Seven Hills High School - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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Milestone g F - waiters that ran at a dog trot. carrying loaded trays high up above their heads on stiflly extended arms, balancing the trays on three fingers. The furniture was of bamboo, the lights were rosy colored, and the vines and jungle plants extended from the ceiling. We couldn't even guess what the Chinese dishes were when we read the menu and so we asked the smiling waiter in the coolie coat to choose for us. We had a fine chicken soup in little cup-like bowls, a meat dish with green bean sprouts and rice, no bread of any kind, no extras. - the sauce was of mush- rooms. Our desert was almond cookies and tea, fragrant golden tea served in little handleless cups. This time there was no hamburger. We enjoyed our excursion in foreign lands, taking our tour in gastronomics in Chicago. ANNE MCTNTYRE, '47 'Ss Q X X W - High School Essay-Honorable Mention WHAT CHRISTMAS IS Christmas is many things. To little children, it is stockings and Santa Claus. lt is Christmas trees and candy canes and presents. lt is excitement and happiness. Little eyes sparkle, little hands clap, little feet dance up and down. lt is learning about Joseph and Mary and little Jesus: it is singing Away in a Manger. lt is playing with new trains and putting tired dollies to bed. lt is putting on new snow-suits and trying out new sleds. lt is joy and gladness. lt is Christmas. To the grown-ups, Christmas is different. Last year it was different from this year. Last year, like this, overseas packages were mailed by October fifteenth: but then you waited two or three months to learn if they had, or had not arrived. You sent Johnny a flashlight Cif you could get onej, or a pen, and, especially, lots of photographs. On Christmas Eve, you wrote him a long letter, telling him how everything was at home, saying you hoped he had received your packages, and thanking him for the bracelet he mailed from Paris, or the ridiculous grass skirt from the South Seas, You told him how you missed him, and how you hoped he would be back soon: you were crying as you wrote, but you mustn't let the tears splash on the paper, that thin air-mail sheet, which took longer than V-Mail to reach him, but it was something of yours that went to him - maybe. If you were lucky, that was what you did. That was Christmas to page 84

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Milestone around the OPA and enjoy rubbing elbows with people of other countries. We did it all in Chicago. We indulged in prandial research. Russia was our first objective: therefore we Went to The Yar, a most authentic Russian restaurant. We were greeted in the lobby by a blue-smocked head waiter. The waiters wore less elaborate smocks. The Russian Orchestra gave off robust tunes and dances by Russian com- posers. XVe were presented with a menu of foods with long Russian names. As we waited for our food, which we ordered out of curiosity, not knowing what it would be, we gazed at the decorated walls. There were paintings of Russian characters. Russian wolf hounds, legendary figures of Russian history, all in the brilliant colors used in such paintings. The dish we chose turned out to be hamburger with a Russian sauce. The meal was topped off with a typical desert of rum cake fi la Russe. We felt transported for a time to a foreign place. As we left The Yar, we noticed there were other interesting places near by. Another night we chose Jacques, which is a fine French Restaurant. This place was tucked away in our minds as a very special excursion in gastronomics. The French head waiter in tuxedo and monocle led us to a quaint open-air patio much like the gardens in New Orleans. The diners sat beneath multicolored umbrellas, and the tables were arranged around a central fountain which was surrounded by flower boxes. Screaming gay birds in cages added to the scene. This time the menu was not so confusing: but, even so, one of the party chose a dish which turned out to be hamburger with a French sauce. French wine and French pastry topped this meal. The next gourmandic trip was to Alt Heidelberg Restaurant, a typical Cierman establishment with a Bavarian orchestra that played tunes by German composers and was loudly applauded, The waiters wore red silk jackets with bright brass buttons. Along the walls were trumpets from which hung red-bordered flags. German beer flowed without end, Again we chose from the menu and again the choice of one of the party turned out be hamburger, this time with just good brown gravy. Then on Sunday night we sought out The Blue Danube. which was a typical Hungarian eating place. The room was cool and dark, but the walls were illuminated, and little Hungarian scenes with typical costumes on the people attracted our attention. In the front, but behind the orchestra stand, was a scene of Budapest. It was interesting because there are really two cities, one on each bank of the Danube River. The orchestra was a truly Hungarian group, many were Hungarian gypsies, and there was a cymbalon, a strange musical instru- ment that looks somewhat like a piano but with a top like a dulcimer, with wires that are struck by little felt-covered hammers. The enter- tainers were dressed in the bright peasant dress of Hungary. The menu had typical Hungarian dishes on it. Some chose goulash: others, chicken paprika: but one chose a dish, hoping for something unusual, with hamburger as the result. Thus far we had had hamburger in four different languages. The evening was gay and noisy with sweet music and singing and whistling. Our interest was engaged by the name Shangri-Ia, land of dreams, peace, and rest. This turned out to be a Cantonese place with Chinese page 83

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Milestone your waiting and longing, but still hoping. If you were not lucky, it was different. You were all by yourself on Christmas Eve, because you wanted to be alone with your memories. You went to your desk, or your hope- chest, or wherever you kept his letters, and took them all out, Then you looked at his picture, inscribed, in a beloved hand, To my darling Janie, or To my best girl, Pat. There he was grinning at you in that crazy way of his. Remember how you teased him about that ridiculous lock of hair that was always falling over his left eye? Remember how he sent it to you, in his first letter? Angel, he had said, treasure this lock. I finally persuaded the barber to give it to me, and now the whole camp calls me 'Curlylocksf You did treasure it, and there it was, blond and curly as ever. Remember how you used to flick it back from his face? And how you wondered where the owner was. So this was Christmas? What was so merry about it? Honey, he wrote in another letter, I am now on a tropical island, which would be beautiful, if it weren't for the fox-holes and barbed wire, The ocean is blue, the sun is hot, and the mosquitoes are awful. How I wish I were home! That's what he had wanted most, to come home, And here it was Christmas, and he was never coming home, because he was lying some- where on a South Sea island, under a white wooden cross. I-Ie was dead, and yet they talked about Peace on Earth: Good-will toward Men. Outside, children were singing: God rest you merry, gentlemen: let nothing you dismay. Let nothing you dismay? Johnny was gone, Johnny who loved you: and Tommy - you never met Tommy, but he was in love with somebody, Johnny, and Tommy, and Rodney, and Monty, and Pierre, and Jean, and Juan, and Ivan, and Dmitri: thousands and thousands of them, dead or dying. Was this Christmas: death and sorrow, and loneliness? I-Iis next letter was one you would cherish always. 'Alf anything happens to me, darling, don't worry too hard. Have a good cry, and then go on as if nothing had happened. I know you won't forget me, but just remember me as a guy who stepped into your life for a while, and then stepped out again. Now, don't worry, darling, I don't intend to get killed by some puny little yellow- faced monkey. It's just that we do a lot of thinking out here in our fox- holes, with the bullets whistling past, We are all homesick and when we get together, we bring out our muddy-fingered snap-shots, and talk about our wives and sweethearts and kids, Before I came out here, I didn't expect to come back, but now I know I will. Just wait till the doorbell rings, and you see me standing therel Baby, just remember this: we don't think the job were doing is so big: it's just something that's got to be done. We are going to get it done, quick, for you, Baby, and all the people in the world. Well, he would never ring your doorbell now, He would never laugh with you, or take you to the movies. I-Ie was gone, and yet he wasn't, really. I-Ie had given you the most precious thing he had to give, and he wasn't sorry when he did. He wouldn't ring your doorbell any more, but there were memories. Maybe that was Christmas: a time to blot out sorrows, and keep page 85'