2-1, -Em 2. - iw .JT fgfr .ix . rug, is 1: V 4.5 rg g W, wg - ' if? ., 5 - F3 ' :- r- Q v I v at My nr, ww., . rf ' ij, .-,. ex . ,rx 1? 4 1 , K, x . V . 4 0 - ,tus 4 f ,H 1 ,K . f, ' T -' -- 2 A I 'V-I l 1 ff- f - i 5 g?Sf VNC? ,. 5,7 1: OJ x . 4 ,.- - , - 1 :ftgLi'Q .- 52- . ii 'f , if QQ.: ' 9.4, E, . if? ly, pf. . 4? bi, ff . 554 , 4, if ' , , , if . 1 r- , , . , h J 5 -x I up w . , ,L wh , .V ' - , 4 Ms' . , , Vx .fn ' .. f Q ,. -X - 1 1 ' e 1 2' A f . ,A , . v A 4 A v. ,Q -. , . , 1,-, bl, ,7 wy1?,Q.., f. THE FLAME xx June, 1944- Summit School Saint Paul Minnesota The Senior Class of 1944 dedicates this FLAME to MARGARET SPICER in loving appreci- ation of all she has done for themg and to THE FLAME DOROTTH?OTTERSON,nmvsUWngowxmmintheRul Cross Recreational Corps, in grateful remembrance of her cheerful guidance and her participation in the Summit School activities. THE FLAME For the riglztcom light is sown, Gladncss for thc' upright fzeczrtf' MINNESOTA OME grizzled philosopher once said, There is nothing like a war to strengthen patriotismf' And it is true that during these past years there has grown in the hearts of all of us a great and lasting affection for our United States. But, at the same time that this national patriotism has been in- creasing, a similar but less obvious and, in many ways, more personal feeling has grown-that of state patriotism. Over a century and a half ago the Fathers, writing the Constitution, took special care that specified rights and privileges of the states should be pro- tected against any attempts at control by the federal government. And these states' rights have continued until today. Where but here, in the United States, could forty-eight little countries be united under one democratic government and yet keep their individuality in their own laws and leaders? This special gift of statehood is usually taken for granted and seldom thought of-but never completely forgotten, especially in times like these. For who does not feel a little personal pride on hearing the news that Minnesota is leading in the sale of war bonds or that Minnesota war plants have been awarded a new government contract? The soldier overseas does not, at the mention of the word 'Khomef' think instantly of the whole great United States. Rather, in all probability, his first thought is of some lake, field, or town that is intrinsically part of his state, and his state alone. In the illustrations throughout this year's Flame we have tried to show snatches of the things characteristic of our Minnesota. The screen prints present four of Minnesota's more celebrated industries: farming, lumbering, mining, and the coming role of Minnesota as a great center of air transporta- tion. In addition to the symbols of our state-the moccasin flower, the gold- finch, the gopher, and the state seal-the black and white sketches deal with small impressions of its different sections. Perhaps your own special idea of Minnesota is not represented here. Doubtless you see other, more personal pictures at the mention of its name. That is as it should be 3 for the right of every person to his own views and ideas on any subject, even patriotism, is one of our great democratic principles. We only hope that you will think as we do that our state, Minnesota, is a fitting theme for this year's Flame. DOROTHY OERTING Art Editor THE FLAME 7 STUDENT GOVERNMENT OFFICERS GEORGIA RAY . . SIIIRLEY WRIGHT DOROTHH' CARIRIACK . MARIORIE OKILS . . JEAN WEST . . . EJNIINIY LOU LEVY NANCX' CTAVER . CYNTHIA KELLEY . MARY STRINGER . SHIRLEY WRIGHT . . JUNE HASSENZAHL . ELIZABETH DECOSTER DIJROTIIY LEAVENWORTH IEAN WEST ..... BETTY HOLMES . PEGGY DRISCOLL . DORIS ROSENHOLTZ . 8 FIRST SEMESTER SECOND SEMESTER President Editor-itz-Chief of The Flame F Irs! Tflhft'-Pl'l'5I.dl'I1f Seeond Viee-President Treasurer Executive Seerelary Reeording Secretary Third Form Representative President Editor-in-Chief of The Flame F frst Viee-Presi d ent S eeon d Vice-Presiden t Third Vice-Presiden t Treasurer Executive Secretary Recording Seeretary Third Form Representative THEFLAME Q! ' J r I ,J Ni- i ' , L . gf? S2 X u ,I 'Q Q 6 1 , x 1 wr U 'f Q .gl 'Q ' - Q ' WL 0 1 f D DK ' 1 JOYCE GERTRUDE CARLTON PRESIDENT OF THE SENIOR CI,ASS, FIRST SEMESTER Give it an understanding but no tongue. .. V -, -. ,, 4- 'C Naya, xx, X X X xl sd N X' Xfxovv XXOV .N NJNVXO Vxgix -I xX BYU QCQKN vxfx'ig:xxXf- 5 'UF TX x L I 561-X SO-LN xk N. 'SXOMR 43- xoxo SS- SLC, I COXACSN 0 My I NORA JANE BAER CNSC' QVW, I PRESIDENT OF THE SENIOR CLASS, SECOND SEMESTER QW r-0,393-5 'Good order is the foundation of all Nf ' U 4' Q'-NX good zhzngs. Deon' PL KP? PALO! P' QLXMN EOIVX bla ULF SXQTO ', IEL,fXVYk 'TIT - VYOL L'jg'p.Q . 42 'Xb v'fNiiSB O - VXGJLQP CA ,gov an Q 1-Qc-NN'Pi'X5-PM AJVAQ Xe me Wx? QMPQGC AGMPC5 ,CG-JQIX1. XJOGQ K, If QQ. Axofxe Cu LC M, ASW-Q3 SJ' S au Ig- Xl S12 -WWE 'QYVQQ Ever , :A W2 WM? VNU Pd x 'HRS C9 GEORGIA GAIL RAY SCZO- vc L, L b ,Dk sn PRESIDENT OF STUDENTS' ASSOCIATION, 'ks OUA PRESIDENT OF STUDENTS, ASSOCIATION, VJQNQ U5 W HT! D FIRST SEIWESTEP Nm SG -Y, QM 'SECOND SEIXTIESTEP ,JL PQ vm ze lzztle foozery that anse men have A true frzend 15 d makes a great show. PL Sfx'f-Y' Llgw orezfer afriendf' Q A Q gftfxvf- CJ-QQ -fcjvs ivxgfonmr' OLGLSS THE FLAME CM mqdm Qbm QQUWRWVQJSCOTIUII MS. Cumtlmowl GL Fl' UJOJ QQ M m -XXOM U6-,gfgf Q. T-EL 3 4'l'I'V.VlCf wx TMJ ' Q CDSEEXONN X891 LOIJY3 ' S3363-if M152 ' if 'efifwfw Q L Ilexf V11 X'X.0LfQ.x,UN9- Nik-' Y-pvjv ,MM -y . 