Ulm STOKQQN - s Hmm VNV Ux3zKXf5Lm Qxffq -H Lawn ghcbpl PKNLJYTZYNFNKD' V905 CQUVCY 3 ' 'S CH EL, 0mLrwVw1'kX CMT 5-4lfNC,lC9UD. - 1 klgbbi Www? lm. Cpmcf raid- Ugux QJA UNM QQXNQUWBQXKQO Lum QLQQ9, Q43 To C951 cg-.md Qmkq gym, 1n',mQx,yffNdT ES'QQp.iO wow QLQQL-,Q Qi Mmm Uxgmq, Q03 l SLJVODQBQO QXCJLA Wild? Q-NN CMNQQ1 KlDzUWLA CL,FXCfU'WUW OJWCXM KRKfl9,,t9'XQj fkyggbc MQW rXWLQrn'KC,TzQX KYWFOYX UNK nprwqixowua QQLLQ CMYW Okd QNUX QJZQLLQQQ gcuqx N NQUGB vw Os MTW sgomm QLATTQ UXQMH Qxyxafumb Dun, 'W11 hm UFXJLWNWUVJ DVWW YUQQQ cxrwlqqgl , QQALICLVVJ Og KCL Km ,- DQ, EQOUQ QJYNOX S6133 ix? LAJLU JDUWJDVWUJ Ox.9v'QAQL,K5? ickprx d'NQCJxm AQQIQUND of CtPpfQy Q6 lfuzllb ZQzfL,ukvQXfNK.N ami, FSWQ , xf 301 fYN12cQCD QVWY FWQQPIXX- Y UXUUNL U'W0V-CM UQQLAV Qmcpxx ciicii qouy Dzmfw wxfgji 4?WV11qwlU5 UN GJCYNOJMUW WMS- Vw qQ5QmmmafiY tgdfi Nw WQQQQUQOI CBJWQQIYXLA mpg? QQQQQA TQQ j CBQLOQZDQQULJ vxz'CYNufbLk4CSL,QiJvdW2Ci 12, CgQC.bK7f3Ox!iCL kNcJL,vJB1,QDQx,3Y,So1C+l2uFNCfgr Lfkfhl C4QJUvDfNPf3zFNT1 npqkm, L4QwlfWz d.1QQLLhQ,k QAX qwum OTMCQKAC XSDUTQQQQQQQMY if UQQOXTD TQ, fDYZCJJZLfNQ,X f3UqQUQQ,L N dm 'EYNCQUJB ,QKTN1 3Qjk5NLi' . WX if QM C. Ucgm-. UKCQQU1- Ugg. QQQQKL QMNX A 7 , M b V A, J -V-mn-.. A.: -,.,,, , WW,- ' ' . r ,- ,-,. YH.. ,,,.-.,..,,,,,I,, ,Z I 1 1 A V V ,ww kk i l'ma.:.s.vs.a.LQ.9fo...g'x1x1,,,.b.,. g,,,',1 S e6w0WMuu.1t'5o.fnu..0CQM ,,,,,..,,,W,,, Evwgmus +0 FWHKWQWLQ 's.Q..Q.n,L,, D AA-4-60.41-IAN-I-414.X,XXNLxe Q: - 4 .lMN ' -- . W Aww M XV' 'MQ , PM - Muff? aff lu JWQ74 ,,.,.,,,,,,,.,,C,,47M Gvbcatauau. ' 1 K ZUQR7' WJWW ambien QQJLLMQM if 44.5. 243ZM.af,,,,ViZZm ZTQQYQAWLMGEMW wwf? A IW! ff! ,' 4-0f.,gf, 4 '75 ,714 +7d--7 . VM awww' jW75M!f : 'if ole-c.w:r'fulf d4w 'W70Wm f4f7WfV4fUf'f'ff21 - 05 1,774 4- I ,,fJ7 ..i, I, f v A b A X ' V fy, ji ' P . Xmrwwwigzhlmxvlxe WANr,,,Xe,cjv.T.uw.Qo Kam. :H ' 'V -. ,,,.,n,.,+wf .X .nl 16 'Xb 'k 1 B, 'QSM k213:vM'-?i- 'qs-wh vuaw-mtg as wa B5 M63 N W if .9 A- I gcgi 1 ! ow' , Af! Q5-Nr' ia, ,b.,:w..n3-X y-'-'ave Yrs-eolss -'5 xX ' '93 9' ,4,.- S Q,-'62, ,pw w-L-ja-'j.'?i., 'i?.,,we+f' ig, ,,,,fJ-- ?- SJ. .5-fs J C.. ,QQ 3 if une 1 Yap, aff' 941210 ,A 19 ,IS 1 943 MN,-9-Gi 6,cv '5' fi Y 'aqgbx oogrezogf'-s1 'M' ummit S - 0:41, c:,,,-D-40 3,,sp.:.r r- S , C1-1001 ? A0 'L bv 95:3 V515 o may alnt P Elsa 'A Djs? fkviv?v1fvK5 'c Kwik' S M' aul s G ' of xhkow Q lnnesota 'J' kc. vo' ' ' Q Y or-'N egg, 4, ws s',.S, W 'T' Asp ' S N01 96,5 N if k K my J X82 Ju 4 MMA v WN -my ' The Senior Class of 1943 Dediccxtes this FLHME to RUTH STEPHENS Q -if S - if if 5, gxxQ..- f ,,.,? Symbols of Democracy VERY nation of the world has had her principles-the basis on which she stands. Each country has had certain ways of expressing these principles, usually through symbols of some kind. England has her lion, France her fleur-de-lisg and Germany her swastika. When the unhappy group of Englishmen set out from their own country for America, they took with them many of the same, familiar symbols of Britain. During the Revolution, however, when America was becoming a nation in her own right, the ties that linked her to the mother country were discarded, and from the still warm ashes of war came a new national anthem, flag, and the Great Seal with the eagle on one sideg the anthem singing the glory of the country, the flag symbolizing in its stripes the thirteen original states, in its stars the states of the whole uniong the eagle embody- ing the lofty freedom and swiftness of this country. Great American leaders such as Wzislaington and Jefferson were interested in these symbols and saw to it that they caught the imagination of the people. From then on, the symbols became an integral part of American life. The eagle was the most com- mon, appearing on everything from tiny snuff boxes to hgure-heads on ships. The liberty bell began to appear in the form of cast iron banks and even roulette wheels. Tavern signs, wall paper, stirrup leathers, and Grandmotherls best patchwork quilt blossomed with Columbia, Uncle Sam, the shield with eaglels wings, and the stars and stripes. Children ate their carrots and drank their milk because the eagle with the ribbon, E Pluribus Unum,', in his mouth, or Wzlsliington in a liberty cap was waiting on the surface of the dish or in the depths of the mug. Storms were forecast, and sunshine, too, by the statue of Liberty, and all the neighborhood children flocked to Ringling Brothers' circus wagon to the beat of a drum with a carved eagle carrying the olive branch and arrows. The circus wagon was the prize. On top of the world, holding her flag to the eagle, its wings spread above her, stood Columbia leaning on her red and white shield, flanked by much carving of stars and flowers, depicting our ideas of democracy and freedom. These emblems are still ours today, and they have taken on a new significance because this war has given us a new hope: that of the guarantee of our basic rights. This year in our FLAME we have chosen as the theme, the symbols of past years. The silk screen prints depict our basic rights of freedom of speech, freedom of religion, universal suffrage, and equality before the law. Throughout the pages are drawings of some of our ancient symbols of democracy and our impression of what our democracy means to 'IIX in this, our war. CLELIA THoMPsoN Ezfifor 6 THE FLAME VXQER7-,, .4 .4 ,?, L ALICTQ THox1PsoN - CLELIA THOMPSON - ETHLYN COUNTRYMAN ' KITTY JAQRSON - - KIOYCL CARLTON - NTARY STRINGLR - f DORQTHY CIOUNTRYMAN Pl-GGY DRISCOLI, - - SYBIL SH1xLLr1NBERcsLR Student Government Officers FIRST SEMESTER SECOND SEMESTER CLELIA 'TIIONIPSON - NANCY HANLON v SALLY XVASHBURN - KIOYQL CARLTON - CTIQORGIA RM' - NANLLN' MATRS - P.-XTTY APPT-,L - THE FLAME P!'t'.Yff1L'lIf H1fi1'f11'-111-Cl1i1'f of T110 151111110 lfirxl' x7it't'-P!'l'.Yillf'llf S0u111J V150-P1'1'5i1lz'111' T 1'1'z1x111'z'1' ffw'1'11fiz'r' Sf'r'1A1'h11j' Rl'l'f1l'llflI4Q Si't'l'l'flII'Y1' TWZIUYI P01111 Iil'1bl'!'Xt'IIf6Ifjl'l7 P1'z'xi1f011f IZJIIW11'-111-Cbivf of The IJIHIIH' Ifirxf Vin'-P1'1'.vizfr'11f SUIYIIIII Xlifl'-Pl'UXil1t'lIf T1'4'11x111't'1' l?,X't't'IfILjl'r' Sf'l'I't'ftll X Rf'L'0I'IIilIiQ Sc'4'1'1'f111',1' Tf1111f FUVIII IS1'jJl'f'Xt'lIftIfil'U 7 Winners of the School Song Contest SCHOOL HYMN Words by Catbie Clark to tba music of Austria by Iosef Haydn Summit, glorious, hear our praises Rise within thy lofty walls. We shall e'er to thee be loyal, Faithful where'er duty calls. Thou hast taught us in our learning Ever to be just and true. To aspire for right and knowledge, Now we lift our thanks to you. While the years are slowly passing, When our school days shall be o,er, Still we shall remember Summit, Memories green forevermore. In our hearts shall live the saying Which from us shall ne'er depart: For the righteous light is sown, Gladness for the upright heart. SCHOOL SONG Words and music by Andy Hunter The purple and the gold we love. From Summit when we part The memories of you will be tied deep in every heart So hail hail the purple, hail, hail the gold. We ll keep the knowledge that you did unfold, All our respect and love is yours. We gained our strength from you. THE FLAME I UQOUQ FWF, CYJCyf0-D05 wfxfmrr of Qxlkwwo ILLTO. WMI 5gSm'L,U,aQ 'qqE,C'. Licfm, CLOEK ESOL C,,,n,fQ OFXOQXL Oafkl XI, XLOLXLQQ 0+-fl m air,-M' aim. TSWJ: Q00 QQ .Lf-fn. X XD bc :IO Y 6NiclfW.'. WON, CUE-'1 n4,g,g,r' E-,Lk -YC CY1,!g5'N'1't, LNWL . UJVXQCK Q, F Cxlkmq CXNQAEW L 'fmt r CXCLXJEQ .QCGCY Luo? AICLJKL IOVLC-'1 T gr I I LSCJZ Q ,L CLfNL'd fl Em ,L n'10..CK LE. 'Sf , .ICQ VYLQ, CN' ALO, Vu-CML Q,Xm...x ffm CHARLOTTE NELSON -M L, f X - A - M ,. WMO- - OCQQI O1 Xcfnucff fc.-'xO.ux-'A INC' PRESIDENT OF THE SENIOR CLASS, ' ' H- Og X3 O0 FIRST SEMESTER Our thou hts and our c0na'uct g are our ownf' THE FLAME cum! 5 YNf-1-:I 'X L. Y1gYLg1 XUfE T . Cgvk-QGIL11 Vw. I 'gig T-C nxl I , ,mg f EMILY ELIZABETH BREMER Clfnyfg PRESIDENT OF THE SENIOR CLASS, ,V ,JN 21.- SECOND SEMESTER I Delightful task: to rear the QLIETIAJL' tender thought, f-lgq V To teach the young idea how to shoot. Y 9 W I J Bur H490 :X , UJY5 :Vw-.I wri as Que.: a.w9- Svaos-'Y' od-1. ow CL-vw-SL R .L I. in S0-V711 Q..-S' 'wa curl, 0- G A-B N' Wkgv rbi. 'Rumi xuw-ks.. Hams 'HWQQC Ovt. SALLY BEALS SQ'n'x'N ' L-EVWXLLISON BUTLER A happy Soul that all the way Clear1zess is the 01 lI6ZI7'Z87Z1f' of To heaven bafh a szmzmer's day. p1'0jc01ll7Cl thought. CATHERINE PIERCE CLARK ETHLYN COUNTRYMAN I have believerl the laesf of every BNI lU0lIll'C'l 011 till Trzzib make man and find fha! 150 believe if is all fbilzgs plain. elzougbf' 10 THE FLAME TA -vn4'a 5 fm gm fa? Pyovf- EMM -haf' '.7 LA., s Mm Efjlff J' L4 J + ffl'-4 x I E fgm 0-F Kauvahrvjf Na+ 19 gd 1-fl, 50h y V 1 ,,,7,2n4f 0 fd I CYNTHIA DAVIDSON Along fha mol, secjzzcfsfvred fwfr' of life She keeps fha uoiscflcfss fcfnor of bw way. 5192,-51.152251 if E M ,T HELEN MADELON HAMMES Is fbvrc aliyonc' frm' c'xc'c'pf fha' 0110 who can pass his lifc' as he P1C'tlSf'S.,, T H E F L A M E vi' H ..,.,,, .,,k, , A 555 , ., E 12 g gag MARTHA JANE FULTON TfJc'1'f s noi zz sfriug zzffzzlzed fo mirfh Bzzf has ifs Chord in T111cla1nfb0ly. 3 , I , . MARY NANCY HANLON Some rborn' in ZllIiS0lI wifb wbrzf wc' hear Is 1'01zc'h'd wilbin 115, and fbe bear! replirs. 11 y - D2WlJfl'4 f'lf1f9a U5 QM Wu WW NW MWA M' wh XXX 4ofJf' BM New PDM X653 50 ,if fb w TVX W ON Q S MRSA W gf: of A AR KLZJQAMA WWPAW 'ij' 8 C FELICITY HASTINGS fb ANDREA HUNTER My M The accent of 0lZC,S C0Zlllf1'jlM,JUUllS ,UU W De1fise, wizfg wrife, p in fha' mind and heart as much as in X7 6 f7 'yd Ike language. ' Sqjjn 5033 ...Si aim . in CATHARINE AMES JACKSON Ambition has no resz' 12 whip M, bgvfgx 7, WWDBR A FDQOQ Vu .1 R lv r my Wvmc, M bw-15. ZCA-uqas SU-JQU Nming 5600. swag, cmeuql G.vx8. fcoik 1 dick lamp coevx LB did 5.054-uffuo ' 601. +I S Y MARGARET JACKSON 'gag ' QQp1a3Vs the ihingf' 1 L , Ni-------.Rishi ' T- -1A 9 Al M-W--W-.T...,, ,.,,. .4,..R,S W W THE FLAME G w.A9m 0 us-U11 mx-l CE ANN KIMBALL ' ' 'A 5 DORIS GROVER MUDGETT RUSS' LSb0's pleasafzf fo zwzlla wifb, wiffy Ami gladly woldf' sbe4fw'17c3 i L QQL1 ' fo ffzlk wiffa, amz' swvcz' fo ffaink 011, and glf1ally,fcc'f7c9Q3' M9 L.'4.,g 710431 UR ' loo. ' N .I ' A - ' - HGLP xSCa.1Qo?c..O,u1J.4... I ' - Q hr, U ,,14fI Ii 1 gg., Diff!-'gil YA A J A , , , - -119 ' I1 ww 1 44: 1 JJ LLL JJ fl I ,pope M. ,L fY'y ' lLM,4.g4. -0 +1 4 LLL GI!-79' wb I fubifkrfl-J.. AO' .AMA YL4,-J' ' ' ,LL-AA. ,L ,+C.a..L,4,4.4fg 911 If t'io ,LAK f MJ- tsp I 51.11 Ufifl. 1 KL pf :h i H1593 f.,-L S.f.- Q v 4 14 , N x N K I 7 I' 9 -I -- ri MARY ELIZABETH NYE , MARY SYBIL SHALLENBERGER ' Thou pwzdzzlzzrlz bciwixf a smile V The royezlfy of bc'rzufy's 111ic'11. and H fear J: IKM- A f1,kc4,4flfx,4fl fifbbl, if7?f','i -1.A.,1.. - wd ,J . A , I! Us 4, Ln - .,,,.. ji J f,l,C- f 1 pl . -9,1 PM dltlvuvifi. X341 rfLN,4,4,bl.. il 93-Q ,filwg I 1 A r' - jf 8,xvY'.v-'W ,1.s.'u Arcuy 114 A-Af-AAMAVA4-f 7 -Y ' frvf-A-Cfifs., ,L Kg'-..--RJ g.. - I ' gi 4-J NJ -4 -.v' 5 . 1 A ' s ..- ' xl- 5' 5 :, ' 1 Q a t.. b.QX xl sf sn 'I AQIKLQ, x,- S i Z , x A3 u rfif ,H , ., W W M. I xg? mg A 9 K . '. A PEGGY SIMONS 6' N Q3 ALICE FFOLLIOT THOMPSON Look, Ibm, into fbifze heart Sb, 'CDSM fllfifl? Of 'fflllfifk bwkfff of Q and wrif-e.',' .,, . Q: rw 7117371717 Q' ff ix -o uf TQ LW, Make fha soul clanve upon cz jig io Hc'rw'11.,' Q SX 1 A LJNQJ - fab QNX 0, 1 goo if G0 'XX E5 YS .gf f1QCg TWV mel UN- N047 0 ,Q GLA- Vaq unix ax,-if-5 Summ -we q,xq,w..s-X 0-5 K A. 'YNA-NV' Qdv- 7s fg, 6.0 - -kk-V0 QxffWfj,,ySALwmSH:msj?m f jj? yx , Sha' 'S ax mth c'leaI?Qib3!cl11Cc'1 891.5 s Q, V N-X L!l1Igll0l' CYZIIIYIZI be U QACK- u 'J 0+ 3 5 ,pdf x wx.-,fvwqi xmaxfojgkwq X9?14XSX 'D vfgwlegli FLAME X vw-'QQ VK if N SX N4-wCwmLg5vNS2- V000-kgw X' . S Q 4 QQQuxiXQ v30Aw0wXM 1 1 fi .8 QNX QSQ- L QL Cab., YU-NM QCD. , . .. v R EQ usoq LX-o SXQY NAS-X? Thompson's Elegy in ihe Senior Room Cwith apologies to Thomas Grayj The school-bell rolls the knell of parting dayg The yawning girls wind slowly o'er the leag Miss Converse homeward plods her weary way With puppy running on, from leash now free. But from that yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The senior class shouts forth with might and main At such, as wand'ring near their secret bow'r, Molest their youthful, solitary reign. Let not Ambition mock their useless toil, Their noisy joys, and destiny unknown. They're reminiscing with a saddened smile The happy days of yore that they've out grown. Now well remember they Miss Nichols' wrath When busy playwrights wrote that driv'lling play? Remember junior study-halls and math And A B C's and romping all the day? Gay days of roller-towel and magazine The fright'ning dungeon's walls have had to bear. These girlish flowers weren't born to blush unseen, They plied their genius on the neighboring air. Sir David Little-Boy with dauntless breast The laughing audience of the school withstoodg The junior room they hung with all the best Of certain artists' gals in glamorous flood. The morn they tried Macbeth for murder baseg The fair wherein they sold their parents' food And cheered the Lady Halifaxg the pace They trod at dawn to school in growling mood They'll not forget. Remember volleyball That raised their old, fantastic na ' - igh? The 'KRoof's and l'Spit's and hey'd call Was ubsf' Zwiebach as in 3. -- they'd vie. 4- Oft did the movies to their fancy yiel And books of Grants and Gables cases chokeg How jocund did they drive their hearts afield To one who skated till their hearts he broke. EPITAPH But now the shining years to come are crying The future wipes the wisfful past away. Our chilallaoozlls now to !iLlTkI'P16d mcnfry fiyingg So fustg so swift has come another day. THE FLAME 15 ,mm ARMA was Lmruuy Lease. ' Lfwfy 'DQQK' Juniors Chosen by the Senior Class for Places of Honor in 6 Jr 1 P 1 1 C? C3iX3XiJfN?wLLJoL-9?ES rQcQSjj:aHEL:wvmQ oQOu.f kfeq Owfwj jo UJPQD LKGM Hgh x X A Q x OKWNQB lfwsxsff Kovvffffg 3 ,Aciioeta In eswu f 1 OLOfO'pF'if Qu' iff T, mes LQJM We IPS WWE' 13 om fgeg,fJWrfP'Q MrfM mow YW WN is W Nxffiwplm QUX5 CLZISYYX TQJ XGWN is CUTg.l QE UMVQWQJ We Xiaexmq ggvmgx QEXQQG, CJ Aye SW D owYN,AxLf!U' NL Move. , QV mam MGA Qfvmgfajj MARY STRINGER pvxtg LQQHW- Gg 0 oss O 'Qfw' xxro e VD'U 3-Yi S egfbgfwsf J o 'GLY U Emir es -If, ST xx . 'DQQQMW QJJNQ Q- W x fe, Ulm Ck ff Soni Wok kd WTR Y, Osolobn bp, WG Q Nwgofliw Mix 3 XA, W so 5 one WP Ol' OYCE ARLTON CLXCA, +65 HARLOTTE ITZPATRICK FC v-Xioimx KA GH xgceglfwig Btzarers ji ljo Maxx FQQQZX muff' WQMQQQMQFBTE MQW L53 so cfm 16 T E FLAME Q gf3'oi5LAYVRC1QT QQVYIQX CLXDNX VOM mx KJV -E E UH oi-fbffNfX!bZJ7 CWUJYOQE MNQQWOL egg umgDs5xQfcxJ1JxrxCf Cl GUPX 'WN JVAWYS EOXIFXQO1 Oni 2 Wm -C Form V From iop in boffrmz: CHARLOTTE FITZPATRICK MARGERY HAWTHORNE DOROTHY LEAvENwORTH PATRICIA SPORER MARY STRINGER ELIZABETH DECOSTER MARJORIE QKIES IJOROTHY OERTING .JULIA DUNNING DME ENGELBERT SHIRLEY WIlIGIiT DOROTHY CAMMAGK MARX' BRIGGS GEORGIA RAY JOYGE CARLTON SALLY QRME JEAN MERRILL SIDNEY STRONGE NADINE SMITH MILDRED GOODSON NORA BAER MARRELL BROOKS JUNE HASSIQNZAHL No! in jlicfzzrvr MARGARET HERBERT CAROLYN STOLTZE THE FLAME Chart Form rth 011 S F 'Dean - g ua vinci. 'irkwq Minn OK, so. i fbgffi' S3811 otbcvl I1 C E Name Nickname Favorite Saying Famous For Desiineaf To Be BARBER Babs Oh, horrible! Dancing Lindy with Deb Worth her weight in gold fteethj BUTL R Gus I Oh, ra-lly? Ruddy complexion Piano tu er BURNS Sy Isnit he beautiful! Cigarette-making machine Mrs. Laird Cregar CATHCART Con Oh, kids, I'm in love! Telephoning Hamburger fryer at Alamo CLARK Hel How baffling! Sitting up straight Trapeze artist COUNTRYMAN Dot Chris says . . . Drawings Tooth past ad CROOKS E11 Schnell! Lachers Tobacco auctioneer CUDWORTH Cnc! Ashus fum Bones Librarian DONNELLY Deb Oh, Donnilly! Antique binder Child psychologist HOLMES Leeds er-ah-ah-er-um Quick mind Quick mathematician KINKEAD Kink How mar-velous! Excusing herself Fat woman at circus LEVY Em Do you know what? Being prepared in emergencies Bankrupt MAIRS Nanny Oh gee, you kids, stop kidding Being gullible Burlesque queen ,E NYE Po Ditto! Opening and closing windows Police chief l'1'l RUSSELL Rasty That's true-but . . . Cello Seamstress 'IE STRINGER String I hate you! Good-looking school sweater Sonja Henie D, PARSONS Parse Dinghy Bob Old maid E WEST Mae Stop talking about me! Crushes Professional doodler fgCffff:,,'A 1 2Q:,Og2gQ5ka':r,Ef Qian? af? 5 QZEQQE, 5-ia '5?:g3- S-J 1' -.Q?,,g'ELgfi fitgglt .Q if 'i2g1. f:25J'g'ijgr3 iii Eiga? L'L LL L for S S 2.2 ' ,' A- 1 fv THE FLAME Form IV NIARGARIZT ANN BARBER Al . '5 H , - L 'Q Q , 'fSYl.VIA BURNS' , 5 ' K I' nl Ulf! W-'J if Ln fq Ag ALHJA Bu'1'1,ER P A. v' 4' ' Q Q V Au 'W . AQ x X 5' Q' L Q 1- L 1 5 ' Y 2 Q.,5u.1.1,L9.J -' 699900 'N CZONSTANCZIZ CATHQART Digg HQ, P HIQLEN CLARK 12 T-Q1 Q 'QQ' 1-nl: Q, gg! IJOROTI-IY COUNTRYMAN b iw. buluiu-rw.aH'nli 'nah Shia umblli Quliq ' ani me a mf 40595 Ul3sQb. ' uf'-Ig, .I 3h1f3 o.mbUF'f 'f ,x LYN CROOKS ODA 115.5 M1XliGARP.T CUDW OlKTH . wp inonqn wiblf IJEBORAH IJONNELLY ' ' 3 I cb-Fun Jil-I-Q3 in Go I I S 0 u Jo Iraq Q55 9 U- - I am as, ,M 5 X Nw. x 'Ay 1 'L Y ., . .., s,.J 's-. . 1 1- 1- 1 , , v .- ... ETTY HOLMES? ' - -W ff ' x 5 9 . L , Q 5. , A s s - VIRGINIA KINREAD ,t.....nxu,l,.ln,, , . '-EMMY LOU Lnvxf .vv- H1 KU 'fy Nyc L53 ,A .Y A -V Hxsi LX K 1 fauna-3 A AN xj xx yikg ,m s. .Av .Nur XQSQT . 'Nba uv.. Mo xxx-1 'D1,Je-Q,v:J'-!q.'L, xvMW 'VOX K '-' '- ' X WAJVYU - ,J ,JL 'Ps --095 , N' WN L .-:-YA. NYXNCY MAIRS POLLY NYE BETTY ANN PARS MARGARET RUSSELL HAIRIRIET STRINGER JLLAN WEST 19 i ONS Q PATTY APPEL Form III XVIRGINIA CIAIQIQ KATE DAVIDSON PEGGY DRISCOLL NANCY GAX'liR VIRGINIA GIREGG BRIIJGIET HASTINGS PATTY HUNT HOPE MAQIARTNEY TI-IE FLAME Form II Lvff fo rigbl, .willing 011 floor: SHIRLEY CATLIN Sifting on c'l1:1i1'x: BARBARA BAER GLENNA MILLAKRIJ BETTY BANQROI-'T Standing: CYNTHIA KllI,I.EX' EDITH NYE N01 in picfzzrf: LOUISE MAIRS THE FLAME JEANNE .IERRARD 'FHORNL GRANT JOAN Gl41SNl4.R SALLY BA YLISS .KT I MAIKY POND ORDWAY LORENA AYRES ANNE MOGA MIMI BAER SALLIE STOLTZE DORIS ROSENHOLTZ Lcff fo right, xifiing group: ELLEN DAGGETT PATTY COURTNEY SUSAN CAMMACK NANCY HARRIS Sfamfing: PATSY GIBBON BARBARA LANG CAROL PEET -IANE BAIRD MARILYN GRUBBS PATSY SMITH LUCY JACKSON JEAN MAIRS DEBBY BUTLER MARY JUNE GARDNER NINA STEEFEL JACQUIE APPEL MARTHA HOLMAN MONA LUYTEN ALICE NELSON SALLY FITZPATRICK MILLICENT THOMPSON SALLY ANN BRONSTEIN Noi in jzirfzzrrf: FRANCES HOLMES THE FLAME 'YY A .ww-Q, XX . LITERARY The Big Thrill ERHAPS the reason the large house seemed especially quiet to Mrs. Saunders, who was removing articles from Mr. Saunders's and her bedroom, was that she herself was the noise-maker. She stood in the middle of the floor, smiling and looking about her. How good it would seem to have fresh, clean walls surround her in place of the dingy plaid hung there some years ago! The precious fall sun, throwing a luminous parallelogram upon the floor, ensnared Mrs. Saunders,s leg and, with its enticing warmth, rooted her where she stood. She glanced through the window and noticed a small truck had slowed and was turning up the drive. It charged out of sight, and she heard it whirl to the back steps, crunching the loose gravel ferociously. Mrs. Saunders pulled her reluctant leg from its trap and hurried down the stairs. The ivory truck, identified by the M. Gilford, Decorator on its side, was humbly quiet now. Short and important Mr. Gilford, who stepped to the door toting a huge Volume under each arm, was graciously allowed to enter by Mrs. Saunders. Half an hour later they were settled at the dining room table thumbing through the two wallpaper books while discussing the merits of this and that pattern. Now, Mrs. Saunders, I suggest that the room is in need of a pastel shade which will reflect the light and enliven the walls, but we must be careful not to pick a, he squinted his eye expressively, hot color. Mr. Gilford spoke precisely and confidently in a manner which awed Mrs. Saunders. Well, my husband and I have always been partial to blue- she tapped a newly exposed pattern with a slender fore-finger. My, how lovely! she said emphatically. The paper consisted of alternate pink stripes and clustered flowers hanging in vertical lines against a blue background. Isn't that simply beautiful, Mr. Gilford? Mr. Gilford cleared his throat and stroked his nose thoughtfully, preparing to make his sale. Yes, Mrs. Saunders, it is very nice,', he said smoothly. Notice how your pink stripes are daintily touched with white to give the lacy effect and how gracefully each bouquet hangs from the one above. He outlined the flowers with a professional stroke of his curved finger. Mr, Gilford, what is this piece? asked Mrs. Saunders, holding a page that was identical to the pattern, except that it lacked the flower clusters and was half the size of the other page. That, said he, is the paper for two of the walls. It is the most recent idea in wallpaper to use two related patterns instead of the traditional one. He observed her reaction. She gave him a surprised glance. My word, I haven't heard of that before. I think John would like it. Mr. Gilford discerned the suitable amount of acceptance in her attitude and pressed on. He gave her examples of rooms recently decorated in this modern way and comments they had evoked. He took the heavy book upstairs and held it against the wall, while she observed it frowningly. Mr. Gilford, she said at last, I think I will have this paper. I know you will be pleased, Mrs. Saunders, with the result. He smiled correctly and carried off his two books. I will be able to begin work at eight o'clock tomorrowf' he said in departing, since you have cleared the room. Thank you, called Mrs. Saunders. She watched the truck Whiz to the highway. Perhaps she wouldn't tell john about the two