Seven Hills High School - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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MILESTONE photographs of the classes and the best snapshots. Now is the proper moment to raise the cry, 0urs will be the best Milestone everlll CCfOne of the more comforting aspects of being a Senior is the knowledge that at last I have decided what I shall do after I am graduated in June. I have chosen my college and the field I wish to invade. The junior year is very trying for a student who is undecided about college. For a while I was beginning to feel as though I had no ambition, talent, or energy for my life after graduation. From my twelve years at C. P. S. I feel that I have gained even more than any academic foundation for life. I know that each year, whether a year of war or peace, brings each of us an added responsibility, both to ourselves and to others, and that this responsibility must be born. Each of us has his daily work to perform, and this work will be more skillfully and perfectly done if we decide to pride ourselves in and enjoy each task. I believe that, as long as I retain this feeling of responsibility about my work, I shall be able to go through college and my life afterwards secure in the knowledge that I have gained as much as possible from living and working. Dorothy Meyer 12th Grade IT TAKES ALL KINDS Cflt is a rainy Sunday afternoon and the auditorium is crowded and stifling. You are sitting in an uncomfortable position and directly behind a pillar. Your feet are tired and pinched in your new pumps with the three inch heels. The orchestra is playing an unfamiliar symphony and you are slightly restless, having just eaten a huge chicken dinner. You slyly turn in the direction of the side door hoping rather in vain to see a man in a red and white checked suit come galloping down the stairs on a black stallion, or something equally interesting. When seconds pass and only a latecomer clatters down those same wooden stairs, you sigh and turn your interest to the study of the people around you. GfOn your left is an elderly lady with white wavy hair upon whose head is perched the latest creation in elderly women's hats. Her grayfgloved hands adjust a golden pinzefnez on the tip of her nose, and the faded eyes scan the program with interest. Presently her head turns and she looks at her diamond watch, and an expression of worry crosses her wrinkled but still handsome face. Poor thing, you think, she is probably wondering if Amanda took little Rudy, the Pekinese, out for his daily walk, and if she didn't, how restless and bothersome dear Rudy will be later on tonight. Amanda always forgets things like that. Or maybe her grandchildren are staying at her house and no doubt are up from their nap by now and are in the process of knocking over her favorite priceless Chinese vase. Your imagination is running away with itself, you think, and you turn away with a smile. CIYour interest now centers on the young man on your right, He is thin and rather pale, and his dark suit shows signs of long wear. He is leaning forward, his chin on his hand. His brown hair falls in locks on the high forehead and his dreamy eyes reveal plainly his engrossment in the music. He is undoubtedly a music student, with those long sensitive hands, who has worked hard to earn enough money to come to the concert. You can visualize his living quarters in one of the poorest sections of the city, unkempt and dark, .- gt page 66 I' '

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IVY 1' L, I? 55 7' KD DI li SALUTE TO DEBUSSY Debussy, with your heavenfgiven gift, How my heart swells when I hear your music! You, who were a human musical barometer, Who, not with the fear and fellowship Of a sailor wrestling with a friendly antagonist, But like a divining physician who knew All the multiple fluid emotions and possibilities, Knew and loved the ocean With all its variations, its lights and shadows, Its swells and recessions, its savagery and calmness, Its frothy foam and spray, its oily glossiness, Its stridency and its seductiveness, its limitlessness and its intimacy. Dear Muse, how you knew the sky! The blue clear spaciousness, the flufhness of scudding clouds, The heavy ominousness of stormy weather. And how well you knew the wind, Its soft sweetness in spring and autumn, Its vicious, biting strength and turbulence, Its lull and motion. Revered man of music, how thankful I am For your feeling soul that thought not Of stress and strain in mathematical terms and scientific words, But gave to the world the fairylike impressions upon your senses, Which uplift and overpower me, And just as quickly sooth and lull me into an inexplicable, dreamlike state. I thank the powers that be for you, Debussy, and raise my hand in salute. jane Mclntyre lOth Grade REFLECTIQNS OF A SENIQR QFor eleven years I have looked with longing at each year's Seniors who seemed to reign as mighty rulers over the school. They seem so old and sophisticated in comparison to the young, unassured girls in the other classes. Since all my school experience has been C. P. S. experience, the girls in the upper classes were familiar to me as I progressed along the rough road of the Grammar In Action, numerous geography books, and Adventures in Aritlif metic. It is diflicult, at this moment, for me to believe that the mere transition of a girl from the junior to the Senior year could hold such awesome significance for a shy fourth grader. It is also difficult, at this moment, to believe that I was ever shy. Now that I am beginning the second half of the Senior year I find that there is a little more than glory attached to being a Senior. There is responsibility! The Milestone is a Senior publication which requires many hours of work and effort. Each Senior class prays that it will have enough money to print the literary and art contributions of the more talented girls, the pages of Senior interest material, and, perhaps most important of all, page 65

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111 I' I. I? fi 1' CD DI 1? its only worthwhile possession being a muchfplayed piano or an expensive violin, On the floor would be sheets of music, and stacks of symphony albums. You see a hard life for him but in the end, success and recognition. Watching his rapt attention in the music, you turn guiltily away, wondering why it is you just can t seem to concentrate on the music. GfYou are succeeding fairly well when suddenly you feel a poke on your shoulder and turning suddenly, you see a chubby child's hand draw back in confusion. 'LThere now, johnnyf' a voice behind you whispers, HI told you not to be so restless. The voice lowers and you no longer can hear the fascinating conversation. However, you can visualize a young annoyed mother who is trying so hard to listen to the symphony but who spends all of her time trying to quiet johnny, who is tired and wants to go home, or who wishes he had gone to that western movie with his friend. At any rate, he probably has a stomachfache from eating too much cake at lunch, and his Sunday suit is very hot and tight. You can also see the beads of perspiration on the pretty mother's face and the look of annoyance and embarrassment that crosses it. Ch, well, you were young once yourself. If Now giving up entirely the idea of listening, you look idly around, looking for other interesting people. just as your attention turns towards a dis' tinguished looking man in the third box, the music rises to a crashing finale and breathless end. You are startled from your character observation by its suddeness, and a few seconds later, a thundering applause resounds to the roof and an endless stream of people are pouring into the aisles. llfYes, the mother has already reached the exit, Johnny safe in her grasp, a look of intense relief showing on his freckled, elfin face. The young student has finally come out of his trance and with a sigh, has put on his thin gray overcoat. The elderly lady is sitting patiently in her seat, chatting with a few of her friends nearby, waiting for a chance to limp out to the street into her black, shining car waiting at the door. GCWith a smile you realize that you haven't enjoyed a symphony so much in years. It certainly takes all kinds of people to make up the world. Arm Vail 11th Grade LEARNING TO DRIVE Clf At about the age of 16, most boys and girls wish to learn to drive, that is, if they do not know how already. This theme, though, is about the typical American boy or girl learning to drive. When the boy or girl wishes to put the question of learning to drive before his or her father, she Clet us call our pupil a shel must do so with great tact, as she well knows how father loves to show off the two year old Packard which has no dents in the fender or green paint off the garage door on its beautiful grey Hnish. Well, sister has finally thought of the approach: She will tell father that Mr. Brown Cher father's worst enemy whom he will never be outdone byj has let Mary take driving lessons and that Mr. Brown is very cocky because Mary is the Hrst one in the junior Class who can drive. That statement, of course, swells pride in fatheras heart and he refuses to be outdone by Mr. Brown. As a matter of fact, he says he will do better than his enemy, he will teach his Q.. 5,4 page 67