0 0 rm . . ' Ll MARY DEQUEDVILLE BRIGGS MARKELL BROOKS I would delight my private hours I built my soul a lordly pleasure house, With musie or with poem. Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. M J gxfgxixxt-xx hi :J 1 ki? Q, S, Q u ' Qsxfk' 1 suv-if, QL. o . ,g 5-9. ',' E . , n K. 'X 1' .cn K- ' . ' DOROTHY LOUISE CAMMACK ELIZABETH ALIDA DECOSTER ' x 'W . , . . H ' ' ' ' . There is no wisdom . True humility' V , like fmnkness ,, The highest virtue, mother of Ad 0 II them all. . ff O Alu' 10 THE FLAME ,asf V idx. allay Vo. a , it-Q P5 Q ail, fftQbA you IULIA MARIA DUNNING Her voice ufas ever soft, Gentle and four. FH N 5 xx ' s MILDRED IOYCE GOODSON A never failing serenity of countenance. T H E F L A M E CHARLOTTE KATHLEEN FITZPATRICK Literature is the thought of thinking souls. IUNE HASSENZAI-11. There is mischief in that woman. 11 MARGERY ANN HAWTHORNE MARGARET HERBERT The glass of fashion. With inalice toward none. A ':'.'11-Who' s . . 5 xx. rr. 3, g4-.xlA-f- -' 1- 7.31- ,, n-:Vg -,LAY DOROTHY FRANCES LEAVENWORTH A merry heart inaheth a cheerful countenance. 12 I if -'fir-',l , F P ,Jn Q ,4 1 'v 4 IEAN MACKENZIE MERRILL Wit to persuade ana' beauty to delight. THEELAMEU Q,-.f Y.. , . , I c' o T ' - ,a da'., ,yr 17, .rl of 1' 3 s'i-, ' ffxxa .X '- n i ' L .fa n v. I ' O I , ' r' T. 'L 'vii' .f-cf-:.v.3z ,-1 If' i DOROTHY MARIE OERTING MARIORIE ELLIN OKES The secret of success is constancy to purpose. D10-51 1-Six? G'-S, Q 1-.MVS fx, XS: JJ. L1 ' 1 -Q ' .1',M1'.-si g t3 :fig .9 livtjt :Hall . Dx-N i I A 2-A-nhfn v . s X N 1 tn. L ' - - ,L :Af ' , - o ' ' . 'fl '. ' '- ALICE LOUISE ORME NADINE GENET SMITH A17ectionate, compassionate, The WOFMVK 51 if'2C'Hl1'C', fluid as nature. the earth a stage. THE FLAME 13 Energy is eternaf delight. f N CAROLYN KEMPER STOLTZE SIDNEY LOUISE STRONGE A little rebellion noaf and A merry heart hath then is a good thing. a continual feast. SHIRLEY IRVINI2 WRIGHT The pen is the tongue of the mind. 14 THE FLAME THE FLAME WHo's WHO? SEE P. 70 '31-or N9-QQ the PPOCCSSIOHHI Ywlsa 46,5967 -3. QMAN Qxmxmmwx ,DZ AW-'V5'v0h C531 evo-msz, T: VWIJ-'S-'vf' QSLJ-S ,nN.,.3: oo:-J..'a.usN 5 Cbvvv N-N1-wx xx X. Ykgsvw xkkaojq 5, Q40-o Qovvi-vwx X'Of-'-Dex. -Rc S m VN'L'x.w Lk'2CJJL -S vv-D-xx. ek,-s.k.Q.QS- XO ,zo kkwvh Q4.Qa.u..L ii 'S EE MARGARET ANN BARBER SYLVIA BURNS CONNIE CATH-:ART HELEN CLARK DOROTHY COUNTRYINIAN EVELYN CROOKS MARNIE CUDWORTH DEBORAH DONNELLY DME ENGELBERT THE FLAME FORM V BETTY HOLINIES VIRGINIA KINKEAD EMMY LOU LEVY NANCY MAIRS POLLY NYE BETTY ANN PARSONS MONNIE RUSSELL HARRIET STRINGER IEAN WEST ANIITY ALEXANDER PATTY APPEL FORM IV WILLETTE BACON VIRGINIA CLARK KATE DAVIDSON PEGGY DRIscoI.L CATHERINE DIYNNING NANCY GAVER VIRGINIA GREGG BARBARA LYLE HOPE MACARTNEY ANNE ZIESMER BRIDGET HASTINGS, not in piclurc THE FLAME NANCY Amus BARBATQA BAER BLTTY B.xNc11uwT FORM III IVIARY ELSINGER PI'lm1aN13 GRANT CYNTHIA KIQLLIIIX' THE FLAME LOUISE Muks CILKNNA IYIILLARD ANNE Mom. EDITH NYE AI.-XRY POND ORDWAY IJORIS I205IiNlHBl.'l'Z SALLY SLIABURY SALLIH STULTZE I I J. IACQUELINE APPEL LORENA AYERS IANE BAIRD SALLY ANN BRONSTIEN DEBKJRAH BUTLER SUSAN CAMINIACK NEITTA COIINTRYMAN PATTY COURTNEY ELLEN D.AGGETT DONNA DOUGLAS SALLY FITZPATRICK CHARLOTTE GTXRBRBCHT MARY IUNE CEARDNER PATSY GIBBON MARILYN GRUBBS NANCY HARRIS A., .4 .MW A FORM II KITTY WOLEE 1 '7.,,,NM :ANNE I'I.'-.RTLEY MARTIE HOLMAN FRANCES I'llJL1NIliS LUCY IACKSON FRANKIE ISING BARBARA LANG BONNIE I..-XNGFOIQD MONA LUYTEN IEAN NIAIRS ALICE NELSON CAROL PEET MARCIA RUSSELL RATSY SINIITII NINA STEIZIFIZL MOLLX' TQIZASDALE NIILLICENT THOMPSON THE FLAME ,dw CYNTHIA HAER IEAN CARLTON ALEETA ENGELBERT FORM I DOROTHY GRIFFITH IULIANA GRIGGS M.-XIiG.ARET NILTCALF THE FLAME NANCY NEIMEYER IIJDY O,BRlLN ROX.ANNE PAPER CHARLOTTE PEET LOUISE STOLTZE C1XRf1LYN MAY, not in picture 21 V L. ALUMNOTES These are letters received in answer to notes we wrote to some of our alumnae who are in the armed service and to a few of our ex-editors and Flame-boarders. Due to limited space, we can print only excerpts from their letters. ..I love what I'm doing, namely, being a lieutenant in the WAC and Mrs. Arthur Scarlett all at once fin the Army and a Navy wife! I wonder if there's another alumna with that tagFj 'Tm stationed here in Boston at the Armed Forces Induction District, and technically, I'm executive oiiicer in the WAC Recruiting Office. It is varied and interesting work, ranging from inspecting recruiting teams stationed throughout the Greater Boston area, being responsible for their eliiciency, results and morale, to taking care of a great deal of correspondence and even swearing in the new recruits. There's never a dull moment planning rallies and making speeches, and of course, counting up the number of new enlist- ments to Fill our quota. That's Vicenta Donnelly, WAC. Then Mrs, Arthur Scarlett comes in on this, too . . . day-dreaming of her future home, not having to measure time in terms of minutes meaning years, and chalking off each new enlistee as one more possibility in bringing this all to an end sooner. Much luck to all of you at Summit. LT. VICENTA D. SCARLETT Boston, Mars. You asked what I was doing, so here goes . . . I am driving a truck at Camp Elliott-officer runs morning and night, and general hauling during the day. It's darned in eresting work and