papers at all. It was so charming that he would like it as much as she, of course. Yes, she would surprise him. For three days Mr. Gilford's little truck rattled the crisp leaves in the drive at eight o'clock in the morning and again at sunset. The inconvenienced household reeked gf T-,if 'Ass' H of paint fumes and paste. Mr. Saunders disliked sleeping in the extra bedroom piled with unwelcome furniture, but he bore his hardship bravely. He was pleased with his wife's excitement over the new room and vexed because she doggedly insisted upon surprising him when the job was finished. Finally the third night came, and Mrs. Saunders led John up to their room. She opened the door and snapped on the light. John said, Say, there is a big difference. That Wilford fellow did quite a job. Gilford, Dear. I just love it!', exclaimed Mrs. Saunders. And it's so modern, John--the very newest in wallpaper, she said, remembering Mr. Gilford,s words. That's fine, Millie, said John, descending the stairs. Now, how about some supper? He rubbed his hands. I just had a bowl of soup for lunch, and I'm hungry! The transformation of the room was a constant source of pleasure for Mrs. Saunders, and John seldom mentioned it. One cold night many months later the Saunders set the thermostat at fifty-seven degrees, locked their doors, and retired to the blue room and bed for the evening. Mrs. Saunders admired her walls in the dim light while John listened to the soft babble of the radio newsman. Suddenly, after staring at the walls around him, he sat up and twisted towards his wife. Say, Millie, this wallpaper's cock-eyed! he said. Mrs. Saunders tipped her head back and laughed. Why, John, haven't you noticed that before? she chuckled. How funny. That's the way it should be. Why, that was my big thrill!,' , PEGGY S1MoNs Form VI So Long, Dave UST outside my door two deep voices interrupted a tense, important dream. My father and my brother Dave were arguing on the landing and all the Way down- stairs. By the time their rumbling had disappeared into the dining-room, I was wide awake and sitting up in bed. No light was coming through my window, only a cold grayness that had curled up on the sill. It was Saturday morning, a holiday. My brother was going into the Navy. By the light wedged around my door and the talking downstairs, I knew that I was probably the only one still in bed. I wouldn't have time to dress either, because Dave was leaving at nine. I groped around my closet looking for my best fplaid bath- robe and leather slippers, and combed my hair carefully in the soft light from my table lamp. As David's one sister, I had some responsibility for being the last civilized girl he was to see for months, besides Mary, of course. I stumbled down the back stairs to the kitchen, which was thick with smoke from French fried toast. Selma was trotting abstractedly from stove to table and then out into the dining room. His last good meal, I thought. There was nothing but half a grape- fruit in the refrigerator for breakfast. I ate it without sugar, already making sacrifices for my brother's safety. Mother found me on an excursion to the kitchen for jam for David, and I was brought into the dining-room. Dad was trying to persuade my brother to take more than a toothbrush with him for the three days on the train. David thought it unneces- sary to worry about three days' comfort when he was going to have to do things Navy style for at least six weeks in boot camp. Hell,', he declared nonchalantly, 'Tm not going to a day nursery. I agreed with him silently. At half-past eight David looked over the selection of books and letter paper that Mother had assembled on the hall table. His Christmas presents were there too, un- wrapped since yesterday. Why couldn't the admiralty have waited two days until Christmas to induct new men? I had collaborated with Mother to give David an oval 24 THE FLAME cake of soap with a girl's faceipainted on it, which could be hung around his neck. He said with oaths that he would leave that terrible deal at home. Mary came just before nine. She looked tired, as though she hadn't slept all night, and she was wearing the white dress that David had given her for her birthday. Dave turned down most of Mother's comforting items, but he stuffed his new electric razor into the pocket with the toothbrush. He scorned the books and news- papers that Mother was taking to shorten the tiresome train ride. I was glad that I wasn't going to the station. Goodbye's began: some grinning suggestions to Selma about her Charlie, already on the seas, and a vain attempt to cheer his dog, Booty, who was moping under the hall table. Then Mother decided firmly that David must kiss me goodbye. David is very handsome, but he's my brother, and it's the principle of the thing. We satisfied Mother with a quick peck and a short valedictory. I said something like So long, Dave. If you meet any good-looking sailors, send me their pictures. Dad with news- papers, Mother with books and a clean shirt from the hall table that David might want at the last minute, Mary with her arm through David's, and Booty, whom Dave couldn,t very well leave behind, filed quickly out onto the cold porch. Mother turned back because she had forgotten some postcards, Dad called loudly, l'Come on, Mother. We'll be latevg and Mother hurried out with the postcards. Some cold air sneaked in behind them and nestled in the corners of the hall to get Warm. I hurried into the library to watch them from the window just as the car doors pulled shut. A white cough of exhaust showed against the snow, the automobile shook the frost impatiently from its wheels and lurched around the corner toward the alley. The library window was cold against my face. There was a wide, brave sticker on it that announced, There is a man from this family in the Navy. SYLVIA BURNS Form IV Pullman Night ITH a sigh I turned over and pulled up the shade. I had known I would see nothing, but faced with the actual and impenetrable blackness, my sense of aloneness increased. What was out there beyond my dusty window? Nothing familiar, surely, no one interested in me. Each turn of the wheels beneath me, each lurch of the car carried me farther from all the easy intimacy of home. Would I like it where I was going? Would they like me? Would someone be at the station to meet me? If only I could be at home again! But even as I thought it, there was a relief somehow in not being able to turn back, in having no control over the train's progress. I rolled over again, taking the bed-clothes with me and leaving my back cold and bare. Putting my arm around the pillow, I firmly shut my eyes and waited for the monotonous rumble of the wheels to lull me to sleep. The car creaked from side to side, the air-conditioning hummed, someone swished softly down the aisle, brushing against the heavy green curtains, and from a distant berth came a muilled -but I'm thirsty, Mama. As I listened to the click of the wheels, a silly little verse Mother had once told me came into my head: Punch, Brothers, punch with care, Punch in the presence of the pass-en-gere. Pink trip slip for a two-cent fare, Blue trip slip for a three-cent fare, Green trip slip for a four-cent fare. Who had written that? Mark Twain, perhaps? I had to get to sleep, I musn't be tired tomorrow. Tomorrow! Would I be able to change trains all right? Would I get off at the right place? Did I still have my ticket? Yes, it was in my purse. But THE FLAME 25 4 my purse, where was my purse? Frantically I felt for it and found it reassuringly safe under my pillow. I turned toward the window again. Darkness. But this time broken by a flash of light. I wondered where we were and what sort of people lived here. What were they doing at this very minute? And as I watched the bright dots skim by, a feeling of bewilderment swept over me. Why was I born to be me, to live at S11 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, Minnesota, U. S. A.? Why was I not born in China or India or this little North Dakota town we were passing through? How did it happen that I wasn't listening to the rush of the train from one of the little lighted houses instead of lying there in the darkened berth? The lights streaked by and the mood passed with them. I lay back and threw my arm over my eyes. The small sounds again took control of my consciousness-the wheels clicked on and on, the ventilator hummed, a gentle snoring came from above, the car creaked and swayed. Pink trip slip for a one-cent fare, Blue trip slip for a two-cent fare, Punch, Bro-thers, punch with care. SHIRLEY WRIGHT Form V Blackout O MATTER how much homework you have, you can't do it during a blackout. Come outside with me. I removed myself from a pile of books and followed my next door neighbor out of doors. The fall temperature was just cool enough to make the occasional gusts of warm air welcome. I felt gay and invigorated and skipped down the walk. Let,s go over to the bluff? I laughed, How to behave in a blackout-rule three-stay indoorsf, Who cares? Daddy is an air raid major, and he gave me permission to be out. If anyone questions us, just say that we,re official plane spotters. Singing the chorus of Semper Paratus we marched to the bluff. Here I had often come to look at the lovely view. Far to the left was the ostentatious downtown district. A searchlight at the airport flashed its powerful rays over the horizon. In the valley a factory was sending forth its usual cloud of smoke. Streetcars clanked hurriedly by. The view was the same, but I was different. I was excited. Suddenly from nowhere came the unsteady drone of a whistle. Its steadiness increased directly with its volume. It was joined by whistles from every direction, just as when a horn begins a melody and then is accompanied by other instruments, each contributing a different tone and resonance to the main theme. These whistles were not playing a pleasant tune. It was foreboding. In a few minutes the vast, seemingly uncontrollable mass of lights was extinguished as though one had taken an eraser and with a sweeping movement had removed all the marks on a blackboard. A few minutes ago we had been talking in loud voices, but now I felt compelled to whisper. Everything was so still that I jumped at the rustling in some nearby leaves. A mist hung suspended over the valley and produced an eerie effect. The moon sent its unfeeling sheen on the Mississippi. The gray sidewalk was visible for a few yards and then disappeared. I was standing looking at a ghost town. The serious voice of an air raid warden aroused me from my thoughts. Hey, Walter, did you report the light in the Croydon's house? This was war. I was gazing not at a dead city but at one wide awake and prepared for the exigencies of today. As the all-clear sounded, the street lights went on. Little dots of light appeared in the valley. Before long, red and green signs were flashing off and on downtown, and the streetcars had resumed their clanking. I returned home to my studying. Life had not changed. After all, we had experienced only a test blackout. KITTY JACKSON Form VI 26 THE FLAME l l Qgmky 'j cf Lonely ANE shifted her book and crossed her other knee. As she dicl so, she glanced across the aisle at the sergeant. Still looking at her. Would he never stop? She looked down at her book again, but she couldn't read. It was making her nervous and embarrassed to have that boy stare at her so much. She looked out the window. It was terrible weather. The sky outdoors was so dark and gloomy that the porter had had to leave the lights on all day. As she looked now, she suddenly saw the boy's reflection in the glass. She couldn't distinguish his eyes, but his face was turned toward her. He certainly was good-looking. She decided that she needed a few new tactics. She turned toward him, looked him straight in the eye, and smiled-radiantly, she hoped. His eyes shifted a little, and she realized that they were shy eyes-very deep and brown. Maybe he would be nice, but why did he have to stare so? Isn't the weather disgusting? she tried. Yes. Where are you going? Omaha. She thought that would be all she could get. But I wish I Weren't. I've just been home on leave for the last time. My cousin is on this train too, but he's too much of a 'slap-happy' for me. All the men in my et barracks are the same Way. At this moment a more round and jolly-looking soldier came rolling down the aisle. As he came up to the sergeant, he stopped with his hands on his hips and said, You're the picture of melancholy. Why don't you come down to the club car and have a few with me-pick up your spirits. 'Tm sorry, Jake. I don't feel very gay today. Oh, come on. You're only goin' to a war. And besides, our sidelll finish up before you know itf' he urged. By the way, who's the doll sittin' over there? I don't know. Jake turned toward Jane, My name's Jake. This is m' cousin Bill. Mind if I sit down? He sat down beside her as she tried to move unobtrusively closer to the window. She didn't know quite what to do. He clapped his hand on her knee in a friendly way and said, Come, now. You haven't told us your name, Girlie. Jane, she said abruptly and stood up, preparing to ask him to leave her and to tell him hotly that she wasn't the type of girl he Wanted. He must have seen the storm coming, for he got up quickly and Went away, saying cheerfully, See you later, Bill. You're missing a lot of fun. Jane sat down with a sigh and looked at Bill. He smiled kindly and said, I'm sorry he was such a bother. That's all right. I guess I'm just not experienced enough. He stood up and came over to her. I really think I feel better now. Seeing that you didn't like him, I realized that I Wasn't the only one in the world like me. I've been discouraged because the group I'm in are all like Jake. Would you like to have lunch with me? She nodded and laughed, 'tLook! we're going around Horseshoe Bend. We'll have to have our 'train legs' walking to the diner. ALLISON BUTLER Form VI THEFLAME U The Violet Man FIRST heard his bell on the busy, pulsing embankment on the Thames in London. His hell sounded plaintively above the ring of horses' hooves and the honking of the traffic. The ringer of the bell and many like him are well known in London. He signifies a man unemployed, trying to get a skimpy living by selling boot laces and the like, until he can get better work. I jumped down stairs, landing with a thud on the bottom floor, and ran to the doorway. I clutched three big new pennies in my hand. They were very precious to me because they were brand new. He was a grey, old, grizzled man, with a laughing, benevolent face, that sur- mounted all difficulties. A kindly smile lit up his face when he saw the little lidy dashing so quickly towards him. Here, I panted, are Three PENNIESF' I handed them to him proudly. Thanks a lot, little lidy, he answered. Thanks an awful lot. His kindly eyes twinkled, violet as the little flowers he handed me in return. I thanked him and ran back. I saw him once more after that, and this time he got sixpence. He never seemed hardened or angry because of his poverty. I could never have imagined him being angry. Later he left London, and I do not know where he went, but I still remember the little bell ringing, and the grizzled old man smiling to his sweet-smelling violets and a little lidy dashing urgently through the door. SHIRLEY CATLIN Form II Observation YOUNG girl stood on the open platform of a train which was laboriously climb- ing through the Rocky Mountains. Despite the soot, she remained there in the tingling air and the warm, rejuvenating sun. Perhaps the rest of the passengers were a bit amused, after all, one could see just as well inside the car. But she could breathe that life-giving air, scented with young pine, the clickety-clack on the rails wasn't muffled, but was distinct and rhythmic, the sun didn't just fall upon the mountain slopes, as it appeared through the windows, but rather penetrated every living thing. The girl was enlivened by the panorama of luxuriant growth. Slowly the clicking and clacking became more deliberate, a woodshed zoomed by, and the train at last paused in a mountain settlement. The door of the observation car opened, and a group of people stepped onto the platform. They chattered gaily over the scenic beauty and talked with one another about their vacations. Among them were two soldiers--quiet and thoughtful. One of them leaned on the brass railing and watched the exhaust as it gently puffed into the crisp air. The other, standing with his feet slightly apart and his hands in his back pockets, pensively looked at the snow-crested mountains. What was he thinking, the girl wondered. Suddenly a huge engine rushed by and shattered the congenial atmosphere. The door reopened and the group filed in-except for the one soldier who stayed there in quiet dignity. He gazed at the last car until it banked around a curve. The girl tilted her head as if listening for something, but all was still. Then he said in a low tone, I like this quiet. Yes, I do toof' The conductor walked by, waving a red flag, and in a moment the train began to move. He swung himself over the railing, commented on the nice day, and dis- appeared into the car. Soon the clickety-clack became a din. 28 THE FLAME 'sr N is I E in 2 S -Z mm ef ml W cu UMW The young girl smiled and said, Do you like to travel? Not as a soldier, he said quickly. She turned her face and noticed a great mountain stream far down in the valley. It dashed over rocks violently frothing. You learn a lot travelingf, he commented. She nodded and went on cheerfully, What fun it would be to fish in that stream! He smiled. Do you fish much? just a little-and you? We deep-sea fished years ago, off Bermuda. Oh, youive been there too? she exclaimed. We spent really very little time on the island. Our luck was too darn good. The girl thought of her trip to Bermuda. She remembered peeking over brick walls at clusters of fragrant Easter lilies and bicycling through a forest carpeted with moss. But above all, she never forgot the night her father had taken her for a moon- light ride in a horse and buggy. That was long ago, before people had thought of war. She observed the wings on his khaki shirt and said earnestly, i'What do you do? 'Tm a bombadier on a bomber. Oh.,' She paused hesitantly. Why did you choose the air force? Because it's the cleanest kind of fighting. Because if I fought on the ground Iid probably get shot up and spend months in some hospital-just a burden to the army. I couldn't stand that. But in the air, I'll know where I am until I miss. Then it'll be over. His healthy complexion was copper-like and his hair very black. He moved easily as he crossed the platform to point out a forest-ranger station on the peak of one mountain. Someday I'd like to spend a week or so in one of those shacks, he said, his eyes squinting up at the tiny object thousands of feet above them. It would be exciting, but the young girl's eyes clouded. Oh, if only that day would come. She stared at a bald eagle, swooping and gliding until it vanished over a rugged cliff. Where are you going? he asked abruptly. To Seattle. And I do appreciate being able to travel at this time .... Have you been on leave?' Yes, for four days. We're going to a field in Washington, and if I can pass certain tests there, Iill be given a ninety-day leave. I do hope all turns out well. I've got a brother who's joined the air force, too, though he hasn't been called yet. My kid brother's in the show already. How old is he?,' Nineteen The conductor opened the door and stepped out on the platform. He spoke to the soldier for a moment, then, Without a word, the bombadier entered the car, followed by the conductor. The girl blankly watched one of the ties until her eyes watered from the strain. Nineteen,,' she said aloud. Who was he? Where did he live? She would never know. He was not in the observation car, for she had just looked to make sure. No, she would never see him again. Glancing up at the jagged horizon, now glowing with the setting sun, she spoke from her heart, God bless him. MARKELL Bnooxs Form V THE FLAME 29 Isolde HE first day Isolde came shambling up to our house, Mother thought she was too old to work, but after tasting her Southern fried chicken and chocolate pie, we all changed our minds. We had gone down to Arkansas in 1936. Isolde came to us immediately and stayed with us for three years. She was a typical Southern mammy, middle-sized and rather plump. She was very dark and had black kinky hair and big round eyes that changed expression with her moods. She had a few weird habits. One was that she used to cook with her slippers on. She used to ask Benny the gardener to get some snuff for her to chew, when she was alone of course. Darkies usually forget their ages when they get old. We never knew how old Isolde was, but we thought she was about sixty-five. Strange as it seems, Isolde's hair never began to get gray as it should have, and the reason was that she had a wig. She came with us to Minnesota every summer, and then went back with us to Little Rock in the fall. The last summer Isolde stayed with us, she became very homesick for the South. So she Went back to Arkansas. She had two nieces in a little town named Mahern. As far as we know, she is still living with Doris and Tallulah in a typical darkie shack. I suppose it was better that she left, because sixty-five is rather old. But we still miss her very much. MILLICENT THOMPSON Form I Do unto Others HE sun was drooping behind the trees on the western bank of Turtle Lake, blazing like an uncovered light bulb until its last rays had disappeared. It left the leaves hanging limply from the trees like punctured balloons, and the grass flat on the cracked earth, defeated in its attempt to push up against the sun. A herd of cows was lying in the water lazily listening to the bullfrogs and the incessant drone of the airplanes overhead. A tuneless whistle soon joined the other noises, and a boy came down the hill calling, Come Boss, come Boss, come Boss. The cows made no move to get up, and he picked up some pebbles and threw them against the wet hides. One by one the cows lifted themselves out of the water and disappeared in the cloud of dust that hung over the path through the trees. The boy followed, whistling as before. On a hill on the opposite side of the lake a white house stood silhouetted against the sky. Beyond in was a barn, white like the house. Some riding horses were standing motionless in the pasture in front of it. They hadn't energy enough to stamp their long legs or to shake the droning flies from their ears and noses. A creaking broke the stillness, and a girl opened the barn door. The horses made no move, and she' went out and drove them toward the barn. They laid back their ears and nipped irritably at each other as they found the way to their stalls. They finished their oats half-heartedly, and the girl started to lead them out. Locky, dinner's ready, she heard her mother call. Locky shut the barn door quickly and went to the house. There was only one beach on Turtle Lake. After a day spent in doing slowly and silently what must be done and no more, every one came there to escape the evening heat. There were a few business men who came with their families. They carried bars of soap and didn't stay long. They must have realized that they looked white and out of place in bathing suits. Most of the people who came were farmers. The men stayed late. It was too hot for sleeping, and they liked to sit in the Water and talk about politics or gamble on the weather. Women came with crying babies. They sat in the shallow water and held them until they slept. Then the women carried them back to their damp cribs. 