South Side High School - Optimist Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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J une, l 9 3 8 emen $0000200200000000020090000000002002016 u... nn ТИИИП ШИИ O! [HANKS FOR THE MEMORIES Е. S. It was May, and the time was almost eight-thirty. The little house on Maple Avenue was quiet, and almost empty, except for Mary, the Donovans' oldest girl, who walked idly around the front room. She was nervous and seemed greatly agitated After having many times treaded the thickly carpeted room, she wearily dropped down on the piano bench. Unconsciously her hands sought the keys. Without feeling, she played a melody. The tune dimly penetrated her muddled brain. She remembered the first time she had heard that song . . . He had been there at the dance, and Dot had brought him over and introduced him to her. The orchestra began to play that song. He asked her to dance. How she had tingled all over when he had told her she was different. From the party next door came the sound of merry laughter and music. They were playing Thanks For the Memories, the song he had sung so often. Smiling, she remembered how time after time he had stumbled over the same line that the party was now shouting out. He never could get that middle verse Then she remembered the fun at football games—the triumphal way in which she had cheered and had sung “Bingo” time after time, in honor of his touchdowns. Funny how no one could resist him, not even the other teams! She left the living room and slowly walked upstairs. As she passed the little alcove, she noticed how beautiful and clear the night was. Almost as beautiful as on that night, when, coming home on the hay ride, with a silver moon beaming down, and the others singing the old and sentimental songs, they had stolen their first kiss Suddenly she turned and ran to her room. Sobbing, she threw herself on the bed and cried for over ten minutes. As she gradually gained control of her feelings, music from somewhere outside drifted in through her bedroom win- dow. Her sobbing burst out afresh. It had been the last song they had heard together. They had been riding along together, the radio softly playing. But the music had not matched their tempers. For some reason, she had forgotten what it was, they had argued until he had angrily reached over and switched off the radio and driven straight home. Tomorrow, night was to have been their night of nights. How they had talked and planned for weeks on attending THEIR Prom. She had bought her gown—how well it had fitted her! But now she doubted if she would ever wear it, From somewhere down the street came the sound of someone whistling. In time with the whistling she sang the words: Thanks for the memories — Of candlelight and wine, Castles on the Rhine, Of cozy-chair

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ннн Senior ( )pt imist the system, bringing great unhappiness to its petulant victims, who flounder about like drowning persons in the sea of their ever-increasing desires. To want is painful, but to want without hope of ever attaining, is torturous. Restlessness, sometimes, like a pregnant seed in fertile land, brings forth a rich harvest. Often it may lead to the making of some powerful, great, or beautiful creation. It may serve to innoculate man with the stamina needed to attain his goal. Then again it may work against him like some bad drink, destroying whatever possibilities there may have been for him to fulfill his life's ambition. AMONG OUR SOUVENIRS F. M. Father Time has tolled the huge bell in the tower of Eternity. Four times its ominous gong reaches the reluctant ears of us graduates, informing us that four happy, eventful years have passed. Four years spent among the familiar faces of friends and under the patient, diligent instruction of congenial teachers. These sweet memories are indelibly etched upon our brain, stored up in our mental warehouses to be reviewed tenderly, one by one, many years hence, when we feel the vital need of them. Seemingly, as if on wings, the time has passed since we first entered South Side's welcoming portals. As we gaze into the past we see ourselves as we were then: eager, bursting with youthful enthusiasm, and possessing a hunger for knowledge that only book l'arnin' could appease. Zealously we set to work, and soon we discover a year has passed. In the sophomore year a bit of the glitter has worn off and gone is that robust enthusiasm we first possessed. But i n its stead we find a more mature yen for the better things in life. Reborn in us is the desire that urged us on through the years of our primary school instruction. Eagerly again we set to work and speedily another year rolls by. It is in the junior year that the lipstick and hair bobs appear in girls and the gruff voice and tobacco odor in boys. The brass is beginning to show through on the face of our shining ideal as we encounter that menace to a student's well-being, namely, the exam! However, the thought of future grad- uation spurs our souls with encouragement and somewhere we gather up the maimed strings of our shattered illusion and struggle on. The senior year has come at last! What a joyous steiere: of that illusion which we had until it was brutally killed by those exams! Merrily we pitch in and manage to wade through the swirling financial waters which threaten to engulf us. But Lady Luck wearily guides us and—here we are! Yes, fellow-graduates, this brief description is just a summary of the emo- tions, worries and thoughts we all have had, at some time during our four happy years at South Side. And, as our thoughts unconsciously race ahead, striving to peek into the key-hole of the future, we murmur contently It takes life to love life.

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senior Optimist Suddenly she sto he had always gotter Av enue, but her , maybe the guys who don't know Is, that when they tip hei They're being nice to a sweet Lady whom she calls Mother CINQUAINS Greenness Warmth and coolness, Pungent paint aromas, Noise of skating, shouting, running Springtime. Night time, Waves of blackness, Wrap in your great robe, Waft me on your sea of stillness Drifting Summer, Slipping by us, Would that we could hold you, Passing with the trees’ bright foliage Sadly.