I like it. t CORP. EUNICE L. RANK Waman': Marine Corp: Camp Elliott, Calif. . . . There isn't much to tell. The most sensational thing that's occurred lately has been my gradua- tion from 'rookie' to WAC. This amazing transition takes about six weeks in the Women's Army. For six weeks you strain forward with your eye ever on the end of 'Basic,' and when that day comes, you sit with much long face and look very glum as you realize you've enjoyed every minute and you Wish it weren't over. At the same time, you get a funny, creepy, chilly sensation as you wonder what your 'orders' will be .... I can't describe possibly how it feels to have those huge silver planes land and take off at your back door or how good it is to be in uniform and doing what we're all doing .... It's a good life, a satisfying life. The people are swell and all have one great common bond, an all-consuming desire to win the war tomorrow. PVT. Mfmjoiziia CPEGGYD WEST WAC Detachment Gore Field, Montana . . Right now I'm without crew or driver. What to do! I just got a telegram that the driver wouldn't he back until Sundayg if it isn't one thing it's another in this game .... Life is much gayer here than it was in Newport, but it's a little more hectic and right now it's very confusing-but a lot of fun. The local gentry, or what have you, have had a couple of dances which were loads of fun. It's quite funny, out in the country there is a shortage of women, there being the American Army to draw from for males, Tough? The bus broke down last week and we had to drive her into London. No bombing that night, thank heavens, all was serene and peaceful, and I got a hot bath in a hot bathroom, which is delightful for a change .... HELGA FREEMAN The American Red Cros: Somewhere in England THE' FLAME 23 Washington in wartime is not glamorous. It is a city infested with people who do their job, unim- portant as it may seem, to the best of their ability. Most of my friends and I hate what we are doing, . . .but these are jobs that must be done in order to gain a peace of mind for us and our children .... Mine is a job of monotonous accuracy as are most jobs here in Washington. Typing, filingg Filing, typing. Sometimes there is enough Work for ten people, sometimes not enough for one. But somehow, the spirit keeps high, for I feel what little I can do, I must do. JERRY Woon Washinglon, D. C. I'm having lots of fun being a housewife and can look faintly amused when people say, 'What do you do all day?' I go down to the Red Cross on Mondays with the other goodwives and roll bandages and handy bits of gossip and click my tongue over young Mrs. So-and-So who doesn't save her kitchen fat, and compare my dishpan hands with Lt. Birch's wife and exchange recipes with the Colonel's wife. MARY WRIGHT HINES Indianapolis, Imliana . . . As far as the ex-ed of the Flame goes, she is still majoring in English, hopefully the creative Writing part, with perhaps an emphasis on Irish literature frah rahj thrown in, if possible. She is also, through some mad relapse on the part of the English department, on the reportorial staff of the new newspaper, the Vaxsar Chronical .... I'm turning into a little library mole who burrows all day long in hooks, looking up obscure facts to write long, involved, scholarly, but intensely uninteresting theses on. . . . Oh, yes, another assetg West Point is only a few miles away, and the cadets are darling, and it's easy to get there provided you have 'fricndsf New York isn't far, two hours by train, and the Biltmore has special rates for students. Every week people flock in. You always know some one. lt's great fun. CLELIA THOMPSON Vasxar College lThough she's too modest to say so, Clee has just been elected president of her house.l Last week I Went to Myrus, the mind reader and teller of the future. He told me that my writing would be my main interest and that I should devote most of my time and effort to it-I AM. He told me not to stop working with my voice because it would be a good hobby and lots of fun- I AGREED. He also told me that I wouldn't be married for at least three or four years-I ASSURED HIM THAT HE WAS ABSOLUTELY CORRECT. Good luck with the Flame and put my name down for a copy. Everyone here was very impressed with my last year's one. ANDY HUNTER Sarah Lawrence College . . . College life is going on about as usual. Yesterday the 'carpenter' had a bath in the tub. The carpenter, in case you are in doubt, is the Gridley dog, so named because of the odd jobs he does about the dorm. I am sorry to say that the scented shampoo didn't do much toward improving his smell .... Then, of course, there are those things connected with college life that we don't care to mention, such as term papers .... I have picked a very good topic falthough the fact that there is no material on it does prove a disadvantagejf' I CYNTHIA DAVIDSON Carleton College 24 THE FLAME mf. N Nh qv -Q. 2 -' f 1' il' warm : f uunn as -4- ,qy 1- '40 ' 146 , ? ' 1 C 1 1 I ,- 7: '. r X r 1 .4 , s- -ez .FQ sag: iq., -. 4 n f .,.. n'4lG ' v- ,Msg f 'H 'WSG .Eh i -l-4-m.J7'I pd? 'UNO' ,,,,..iv: v L , 35A ., ,U ,.hT.. , A ,. ,...., y ' ab! .M- '4' lg' . -Arr-'ini ,,.., FF h 74, . Tung., V 1, ?k:h!.- ' ' ' A 1. ' . , . 9 . 