30 THE FLAME Farther out there was a diving stand swarming with the more energetic swimmers. There was no ladder, and they climbed onto the stand by stepping on each other's shoulders and heads like hungry puppies being fed. Look out, Locky, joe's it! exclaimed a girl from the water. Locky dived off the stand and swam under the water until her head bumped someone's legs. It was one of the farm boys she hadn't seen before. She stood up quickly to apologize. Look out! someone warned, but it was too late. Joe touched her elbow. Locky tagged the boy in front of her and dived under, but he touched her foot before she could get away. Locky tagged him back and swam under Water toward a row of partly submerged willows. Half way she came up for air. Timmy loves Locky, Timmy loves Locky, was the chant that greeted her ears. Nothing in the world could have been more embarrassing. She put her burning face under the water and swam over to the willows where no one could see her. She lifted her head above water quite soon, partly because she was curious. The chant was still continuing. Suddenly there was a series of splashes, and one boy was left on the diving stand. I don't love her, he announced, his voice scomful. I just like her. Locky swam toward the middle of the lake, wondering Why Tim hadn't said he hated her. She was surprised and just a little pleased. Locky had been swimming some time before she started back, and when she got to shore, Tim was the only one left. What time is it? she asked after an awkward pause. About ten thirty. How do you know? 1 just do. Locky wound the canoe rope around her forefinger and unwound it again. I hope it Won't be hot again tomorrow, she said. It's gonna rain tomorrow. How can you tell? If you farm you gotta tell. A rabbit peered cautiously from behind a tree, and on seeing Tim and Locky bounded hurriedly up the hill. Do you like hunting? he asked as Locky started to get into the canoe. N0,', she answered. Neither do I. Why not? Do unto others as you would have 'em do to you, he answered with a short laugh. But a rabbit couldn't shoot you, Locky pointed out. I wouldn't like it if he did. Oh. Locky took up her paddle and pushed her canoe off the shore. Goodbye, she said, and the canoe slid out into the deep water. X- X- 2? Fall came almost over night. In the evenings when the horses were freed from their harnesses and let out to pasture, they no longer stood silent with drooping heads, but bucked and kicked playfully at each other. Even the cows had energy enough to run clumsily down to the lake for their drink before milking time. The yellow willows bent over the still water to admire their new colors, and the regal oaks stood on the hills behind them, purple in the fading light. A tall poplar Was standing a little way back from the lake. Its leaves fluttered restlessly, anxious to be free from the branches and float to the ground. Under it was an old log with bark clinging feebly to it like a worn glove to an old man's hand. Tim and Locky followed the dusty cow path through the oaks and sat down on the log under the poplar's rustling branches. THE FLAME 31 1 4 u Went to a memorial servicef' Whose?', Joe's. My cousin. Joe's? echoed Locky. u How did he die? Killed in the Pacific. u What did you do today?', asked Locky after a short pause. You know him. He was swimming that nightf' Oh. Locky picked up one of the earth stars that were growing around the end of the log and examined it. Tim was looking steadfastly through the opposite bank. What are you thinking about?', asked Locky. 'Tm thinking I'm going to enlist tomorrowf' I thought you didn'tilike killing. They killed joe, didn't they? Do to others as they would do to you, he added with a bitter laugh. They got up. Locky pushed her canoe out into the water and started home to feed the hungry horses. Tim rounded up the cows, and they disappeared under the oak trees that hung over the path. This time there was no whistle, only the airplanes droning overhead. A Loon's Cry The cry came shivering over the lake Tossed on the waves and the wind. It sank to the bottom, Then rose to the sky And echoed again and again. It laughed with a sob Fearful and Wild, It hung like a shadow of glass, Then brittle and painful Fell from the air Lost in the Waves and the Wind. ANDREA HUNTER Form VI The blue night falling On far blue hills The magic rippling Of a bird's blue trills. The blue waves foaming On a distant shore The blue stars twinkling Evermore. 32 116 CYNTHIA DAVIDSON Form VI The Terror of the Spaniards Many a galleon large he sank, Many a Spaniard walked his plank. Plundering, robbing all as he went, In English court a perfect agent. Knighted then by Good Queen Bess For Spanish captains in distress. Terror, destruction in his wake Onward went Sir Francis Drake. JACQUELINE APPEL Form I The blue pines Whisp'ring In a strange blue light In the wondrous beauty Of a full mooned night. The deep blue storm shrieks While the black clouds roar And the rhythm of blue music Evermore. SHIRLEY CATLIN Form II THE FLAME Two x69 mm lim- FRANCE THE FLAME A Dialogue HE mournful cry of a train somewhere out on the plain was the only sound that penetrated the little room. A lone candle on, the table flickered uneasily but gained courage as the muffled rumbling disappeared into the distant night. Two young men, the sole occupants of the room, were silently occupied with guns and ramrods. They were just men, no striking features or physical qualities distin- guished them from others. One was shorter, and the other had dark hair and strong eyebrows. They worked in silence, but it was a profound silence heavy with their thoughts. They were not the least bit uneasy, but seemed rather to enjoy their work. The silence was broken finally by the short one who glanced up and turned to his companion. Pass me the oil, Joe. I still have the stock to dof' The dark one nodded and passed the oil. The calm settled down once more, this time accompanied by the oiler's caressing strokes on the stock of his gun. You know, itis bound to come, as I've said before. You can't stop it. Every- thing we do every day brings it closer, the dark one suddenly broke forth with his thoughts. And when it does, it will be far worse than the Middle Ages. Think of the continual Wars and the petty arguments between countries. I'1l bet you' any amount of money we'll be in a huge war and one after that, too. It makes me boiling mad that we couldn't have forseen it all before we began building kingdoms, states, and countries. Holy Cow! Weive got ourselves in so far, I'l1 be darned if I know how to get out of it. And with this he furiously drove the ramrod down the barrel of his Remington. His friend calmly looked up from his oiling with a patient glance. Yes, Joe, he said thoughtfully, you have said that you think we are coming to a dark age. And I figure that the only way to get us out of this mess is to live on equal terms with the colored races. Who knows but that the colored race is getting mighty sick of the white master race? It's just that we d0n't let ourselves understand the beliefs, the religions, the good and the bad of the Negro, East Indian, African, Chinese, japanese, and the natives of the Americas. I bet there are plenty of Chinese who can tell our Einsteins things they've wondered for years. Why don't we accept these peoples as equals on social and economic terms? Because we donit want to. We pretend not to see what the future holds and shrug our shoulders at it. I, for one, hope to see a whole world unity where anyone can go where he pleases, think what he pleases, and say what he pleases. Come now, Bob. The other quickly shifted his momentary study of the steadily dripping candle wax to his friend. You must admit you are somewhat of an idealist. It will take many years before your theory could come about, if it ever should. Now I think that you can't come to an equal understanding with the other races, but that wars following up wars, due to aggrandizement and retribution and probably ultimately racial conflicts, will amount to the 'be-all and the end-all,' so to speak. I have no hope for the further development of culture. Here in America there has not been composed an outstanding symphony, nor is there an outstanding artist. Yes, but, there's where I disagree with you. True we may not have a great musician or artist. But what about the scientist with his ever increasing knowledge of the unknown? You say the Western world is materialistic. Who hasn't been up in the North woods, or on a mountain top, or by a seashore and not felt at least once separated from the materialistic world? We End pleasure in the abundant compositions even now. Besides, America is still young. Buck up, we have a lot more to live for. The dark one rose and with a twinkle in his eye, snapped the breechlock, laid 34 T H E F I.. A M E his gun on the table, and with a wide stretch uttered a loud yawn. Let the prosecu- tion rest. I'm all for turning in if we expect to plug a few ducks tomorrow. The short one nodded and with a sigh, methodically fitted the gun parts together. The other extinguished the weakened candle, and the room relapsed once more into the prescribed silence. CHARLOTTE FITZPATRICK Form V 'Phat' gn kggg g Coming Home -I Ol' Lv'-' L Uffwu H, WHY had I bothered to look for that art history book? Sally had told me L 5 lgk . is she couldnit wait if I didn't hurry. Now she would have left, and I would have Iqc qyy Q, to walk. QQ lo CQ yd I put my coat on quickly and went out. No, he wouldn't come, not today,', I thoughtiy Everything had gone wrong. I hadn't reached the last two questions on my history Perhaps Warren would come by on his way home from school and give me a ride.oA, O wx 0 O To 'K test, and I knew I had failed it. gil-:yy Before I had walked two blocks, I saw Warrens car turn onto Summit ahead -k of me. I knew it would be that way. It always was on days like this. I walked on CSQOIYXC' V wondering what I could think about for the next mile and a half. He might stop at our house and wait for me. Perhaps one chance out of three. I realized that was an optimistic estimate, but I walked faster just the same. I was three blocks from home. One chance in five, I thought. It's silly to climb too high when you have to jump down. I was in front of the house now. One chance in ten thousandf, I thought, and laughed. The house looked cold and dead to me. The soul was out of it. The coal soot and the water stains from the drain pipe made the red-orange brick cold and cheerless. The Elizabethan towers were old-fashioned and out of place beside the newer houses. I went up the cold gray line of the steps and opened the heavy door. Under the high ceiling I felt as if I were alone in a cathedral. My hockey stick and skates were lying on the velveteen cushion on the bench in the hall. Mother would scold me for leaving them there. I noticed the two rows of bells on the opposite wall. None of them rang now. They hadnit for a long time. Mother was coming down the stairs. She looked tired. Her hair seemed grayer to me than it had before. She had on a blue velvet evening dress. The nap was worn off the elbows so that she couldn't wear it when she went out. She put it on in the evenings sometimes. You're late today, she said. I know. I had to find an art history book. I baked bread this morning. Wonderful, I said, showing no enthusiasm, although I meant to. You dressed up tonight, didn't you?,' Yes, Your father likes me to, she answered, smiling. The telephone rang, and I answered it. It was Dad. He couldn't come home for dinner. He had to go to a meeting. Mother and I ate quickly, then cleared the table. If you have work to do you'd better go upstairs. I can do the dishes-or stack them and leave them until tomorrow morning. I went upstairs. I wished we lived in a house like Warren's-a little house. CYNTHIA DAVIDSON Form VI THE FLAME 35 T73 CATJ C. Varac WAS sketching the orange scarf wrapped around the shoulders of an old woman from the province of Anjou. She was over a foot tall, standing with her back against a dais on which were placed even bigger dolls. Her neck was stiff under the shawl's weight, her hands were bent and old, her face brown and wrinkled. Certainly she was a character demanding attention, but my mind would not stay on my sketch- book and her hook-nosed countenance. M. Henri Varac, who had created these cari- catures, was strolling with his back to me among the shelves, tables, and cases mounted with more than a thousand of his dolls. I was watching him in wonder, partly be- cause he whistled and winked covertly as he Walked, and partly because he was the first real Frenchman I had ever seen. M. Varac was about thirty-five years old. He was of medium height, well-built, and slender. I was fascinated by his head, which was flat on top like Ichabod Crane's, and by his face which resembled those of all his dolls. His chestnut-colored hair was thick and tightly curled in the back, but in the front it was bidding farewell to a high forehead. His face was modeled like a Byzantine warrior's, long and almond-shaped. Two thin, penciled eyebrows climbed up in semi-circles over his sloping forehead. His long hooked nose strove to meet his pointed chin. His lips were thin and feminine- pleasant when he smiled, and stiff when he talked. His point of chin grew longer when his mouth drew up in a smile. His expression was one of contentment and joy with the world. A carven happiness lighted his florid face with a continual beaming and carried itself into his eyes, two dark blue almonds like indigo stains. In my mind's eye I saw him dressed as a toy maker of Baluchistan, cosmopolitan, with dainty hands, wearing a turban with a white aigrette and red slippers turned up at the toes, striding contentedly through his shop stocked with fabulous toys. Walking back toward me through the rows of long-nosed dolls, he was accosted suddenly by a thin old woman who beset him with a rain of French words and phrases. He straightened quickly, his red face became even brighter, and he answered her with another volley. Women gathered around this nucleus until he was no more than an exclaiming voice in their midst. I finished my Anjou doll and began on an even older fagot-gatherer from Brittany. I made a clumsy outline, and had begun to draw in her clothing, when a sudden voice, loud and pleasant, broke in over my shoulder, You are sketching my models? You find them so interesting? M. Henri Varac stood beside me, beaming over his chocolate shirt and Easter-egg tie, and suddenly embarrassed, I could only say, Yes, they are wonderful, so real. I was startled by his enigmatic smile. My silly, inadquate sketches stared up at me, and I didn't dare close the note-book, because he was peering at it intently with his penciled eyebrows drawn high. This is good, this, he nodded. You are going to make copies of them?', I came down to sketch them for class next Monday. They're not very good, I,m afraid-I mean the drawings. I was told to look for you, because you could- Oh, you wish to make a picture sketch of me? His whole figure shone and grew taller, and he put his hands on either side of his head as if to present it to me for a model. Oh, no! I said desperately and too loudly. Not to make a sketch. He looked as though I had paid him an intentional insult, sighed, shook his head, and took his hands away. His eyes ceased to beam and became darker blue. Why my refusal to make a sketch had offended him so, I could not tell. I struck out again before he could turn away. You see, they are only for class-they aren't really any- thing much. I was supposed to look you up so that I could find out how the dolls 36 THE FLAME were made. I couldn't sketch anybody's face, not like a face, I mean. These are just something for French classf' He rose up again in height with an even happier look. No conceit came into his face this time, and he exclaimed-but like a real Frenchman, Ohhh, parlez-vous Francais? Oni, I answered, and then without thinking, in a desultory sort of a way. He looked surprised, but only for a moment, and then he smiled without showing his teeth and said, We are the Hrst to laugh, remember that. I do not mean to un- nerve you. He had, however. I felt like a four-year-old child, and I closed my hateful note- book. Do not be unnerved, he repeated, and if you would know how I create my models, come, I will show you. He led me to a glass case nearby which was guarded by two French dolls in uniform, and which was spread with folders full of photographs and excerpts from newspapers. Here you have the whole thing, he gesticulated. It tells you all about my work and how it came to be. This one here is for twenty- Eve cents, this folder, more complete. I sign for you for one half-dollar. You need not take it, only read it here if you choose. I have in my desk a large folder of pictures and newspaper clippings, autographed in even letters, which were folded and presented to me by the hands of Henri Varac, hands which are thin and fine and red and which come to a point at the end like his chin. SYLVLA BURNS ' Form IV s Two Impressions SUMMER MORNING I woke up and leaned over the side of my bed to let the shade up and looked out. The gravel road around our garden stretched down among the trees. At this moment it was occupied by Peter and the milk truck. Peter is our Scottie dog. He bounced along the road as usual, for he takes these morning strolls every day. The milk truck driver looked as if he were going to swear, for when Peter is out for a promenade he dominates the whole road. The yellow rose bushes were in their glory, and the bees were making a great deal of it. From the top of the green flag pole the American flag flapped in the breeze. I had neglected to take it down the night before. From the other side of the road came the sound of che noisy lawnmower where my brother was hard at work, anxious to inish and catch the bus in order to meet a boy at the Yacht Club for golf. I stretched noisily and got' up. The perfect summer day was waiting. 55 fr B!