set sail for the United States. We stopped at France to pick up passengers, mail, and freight; then we started out over the ocean. hor six days and six nights the Berengaria” thrust herself through the waves of the Atlantic. On the third day of the trip we saw another steamer with whistles blowing and band playing. It was then I began to get seasick. On the fourth da)' we saw some whales in the water, and on the sixth day we saw New York. This was the happiest moment of my trip. We passed the lightship. Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. At last we docked at nine o’clock P. M. I got off the boat at about ten o’clock. We went around the city for a while. At last we went to bed in a New York hotel, tired, nearly exhausted, but happy. Fred Campion, '34. HITCH-HIKING As you stand there in the pouring rain feeling very downcast and gloomy, you wonder why you did it. Here you are with wet clothes sticking to you and in danger of catching cold and yet you thought that yours was an exceptionally fine idea, when you announced to your mother that you were going “hitch-hiking.” You left the house whistling and with a spring in your walk that denoted long endurance, but much to your consternation you find it was false strength and hope that you derived from your afternoon nap. The wonderful dream of beautiful valleys and nature's wonders that so easily could be seen and realized from hitch-hiking is slowly passing away like a burning stick upon which the flames lived and thrived hungrily, then flickered, wavered, and went out. You! A great big healthy boy letting such a little thing as your thoughts and wild dreams lead you into such an uncomfortable, if not serious, situation as this. If it had been a friend who had induced you, you might have taken out your spite on him. Well, when you have sputtered and fumed until your throat is dry and you are lacking for words, you turn slowly around and plod along through the mud and telling the world in general that if anyone would like to try your foolhardy experience, he should remember to bring his raincoat. Everything is bound to have two sides to it. That means you can turn it wrong side out, and clouds are no exception. Alden Burnett, '32. Twenty-five

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A DESCRIPTION OF A COLONIAL HOTEL Overlooking the lower end of Lake Champlain, situated in the middle of a steep hill, stands an old decayed colonial hotel. Large trees keep the sunlight from the front entrance, while weeds and underbrush have grown around it. The outside of the building is weather-beaten and gray in color. The four round pillars show us that it was constructed in the Revolutionary days. Judging from its condition, we are certain that it has been deserted many years. The boards creak under us as we enter. On our right is a large reception room with a marble fireplace in the farther hall. Across the hall is another room from which we are able to see the lake. The kitchen and workshops are located in the rear. On the upper two floors are the bed chambers. Scraps of wall paper can be seen in different places. The floors are littered with paper, broken furni- ture, and plaster. In many places the floors are unsafe. We are glad to get out into the sunshine after exploring that forsaken place. Ernest Provost, 32. OWA TAGOO SIAM I stepped onto the escalator and entered the museum amid a tumult of emo- tions. It happened that there was a revolving door, the trap sprung, and I was caught inside. I found, however, that there were other captives and began to renew old acquaintances. The first person I encountered was a little lady who had been at one time a dressmaker's model. There were two others with her. friends perhaps. Here was a face that seemed familiar! Who could she be? Why, it couldn’t be, why yes, it certainly was! My, what a change! What could have happened to her hair? Now I knew the secret of her exquisite beauty—she had worn a wig in the years gone by. Traffic was jammed—it was almost impossible to step through. There were vehicles of all sorts—miniature carriages, wagons, ponies, automobiles, fire engines, and even trains in the clustered section. Finally I reached the art gallery. It certainly is a shame the way these modern folks neglect to visit such places. Here I renewed old friendships. I was alone except for an ex-soldier, who had lost a leg, perhaps in some battle, and who was on guard. The pictures took my fancy and I spent some time scrambling about. How uncomfortable that lady must feel wearing such a high collar. She appeared almost choked. My! what a small bodice that woman has, and such portly hips. I vow that girl wishes those tresses were bobbed. Can you imagine wearing such a beard as that elderly gentleman has? If 1 were his wife, in about two snips of the shears I “would end it all.” Why here is little Percival, “the dear child in his pretty velvet suit.” Oh, what bushy eyebroks that man has! I wonder if this is his wife? I’ll guarantee that she is “monarch of all she surveys.” Now I found myself in the library where there were volumes and volumes of books written in fine print. Here could be found atlases, magazines, newspapers, journals, and books of reference. There was the furniture department, with elaborate chandeliers swinging in space, bedsteads, tables, and chairs. Over further was the music department, with a roller organ and miniature piano in prominence. There were also drums, cornets, flutes, horns, harmonicas, and all kinds of sheet music to be found. In the millinery department was a perfectly charming hat—a pheasant gave up its life to grace its crown—on display. In my wanderings, last of all, I came to the express office where numerous trunks, suitcases, and all sorts of baggage was scattered about. These reminded me that it was time to depart, and with reluctance I closed the door on my attic friends. Mary H. Cudahy, ’32. Twenty-four

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OUR CLOAK ROOM The cloak rooms of our school are scenes of many interesting incidents; of lamentations, joys, griefs, flatteries, and various other emotions which would he extremely interesting for any one to see and hear. If the four green frictioned walls, the skylight and the lockers, the floor, or even the mirror of the girl's locker room could talk, how interesting would he their tales ! How one would laugh until he cried at their antics! How the lockers must ache from impatient pulls and slams! How the walls would shake with laughter i f they only could! I will attempt to put into words some of the everyday occurrences, and to give some idea of the conversation of careless schoolgirls. Every morning as the thick door is pushed open the pusher is greeted with hello's. “Hello, Grade!” “Hello, Annie and everybody!” “Oh, gee, I forgot the combination for this darn thing!” “What is it, Marion?” “4213. “Oh yeah, thanks.” “Anyone got a comb?” “Here comes Hacon Hill. “Who told you you could monopolize that mirror?” “Peek-a-boo, Sylvia. Who won last night.' “Oh your dress is darl—” “1678, 1678, what happened in 1678?.Pile Petition of Rights wasn't it ?” “Oh that’s right—” “When my hair has turned to silver— won’t you love me just the same?” “What's the matter? did you swallow a frog?” “How was Geometry ?” “Oh, it was wicked—I guess I better st—” “Girls, girls, less noise, go to your home rooms.” “1628, 1628, the Petition of Ri—” Darn this locker!” “What’s the matter, honey?” “I flunked algebra; boo-hoo.” “There, don’t cry.” “Where’s Miss Lasher?” “She’s ou—” “Girls, girls, do be quiet”—“and she said mine was wonderful and that all of them are so light and full of life, she sa—” “I’ve got ten minutes to do my geometry in.” “Gang away. “Is that the last bell?” “See you in Casar.” “How do you like etymology? “Eta Mology, is she a new girl in school?” “What’s she look like?” “What a name!” “Oh, you stupid, weren't you in Latin class yesterday?” “I am going out tonight, tomorrow night, Friday and Satu—” “There, that is the last bell.’ “1 do wish it would keep still.” And so for a minute or two quiet reigns in the cloak room, but year after year, day after day, the cloak room, steeped with girlish voices, overflowing with girlish figures, and rank with slang, remains its same stolid self. May it always he so. I wonder if, when in years to come, some incident will bring a vivid picture of the cloak room to us, we shall laugh and cry as we live once more in memory of those happy days of yore. Ruth Esmond, ’33. T wenty-six