1 . sf AFTERMATH HE pleasant scent of flowers perfumed the room and drifted up my nose, a fitting greeting for the day after my sister's wedding. I yawned wide, filling my lungs with the sweet fragrance, then with a stretch I found the piece of wedding cake under my pillow. The room was dark with the shades drawn, and the wind through the open window made the curtains blow, I got up to close the window and then looked around me. There was the empty wedding dress thrown on the other bed, its train in a lump on the floor. Quite a change had come over it since yesterday when it had been pressed and pampered like a baby, then carefully enfolded in a white sheet awaiting its debut. The shoes, too, were deserted in front of the chair in the exact place where they had been hurriedly taken off. Beside them in a long box were the remains of the two bou- quets, now completely dead, in no way showing their past beauty. Yes, that shriveled up, white object was the bride's bouquet that I had caught and clutched as if my life depended on it. I started down to get my breakfast but stopped at the head of the stairs recalling the feeling we three had had on that very spot, not twenty-four hours before, as we heard the opening chorus of Lohengrin. Would I ever be able to start down the stairs without thinking of that? The banisters were still decked with greenery, and, as I went down, the fragrance of the Howers became stronger and stronger. At the bottom of the stairs the two wide ribbons that had served as the aisle lay in disorder on the floor, mixing with the rice which made a path to the front door, There was not a piece of furniture downstairs. For the first time the house appeared to be really too big for us, like an empty assembly hall. There was such a queer feeling of space all around it. The two white pillar-like candlesticks at one end were the only furnishings in the living room. The flowers draped on the white pillars and mantel still looked fresh. I sat on the floor remembering all the details of the last evening. Was it true- could the house in one moment have been so full of people and excitement, and then in the next be so barren of everything? Could this wedding for which we had worked and planned so long suddenly be completely over? Had it come and gone? The proof was all around me: cigarette butts, a lost earring, crumbs of cake on the floor- I looked in the dining room, there was the wedding cake on the side table with several slices out of it. It wasn't just a beautiful showpiece in Ramaley's window, but it was ours, it belonged in our house. The kitchen the day before had been a hive of excitement with cateresses bustling about at their jobs. Now it had become quiet, the wedding was over. The night before we had been like birds in a cage without a private niche anywhere in the house. But now, take your pick-every room was empty and drained of life. I found myself automatically wandering to the piano, but it was gone as was every- thing in the house. Slowly I climbed the stairs, stopping at the place where Centie had thrown her bouquet. I picked up a trampled piece of flower and a few grains of rice from the step and then finished climbing. This pair of memories I put under the loose tile in the bathroom, which, on a special occasion, I once had autographed. Now I only allow myself to lift it about once a year. Here I again came to the dark bedroom where the wedding dress still lay in a forgotten lump. An empty, lifeless, lump-just as the house and I felt after the wedding. DEBBIE DONNELLY, Form V LITERARY THE FLAME sl MY TEMPURARY JOB IN STATIONERY T WAS 8:20 by the jewelry store clock. I was early again. I hated to be early be- cause it meant that I had to be in the store ten minutes longer than I was being paid for. It wasn't that I minded particularlyg it wasjust the principle of the thing. There wasn't time to take a walk around the block the way I uslially didg so I marched self- consciously past the men who were waiting for the doors to open and pushed past the Closed sign. Being able to go right in by this sign always gave me a little lift. I marched down the center row of books, glancing at the stacks of The Song of Bernadette as I passed. I wondered why anyone couldn't just pick one up and walk oH with it. However, I never satisfied my curiosity by experimenting. No matter how early I got there, Mr. Read was always ahead of me. I spoke the conventional, Good morning at him from the front of the department but received no response. The time clock now registered 8:25. I always regarded it with great respect and ad- miration. How could anyone ever-'have invented such an intelligent machine? I tried to figure how it could possibly work, and how any inanimate object could be so accurate. I counted all the places on my time card where I had punched in the wrong spot. Each one would cost me a dime. The money was to go to some fund or other. With great care I dropped the card into the punching slot. I grasped the handle and pulled it down fearlessly. The little hell dinged, so I knew that all was well. Near the clock there was a sign that always fascinated me. It said No Smoking in ten languages. The only two I knew'were English and French. The one consolation I received at this revelation of my ignorance was that I would have known Latin if it had been there. However, I did grasp the idea that smoking was not allowed. Having mused over the fascinating sign, I drifted over to the desk where people sit when they order stationery. The glass was full of fingerprints, so I knew that as soon as 8:30 arrived