- AFTER-STORM The clouds broke, and the sun came out. The world outside was dripping. We strolled out and looked over the hill and out toward the lake. The birds sang joyous songs that are only sung after storms are over. The sun was sinking toward the West, turning from yellow to pink, then to red, and finally to a deep purple. The wind lapped the lake into little bright ripples. Everything was soaked. I wished so much that I could throw myself down and roll over and over in that wet grass, as my cocker was doing, snuiiing and wriggling importantly, as if be were the cause of the end of the storm. Everything smelled so clean and fresh that I wanted to capture it and put it in a museum in order to preserve it. We continued on our way, enjoying every minute, for never again would there be another after-storm anything like this one. LUCY JACKSON Form! THE FLAME 37 Revelation REMEMBER standing on the bow of the Grampian late one afternoon as we en- tered Princess Louisa Inlet. After passing through the narrow channel, our cap- tain cut the engines to half-speed, and the bow settled low into the turquoise water' which was like liquid crystal. Now there was no spray as there had been when the Grampian ploughed through the rough sea, but just the delicate lapping against the prow as it neatly cut its way through the water. The engines were noiseless, and we glided along as if on glass. There was not a breath of wind. The setting sun gave a pink and purple hue to the mountains on the right of us. The mountains on the left were shrouded in deep, green shadows. The air was scented with wet pine, and it was a luxury to breathe. Quietly, oh so quietly, we approached the base of a moun- tain to drop anchor for the night. As we came closer we grew smaller, until at last the propellers reversed and the engines were stopped. I watched the churned-up water at the stern of the boat. I heard a faint hissing sound as the white foam blended into the blue-green depths. Then there was silence. The profound quiet was shattered suddenly by the clanking of the anchor-chain. An echo! Soon we were shouting back and forth, but the sedate mountains refused to accept the proof that we had broken into their sanctuary. Our small lifeboat was lowered, and at my first opportunity I decided to row around an island not far off. On my way, I was startled by something in the water. It was a seal with sad, grey eyes, a coarse moustache, and no ears! When he saw me he made no commotion-the water simply closed over his head. It was getting late now, and the peaks of the highest mountains were scarlet. The sun slowly crept over a horizon I could not see. When I reached the opposite side of the island, I heard the steady trickling of falls. I rowed industriously in their direction. I felt out of place, as though I were in another world. The oars squeaked rhythmically in the locks. Stars began to appear, and the mountains lost their bulk. They were great, looming forms with huge V's in between. All at once I knew I had found the falls, for there was an indescribable fragrance in the air. Fresh, icy snow-water splashed from rock to rock as it streamed down the worn groove in the side of the mountain. The air was chilly and it was not long before I returned to the boat. :P 21- :I- I gathered my blankets and pillow and went to the top of the captain's bridge. There I spent the night out under the wide and starry sky . . . where I could listen to the quietness. I wondered what it would be like to live alone in the wildernessg but when the sun brought the bright aurora of a new day down the sides of the mountains, and when I heard the captain's cheerful whistle and familiar voice, I was convinced that one needs companionship in order to live a sane and happy life. I stretched and breathed in the vibrant air. MARKELL Bnooks Form V High Noon FINISHED reading my letter, tore it up, and put the others in my pocket, care- fully buttoning them in. I had been warned too often about losing the mail. I whistled for the dog and started home, walking in the middle of the road, the middle part where the grass and clover grew protected by the ruts on either side. The grass was brazenly coarse and strong, but the clover was always short. It grew humbly, as though afraid of the cars which came so Hercely over its head. I stooped and pulled 38 THE FLAME ll off a blossom to suck its sweetness. As I walked along, chewing it, I watched my toes disappear under the sand and then pop out as I lifted my foot. The dog started to bark when we reached Harold Reino's meadow, and I looked up. There were two horses and a mower standing idle as a backdrop behind a maple tree. Come here, Sam, we've got to go. He didn't come. I lifted the rail, followed, and caught him by the collar. That was when I saw Harold Reino sprawled out under the tree. The heat devoured each sound before it carried far. Evidently its dusty hunger had muffled Sam's barking, for Harold lay undisturbed. Sam and I stood quietly, the rhythm of the dog's hasty panting contrasted with the farmer's regular breathing. A grasshopper flew through the air, chirped, and landed beside me. A horse snorted in a contented way and with his wide-spread hoof turned a pebble in the stony earth as gracefully as any thorough-bred could have done. I spit out the piece of clover, opened my mouth to speak, then closed it in the uncertainty of waking the sleeping man. His eyes were covered by a straw hat, his open mouth showed even teeth stained by tobacco, his hands were clasped like a hard living pillow under his head. I felt like an intruder and shifted my gaze to the grasshopper swaying on a milk-weed stem. The sun was high andgshone its penetrating face through the leafy fingers of the trees and made the ground hot and thirsty. One of the horses champed a weed, and his bit made a muffled clank far back in his mouth. I wiggled my big toe in the powdery earth and turned to watch Harold. His heavy chest rose and fell. A fly investigated his nose. He stirred and pushed the hat off his face. Well, hello there. Gittin' pretty hot ain't it? S'pose I should git goin'-Here, have some water, got it at the spring. Yup, that sure oughta go good. I drank and then watched as he pressed the bottle mouth to his and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple carrying the water like a little well bucket. After several lengthy draughts he wiped his lips along his hand and rubbed his belly thoughtfully as though the cool water reminded him for a minute of the spring. The spring, too fresh and cold for frogs and water snakes, falling virgin pure into sweating hands or splashing icily against the earth, which sucked it in like a grateful blotter. That's a nice mower, Harold. Is anyone helping you this year? He was unwilling to venture forth into the screaming heat, and I watched with certain amusement as he grasped at this opportunity to remain within the shady embrace of the tree. Well, Seth helps, but he's to the fair with his ma and sisters. They thought they needed a day off. Bin paintin' the house or doin' 'wimmin's' work o' some kind. Never did see what keeps ,em so busy. Did the girls paint the whole house? Sure.-Say, there's some new summer folks goin' to live near the Levi family. They'll be good buyers. Got seven in the family. Harold took out the necessary articles and commenced to roll his own. My eyes wandered over the field of half-cut hay and mechanically I saw the prickly pine trees and dipping swallows, heard the silent noises, and felt the breathless wind. For a few seconds I Watched the puffs of smoke hang on the air and softly break into invisible substances. Harold sighed and gradually stood up. He harnessed the horses to the mower, climbed in the seat, and started across the field. The sun blazed down on them, and the dust made a frame about them as they moved back and forth. He pulled the hat over his eyes and turned once to wave. As Sam and I stood under the tree watching, the wind coughed a sudden gust, and the milk-weed stem bent, tossing the grasshopper into the air. ANDY HUNTER Form VI THE FLAME 39 Puppy's Spring WALKED out the door and on to the front lawn. The lake still had an island of ice crowded against the far shore. A few lonely waterfowl were paddling around quietly. My companion, the dog, stood looking out over the wall across the landscape, ears forward, listening intently. We listened to the sound that spring makes when it comes: the wind lazily blowing through bare branches, crows calling raucously to their neighbors on distant hillsides, and, far off, a lonely killdeer crying. I knew that spring was on its way. The killdeer was back. The whole earth seemed to be excited, preparing to burst into flower and greenery when the appointed time came. I turned back to look at the flower beds that hug the house. Tips of newly-washed, brand-clean iris shoots that had come up after the rain were busy chasing away the last signs of the tag-end of Winter. The crocuses in front of the big window were blooming bravely: bright, sunny flowers announcing spring. I walked past the window, around the corner, and regained the lawn hope- fully. The dog followed, wondering what I was up to. Yes, the grass was becoming green. I strolled over to the lilacs and pulled down the topmost branch, examining it as though I were a scientist hunting for a disease. But I was only hunting for buds. They were there, but they were rather reluctant about turning green. I returned to the edge of the terrace and looked at the dog. We decided to stroll down to the lake. The puppy trotted off and stuck his nose into the piles of dead leaves. He sneezed twice and came back to follow at my heels. At the lake's edge there were tiny green plants lying close to the ground. I noticed the water level was up tremendously after the thaw. When I turned around, puppy had vanished. I surveyed the surrounding land- scape and saw a speck moving up a hillside. As I walked along the bottom of the hill, I decided that I was not the only one who had spring fever. CAROLYN S'roLTzE Form V L'aHreux D+ Au commencement de cette annee il fallait que je choisisse quatre sujets. I'etais tres confuse. Ie voulais prendre l'ar1glais, le francais et trois autres. Ie pensais que le francais etait le plus diilicile pour moi mais je voulais beaucoup le prendre. Mon pere aussi, mais ma soeur qui ne l'aime pas, pensait que je devais prendre le latin au lieu de francais. Enfin je decidais de le prendre comme mon pere dit qu,il etait tres utile. Il me dit tout ce qu'il savait au sujet des gens de la France. Ses histoires m'inspiraient beaucoup et je travaillais dur. Ma premiere note etait D-I-. Cfetait la plus mauvaise de mes notes et j'6tais decouragee. Mon pere m'aidait encore. I,etais determines a recevoir une bonne note parce que j'aimais beaucoup la langue. Ie l'amais comme la langue que le peuple francais parle, non comme un sujet dans llecole. I'essayais encore mais ma note etait encore D-I-. D'abord je pensais que c'etait futile pour moi d'6tudicr. Ie voulais visiter la France quelque jour, mais fabandonnais ce plan. Ie decidais que cette annee etait la derniere annee de francais pour moi. Mais je commence a lire le francais hors de la salle de francais. I'aime lire et parler francais mais c'est tres diflicile pour moi de l'ecrire. Maintenant je tache encore de recevoir une bonne note. Si je ne suis plus decouragee je prendrai le francais llannee prochaine parce qu'apres la guerre je veux visiter la belle France. IOYCE CARLTON Form V 40 THE FLAME ELECTED X SU 16650 if CY! 'iff FRAQ ' 'Y I -I 'v x 's VM j -Z HHH Q' ml llf a cu flmx llH0W?Il AKE'S handsome, ain't he? Mrs. Lee asked almost anxiously. She sat on the orange crate and held a tin pan in the hammock of apron between her knees. It was fall, pickling and canning time. The pan was filled with naked peaches, their soft coats had been scalded offg and they were like skinned frogs, shining, moist, and somehow indecent. I had been sitting on the table reading a movie magazine, and the question came as a complete surprise. Because of the way in which it had been asked, it took a careful answer. I put my hands in my pockets and walked around the kitchen floor, trying not to step on the cracks which cut the thin linoleum as rivers cut a map. The syrup for the peaches was boiling in af large pail on the stove. It made burbling sounds and sent up a sweet steam that made my hand sticky when I held it over the pail. I walked past the separator and could smell the soured stain of last night's milk on the tin. The big tomcat jumped from the windowsill and landed on the kindling wood, piled on a newspaper in the corner. For a minute I thought that he had broken his clumsy, bony frame, but he walked sedately out of the room, leaving a little dry woody dust and splinters on the floor. Faint, half-dead odors lingered near the stove: odors of the bread baked every week, potatoes boiled morning and night, the Friday herring, and stronger than the others, the black coffee pot which stood eternally empty and ready on the stove. I leaned against the screen door and saw Jake coming up the path, carrying an axe. He was a big man, and his clipped neck made him appear taller and shyer than he really was. There was no doubt about itg Jake was not handsome. His broken nose and huge, grinning mouth were no companions for his small, squinting eyes. Despite his size, he walked as his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had walked, as though he were forever carrying two heavy pails and bending his head to watch his feet. Many a righteous woman had sent him from her house, denouncing him as shiftless and snake-eyed. Almost any of the men of the neighboring farms could have told you that Jake was a good enough worker, but by God, lock yer licur up. Jake spoke in a low stupid voice but was known to have expressed two famous opinions. Wimmin, he said, are bad when they're fulla good an' good when they're fulla bad. On religion he had remarked, The Faith's like gin. Ya git a little an' yer happy. Ya git a lot an' thu next mornin' yer head's splittin'. As he walked by the woodshed, he lifted the axe and sank it deep into a stump. I knew that he would go to the barn and pitch hay down into the manger for the cows. I turned back to Mrs. Lee, and because she had a self-taught and shrewd mind, yet a mother's blind pride, I told her that I thought Jake was the handsomest of all her sons and the hardest worker. Mrs. Lee was pleased and stood up slowly. I think I'll makem a sanwich, an' ya kin take it to 'im in thu barn. I poured a cup of coffee, and took the thick wrapped sandwich under my arm, and went out. The air hit me like a sudden freedom. I hadn't realized the powerful stuffiness of the kitchen and its human smells until I had breathed lungfuls of this new clean- ness, which was too ininite and cooled to be filled with more than an echo of the fall odors and natural perfumes. I opened the barn door and heard thuddings in the loft. Then a cloud of hay swished down into a wooden trough, filling the barn with choking dustiness. Hey, Jake, here's something for you. Hokay. Be right down. I watched the narrow slit in the roof and saw two heavily booted feet descend from the dark, followed by overalls and the rest of Jake. THE FLAME 41 llFood?3, reYes.:! I-Ie took the package and cup, kicked over a box, and sat down. As I turned to go, his voice stopped me. This's good. Your mother thought you would be hungry. Come to pay us a visit, didja? Yes, I turned to leave. Ya look awful nice standin' in thu door there. I couldnlt go, and I didn't want to stay. I stood dumbly. Jake's mouth was full, and the only noise was his chewing. The cows were still out in the pasture, and the settling hay and four damp walls formed the emptiness which closed us in. Jake finished, washed the coifee down, belched, and said, Pardon I took the cup and turned to the open door. Miss, have ya seen thu kittens?,' Why, no. They're over there in thu barrelf, He got up and walked to the far end of the barn. I followed. He knelt and pushed the hay back. I looked over his shoulder and saw a thin cat and bunches of fur nestled close to her. She raised her head and stood up, shaking the tiny things from her. Look, Jake, she's afraid we'll hurt her babies. Aren't they darling? How many are there?,' Eight. Little tykes, ain't they? Borned just yesterday. I put the cup down and knelt to touch them. They were squirming and homely. They had wrinkled wet faces, and their short hair and ugly color foretold their future as plain farm cats, but I loved them. One lay on his back, his legs curling out from an almost bald pink belly. Their faint squeaks distressed the mother, who licked them and stepped over themnervously. Gotta kill some of 'em. Too many cats ain't no good. They all git lazy. Oh, Jake. Aw, they don't feel nothin'. Them kittens ain,t hardly alive yit. Besides, I do it quick? I-IoW? My question was full of wicked curiosity and a tone of I dare you to show me! I didn't want to know how, but I couldn,t help asking. Before I knew what he was doing, Jake had grabbed one of the kittens and, holding it like a baseball, had pitched it against the cement wall Where it lost all form and life in a hideous thud. The mother cat ran over to it, licking and pushing it with her nose. I didn't scream or cry. I stared at Jake, grinning proudly at me, and I felt my heart pounding, How?--How?-How? The former emptiness of the barn was heavily full of the smell of manure, Jake's sweat, and the kittens. I ran out the door and knocked over the cup, which shattered, spilling the coffee grounds on the cold floor. The air freed my lungs again. I ran past the axe in the stump and thought, How? I banged up the stairs and through the screen door. Mrs. Lee and the smells greeted me comfortably. I leaned wearily against the table and stared at the separator and the silly naked peaches. I picked up my movie magazine. Mrs, Lee, I broke your cupf, She looked up quietly and asked, HoW? ANDREA HUNTER Form VI 42 THE FLAME Twenty Miles ATURDAY, my mother burst cheerily into my room and carolled, Time to get up, dear. I wished fervently for a bolt of lightning to strike her, but miracles like that never happen. She was not content to make me merely unhappy, she insisted upon noisily slamming windows and buzzing around the room in a most unrestful way. Finally, highly indignant, I arose and threw her out. Oh, I thought, today's the day. Twenty miles! Why can't they ship the horses up to the farm? Why does it have to be so far away? Or why do I even have to own a horse? I am disgusted. I put on enough clothes to make me like a double-sized bathtub and stamped down to breakfast. Rose smiled cheerily and said, Well, how are you going to like riding twenty miles today? It was very lucky for her that there weren't any stray pokers or pieces of Wood lying around. Fry me an egg, I muttered restrainedly, choosing to ignore that remark. Please, as an after-thought. I walked by, and Rose asked delicately, When did you last have your jodhpurs washed? Never mind, I said warningly. This is the last time I'11 have to use them this year, or more likely forever, I thought to myself as I stalked out. Half an hour later, the assembled multitude was on its way up to the barn, which is a quarter of a mile from the house. We were riding the horses up to the farm to save tires instead of hauling them up by truck. We had been going for ten minutes before various parts of me started to respond to the autumn coolness. I knew that I'd get cold, and I never miss a hunch. My mother muttered, Bad circulation. From then on she was much too in- volved in keeping her horse in to make any more disparaging remarks. We crossed the highway and she suggested brightly, How about a little trot to wear a bit of the orneriness off the nags? . . . The next twenty minutes were spent in trying to slow the nags down. Well anyway, remarks Fitz gustily, We've covered about a mile. Aha! what do I see? Could it be a horse? No, it's two horses, and they're loose! We all gathered up the reins and prepared to play a game of tag with them, if need be. Fortunately the strays were much more interested in the corn into which they had waded than in us. What disturbed our horses was the hedge-hopping Taylor-Cub that was swoop- ing about. Four of the six horses were incited to trot. Oh my breakfast! One mile further on, the captain of the cavalry spied Shang beginning to gall. We must take off his saddle and leave it at a farmhouse. Everyone looked at every- one else and mentally vowed not to be the one who had to ride Shang bareback. Suddenly, however, I noticed that the breezes had recommenced to blow, and the rain had started to drizzle, and I got colder. I'll ride Shang, I managed heroically. It'll keep me warm. When I swapped with Jeanie she said, This is just like sitting on a stove because it's so hot. Five minutes later, she announced, I feel as if I were riding a concrete mixer. I saw her point, having ridden six miles that way. Eventually we arrived at Stillwater and climbed up the hill. Sonny Boy and Shang were completely stampeded by spirited delivery-wagon teams and small, yappy fox terriers, but the Stoltze Cavalry proceeded onward. Miles of dust and jogging! I rode Sonny for about three miles, and I can truthfully say that he is the most exasper- ating and stubborn creature on earth. The harder I pulled, the more he jogged. Finally my psychological approach completely buffaloed him. He is so self-conscious that if anyone looks at him, or even thinks about him, he starts acting up. Therefore I THE FLAME 43 paid no attention to him or to his jogging, Q as if I could help but pay attention when my teeth were being knocked out,I and after a while he got tired and walked flat- footedly, which was almost as bad. It has been decided by all members of the We- Have-It-In-For-Sonny-Boy Club that he hoards his dignity for special occasions: when people are looking at him, when anyone says anything Qpreferably insultingj to him, or when anyone thinks of him. He is so playful: just like an elephant that thinks he's a lap-dog. We counted the miles carefullyg four . . . three . . . two . . . The land was very hilly and there was a little lake at almost every turn of the road. The Soo Line kept bumping into the road, and the horses would mince daintily at the sound of their own hooves on the boards at the crossings. My mother got tired of jogging and galloped on ahead. We staggered into the barnyard thirty-five minutes later and slid off our trusty but somewhat worn steeds. Never do I want to see another horse, and never shall I be the same again! CAROLYN STOLTZE Form V Ma Chambre a Coucher Ma chambre a coucher est trop petite. Mon lit occupe presque toute la salle et il n'y a pas diespace pour marcher ou pour s'asseoir. Ma chambre est derriere la maison. Elle est en face de la ruelle et tout ce que je peux voir, clest des garages et des murs. Cette annee on mia offert la chambre de ma soeurg une chambre grande et spacieuse qui est tres claire et qui clonne sur de beaux jardins. Elle est au deuxieme etage, et on peut voir autour de la rue, audessus des toits des maisons voisines. Cette chambre a des decorations fraiches et des meubles neufs. De plus, le plafond descend vers deux petites fenetres. C'est, a vrai dire, une salle merveilleuse. Cependant, j'aime ma chambre in moi, simplement parce que c'est la mienne. Ie 1'ai, aussi loin que remontent mes souvenirs. C'est mon royaume, et la je regne. Ie l'orne un peu chaque annee. Il y a deux ans, j'ai regu un grand miroir. L'annee passee on mia donne une petite table de toilette, et cette annee j'ai achete de nouveaux rideaux et une couverture: C'est tres jolig pourquoi changerai-je? I Donori-rv LEAVENWORTH I Form V Le Priniemps Ie suis allongee sur la verdure avec le dos contre l'arbre pres de notre haie. Trois petits fourmis noires, qui sont sorties de leur fourmiliere chercher de la nourriture, les arretent sous mon soulier decider si le monter ou non. L'un apres l'autre, comme un petit train luisant, ils montent jusqu'a liorteil et puis ils descendent de liautre cote. Mon livre est ferme sur la terre. Ie le lirai plus tard. Un des rouges-gorges, qui est plus gros et plus doux et plus bravee cette annee que toujours avant, a trouve un vers. Sa tete est presque sur la terre, et il marche lentement vers son dejeuner. Son epouse 1'appelle -bonne chasse. Ah, le brave rouge-gorge a son prix. Il entend son epouse et il vole iierement a lui. Le vers seul n'est pas content. De l'autre cote de la rue un homme balaie les pas d'escalier de notre voisin. Il fume une pipe, courte et grosse tandis qu'il travaille. Il ne voit pas les fourmis ni leurs maisons qu'il balaie. Il n'entend pas les deux rouges-gorges qui mangent leur vers. Il fume lentement quand il se repose de son travail, mais il ne voit pas la verdure. Ie me demande s'i1 sait que c'est le printemps. SYLVIA BURNS FormIV 44 THE FLAME Returns on Philanthropy OCTOR WALLIS walked down Main Street with a light heart and a full stomach. On this particular Friday afternoon every king and every begger was his long lost brother. He had just about decided to buy his gardener's young son an air rifle when his meditations were luckily interrupted. Pardon me, Sir . . . Doctor Wallis turned and saw a rather attractive young man of about twenty- eight. I don't like to trouble you, Sir, but I would appreciate it ever so much if I could have Hfteen cents to buy a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I haven't eaten since yester- day morningf' Doctor Wallis glanced shrewdly at him for a moment. His suit was threadbare, but of good quality, however, on the whole, his appearance justified his story. If you haven't eaten since yesterday, you'd better have a real meal. We can drop in at Danny's Dinerf' Thanks ever so much, Mister .... U Doctor Wallis. Glad to know you, Doctor. My name's Charles Jasonf, Well, Charles, you're a pretty decent-looking fellow, how do you happen to be bumming it? asked Doctor Wallis as they started across the street to Danny's Diner, a railroad car facing its reincarnation. About a month ago I had a pretty good job, he said, following Doctor Wallis, who went in and sat down at his usual fable. I was working in a defense plant in Iowa. Then they had to have my birth certificate, and it took so long to find it they let me go. I stayed there for a few days hunting for a job, then I started up here. About three quarters of the way up my cash ran out, and so I walked the rest of the way. That's about all, I guess. I know the chances are nine out of ten you're just an ordinary bum, said Doctor Wallis, but I'm taking that chance because it's worse to treat a gentleman like a bum than a bum like a gentleman. How does a steak sound to you? No, really .... H Oh, Grace, called Doctor Wallis. The waitress came over, and Charles gave his order: I'll take the beef hash and a cup of coffee and a canteloupe for dessert. How about a drink to start off with?', invited Doctor Wallis. No thanks. I'll wait until I can pay for my own. Charles Jason ate hungrily, but with due respect for table manners. Doctor Wallis glanced at his watch. It was after two o'clock. It,s later than I thought. I had an appointment at two. If you'll excuse me .... Certainly. Charles rose and extended his hand. You really can't know how much I appreciate this, Doctor. I only hope that some day I'1l have the opportunity to buy your lunch. Well, I hope so too. Good-bye and good luck. The next day Doctor Wallis was accosted as he started to leave the railroad car. Pardon me, Sir, said the waiter, but yesterday you forgot to pay for your friend's lunch. Oh, I see. How much was it? Two dollars. What! Yes, Sir, with the drinks. CYNTHIA DAVIDSON Form V1 THE FLAME 45 Spring, 1943 OY, take a look at that flock of P-38's! Ain't they beau'ts?', Those ainit no P-38's, them's B-25's. Pop says they can fly couple thousand miles with a light load. Gee, they sure sparkle. Don't they?,' Yr 95 Yr Oh, John, Iuthink you might's well take down the storm windows and put up the screens. Can't tell about this weatherg it may turn warmer. Oh, yes, and the screens on the porch need repairing, too. Yes, mum. Do you want I should turn the hose on 'em first? I'11 go down cellar 'nd fix that ol' hose up right now. It ain't fit to be seen. if- 25 25 Gas man! GAS MAN! Hey there, Girlie, anybody home at your house? Says here you got a gas meter up on third. Show me the stairs, and I'11 find the meter quick. No, needn't bother to come up, I'll find it. 95 4' P? Well, like I said, Jim turned to her and said he didn't care about riding alone, so . . . Nancy, NancEE! Come back here. Didn't I tell you to wait for us before you cross the street? Now you come and hold on tight to my hand. Well, so Agnes got into Butch's car, and . . . Nancy, stop annoying the baby and let go the buggy handle. Don't you ever mind what I say? Now, where was I, oh, yes .... bb 31- , I!- This Fitz-patrick's? Package! Naw, canit say as to what it is. Looks mighty like a pair of shoes to me. Six cents postage due though. Uh-huh. Nice weather, ainit it? I can remember back in '34 .... Thanks, now sign here please. . z 1 April it was too, and the wind was howlin' away to beat the band .... No, here on the dot- ted line .... Waal, it got to be the 29th, and then come the purtiest stretch of sun I'd ever seen, real sudden it come, too .... Thank yi, miss. S' long. Da di dadum- hum .... . . . with this rationing and all, I rarely get a chance to get a treat like a good sir- loin steakg but as I say, there it was, big as day on Madge's table. No tellin' how many points she spent, if any. Some say she has ten pounds of butter stored in her Frigidaire. Can't be too sure of one's neighbors now-a-days. You know that new hat of hers with the slant feather? Yes, you do-the green one-well, Bill and I both think .... we ?l' FC' Come on, Jane, it's my turn now. One, two, three, O'Leary. Four, five, six, O'Leary. Seven, eight, nine, O .... Gimme my ball. I'll take your roller skates if you don't gimme my ball back! Sitting on the front stoop and munching an apple, I listened to the spring. It wasn't an exceptional one, except perhaps the slight variation in the weather and the sterner variation on the faces of the people. The same billowing wash on the line back of the house across the street, the same buds on the same trees had come to the same life again. The garbage man had a new, clean whistle, the old men ventured forth to examine the spring air, the birds, the squirrels, but mostly the laugh- ing children. The old sidewalk was marked with fresh cracks acquired over the long winter, the streetcar rumbled comfortably in the distance. This was always the same. For my part I hoped it always would be. CHARLOTTE FITZPATRICK Form V 46 THE FLAME Approaching Winter T WAS fall and the air knew it. The undercurrent of winter was moving stealthily under cover of a warm day. A feeling of expectancy, a quickened sense of living for each day, huddled behind the flushed faces of the leaves, in the heart of the squirrel storing nuts, on the last glorious bloom of late flowers. I sat on the steps waiting for Mother. I tried to make sand pictures in the spot where water had run in a little river from the pump, but the sand was like a dead thing. The warmth of summer no longer rose from the ground. It was cool putty beneath my touch, and I disliked it. I disliked everything that said summer must end. I looked about for something to share my feelings. The barn seemed contented, newly painted and stuffed with murmuring hay. I looked at the animals, but they were waiting in adolescence: the nervous chickens, the bony calf, even the leggy, narrow kittens. I hunched my knees under my chin and sighed. Through a crack in the step I stared at a dull toad. His throat puffed in and out, at each breath his wet eyes seeming to grow larger, his horny body quivering as though chilled. He opened and closed his mouth, swallowing invisible foods. I took my eyes away from him in fear that he would burst with misery. The door behind me creaked, and I turned, thinking it was Mother. It wasn't. It was Mrs. Johnson, the oldest Woman in Crow Wing county. I stood to help her into the rocker by the green rain barrel. Good morning, Mrs. Johnson. How are you today? QA trite remark and I knew it. She knew it too.j Ya, it's better. She thumped her heart and sat down carefully, squashing to- gether like a goose feather pillow. I was never talkative with this woman, who in appearance was a simple farm daughter, in thought-well, I am not one to guess her thoughts. So we sat in silence, not an uncomfortable one, for we carried on an optic conversation. She seemed to discover how I had grown, whom I resembled, what my present mood Was, and perhaps she even learned something of my character. I learned very little. Everything I asked about was carefully hidden, and guessing was my only solution. There she sat with sage hands resting on the arms of the rocker. She wore a shapeless dress and apron. Her thick ankles and feet showed beneath the dress. Her sparse pale hair was pulled to the top of her head and rolled into a neat bun. Her eyes were misted by years of use and shining. Her whole outward appearance was a winter tree, not as hard, but as enduring and unchangeable. It was quickly under- stood and even dull, as used things get, dulled and uninteresting. But wasn't there life lurking beneath ready to burst forth like a tree in spring? Someone must have seen the full passion and emotion of this life, someone must have known her in a spring before the mists and memories came. Someone must have, but I never would. I only saw a winter tree. The door creaked again, and this time it was Mother. She spoke to Mrs. John- son and inquired about her health as I had done. I wondered what questions, other than health, Mrs. Johnson could have answered. Ya, it's better. Winter's comin' soon, it don't take to thu winter so good. Ya, it's better in thu spring. Mother nodded kindly, and we Went down the steps, past the pump with its little river running in the sand, waved again and drove away leaving Mrs. johnson in her rocker by the green rain barrel. Suddenly I remembered the toad under the steps and wondered, Does he like winter? ANDY HUN'l1ER Form VI THE FLAME 47 With Apologies to Van Loon OT long ago I had a sudden desire to pay a visit to our attic. The reason for this craving I dd not know, but I was determined to spend the afternoon there, rummaging around in all the fascinating trunks and closets. When I got there, I was puzzled as to what to do first: look through musty photograph albums or mull over costumes of the Gay Nineties. As I stood meditating this weighty problem, I spied an old bookcase in a far corner. It was filled with books that I had cherished as a child. I hadnit seen them for such a long time that I settled myself on the floor and drew out the biggest one in sight. As I paged through it, a very peculiar feeling over- whelmed me. I was transported into a world that I had almost forgotten. There were my worthy friends, Old King Cole, Simple Simon, and even the Three Blind Mice. They beckoned me to come and join them. I tried but couldn't reach them. I wanted to talk over old times with them though, so I did the next best thing, I invited a few of them for dinner the following week. Humpty Dumpty was to be my guest of honor. I knew that the old boy was terribly in love with the Woman in the Shoe but was just too shy to let her know of his deep affection. Of course I sent the second invitation to her. I really felt quite sorry for the poor dear. Her children had become such a trial to her. If they weren,t teething, they had the mumps or measles. I-Ier whole life seemed to be occupied with taking care of them. I think she was glad of the chance for a bit of diversion. Among my other guests were Little Bo-Peep and Tommy Tucker. Bo-Peep was a vain creature who spent all of her time flirting. Tommy Tucker loved being facetious and made her life utterly miserable. They completed my list. The question of food was one that required my utmost attention. As far as Humpty Dumpty was concerned, eggs were definitely out. The very mention of scrambled eggs put him into a state of panic. The Old Woman in the Shoe hinted broadly that champagne and sherry should be included in the meal. I-Ier life was really a bore, and as I said before, this was to be an occasion. Miss Bo-Peep may have been a flirt, but that seemed to have no effect on her appetite, which was enormous. I sup- pose watching sheep all day made her think of a delicious, juicy roast-a rather indeli- cate thought for so charming a lady. Tommy Tucker I knew would eat anything and everything I put before him, providing he didn't have to tax his vocal chords for it. After a great deal of thought and consideration I decided on a dish of the longest spaghetti available. They were not accustomed to this delicacy, and watching each other's efforts to eat it would prove most amusing. The long-awaited day finally arrived, and I must confess I was in a dither. Humpty Dumpty and the Old Woman in the Shoe rolled up to the door in an elaborate coach. They were escorted by all the king's horses and all the king,s men. Tommy Tucker came alone. Bo-Peep failed to appear until later. Her excuse was that she had lost her way, but I have a faint suspicion that she had wasted her time deciding what on earth to Wear. Tommy Tucker accused her of trying to vamp Humpty Dumpty, but I honestly think she was trying to capture Tommy,s heart. A sparring match would aptly describe the conversation between the Old Woman and Humpty. They seemed to delight in crossing swords at every propitious moment. She told him that he was nothing but an old Dodo. He replied that she herself was no longer such a young sprite. However, I noticed that when they left, their gazes were ones of utter adoration and bliss. The party reached a climax when Tommy Tucker pulled from his pocket a very handsome spider. He proceeded to dangle it in front of Bo-Peep's face, whereupon the spider remarked that he was supposed to be keeping a very important date with a lady friend of his, namely, Miss Muffet. In any case he thought this whole per- formance ridiculous. 48 THE FLAME At twelve olclock everyone seemed to be having a lovely time, but I thought it best to start them on their way home. They all said they had never had such fun and hinted broadly that I ask them again. I assured them I would, and even at this moment I am planning an appropriate meal for the Three Blind Mice. ALICE THOMPSON Form VI One Thousand Three Hundred Miles to Home EY, Dad, can't you take it easy? We're sitting on the bags, remember? No, he obviously did not remember. Bill, for Pete's sake, can't you keep that bag on your own side? No, he said he couldn't. Tommy, won't you please get your elbow out of my stomach? No, he simply wouldn,t. Our car trudged its way along the red dirt road, and Mother remarked about the beauty of the red clay and green pine trees. She wasn't sitting with the bags. My brothers and I bounced miserably around in the back seat with the luggage digging into our hips, but I'm sure the boys weren't as uncomfortable as I. I wonder why it is that fathers always think they are blessed with some super-human knowledge of short- cuts, and then the gods always let them down. There has been a joke in our family for years about the bumpy, dirt side roads of Alabama, but that time it was no joke. Christmas was over, and we were on our way back to snowy, cold Minnesota. Going down hadn't been so bad, for the vacation was ahead of us, and the weather got nicer as we progressed, but above all, we were on our way to our old home. Now there was nothing more to look forward to than the next filling station. Later came the plains of Arkansas. The wheels pounded out a monotonous rhythm as they beat their way over the tar strips. A hum inclosed our car, and I could hear Mother and Daddy talking in the distance. My brothers and the bags were packed close about me, and it was impossible to move. I could only lie back and listen to the hum, the thuds, the voices fading slowly away. We'll be in Cape Girandeau soon, and itls only about four hundred miles from St. Paul. Daddy's voice crashed through the silence. I opened my eyes, and to my amazement I saw huge clouds of mist rolling across the road. It was almost dark, and the head lights did no good. Suddenly a car came out of nowhere and zoomed by. We sped up. Following the car in front of us, we swerved around curves going ever into darkness. The speedometer was moving upward. Suddenly, the light was gone. Abruprly We slowed down. We were alone in the fog. ?l' il' 5l' 75 Rochester was fifty miles away. A high wind was blowing, and wisps of snow swept across the road. The whiteness was complete. Ahead there were only miles of snow fences pointing the way to St. Paul. Daddy was tapping his hand against the gear shift, and Mother was poring over a map and crinkling the paper nervously. Bill sat by the window making figures in the frost while Tommy traced the lines in the leather of an old suitcase with the stub of a pencil. It was unbearable. If only we were in St. Paul! If only we were home! And now, at last, we were home! As the car pulled into the driveway, a grey shadow dashed around the corner. Butch was out to Welcome us. The door was flung open, and our cook stood there calling and smiling. How good it was to be home again! ANN MORELAND Form V THE FLAME 49 1 1 M44 Volunteer RAISED the side of Martha's crib, and assuring her I'd be right back, hurried out in my most efficient manner. Just a minute, I called in answer to the urgent demands for nurse. My explanation that I was not a nurse and did have a name had made no impression on this multitude of small boys. I dished out second helpings, promised to be back as soon as possible for the trays, and dashed back to Martha. It was hard to believe that six short days after volunteering my services to the Children's Hospital I had now been left in charge of the floor. The third floor is mostly heart patients who are not seriously sick but have to stay quiet. This was lunch time for the eight boys and four girls. Four-year-old Martha much preferred conversation to food, and it was only by tactful persuasion that she agreed to hurry. It was amusing how quickly she tried to show how grown-up she was when I told her about the two-year-old boy that I had fed the preceeding day. I had spent forty-five minutes playing games to make him eat, and now I was assuring herthat it was much nicer to feed such a big girl. After settling her for a nap, I rushed down the hall to collect trays and make a feeble attempt at quieting the little boys. Luckily the nurse came back then, and I could at last give Ronny his jello. At regular intervals for some time he had turned on his light in hope that it was time to be fed. Ronny was having trouble keeping his food downg so twenty minutes later we gave up, and I departed for my half-hour lunch period. The children would rest until two o'clock, so I busied myself by cleaning thorough- ly and completely the second floor diet kitchen. Then on to the more monotonous occupation of folding papers the particular way that will allow them to fit the sterilizer. At two o'clock I trudged back up to the third floor. Each door has a large win- dow, and through one of these I could see Jane sitting in bed crying. I pulled up the shades, washed her face, and restored the peace. just as I was leaving, she smiled the smile that promises to break hearts and said, I didn't cry, did I? I assured her she hadn't. The remainder of the afternoon was as usual: fetching bottles of pop, admiring pictures colored in my absence, reading about the G-men to my boy-friend, eleven- year-old Bobby, finding the crucial piece in Wayne's jig-saw puzzle, and staving oif the passionate embraces of five-year-old Roger. Then after passing out the supper trays I hurried, as usual, to catch the Grand Avenue streetcar. NORA BAER Form V 1 I I La Plule Le Soleil Le grand nuage noircit Les nuages se dispersent Le vent siflle et hurle Le vent meurtg La lumiere s'obscurcit. La lumiere reparait. Ie vois trembler les arbresg Ie ne vois que les arbres raides. fentends chuchoter leurs feuillesg Les feuilles se taisent. i I'6coute chanter un dernier oiseau. I'6coute chanter des milliers de grillons. Alors sonne en haut des coups de tonnere Clest que le soleil est revenu Eclairant le ciel et le terreg Glissant entre les nuages Et tombent les premieres gouttes d'eau. Et rendant Z1 la terre, la vie. MARY BRIGGS MARY BRIGGS Form V Form V 50 THE FLAME ALNLL 1- 9 I , . 5 n 5, 0 Q 'E 'beg 2 I 1 ' Q '4 C PQ!' ' . Q 3 ga o Hs 9u 5' 'Gm ef L B '. 1 J .M 2, -r -Q Senior' Feta I Hove C 9 svn I 1 ,ES 322, ,VAS 9 .4 V op ,. ' .0 el 0 f. 7- 'fc 2 E F . , , , - Q, gg .'.'..,.:: Q ' n s 7 my HANLDN 9 3 9 os' CATHng:'Q: ml- gal 0 4? if CC' fl 4. 'Q 0' 7' s 5? 'H 'S CLE: 2 l... X U 'a .