I would have to polish that and the counters, too. I flopped down and hoped that it Wouldn't be too hot a day. It really didn't make much difference, though. No matter how cool and breezy it might get outside, the atmosphere in our department always remained the same. Then I started thinking about what the other girls would be doing today. This thought was always fatal to my good humor. I could see them diving into an ice-cold lake after a hard set of tennis. I imagined Happy sailing our X-boat on the rippled water. This thought was too much. I decided then and there that I would walk right out of the store and grab the bus for the lake. At this point, however, a great big dollar sign popped up in front of my eyes and changed my mind for me. In this depressed mood I slouched on the desk and watched the smart clerks in their black dresses and pumps file by with clicking heels. With disgust I pictured myself in my simple cotton dress and strollers. The thought was appalling. I was startled out of my self-contemplation by the mournful clanging of the 8:30 bell. My heart sank as I spotted the first unwelcome customer strolling nonchalantly past the book departmengrunmindful of the agony he was causing. Reluctantly I hoisted myself out of my chair, and ambled over to him. I said in a voice which I hoped sounded more cheerful than I felt, May I help you? This was always a rather stupid question for me to ask, for I knew perfectly well that I wouldn't know where what he wanted Was, or if we had it, or probably I wouldn't even know what he was talking about. He asked for vertical, redrope file folders, legal size. I was stumped again. In a professional voice I replied that I would see, and I hurried over to a more capable clerk with my troubles. She took the customer, and I started my difficult task of dusting. s MARY STRINGER Form VI 26 THE FLAME A TRAIN OF THOUGHT ERE he comes. Here he comes again, Mommy! The little girl across the aisle dived into the pile of magazines and packed sandwiches on her mother's lap. It's all right, dearieg he's only the porter, was the expressionless reply of her mother, who still sat engrossed in her reading. The porter passed us, grinning brightly at the little girl whose look of fear gradually became a peering look of curiosity. Mommy, why are his teeth so big? Hmm? Mommy, why .... I lost track of their one-sided conversation and glanced back down at my French book. Ie l'ouis dire 5 fnote l, page 67j. I had looked at the note twice before and now had forgotten again what it said. It wasn't easy to do your homework on the train with a football broadcast blaring at one end of the car and a spirited bridge game in full swing two chairs away. Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate, I said to myself severely. Now the clattering train wheels seemed to echo my words. For several miles I gazed at the paragraph of French before me without trying to comprehend it. I looked up sud- denly as I felt the train begin to slow down. No lurching forward or screeching of brakes announced the train's halt in front of a small, modern, stone depot. The only sounds were the hissing of the air brakes and the shouting of porters. A door slammed, and several moments later a chilly gust of air wrapped itself around my legs and then disappeared. An army officer and a priest entered our car and came toward the two empty seats near mine. The grinning porter followed them with a small army satchel, which he set down beneath one of the chairs. Tipping the porter, the oflicer slowly sat down with somewhat studied ease. He took a packet of small white cards from his satchel when the train started up again and began to turn them over one by one as if studying them. I leaned forward and found that Iapanese or Chinese writing of some 'sort was printed on one side of each card and the translation was on the other. I bent closer and could hear him softly mut- tering unintelligible phrases. He seemed to be trying his will power to the very utmost by not allowing himself to look at the translation of each phrase, and several times a look of satisfaction smoothed the wrinkles of worry from his mouth and forehead. The train suddenly swung around a bend, and my head and shoulders jerked violently forward, hitting the ofIicer's hand and knocking the packet of cards from his grasp. He must have known that I had been staring over his shoulder, for he looked quickly around, and then bent over to pick up the scattered cards. Without thinking to help him, I quickly drew back into my chair and stared at my French book. He then saw that I was embarrassed, for he chuckled softly and settled back into his chair, looking at his watch. Excuse me, I said finally. He chuckled again, this time with his eyes closed. Perfectly all right, he answered. My French seemed easier after that, and I lost all track of the noise about me and the sky and trees darting past outside. My concentration lasted until I turned the page. Then my attention was caught by a crackling noise several chairs away. A tall, heavy- hipped lady was opening a box of candy. She carefully bunched the wrappings into a ball and placed it under her chair. Slowly drawing the cover from the box, she peered for a moment at the array of chocolates and caramels and then selected a brown square that looked like fudge. The candy disappeared into her mouth and was chewed thor- oughly with thoughtful, vigorous chin movements. The eyes of the little girl across the aisle, like mine, I supposed, were Fixed First upon the candy box and then upon the ladyls mouth. The box was then recovered and placed snugly between the arm of the Pullman chair and the lady's hip. THE FLAME 27 I felt uncomfortably hungry and turned, frowning, to look outside. It had suddenly become much darker, and the red undersides of the clouds were obscured by the thick black coil of smoke, that twisted back from the engine and hung endlessly outside my window. Then once more I felt the train's speed begin to lessen. The smoothness was less evident and the clacking of the wheels became more and more distinct. Green and red lights flashed by, first quickly and then more lingeringly, until we stopped completely beneath the bright glare of several lights. St. Paul. St. Paul, shouted the porter, seizing his whiskbroom. I reached above my chair for my coat and purse. My coat was wrinkled and no amount of brushing by the porter improved its appearance. I collected my books and noticed that my French book was gone. I looked quickly about on the floor and under the seats. Someone tapped my shoulder then and asked, Are you looking for this? There was the army oflicer holding my French book out to me. We both laughed and he placed it on top of my other books. I started down the aisle and heard him say, Good-bye. Good-bye, I answered, following the porter. Gnonom RAY Form VI JE NE SUIS PAS SEULE OUT est paix et tranquillite dans la maison. Personne ne me dit bonjour quand j'entre. Tous les meubles sont en place, les coussins des chaises sont encore tout boufhs--personne ne s'y est assis. Peut-etre me pensez-vous triste dans ma solitude. Ne prodiguez pas votre sympathie. Ie ne le suis pas. Au contraire, ma chambre a coucher est tres bien peuplee, j'y ai quantitie d'amis qui m'y attendent. I'anticipe toujours le plaisir de les revoir. Peut-etre aimeriez-vous que jc vous les presente. Ie ne crois pas qu'ils en soient faches. Ie vous parlerai donc d'abord du plus gros de tous. Il a vraiment les oreilles grandes, mais on dit que c'est un signe de generosite, il a des moustaches, mais cela ne m'ennuie pas, ses grands yeux bleus sont toujours aux aguets. Il s'appelle .... Horatio. Passons au numero deux, celui-ci est doux, aimable, c'est un blanc. Son parler est un peu monotone et sa voix chevrotante, mais c'est sans doute parce qu'il devient vieux. Il faut respecter le vieil age. C'est Mervin. Et voila mon petit negre, Horner. Lui aussi a de grandes oreilles, mais elles sont pendantcs. Ete comme hiver, il est toujours habille de noir dans son long manteau de fourrure. Facilement content et toujours de bonne humeur. Ses yeux semblent etre en verre, mais cela ne les empechent pas d'etre affectueux et doux. Quant a mon prochain ami, il est en meme temps petit et grand. Sa tete est perchee sur un long cou. Ie n'ai jamais entendu la voix de mon ami, Wilbur. Et maintenant Ethcliff, il est natif de Perse, jaune, doux, et aime se promener la nuit sur les toits des maisons voisines. Mais faisons treve a ce bavardage--car vous avez certainement devine ma plaisantrie. Horatio est mon grand lapin, Mervin mon agneau cheri, Homer, mon chien 21 longs poils noirs. Mon ami it long cou est Wilbur, la giraffe. Quant at Ethcliff, c'est un chat de Perse. Voila donc ceux qui chassent les papillons noirs et sont de bonne compagnie. Neanmoins, pour moi, ce n'est pas une plaisanterie, parce qu'il n'y a rien de mieux que des amis silencieux, car ils sont toujours prets a recevoir mes confidences, a en garder le secret, ct a ne pas m'ennuyer de leurs conseils. Ils acceptent mes paroles sans les ques- tionner et si je veux leur consentement je suis toujours sure de l'obtenir. Sans crainte de les voir changer, je n'ai pas at rn'ajuster il leurs nouveaux caprices. Ils seront la demain comme ils eaient la hier. Ie changerai sans doute avec les annees mais eux ils me com- prcndront toujours, et patageront mes joies et mes tristesses. Manjonus Oxns Form VI 28 THE FLAME SUNDAY SERMON HE Sunday hymn rose up in a solid column and filled out the nave. The choir boys shifted from foot to foot for stronger purchase on the last verse, their hair and their cardboard music folders shining blue and red from the window behind them. To their stately Amen Father Hilton lifted his head and looked down over his congregation. Across his chest, above the frosty surplice, shone an arc of carmineg from his left cuff a white handkerchief and a silver watch band winked as he lifted his arm. He began to speak before the Amen had quite settled down, starting with Our scripture for this morning, as he should. I leaned backwards curving myself as com- fortably as possible against the hard wood with the ridge rubbing my shoulders, and watched his black head turn blue and amber when he ducked it at the end of Cor- inthiansf' I sighed, but very quietly. Such a homely brown face with tired black eye- brows and a stubborn nose with the bump in the wrong place. His straight black mouth had crooked corners when he shut it tightly to let his St, Paul was really a remark- able old fellow get all the way back to the vestry. Mother, noticing my very quiet sigh, smiled, looking straight ahead. For now we see through a glass darklyf' His square shoulders pushed far forward from the brown velvet hanging behind him, and his square hands jerked