-, 2 'V 'z Io: 7- 7' ': 1 I' 1' ss 0 2 c , ,' 3 2, 2 hfx J 9 3 1 'Z 6 ' HAMM as 22 9 ? r A -P :: -Q - 5-1 'L 3 L Mtg ' me gf? ggj Known Around Summit THE FLAME S1 Revenge ERE I was, up in my room, smelling the steak I had seen in the kitchen but knowing that I would only see it in a dish. How could I get my revenge? How could I make Mother and Daddy sorry that they had cooped me up in my room without any supper? Kill myself? No, that would be too drastic. Run away? Yes, that was it. But where would I go? I thought a minute, then my brain clicked. Why not go to the railroad tracks? I had heard of people jumping onto boxcars and riding away. This pleased me very much, so I packed my small bag and soon was ready to go. I hurried down the back steps and slipped to the side door. Here I was, now, outdoors. Well, good-bye, I'm going and will never be back again, ever. I thought that sentence over, and I thought it rather drastic, but oh, well, I was going to get my revenge. The night air was sharp, and a cold wind was blowing. I ran at first, then walked, and as I heard a dog howl, I quickened my pace a bit. My mind went back to home, and I thought of my prize cowboy suit that I had always loved. When I got to the railroad tracks, I could hear the whistle of an oncoming train. I was wondering just how to get on the train. Would it stop, or would I have to jump on? If I jumped on, perhaps I would miss the foothold and fall under the train. This made shivers run up and down my back. The train was now rounding the curve, and I could see the lights of the engine. I went over to the other side of the track, getting ready to jump for dear life. Before I knew it, the train was passing me. My feet seemed to be stuck to the ground. I couldnit move. What had hap- pened? Had Ibeen paralysed? I couldn't find the answer soon enough for me to make the jump on the train, for it had already passed me and was now out of sight. Then all of a sudden I could walk again. I stood for a minute, not knowing just what to do. Another train would not come by for at least an hour or so. I decided that I had better go home and run away another night. I went back home, but to my dismay, my family acted as though they hadn't even missed me. This gave me a most unsatisfied feeling, but I went up to my room, opened my door, and what did I see but a nice, thick piece of steak. I sat down and got all ready to eat, but to my disappointment I found it was stone cold. I never tried to run away again, because I had found that my parents knew me better than perhaps I did myself. FRANCES HOLMES Form I MY SPY E WAS either Japanese or Chinese, I shall never know which. You might say he was short and stout, but it would be more descriptive to say he was squat and led with his stomach. I saw him every day on the dot of thirty-one minutes after eleven as I waited for the eleven-thirty bus. I always left business school a little early and waited on the corner of Minnesota and Sixth. The first time I saw him I watched him just as I watched everyone else that went by, but after I noticed that he came by regularly, I became more curious. I noticed that he was always smoking a cigar and always wore the same dark brown pants, a clean white shirt, and a pair of suspenders with queer figures on them. Every day he walked so that he touched all four corners of the street, and at each corner he looked back at me. I was conceited enough not to think it strange that he should look back at me the first time, but after a while it didnit seem natural. I began to wonder S2 THE FLAME XX what he did so punctually every day, for it was too early for lunch. I watched him as he Went down the cross street and discovered that he went into a place called Lunch-Billiards. Soon I began to get jittery as eleven-thirty approached and to hope he wouldn't come. He disconcerted me not only by his staring and ritual of walking on all four corners but also by knocking off his cigar ash at my feet. I felt insulted that he should do this. I kept wondering about him. I-Ie looked more and more Japanese, more and more like a once obsequious and grasping servant who now smoked cigars better than those of his master and always seemed to be reaching out for power and money with his chubby, soft hands. I thought maybe he wanted to kidnap me. Then I decided that he was a spy. He had something important to communicate to an American agent. He thought that I was that agent and he gave me the right signals, but I didn't give mine. The figures on his suspenders were in code. That was why he went by me so slowly: so that I could read what it said. The place he went to fitted this surmise, too. He met his cronies every day around the billiard cable and spelled out the code with the billiard balls. It was queer that in all this time I had never seen where he came fromg I had always been looking at something else or watching the street lights change just a little after the click in the traffic signal box. This made him even more mysterious. After I had decided he was a spy, I noticed all the repulsive things about him. I-Ie Wore very thick glasses over leering eyes. His skin Was greasy and dark and so was his hair, which grew quite long on his neck. The neck itself was very short and fatg in the back it rolled over his collar and rippled as he moved. He waddled rather than walked and toed out. It made me sick to look at him, but I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He seemed to have a power over me. I decided one day to walk up the block to look for a Chinese store QI knew that if he were a spy he would pretend to be Chinesej .... Arnold's. Kenneth M. Wright Studio. Lyon and Healy. Brown jewelry Co .... Nothing Chinese: I was so frightened of him by this time that I didn't dare peer into the shops to look for him. I managed to glance quickly into the backs of a few, but I didn't see anything suspicious. I had worked myself into a great fright before I had gone the Whole way, and I ran past the last few stores. Out of breath, I stopped to wait for the bus on the corner by Garland's Luggage store. I finally had enough courage to look back. It was the kind of courage you have when you know down inside that it's going to be all right, but you just have to keep convincing yourself. I think I must have visibly jumped a few inches when I looked. There he was, coming towards me and not going in the usual direction! I was terrified. I turned and Walked quickly, not looking back, up the hill to the next corner where I met the bus. I had never seen him walk fast, but I knew then that he Was. I could hear him behind me walking in my very footsteps. I got all tense and ready to Wince when his hand clapped down on my shoulder. Once on the bus in safety, I sat down with such great relief that I missed the seat,x much to everyone else's amusement. He was so much on my mind that I talked to all my friends about my spy, ' but I never felt quite indifferent enough to be able to show them nonchalantly the place Where I saw him. I still avoid Sixth and Minnesota and would do so even if told that my spy had been interned for subversive activity. ALL1soN BUTLER Form VI THE FLAME S3 Stillness HERE are some people to whom the word stillness', conveys the idea of quietness, a complete absence of sound, but to me, stillness is not really quietness. It is made up of hundreds of sights and sounds. It is a mixing-bowl of all the small, dusky notes played by nature in a quiet place. It is' the sound of a little lake just after the sun has gone in spring. The clouds overhead are still pink in the reflection of the sunlight, and the tiny thumb nail of the moon merely suggests the coming night. You can hear the croaking squawk of a pheasant back in the trees, and the usnff-nffi' of a puppy hot on its trail. From the marsh where the moveless water touches the land comes the liquid roll of a frog just before he dives beneath the lily pad. In the weeds on the bank you can hear the gentle voices of terse fishermen and the pllupash!,' of the fish as they are protestingly pulled in to the boats. Overhead vault blackbirds, now and then whistling low about your head. A whew-whew-wheet of a bobwhite runs across the lake for a moment. If you look into the water, you will get, I think, one of the nearest feelings of eternity and everlasting distance there is. Below the surface, below the fish, hanging suspended, you see the clouds, the moon, and the birds-not as in a glass, but in some- thing with no depth. You see the trees, the willows, standing still behind you, wavering in silent ripples down below. You see yourself an almost transparent being looking up from some mysterious distance and the legs of the dock going down, but never quite ending where they should. Suddenly a whirring June bug is answered by hundreds all along the shore. A mourning dove sighs, and you look up. A breeze whispers past. It has no time to stop, but slips by as soft as the dove's call. The trees, clouds, moon, and the birds are gone from the water, now a shivering, opaque silver. The first star is out, bringing with it the real stillness of the night, a true absence of sound. You wish on the star and then turn, leaving the intense silence to the moon. CLELIA THOMPSON Form VI E En Ecouiani les Nouvelles a la T.S.F. N Chaque matin quand je miassieds it la table pour le petit dejeuner, une voix tres gaie miacceuille. C'est une voix 51 la T.S.F. que mon pere ecouteg donc je l'ecoute aussi. La plupart des rnatins, nous entcndons des nouvelles de guerre. Il me faut me tenir tres tranquille pendant ces annonces parce que mon pere ecoute tous les mots et il est tres fache siil manque un seul mot. Apres lianrionce des nouvelles, mon pere me regarde serieusement par habitude et me dit d'un ton grave, C'est exactement ce que j'ai dit 5 votre mere hier soir, et il se replonge dans son journal. Ie reponds toujours, Mais oui, papaf, Quelques fois quand mon pere n'est pas chez-nous pour le diner le soir, ma mere et moi, nous ecoutons les nouvelles 5 la T.S.F. Ma mere regarde le plancher, les yeux fixes, et quand l'annonce est fmie, elle dit d'une voix triste, N'est-ce pas terrible? Ceci ne plaira pas du tout it votre peref' Encore une fois je dis, Mais oui, mamanf, Quelques fois quand jc suis seule et quand j'6coute tranquillement les nouvelles Ei la T.S.F., je me demande ce qui arriverait si, une fois, ces nouvelles plaisaient 21 mon pere ou si elles etaient dilferentes de celles qu'il avait predites 51 ma mere la veille. Quand la voix de la radio cesse de parler je ne puis pas m'empecher de dire, Oui, monsieurf' GEORGIE RAY Form V 54 THE FLAME Morning After LTHOUGH it is almost noon, and the bright, cold, unfriendly sun sparkles and glearns on the hard-packed snow, I am still half-asleep as we amble slowly up the school walk and pull open the heavy door. Meet you here in a few minutes, Helen says, turning to leap up the stairs. I wander absently down the long empty halls to the gymnasium. At the door I stand a minute in surprise, the room is dark and huge and bare, and last night it was bright and gay and crowded. The ceiling now looks high and ugly with its millions of little black holes and long black cracks, which I'd never really noticed before. I remember the long discussions we had last week as to the best ways of covering, with only a limited supply of crepe paper, the horrible black metal and yellow glass lamps and the large gaping ventilator. The red and white streamers we strung across had looked wonderful and had made the ceiling much lower, but last night someone gaily tore them down, and now they hang in a limp pile at one end and large pieces are scattered on the floor. The floor! It really is just an ordinary, rather dirty gym floor, painted with black, red, and blue lines to mark the basketball, volley-ball, and badminton courts. It seems as if I should see girls with long legs and white sweat shirts over mussy, rust shorts, running and passing a ball, instead of the long, swishing skirts of last night. Last night it wasn't this gym floor, it was smoother and-different. Last night the walls were brown paper gingerbread men at the end and huge paper candy canes, lollypops, and ice cream cones between the windows. This morning I see torn paper and the rows of dirty radiators and long benches. The windows loom up vast and black. Almost subconsciously I walk across to one of them, my shoes making a loud hollow clacking on the floor. I reach up and pull one of the dangling cords, immediately the yellow sunlight lurking outside rushes between the slats of the blinds, painting the floor with golden stripes, cruelly pointing out every crack in the ceiling, every speck of dirt on the walls, and emphasizing the hugeness and bareness of the room. Last night the red glow from the cellophane-covered lights softened and blurred the hard lines, but now the frank sun etches them even more definitely. I want to run streams of cold, fresh water through the room with a hose or fling open all the windows and let the Pure, cold air join the sun to chase away the used-up atmosphere, the heavy stufliness tinged faintly with cigarette smoke, stale perfume, flowers, and that punch-or is it just my imagination? My eyes wander to the corner of the room where the orchestra sat. The wobbly white picket fence that every year, disguised in some form, surrounds the orchestra has lost its covering of last night, the white paper painted to resemble a snow fort is hanging in huge torn pieces, like old wet wallpaper. The black piano looks as if it had forgotten what it was like to be played on, and the chairs are tipped crazily on their sides. In the corner opposite stands proudly the huge green Christmas tree, but without its gleaming lights it looks like an actor caught under a spotlight without makeup. The smaller trees on the stage with their gay, red crepe paper bows are the only things that are still alive, but they seem apologetic for looking out of place. At the back of the stage stands the long, wooden table, its shiny, slippery top covered with cigarette ashes, dry cookie crumbs, and damp rings where too-full punch cups had been set hastily down, as well as a stack of sticky glass cups someone had forgotten to take away. The sofas against the stage, where the chaperones sat, look tired, and I have a great desire to beat the cushions-hard-until they fluff out again. I lean down and pick up a crumpled program and read the names: Bob, Henry, Stan, Bill, Bob again-here it is torn off. Suddenly among the pine needles, torn crepe paper, cigarette stubs, and crumpled programs on the floor, I noticed a lone, Weary, brown gardenia petal. Who wore it last night? Could it have been mine? For a THE FLAME SS minute I can hear faintly the catching rhythm of the orchestra, I can see the blurred sea of smiling faces and moving colors, smell the sweet, heavy air, and taste the sickish punch- For heaven's sake, what are you doing? I've been waiting for hours! I whirl around abruptly, stuffing the program and gardenia guiltily in my coat pocket. It crosses my mind that school will begin again in a few days. Holidays are over. Helen is standing in the doorway, laughing. Look at you! You look like the cat that swallowed-whatever he did swallow. Been dreaming on the scene of fond memories? Come on. I'm starved. Doesn't this room look ghastly this morning? Just the way I feel. Morning afterf' BETSY NYE Fofrm VI So This Is 1942 HE auditorium, a glare of light, was doing its best to appear cosmopolitan. Fifteen minutes until curtain time and the crowd was drifting in with the studied non- chalance of small town people to whom this was an occasion. Suddenly a man stepped through a side door into the smoky haze. From carefully curled head to cross-gartered legs his appearance was exceptional. Several people turned to stare as he slid into the inner lobby and with hesitating step was shown to his seat. This mysterious person now turned his attention to the program for Macbeth. His frown plainly showed bewilderment. He didn't raise his eyes until the house lights dimmed leaving the audience in total darkness. What's happened? Sh, sh, his neighbors hissed. The frightened man slumped into his seat only to jump up again in amazement. The curtain had given place to spooky lights, thunder, and very convincing witches. What is this? Can it be the play? These aren't actors. Something is Wrong. Surely this isn't a theater. But, no, the audience is calm. They expected it. With these thoughts teeming in his brain, he gripped the arms of the chair, struggling to control himself. However, in a few minutes another shock took hold of him. Lady Macbeth had appeared on the stage. A woman! he gasped. And then to himself, A woman on the stage, in public, wearing paint, and worst of all, red hair. How does she dare? Why, itis unbelievable. Fascinated, he watched this new Lady Macbeth until the intermission. Standing in a corner of the lobby, he drank in the people swirling past. There were over-stuffed gentlemen and dieting ladies in formal clothes, high-school girls visibly excited, and the younger set being terribly casual. He was particularly sur- prised by a group of girls with their teacher who, amazingly enough, acted as though they studied such things in school. A bell rang warning that the play -would continue in a few seconds. By now many people were watching this queer man. The young boy next to him noticed that, as each new player came on, the man would bend his head, grasp eagerly at the lines, and then, satisfied that he recognized the part, would settle back in his seat. All too soon Malcolm carried in the gory head of Macbeth, and' the play was over. As the strange man turned onto the noisy street, he stopped beneath a light and studying the author's name murmured, So this is 1942! They even spell my name wrong. Nom BAER Form V S6 THE FLAME THE Meditaiion The farmhouse windows patched with yellow squares, The night, a dark gloved hand that held the stolen light fro That choked the sweet hot smells of living, And lured the taint of earth and dung and meadow streams To come and play upon the breeze. The dark, so like a child who loves a secret, Enjoyed the man who laughed by day at squirrels and mice And blindly trembled at their noise by night, The man who leaned against the Norway pine at noon, But hours later feared its ghostly, gleaming trunk. I stood beside the wooden pasture gate and thought awhile Before I went inside to artificial light and smells of day. There are so many questions thoughts will bring: Of life and death and oftentimes of God. Tonight I thought of God. I wondered what made us believe and why? I thought of many men and boys I knew, Who in the field across the road, Had worked and sweated, sworn and fought: Charlie, who had lost an arm, Harold, who had killed his son, Reino, Ernie, Carl, Fritz, Some were good and all were bad. When Frederick Hay had won his case fAn old age pensionj Did he thank Him Or did he only say, Goddam, I'm old! I know he said the last. I heard him. In the kitchen Sitting on a stool and eating bread. He stuffed his mouth and laughed, Blew some crumbs and said, By God, I'm old! How many of them stood And saw their rich full fields, Then looked into the sky For something more than man? Could many see their hands, Powerful and rough, Feel their bodies ache from work, And not have pride, A pride for man and human strength? How many feared to shout, But kept inside the cry, Why, hell, I grew this Held, I plowed the earth, I set the seeds, I sowed and reaped. I, man, did this ? My thoughts were growing stronger than my mind. I understood the wooden gate, the Norway pine. In my small way I knew a pride in gain, the tears of loss, FLAME mda Could cope with earthly love, feel earthly lust for life. Those things are mine. The thoughts are not. They don't belong to us who throw them out at times. When things like darkness make us stop and wonder, When death or need make humble beggars of our pride. Why do I dare to grab the gift of life and use its brain To question into other lives, to probe the source of Growing trees and fields, of shining sun and secret night? ANDREA HUNTER Form VI The Call of the Wild HAVE heard that every man at one time in his life should come close to nature. I had my first experience along this line at an early age. Early one spring about eight years ago, another nature lover and I planned to spend the night in sleeping bags at St. Clair Park. This excursion was reduced by dubious parents to a night in the back yard with an old army tent and a couple of army cots. X By the time it was dark we were comfortably settled-well, settled anyway, on the two very hard cots. We each had a flashlight, two Hershey bars, some stale popcorn, and an old cap pistol in case of invasion. The first part of the evening was uneventful, aside from the fact that the cot on which my companion reposed was too old and shaky to support her ample weight and collapsed every few minutes. My friend was the first to sleep, in spite of her faulty bed. Soon her regular gasping fshe was afflicted with hay feverj told me I was a lone watcher in the night. This realization was not at all reassuring, especially as there were many strange rustlings and thumpings coming from the direction of the alley. These developed into a symphony of harsh yowls emitted from a quartet of neighborhood cats. The chorus terminated in a startled squawk, a hiss, and a dull thud. I must have dozed for about an hour when I was wakened by a prickly sensation along my spine. This was not caused by fear or cold but by something soft and fuzzy moving leisurely along the region in question. Grasping the intruder gingerly in one hand and my flashlight in the other, I found myself gazing into the reproachful eyes of a large yellow caterpillar. After depositing the animal on the floor, I soon fell asleep again, only to dream of sleeping with hoards of fuzzy yellow caterpillars with reproach- ful brown eyes who made noises like cats. When I awoke again, it must have been early in the morning, for one or two of the earlier early birds were out catching worms and singing rather violently in the process. I was about to breathe deeply and go back to sleep, but I found this was im- possible because of a large weight which reclined upon my stomach. I emerged from the blankets and perceived by the faint light a huge furry head, not two feet from my own. With visions of over-developed caterpillars passing through my mind, I fear- fully directed the beam of my flashlight into the adoring eyes of a rather doubtful and very dirty cocker spaniel who was nonchalantly demolishing my chocolate bar. In the process of removing the invader, I dropped my flashlight on the head of his friend who was devouring my other chocolate bar under the bed. With a yelp of surprise he jumped up and stalked indignantly out of the tent, followed by his fellow marauder. The noise had wakened my friend, who was stretching as luxuriously as the pre- carious condition of the cot would allow. Ah, this is the life! There's nothing like sleeping outdoors! Although I did not take the trouble to answer, I heartily agreed with her. No, there was nothin like it! g JEAN MERRILL Form V 58 THE FLAME Le Dernier Jour de Fevrier C'etait le dernier jour de fevrier, et le vent sifllait haut. Les arbres agitaient leurs branchages sous un ciel couvert de gris nuages mouvants. La neige sur la terre etait sale, noire, a moitie liquefiee par la chaleur du jour avant, le jour precedent on eut dit que le printemps arrivait, mais ce jour-la on dirait que c'etait 1'hiver qui recommengaitg car tout me ra ellait un 'our de novembre. ll avait meme tristesse meme sombre froideur. l , C'6tait six heures du soir, une heure vide. Ie rentrai a la maison par la ruelle ou un chien maigre fouillait dans les tripaillesg enfin, il trouva un grand os et se coucha pour le ronger en frissonnant. Une porte battait contre le renfoncement comme les pivots se plaignaient du vent. La maison vers laquelle je me dirigeais me paraissait bien terne et solitaire, aucune lumiere ne brillait aux fenetresg tous les stores etaient baisses. I'entrai dans la maison. C'6tait l'heure du diner: on toucha at peine aux mets. Apres le diner j'essayais de lire-la maison triste, la famille plongee dans une lourde silence. Le roman policier sur les genoux de ma mere restait ouvert 51 la meme page, mon pere tenait le journal a la main. Ma soeur faisait les problemes de geometric, son crayon grincant violemment sur le papier. Avant de me coucher, je regardai la nuit par la fenetre ouverte de ma chambre. Les cieux ne contenaient ni lune ni etoiles, et le vent se lamentait de plus belle. Les tenebres etaient plus noires que jamais, le mouvement de branches plus violent. Rien n'etait tranquille, rien ne se calmait, le vent, la nuit, les arbres, et les nuages attendaient quelque chose. Tout d'un coup un frisson me parcourrut, et je sautai sur rnon lit. Ie ne pouvais pas m'endormirg moi aussi, j'attendais quelque chose-Apres longtemps le sifHet d'une usine lointaine annonca minuit. La lune jeta un coup d'oeil sur la terreg quelque chose m'arriva dans l'esprit. Ie m'assoupis. CATHIE CLARK Form VI You've Said Good-bye You've said good-bye to friends who've gone to warg Then made for them a world of heroes brave And forced your thoughts from danger, fright--and more. Your heroes sail on heaving cloud and Wave. You push away the threatening shadows deep, You block the frightening knowledge harsh, but true, That long before the war will end you'll weep For friends who're lost and wonlt come back to you. Don't turn aside and shudd'ring hide your eyes. Don't make believe that war is nobly good. Let people know your courage never dies, But firm, gets true perspective, as it should. Stand straight and strong and face the fear of night, And in the dark your strength will then burn bright. CLELIA THOMPSON Form VI THE FLAME 59 H 1 4.4 Ex Marks the Spot AM an ex-problem child. I had never thought of myself as that until, when I was about nine years old, I happened to read a letter which lay on Mother's desk. My own name had caught my eye, and I couldn't resist the temptation to read what it said about me, although I knew it was wrong. My youngest, Jane, is a problem child, I read, and I will never forget the shock of that moment. Problem child? Was I? I knew that most children did not feel the fear of being away from home that I did, I knew that other children didn't seem to mind their mother,s leaving them as I did- but-problem child? V I know now that if there ever was a problem child, I was it. My life was a torment of fear and uncertainty. I was afraid to leave home without Mother, afraid to have Mother leave home without me, for fear some dreadful accident would befall her. I was afraid to go to school. I can remember the three terrible days I spent at the Visitation Convent: the strange nameless sisters in their rustling black robes, the strange rooms, the strange little girls were terrifying to me. My hand trembled when I wrote on the board, my voice shook when I answered questions. I made count- less excuses to leave the room and dash down the hall, with my heart pounding and my throat dry, to the waiting room to see if Mother was still there. I always found her sitting patiently, waiting for me as I had begged her tog and I would return to the classroom temporarily reassured, only to repeat the whole thing with shaking hand and pounding heart in ten minutes. No one understood this obsession of mine-this feeling that I had to be near home and Mother. No one, that is, except Mother herself: she alone understood that my constant fear was not cowardice but a real sickness, something I could not control or hide. She alone knew of the nameless dread that was always in my mind. I, myself, could not have defined that dread, it was mainly fear that something would happen to Mother while she was away from me. I begged her not to leave the house, and if she did, it was only after hours of argument and tears. I can remember waking up in the morning, free from the familiar weight of terror, until I would remember that Mother was going to White Bear for lunch or to the I-Iammonds' for dinnerg and it would come again. I was never quite free from it, the minute one ordeal was over, I was looking forward to the next. I took the telephone number of wherever she went, for the telephone was the one link that connected me with her when she was away. I made her repeat over and over when she would be back, and if something delayed her, I would lose all control of myself and burst into a tantrum of tears. It was this losing control of myself that I dreaded also-I knew that if she were not home by a certain time I would not be able to help myself. So after a while I had the happy thought of allowing a wide margin for her return: we would set the dead- line for an hour or so after she expected to be back. I filled the house with little slips saying, Mrs. T. G. Trueman, 5 64 Summit, Dale 7096, back at 5 at latest. The rest of the family looked upon all this with loathing and disgust. Peggy once told me I just didn't seem like one of the family. This hurt and humiliated meg but fear was stronger than pride, and I could do nothing, but go on. I can remember the daily struggle to tear myself away from Mother to go to school. I remember repeating urgently over and over again like a broken record, Will you be home when I get back?,' I would scarcely hear the answer for the new question in my mind: Will you be here for lunch and supper? Over and over I would start off, then invent some excuse to run back and ask the same questions again. No wonder I was late for school! I almost never went to anyone's house when I was asked, since it meant being awa from home' but I remember one art I allowed Mother to take me to. It was Y 1 P y 60 THE FLAME a birthday party at Mary Kirby's house, and when we got there the rooms were over- flowing with little girls. At the sight of them I felt a sudden suffocating fear, and bursting into tears, I begged Mother to take me home. She took me into another room and talked quietly to me until I tearfully allowed her to leave. The instant she was gone I was all right and quickly joined the other girls who were dropping clothespins into a milk bottle. It was the anticipation of a thing that bothered me most, once it was irretrievably done I felt at ease again. I have a picture somewhere that Daddy once drew for me. It is a drawing of three ghosts chasing a little behind her. The ghosts are is labeled Jane He gave my fear of the future, he cured. I no longer feel the girl who is running from them with her curls flying out labeled If, Perhaps, and Maybe, and the little girl this to me and promised that if I ever learned to forget would reverse the picture. I have forgotten now, I am constant weight of anxiety for what might happen, what terrible accident could occur. I no longer have to wrestle with myself to decide whether to go to someone's house or notg the whole thing is in the past. But I believe that no matter what happens, I will never have to face anything more terrifying than what I have already been through. That is behind me. SHIRLEY WRIGHT Form V L. P. Anderson T WAS nine o'clock as we drove along the deep-rutted road to the farmhouse. The only visible light shone in the barn. We Walked up to it and rested our arms along the bottom half of the door, gazing down the aisle between the cows' rumps. No one was in sight. Hey! L. P., Dad yelled. The stooped figure of an old man appeared from behind a cow to whose teats was attached a milking-machine. It was L. P. As he approached us, his lipless mouth stretched into a broad, welcoming grin. Hi, Docf' he said huskily, Did ja yust get up? A milk pail swung in his left hand. There wasn't much milk in it, and occasionally it swished to one side so I could even see part of the bottom. I been watching the north slough. There's millions of ducks in there. All reds. Last Turseday a flock came over me. I missed 'em, and the dum tings circled around over that strawstack and came back to find out what it was all about. If we don't get our limit in half an hour We yust aren't no goodf' We all laughed, and his jaw, which juts out at an angle, set to Work again on his tobacco. Want us for dinner tomorrow night? Dad asked. Sure, but you'll have to settle for chicken. Missus says her duck-shooter's a Yap shooter now, and ducks are too hard to fix. We condescended to a chicken dinner willingly, and Dad, added, We'd far rather have Japs than ducks. Fm glad Clarence's such a good shot. That seemed to please him immensely, so he continued, We got a letter from him today, from Australia. He says he wishes he was back here helping pitch those hay-bundles. So do I. Need him here, but I guess Uncle Sam needs him worse than I do. Seems anxious for action. Never was a lazy boy, Clarence. After a slight pause my brother asked, Did you get that hawk? Never got him. Wounded him though. He carried off at least Bfty chickens. His blue eyes were buried in deep shadows from both his old hat and his bushy eye- brows which made a platform out over his face. That was an expensive bird. THE FLAME 61 1 w .4 Getting back to the original subject, Dad asked, What time shall we pick you up tomorrow? Six-thirty all right?,' Sure, but wonit you come up to the house for a cup of coffee before you leave? No thanks, we'd better get home and get some sleep. Say did ja know that they're opening the deer season here? I'll be spending all my time in the cellar. Won't dare come outside. We laughed again, and as he tipped his har to us, the light up in the rafters showed a bald crown with only a shaggy wreath of white hair. As the seventy-six- year-old farmer turned back to his cows, he shouted over his shoulder, Bye, Doc, six-thirty. DOROTHY LEAVENWORTH Form V First Day ' OULD I please see Miss MacGregor, please? I ambiguously asked the girl at the switchboard. 'Tm one of the volunteer workers, and I was told to give this to her when I got to the hospital. She took the slip of paper, which had my name and address written on it, and read it. Oh, all right, she said. I'll try and get in touch with her. With that she turned away, and I was startled to see that she was a cripple, with a deformed back. At that moment I realized what volunteering for a hospital job really meant. It meant that for the rest of the summer, two days a week, I would be seeing and playing with children in the same condition as that girl at the switchboard. Some would be even worse, so bad that they would be unable to get out of their beds. I began to lose confidence in my ability to take it. I began to wonder if I would be able to play with them and read to them without acting sorry for them and at the same time showing a little repugnance towards their deformed bodies. I knew it was foolish to feel that way and also cruel since the children would probably not welcome any pity and would be very much hurt by signs of sympathy. As I thought this all out, white starched uniforms crackled past, back and forth. Then the girl at the switchboard spoke to me again: You are to go straight down the hall, through the door at the end, and Miss Clark, the head of the hospital's educational department, will meet you there. Sheill tell you what to do. I thanked her and went on my Way. After I met Miss Clark, it was decided that I would read for the first hour to a girl in one of the wards. Have you ever done any hospital work before?,' Miss Clark asked me. No, I said. In fact, I've never even been in a hospital as a patient since I was about two or three. I'm getting a little nervous? She reassured me and told me that if I began feeling sick to leave the ward right away and to come back to her. In other words I was to take it in short doses at first. It was when I was on my way to the ward that it happened. Coming towards me in single file along the hall was a procession of children, ages ranging from about six to eighteen years. They were all either sitting in wheelchairs, limping along with big iron braces on their legs, or hobbling on crutches, and every one of them was either smiling or laughing and having fun. Then I realized how very selfish I had been in thinking of my own feelings only, and instead of feeling pity or repugnance towards them, I found myself feeling exceedingly thankful for my own health and feeling also a great desire to laugh with them. I knew then what people meant when they said that often cripples were very happy people, happier sometimes than those who have perfect bodies. NANCY HANLON Form VI 62 THE FLAME War Time-We Walk S IT very cold? I greeted Mary and Dort as they trudged through the front door at eight A.M.-on the dot. It was useless to ask, for their faces were bright red beneath their scarfs. Having received an affirmative grunt from Dort, I added another sweater and a pair of mittens to my apparel. Without speaking, we pushed out of the warm house into the dark, icy street beyond. The stars were still out, their points pricking through the heavy blackness. The wind pushed its freezing fingers up my sleeves and down my back. Our only light as we plodded along came from the street lamps, which looked as if they had white halos dancing around them. I counted them as we went. There are thirty on the way to school. We had passed sixg twenty-four left. Mary asked, What did you write your theme about? I didn't answer, mostly because I hadn't Written one at all. Dort replied, A corny description. Here the conversation ended abruptly. My fingers were getting stiff from the icy wind, which forgot that I had mittens on, or else ignored them. I glanced down to see what my knees looked like, they always get purple with pink spots above where my stockings stop. They were doing better than usual this morning. Besides having a ghastly color combination, I couldn,t feel that they were there at all. With an annoyed gesture Dort yanked her uniform down from around her hips. That's why I don't wear tights, even though they do keep your legs warm. Only fifteen street lights left. The horizon in the east showed tinges of pink against the dirty gray sky. It was getting slightly less cold, though the snow still squeaked its protest as we planted our heels firmly on the sidewalk. We were now in front of Miss Converse's house, which seems to be a milestone in our journey. A long, yellow car full of boys which passes us every morning went by. They gave up whistling after the first week of school. We hadn't said a word for four blocks nowg so after racking my brain for some- thing appropriate to comment on, I remarked feebly, It's getting lighter. For an answer I received two, Yah's. Half a block to go, and then we would be escorted across Lexington by the police girls. We always have to wait until there isn't a car in sight anyway, so making them stand there and freeze really doesn't seem very practical. We got safely across Lexington, and passed the alley that always tempts us to cut when going around the block-if we can get away with it. My gosh, the school's on fire!', I remarked, mostly for the sake of conversation. It really did look as if it Were. The rising sun reflected in the kindergarten windows, and it looked as if there were a raging inferno inside. We stumbled up the walk, thankful to be reaching a warm place, and leaned against the heavy door ready for another long day. MARY STRINGER Form V Under ihe Sun HE door opened and a little girl with her Fraulien emerged onto the hot, tiled porch. As was customary under the torrid January sun, the girl wore only a stiff white sunbonnet, sleeveless frock, and brown sandals. Her hand clutching determinedly that of her older companion, she steered her through the iron lattice-worked gate and onto the street. Hurry, Fraulien, we may not reach the school before joey leaves. Ah, mein liebchen, We will have arrived there before the dismissal if you pull my arm so much! At this, uliebchenn settled down from a trot to a persistent prance. Ganga vozia! Around the corner appeared a barefoot vendor with two wicker baskets slung from a pole on his shoulders. From the chattering confusion within, it was obvious that his burden consisted of the long-necked scrub hens peculiar to that THE FLAME 63 Y region. Perspiration oozed from his grizzly face as he lustily called his trade from house to house. All along the street the usual day's activity progressed: fruit vendors haggling with fervent housemaids over the price of tangerines on front piazzasg sullen gardeners slothfully trimming hedges or shining' the abundance of metal work on some front door, vendors of dolls, vegetables, brushes, chairs, brooms, and fish, aimlessly plying their trade or, by a great clapping of hands outside a house, showing that they wished the inmates to take notice of their stock. But everywhere hung the same atmosphere of lazy happiness. If you didn,t get your work done today, why bother? Tomorrow would be another beautiful day, and things would follow in their natural course. Fraulien and her protege had now come onto the seashore where they were wel- comed by a cool breeze sweeping in from the bay with the incoming tide. On the pure white beach splotches of brilliance, which were lounging bathers, danced up before the eye. Oh, Fraulien, there is the sand artist. Please let us watch him. A man was kneeling on the sidewalk and deftly molding a portrait from wet sand. With skillful movements applying the needed lines and forms, he gradually changed the features to resemble more and more those of the Christ. It was with difiiculty that the child could be drawn from the ring of spectators by her governess. They continued along the beach, the little one skipping along the swirls of the patterned mosaic-sidewalk. Turning from the sea, they entered a wide avenida, the lap of honking cars, street cars, pedestrians, vendors, policemen, children, and dogs. Now there was so much to see and take in! Passionate pictures of the crucifixion and the various saints entranced her as the little one gazed at store windows. She wondered at an advertisement of Flit and tried to count the number of times the soldier re- appeared in the picture. She was hurried past natives sitting on their haunches by the curb bartering in furious Portuguese while swatting flies with equal venom. At the same time she noted the dozens of dirty black and brown feet, some sauntering, some determined, as she avoided banana peelings and other refuse. A squat, polished black woman sitting on a stool in a doorstep was not easily passed by the inquisitor. What is in her little pot, Fraulien? She is making cocoa. You can see the flames under it. , But why do people drink cocoa on a hot day? The buxom cocoa-woman grinned toothily and protruded a fat toe from under the hem of her gingham, at which gesture the child grasped Fraulien's hand quickly. Hurrying through a park deserted except for a few children playing on the band- stand, they came out on another street. See, liebchen, there is your brother waiting at the window now. We are truly late because you' must look at so much! The two were soon enveloped in a large, looming and formidable building. CHARLOTTE FITZPATRICK Form V Soon We Leave OON we will leave this home. We are not planning to return, for we need a small place in the city now. Home For Sale scream the black letters on the sign newly nailed to our front fence. There, I-Iomeu is a mild, over-used word that says nothing, but it is all one can say to describe this airy, sprawling place. Oh, yes, there are many things the new people will enjoy: the tennis court, the