up and out- ward over the pulpit. He looked like a brownie with his wide face and crooked smile. He poached hares on the lord's estates when he was a boy, I decided. On the lord's estates in England-he could only have come from England. He spoke till blue and red snakes had crawled all the way around the pillar in front of me. His short black and white figure bobbed forward to bring home the most im- portant points. Once he closed his eyes as if seeking inspiration and ran his finger over his forehead and then down to his chin, which he grasped tightly, opening his eyes wide to see if we were all listening. With his left hand rigid, one finger pointing, he swept the whole nave with a statement, or threw his head back and cocked one eyebrow until be found the word he wanted. Once a car hummed by, even honked, and then hurried away, ashamed. The choir and the organ pipes above them were steeped in mystic purple. For now we see through a glass darkly. He threw his arms wide, stiff as rough wood. His sharp dark face lost its goblin look. No car dared to go by, no one moved. He turned suddenly, clasping his hands, dropping his head in a tired nod, climbed down from the pulpit to the chorus of rustling music. Hymn two sixty-three. The choir boys had disappeared from the vestry, and most of the congregation had scattered by the time Mother and I reached the steps. But the Reverend Benjamin Hil- ton, D.D., was standing on the steps shaking hands with the last old ladies who usually came to church only on Easter. He looked small and tired and a little shy, not the way he had looked singing hymns with his brown face tilted up to the stained glass window. His hand was warm and so wide I didn't try to shake it. His eyes, blue and green and amber, were light as frosted glass. Then Mother and I were pushed past him to the sidewalk with the remnants of the congregation scattered around us. Looking back, I could just see his black head buried in the white ones around him. It was a wonderful sermon, Mother, I said. SYLviA BURNS Form V i M NM- 'W ' gx I . ' N ! THE FLAME Mu X X 1l?m4:Ki:NN ffff, X 'Xi 1 y ff ws f , U f A , .- .. -. ,,. ' -' ' ,f --Q Q Q, ' XX ' X 1 ., ,f -,- ' .4 t, I .. W 5 PI' i ' -I W , ' ' I ' f' 43 '-' - -4+ ---A 1 Q - Y ,V --ps ' ., lil! , . , F c. - ' U . ' fi- - . , --.5-,,'P-.1 r--3 ' I- Y W l X- . . ':- -1 .fr , . QQ f I' ' ' nf' 1- H - ' ff es X. X X - ' - K I Y' , , P .. I 7 f 'f . f fv- ff i we - - I ,IX ff fff ,ff , NX 3-X -,x- , 5 . ,. , 0 , X . f a V , X Xxx ks X Q , 1 . .- s .hr 35, ' ' ' BROTHER BBAT ANG, goes the front door! Plop, goes a dirty jacket on the floor! Stamp, stamp, stamp, goes the mud across the rug! Iohn, come back here this instant and wipe your feet and hang up your jacket! Aw, go boil in oilf' Such is the typical entrance of his lordship, Brother Brat, around five o'clock. For the next hour and a half one at last finds out how Terry and the Pirates have trapped Baron Vondle Vooglevidor into telling where the new Nazi secret weapon is hidden, or how The Lone Ranger has helped Mary Iones and her poor old crippled father from losing the Lonesome Bar Ranch to that swindler, Old Man Mosby. If dinner is called before these thrilling tales of adventure are over, one has the great pleasure of not seeing his lordship at the table. When Brother Brat is sick, everyone must stop whatever he is doing and play card games with him. The current favorite is thirty-one, which we can all play in our sleep if necessary. When he gets angry, everything from a bread knife to an ash tray is hurled with not-too-good accuracy at the cringing victim. He gets angry at such things as: who reads the funnies Hrst, who finishes that last drop of chocolate milk, who gets the piece of candy that's a fraction of an inch larger than the rest. In spite of all his annoying qualities, he's really not bad. When you haven't anything else to do, he's fun, and life would be very quiet and dull without him. SALLY SEABURY Form III I PEHSUNALITY PLUS ICHAEL RED PARTICULAR is a fine Irish Terrier with his grouchy or bored or blusteringly happy moods. He is a perfect specimen of his kind, except his legs are too short, his tail too long, and he has the seven-year itch, not fleas! His bad qualities seem more obvious than his good, but his wonderful personality and his non- stop tail make up for the bad, and more. One of his numerous moods shows up when he is taking one of his very rare baths. He is particularly annoying at this time, for when he sees me hauling out his bathtub and starting to Hll it, he seems to disappear into thin air, any one of a dozen places hard to find. I have to search laboriously every place that a dog would want to hide. When at last I find him, I pick him up and carry all of his twenty-five pounds to the tub. Plop! He is dumped into the water, and as I reach for the soap, he leaps out, waits just long enough to shake himself and make me thoroughly wet, then scampers off to some dark corner. That is his most aggravating mood! Another of his moods, which is funny to watch but most perturbing, shows up when we drag out the camera and start mauling him. He first acts self-conscious, then he puts on an air of supreme haughtiness and complete boredom. When acting haughty, he is so unnatural that nobody would ever recognize him. He is determined to irritate us, so he persists in rolling over. The more we work, the angrier he