swings, the long, clean barn. They will love the bright, unusually informal atmos- phere. They will be struck by the odd, knotty-pine waves on our dining-room ceiling, and the largeness of our great, strong fireplace. But knowing that my father 64 THE FLAME was the designer of our ceiling or that it was a personal friend who cut and carried and cemented each block of the chimney into place will mean nothing to them. Perhaps they will even notice the rare summer breeze or the huge three-prongedj willow low on our front lawn, the blazing scenes that light the sky in the west at sunset. But how can they know the soothing coolness of our lawn upon bare feet burnt by sharp gravel, the smell and texture of long grass waving in our woods, the summer serenade of crickets and frogs living in our swamp? They will never lie in the hay-loft, sniiiing the musty, horsy air, or wade in spring ponds covered with rubber ice. These pleasures are lost . . . The new people will be annoyed by the creaking of the floor whenever they go to the ice-box and by the shakiness of the railing on the stairs. They must learn that the ice-box door cannot be slammed, that the door of my bedroom has to be lifted up and pushed to latch. They will see that one window lock is broken, that some floors slant, and they will scornfully rub their fingers over a wall-paper surface, pimpled by rough plaster beneath. The fact that a broad, stone walk curves to a solid wooden wall at the side of our house will puzzle them. They have no way of knowing that at one time the main entrance was there. How hard it will be for them to become accustomed to the noises we no longer hear: the weather-stripping singing in its tinny, harsh, wavering voice, the wind sighing mournfully about the corners, the click of the thermostat when the oil burner turns off, the pump's accented humg the audible creaks of the wood as the house settles at night. Yes, the new people can buy the house and live here, but it will take many years to re-make a home. PEGGY SIMONS Form VI A Strange Village IFE in the country is very fascinating, especially in winter. I remember the year we spent at Frontenac. One wintry morning I looked out over the lake from my bedroom window and saw a small black spot that had never been there before. Naturally I was curious, so I hurried downstairs and dashed into my snow suit. I called to my dog, and soon we were on our way down the hill to the edge of the frozen lake. Quickly I put on my skates and started out toward the mysterious object. As I got closer, it began to look like a small hut. In a few minutes I discovered it was a crudely built little shack. I wondered who in the world it could belong to. just then I noticed a man about twenty-five feet away with a line in his hand. When he saw me he said, The fishin' ain't so bad todayf' Fishing had always been a summer sport to me, not a winter sport. But there he was, dangling his line through a hole in the ice. All of a sudden the line started jerking, and the man pulled in a huge fish. This is the Hrst one I've caught today, but I expect to catch a great many before the day's done. The news that this was a good Hshing hole must have spread, because the next day a regular village of fishing huts had sprung up. There must have been two dozen at least. I had asked my friend the Esherman what the huts were for. Waal, when your hands and feet git cold waitin' for them fish to bite, it's petty nice to have a warm place for them to thaw out. This explained the smoke that was curling out of the roof of each little shack. I asked him what they did with all the ish, and he explained, The market gits these. After that I went every day to see how my fishermen friends were, and how many ish the market would git that day. MILLICENT THOMPSON Form! THE FLAME 65 The Prayer of an Unborn German Child Oh, God, my friends and comrades pray to thee For parents, life, the world, and paing for birthg For homes Where love may Weave a canopy Of safety from all childhood fears on earth. The trust, respect of friends, they hope to findg The chance to live and grow in peaceful ways Where they may share the hopes of all mankind That lie in youth and spring from happy days. They ask to liveg oh, God, I ask to die. I fear the thought of loathing built for me, The hatreds that in servile chains must lie, But some day burst, when slaves are then set free. I cannot face the agony of scorn My parents reap for rne, their child unborn. CLELIA THOMPSON Form VI Sunbathing The grass felt young and tickled on my back. The earth's light touch beneath the turf was cool And worked and calloused and tender. The sun beat down like hands upon a drum Deafening my ears and blinding out all sight. The splashing from the lake was dimmed and faint. The laughing voices muffled on my ear, And grasshoppers and flies and beetles Humming, Strumming, drumming near my head, Hypnotized and made me feel unreal. Shading my eyes I peered through trembling heat. Dainty and fresh, the sky peered back at me And the summer Wind, winking a little, Brushed a starched round cloud before her face. An ant was crawling right across my leg. ANDREA HUNTER Form VI THE FLAME r' KJ -I 4. . ARM T 4. Committees This year several new committees have been formed in the Summit School to take over the responsibilities and duties which the war and a greater variety of interests have brought about. One of these is the War Committee which manages principally the War Stamps and Bonds sales and the different war drives in the school, such as the scrap metal drive in the fall. Another of these new committees is the Assembly Committee, which takes charge of and plans interesting assemblies of all kinds. This committee also recently conducted a school-wide song contest for a new school song. Not to be forgotten is another new organization in the school: the School Police Force. This group was organized last fall and was equipped with uniforms and belts by the city. Its duty is to take charge of the morning and afternoon school traiIic which crosses the busy intersection at Goodrich and Lexington Avenues. Below is a list of some of the most important committees, clubs, and organizations in the school. SERVICE COMMITTEE BETTY BREMER, chairman MODERN DANCE CLUB SALLY WASHBURN, president CATHIE CLARK MILDRED GOODSON KITTY JACKSON PAT SPORER HEI-EN HAMMES VIRGINIA CI-ARR CHARLOTTE NELSON MARJORIE OKES NOR-4 BAER VIRGINIA KINREAD ALLISON BUTLER DOROTHY COUNTRYMAN NADINE SMITH HOPE MACARTNEY SHIRLEY WRIGHT AIAIDA BUTLER SAI-I-Y BE-'II-S EMMY I-OU I-EVY GEORGIA RAY MARGARET ANN BARBER DME ENGLEBERT MARGARET HERBERT MARY BRIGGS DEBORAH DONNEIJLT DOROTHY OERTING NANCY MAIRS BINKY BROOKS WAR COMMITTEE MARY BRIGGS, chairman SYBIL SHALLENBERGER, chairman, first semes- FAIR COMMITTEE KITTY JACKSON, chairman ter MARGARET HERBERT EDITH NYE ALICE THOMPSON DEBORAH DONNELLY DOROTHY OERTING PATTY COURTNEY ANDREA HUNTER VIRGINIA CI-ARR EMMY LOU LEVY ANDREA HUNTER SHIRLEY WRIGHT DOROTHY LEAVENWORTH BRIDGET HAS-I-ING5 NANCY HARRIS SALLY BAYLISS FELICITY HASTINGS KATE DAVIDSON ATHLETIC COMMITTEE ETHLYN COUNTRYMAN BETTY HOLMES JUNE HASSENZAHL PATTY HUNT SALLY WASHBURN, chairman KITTY JACKSON, chairman, first semester CHARLOTTE NELSON MARNIE CUDWORTH STAGE FORCE DOROTHY CAMMACK NANCY GAVER PEGGY JACKSON, chairman POLICE FORCE MARTHA FULTON HAPPY STRINGER CATHIE CI-ARK, Cblef ETHLYN COUNTRYMAN MONNIE RUSSELL SYLVIA BURNS PATTY APPEL FELICITY HASTINGS PATTY HUNT POLLY NYE KATE DAVIDSON ,DOROTHY COUNTRYMAN VIRGINIA CLARK VIRGINIA CLARK NANCY HARRIS MARNIE CUDWORTH POLLY NYE '1 Q. Summit School Marches On! SEPTEMBER 17. Once again the portals opened wide be- neath beckoning Fortiter. SEPTEMBER 21. The wizened alumnae are incredulously admired at lunch by fatalistic students. OCTOBER 22-23. ' In a hectic freshman week seniors bellowed orders at harried freshmen dashing by with nightshirts and stock- ing caps streaming behind. OCTOBER 23. Many strange circus performers, animals, little girls with grandmothers, air raid wardens, attended a zealous Hallowe'en Party. NOVEMBER 26, 27. Books were tossed back into respective desks in joyful anticipation of Thanks- giving turkey. DECEMBER 1-7. A profound silence somehow invaded the school with Book Week. DECEMBER 11. A concert grand piano was introduced to the school along with Flight of a Bumblebeei' and other brisk renditions by Gabriel Fenyves. We must learn to like cabbage and turnips. DECEMBER 12. Daniel Webster and the senior class grappled successfully with the devil on stage while the audience grappled un- successfully with the back row off stage. DECEMBER 18. Christmas vacation was escorted in with spirited singing of Christmas songs from different nations and a raucous Father Christmas. DECEMBER 26. Swirling gowns, twinkling lights, and a colossal stag line sketched a gay Christmas dance. JANUARY s. With A Rage about a Lost Penny, beautiful, tiny Joanna Graudan's piano concert was a great success. JANUARY 25-29. Students were a focus of statistical be- wilderment as they blundered through exam Week. JANUARY so. Perfect weather was the highlight in a riotous Winter Carnival. Marshmallow sauce is now extinct. FEBRUARY 22. The school honored Washington by having a holiday. 68 MARCH 12. Blaring lipstick and clanking heels an- nounced the annual tea for numerous friends. MARCH 16. After a birthday celebration that beat all, an obstreperous stampede followed Miss Converse's proclamation of a half- holiday. MARCH 20. A thoity three, a honey-suckled wall, and a nasty old woman characterized the Junior plays. MARCH 26-APRIL 5. The school was deserted by thankful spring vacationists destined for parts unknown. APRIL 8. Miss Morley, charming daughter of famed Christopher, vividly portrayed war-time England. APRIL 16. Summit girls showed their parents how to wait on tables, make ravishing ward- robes, and speak comprehensive Frenchg while the fathers showed their daugh- ters how to play volleyball. APRIL 30. Via two trembling chartered street- cars Summit School made the biennial visit to Northrop despite the war. MAY 15. Partners were handled with great rev- erence, like precious vases, in doleful anticipation of future male-scarce May dances. We buy bonds instead of sodas. MAY 20. The spring Recital proved admirably that the pianos are played as well as sat upon at school. MAY 21. Proceeds from a gay fair on the school lawn went towards financing the Sum- mit School playground project. MAY 28. The Arts Assembly awarded the annual prizes to well-deserving student artists, musicians, writers, and poets. JUNE 2-8. Examinations. JUNE 10. With the triumphant strains of Aida, the seniors made their last formal en- trance as summer vacation peered in- vitingly around the corner. JUNE 11. With the class dinner another year is turned down amid eloquent will-making, ravenous eating, and merry singing. CHARLOTTE FITZPATRICK THE FLAME Off the Record SPQRTS UR sports at Summit usually center around the seasons and change accordingly. In the fall, when the winds begin to blow, the seniors and juniors stand about on the play field and shiver as they grip field hockey sticks in numbed fingers. This year, despite the cold, the seniors beat the juniors in a series of inter-class games, three out of ive. The score at the half-way mark was two all, and so the last game was fought with gritted teeth and clenched fists. The sophomores and freshmen also shivered their way through games of speedball with mixed teams. The team captained by Bridget Hastings won three out of five games. One day each week we whirled and tripped gaily through a period of modern dance. When snow fell, we moved into the gym where the basket balls began to fly. Here also, the seniors kept their record, beating the juniors in three out of five games. The half-way mark was again two all, and the last game was nip and tuck as to who would win. Soon the weather cooled off considerably, and so two days a Week, we took to the skating rink. The other two days were still devoted to basket ball. In the lower two forms, the sophomores beat the freshmen in basket ball in three out of five games. This spring everyone is practicing for the archery tournament and the tennis tournament, and the courts and play field are always filled until the very last moment before the school gates are shut. CLELIA THOMPSON Clee, signing a chemistry formula test: Thompso4. Kate: I saw something in the gram- mar book about our history teacher's old map. Miss Ware, announcing rehearsal sched- ules: Creatures, did she fix you?', Miss Busyn: Halley's comet comes once every seventy-five years. It came once when I was a child. I was scared to death. Gregg: Shouldn't it be coming again pretty soon? Sylvia, coming into the Latin room after school where large sections of the second and third form stood waiting around Miss Ritter's desk: Say, all roads surely do lead to Rome! Sis DeCoster, in modern poetry class: Do we have John Frost for tomorrow? Dme: No, Sis, Jack. Miss Spicer: Mary, how are you going to organize your paper? Mary: In paragraphs. THE FLAME Miss Busyn: Why was the king's position so uncomfortable? Betty Holmes: Because the nobles were sort of revoltingf' Miss Spicer: Also read the little poem called 'To Sleep.' Andy: Is that spelled 'T-O'? School police, before letting anyone cross the street: Line up in two's! Sylvia, impatiently: I am in two's. Nancy Hanlon, in checking in: Those absent are Hunter, Russell, Gregg, Nye and Hanlon. Skippy in English class, giving illus- trations of realism from Babbit: And the way he brushes his teeth! It could happen to anybody! Miss Savage: So you see, many of our names come from the professions of our ancestors. For example, the name Baker was undoubtedly given to a man who was a baker, and Smith to the village smith. Evie: What about Crooks? 69 The Dining Room KA Study of the Human Racej With Apologies to VACHEL LINDSAY THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY Hunger-starved students in the dining room Jostling underclassmen with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table. Mute mademoiselle With hand so stable Beat a hollow gong with the handle of a broom Boom, boom, boom, Hard as she was able, Boom, boom, boom. Then the benediction, but they had derision, They turned to each other in indecision. Then they saw Miss Converse creeping through the back, Cutting through the students with a golden track. Then beside the tables And in the aisles Uniformed cannibals displayed smiles. When they said the end of the benediction, Chair legs scraped, obliterating diction. And Food screamed the voices of the two-legged creatures, Food screamed the ravenous at the teachers. Sling me the sandwiches P. D. Rustle the soup and salad, too. Food-quick, food-quick, food-quick, food!,' A gobbling, cramming, noisy mob Left student waitresses to do the job. Out of the dining room into the hall Tumbled the faculty, students, and all. A deep rolling bass. More deliberate. Solernnly chanted. A rapidly piling climax of speed and racket. Speedy, with sense of confusion. BETTY BREMER and SALLY BEALS Summit Library Lisi By Doms MUDGETT Importance of Being Earnest ....,....,..,.,s,... c-Getting excuses from Miss Converse Quietly My Captain Waits ....,., , s...... Senioris hopes for the May dance Above Suspicion ..,.......,,.... ....,,...,.... F irst vice president and tallies Memoirs of a Midget ....,.. - ..... -The TORCH The Scarlet Letter ....,,,. ....... O n report cards Beloved Vagabond ,i,..... ......i.,,.......... S ambo in assembly War and Peace ..,.......... ....... - ---- .... -..Students, meetings We Are Not Alone ......... - ......... .. ..... -Our consolation after exam week Fortitude ...,,..,....,.,.,....,. -- .-----School police force Keys of the Kingdom ........ ....... C ut cards The Moon is Down .,,..,v.. ...,... S tudying for a test Withour Armour ...,..., ..........,... .. Going around the block in winter Great Expectations .....,... ---...-Graduation 70 THE FLAME Senior Plays THE ROBBERY CLARE KUMMER John Upton ,,,,,,,,, ,.,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,.,A,,,,,,,,,,, ,..,... P E G GY SIMONS Margaret Upton ...., ,,,,,.. D ORIs MUDGETT Edie Upton .,..,........ ,...., ,,,,.,..,,...... A N N KIMBALL Robert Hamilton .....,, ,,,,,,,,,,,.. ,,,,,,,t,,,... M A RTHA FULTON Fielding Y,,.,,,,YY,,Y,,,,..... ,,Y,, L .,,.......A.,........, . ., ...,,,,.,... CHARLOTTE NELSON THE DEVIL AND DANIEL WEBSTER by N STEPHEN VINCENT BENET Jabez Stone ,,,,, .,..., ,,.,,, E T HLYN COUNTRYMAN Justice Hawthorne ,,.A,.... ,,,,,,,, S YBIL SHALLENBERGER Mary Stone ..,,....,.,.,.,,,,, ,,,,,,,,...........,.... B ETSY NYE Clerk .,..,,,.,.,,,,,.,,,,..... ,,........... A LLISON BUTLER Daniel Webster W, ,,,l..,,, ,,.,,.. F ELICITY HASTINGS Old Man ,,,,,,,,,,..,.,.. ...,,Y,,,,, H ELEN HAMMES Mr. Scratch ,,,,,,, . L , ,....... CLELIA THOMPSON Old Woman ...,,,,,,,,,r...,,,. ....,,,.....,... K ITTY JACKSON The Fiddler ..,....,..........,.....,,....,.,... ALICE THOMPSON Voice of the Moth ,,l........,,,,,.,,,,,., CATHERINE CLARK The Twelve jurymen and the Men and Womcn of Cross-Corners, New Hampshire: Charlotte Nelson, Kitty Jackson, Helen Hammes, Martha Fulton, Nancy Hanlon, Cynthia Davidson, Catherine Clark, Ann Kimball, Doris Mudgctt, Alice Thompson, Peggy Simons, Sally Washburn, Sybil Shallen- berger, Allison Butler. John ,,,,, Mary ,,,. Hero ..,,,,,,,,,, THE MAN IN THE BOWLER HAT A. A. MILNE Heroine ,,.,....,,, Chief Villain Bad Man .,...,, Man in the Bowler Hat ,,,,,,,, ,,,,..........,SALLY BEALS ,HMARGARET JACKSON ..,,,,,,,,,,NANCY HANLON CYNTHIA DAVIDSON . ,,,,..., ALLISON BUTLER SALLY WASHBURN SYBIL SHALLENBERGER Junior Plays TWO CROOKS AND A LADY by EUGENE PILLOT Miller ,.,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.,..,,,, L ,.,,...,,,,,,,,,,,, GEORGIA RAY Lucille .,,,,,.....,... .. .....,.,, Mrs. Simms-Vane ..,,,,-,,,NADINE SMITH SHIRLEY WRIGHT THE ROMANCERS by EDMOND ROSTAND Percinet .,.,. ,.,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,......,,t,,,,,,..,,...... M ARY BRIGGS Sylvette .,..,, ,,,,,,,,,,,............. J EAN MERRILL Bergamin ,,,,,,, ,,,,,., D OROTHY LEAVENWORTH Pasquinot ,,.,., .........,,,,,,.,, J OYCE CARLTON Straforel ...,,,,, ,.....,. C HARLOTTE FITZPATRICK Swordsmen ,,,,,, ,,.,,,,.,,L.I.,.,.I..... S ALLY ORME CREATURES OF IMPULSE W. S. GILBERT Miss jones .,,.,,,,,.,,. ...,,,,,,,,,,,, M ILDRED GOODSON Police Inspector ..,. L ,,,,,....,. JULIA DUNNING Garrity ..,,,,,..,, .... ,....... S I DNEY STRONGE Boomblehardt: ,... .,...., D oRoTI-IY OERTING jacques ,,,,,..,.,.. First Villager ....., Second Villager ,,,. Third Villager ,,,,.., 72 ,.......MARGARET HERBERT ,.,,,,,,,,,,,MARJORIE OKES ,,,.,,,,DME ENGELBERT ,,,,,,,,,JUNE HASSENZAHL Peter ..,. L ,.,, ,,,L Martha ......,..,,,, Pipette ,,,,,,,,.,.,,,... Sergeant Klooque ,,.,. Old Lady .....,..,,, MARGERY HAWTHORNE ,ELIZABETH DECosTER ,,..........MARY STRINGER , .,....... MARKELL BROOKS ,..,,,,,CARoLYN STOLTZE .,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.NORA BAER T H E F L A M E il ,,.f' Q 52521134 l 4.5 V A , A THE FLAME THE FLAME E , rf- I I+ YA I . I ., I , - ,,.. Q SJ lm, 511, I ,, I ,A A M E' M6 A .x I I I s M' ' I W M S' ' .I Q . ' - CLELIA I A ii ,I I-E A, Liferary Ediforx I Eg - wa' ALLISON BUTLER az ,Q I CYNTHIA DAVIDSON 1, PEGGY SIMONS CHAIKLOTTE FITZPATRICK GEORGIA RAY SHIRLEY WRIGHT A I 0 i f SYLVIA BURNS I PATTY APPEL JEAN WEST, Firsf SC'11ZUSff'7' V 3 Tbcf silk sI'rf'I'11 121111248 wuz tI,lYlUI1IlII by Allnf Tbomjnsou, XJ .JV U ef 4 M HELIiN CLARK, Svvozid Sf'llIl'Nfl'I' K MIXIKKELL BROOKS, Second Swzzzfxfrr I 1 A JJ I , 3, I. I i I I I S Ks- Q H IE r jk. 3 A Cm IV. L 5-f's.U4' F f ,I,Fvi,.e 9 M643 78 I S 'P' Im- , hBf'1'sy Nyr, Cynthia DHLIIISUII and Dmofhy Ocffmv YYVQAI. Q5 O W-'Q AUTOGRAPHS 3?-0-fx SM-' 46-XQLQSQ-wa :wmv ' wm,G.,Q,,,Q N Wxoxoj ,,- , Bi-C0.u.4.Q, m-L-fSJ1bM?g CL..Qe,iQf4xibKKoi.gQnW ii YwfDK9Jl ci vo' XX J. 7., uvxvigcgxiksq, L,kkkl 1gQ'Nx SX? -'TQ' M WW TWSQ XXm!fQWVLJAfdLWQ can-A 6'Qf2'-fCLf.A.,4..,u,, 'Y'0'f'U'T I I , WM-7 QJLI, YQQWGUMXXUXHXXQ6 ' !XC3VX'fN'-'b- ' - WM f3W'.W:'C f?' Door' , -EQGAPY ' i1U f'V'l X v x1ou.'v-Q,RE8lqswQ:smkF'wD Zimllmxsifm ww' M T2 Q-L pawn- AoeStoo,5uAqi'wqYmg 'Hu.u, ' a.mkeqvmpNfo.NDe1lQI ko-.vaio qt! Q49 'VJ' ' Yoo:-K 'ko Huis F ' k'Y?.ACJx.l.0Lu . ' 'Q' xpu stqvxvw-qFl.0-vfw.afFi-cr IRAQ. QUR . Lfpoxn- wUmk El . I? A .QW A fyxa-06' r F M NW wmtgwadsop mam, Wzifrizz., A 5 Q 4 913' WW, Cs 'Hg 'l d5 'Q ' gpglrw-44 DESFES4' Hu-eq, 1 ,,, M,' M011 Leon Y-ham 05' cou1'5'L. 'Hni ',C'nx lYN1.AxNx'ilNkVi- w1+L' ANA' L'ho?i 'H-f13'VfU.-SSBrmunlouE.SLxo1a +201-.Man -I-no. Svvwfnvw A-H! M YY3fS.CF00KSCfov--u-L1 S-eh5nC'u.iXf.5 4
Are you trying to find old school friends, old classmates, fellow servicemen or shipmates? Do you want to see past girlfriends or boyfriends? Relive homecoming, prom, graduation, and other moments on campus captured in yearbook pictures. Revisit your fraternity or sorority and see familiar places. See members of old school clubs and relive old times. Start your search today!
Looking for old family members and relatives? Do you want to find pictures of parents or grandparents when they were in school? Want to find out what hairstyle was popular in the 1920s? E-Yearbook.com has a wealth of genealogy information spanning over a century for many schools with full text search. Use our online Genealogy Resource to uncover history quickly!
Are you planning a reunion and need assistance? E-Yearbook.com can help you with scanning and providing access to yearbook images for promotional materials and activities. We can provide you with an electronic version of your yearbook that can assist you with reunion planning. E-Yearbook.com will also publish the yearbook images online for people to share and enjoy.