gets, so we usually give up. Sometimes we catch him unaware and get a beautiful picture of Michael Red Particular himself. His most uproarious mood is just before supper when he is very hungry and tries exceedingly hard to act appealing and get my attention. He prances about chasing his tail and making a great commotion. Then as a last resort, he barks and barks and barks until I resignedly leave the funny papers and follow his leaps and bounds to the kitchen. He is an irresistible brat. SALLIE S'ror.'rzE Form III 30 THE FLAME THERE COMES A TIME WHEN- T HAS always been hard for me to describe Ioey, for I often try by myself, but in- evitably I fail. One reason, I think, for this failure is that he is my brother, and when one has lived with a person any length of time, that person's appearance and char- acteristics become a set picture in one's mind, of familiarity and naturalness, and his presence is taken quite for granted. Ioey was always a semi-detached part of my thoughts or activities, though I was probably quite unconscious of it. I never bothered to think any differently about him nor to analyze his character, since he was simplyimy brother, which meant we lived together, played together, fought together, and were punished together. We understood each other as well as a brother and sister could and forgot any quarrels or lights the next day. Whenever he would let me, I would help him build tree-houses and pop-stands, or melt lead and pour it into little molds resembling soldiers, but always I depended on him for practical, selfish reasons of amusement or conspiracy. Then in an indefinite and relatively unimportant period of my own life came the change which puzzled and troubled me for a long time. It was our last summer at the lake when I became aware of a difference in our relationship. It began to bother me terribly to find on getting up in the mornings that Ioey had inevitably arisen earlier and gone crow and hawk hunting, not to return till late afternoon, or else he had spent the day fishing with the young University student next door. I certainly did not mind his being away from home all day. He had been away on trips, visits, and on day-jobs often enough before, so it wasn't that I missed him. There was an unexplainable manner he always had when returning from these expedi- tions which puzzled me. I noticed that he laughed at us, his sisters, rather than with us as he used to. He did not speak much at mealtimes, unless it was to tease me or to make comments about our behavior, then he would retreat to his room, reading a book or cleaning his guns into the late hours at night. He read constantly, I know, because Mother would have long talks with Ioey about late reading and its influence on health. As the summer advanced, I became more troubled and perhaps a little annoyed with his new mood. He seldom acknowledged me, and only when we were all swimming, did he relax into his carefree style and laugh in his old way. He behaved normally to the rest of the family and to me, outwardly, but I was aware of being gently ignored. I would often watch him shooting crows and later oiling his gun with a rhythmic caress. Determined to learn how to shoot and perhaps to bag a crow the lirst time myself, so that he would be prompted to take me on some of his expeditions, I persuaded him to teach me, using his old twenty-two. Furious and impatient at not being able to master shooting the first time, I ran home, my eyes hurting from the tears, all the time seeing him standing patiently with that knowing smile which I resented so much. One day, when Ioey had disappeared, as usual, into the dense pine woods behind our cabin, I set out to find him. I followed the barely-visible logging trail into the woods, picking my way around the poison-ivy clumps. When the trail ended, I knew I had arrived at the major part of the woods. Selecting one of a number of deer paths, I started blithely on my search. Wandering from converging path to converging path, leaping over dead logs camoullaged with heavy moss, and crawling under low over- hangings, I proceeded to penetrate more deeply than I ever had thought of before. I was not frightened, because I had a purpose which occupied my mind, this purpose was to Hnd Ioey and prove my prowess. Suddenly, in this blind fashion, I came out on a small, sunny clearing and perceived, to my great joy, that Ioey was lying on his back, his rifle leaning against a nearby pine. In that instant I was reminded of a time in our distant childhood when roaming through the botanical Caixa da Agua, a beautiful but opaque park characterized by dark, overhanging tropical trees and plants, we stumbled, in like manner, out onto a warm, open meadow. Ioey wanted very much to cross that meadow, which he did, not heeding my pleas to the contrary, based on the possibility of hidden THE FLAME 31 snakes. I remembered how far away he seemed waving to me from across the meadow. A troubled sadness came over me suddenly as I thought of this incident, and I bit my lip hard as I came up to him. Ioey leaped to his feet quite dazed. Ye gods, girl! What made you come into the woods without a compass? Does Mother know you're here? What made you do it, anyway? You might've been lost for days! I was relieved to iind that at least he wasn't angered about my finding his hide- out, for by this time I had discerned a small lean-to formed by three or four planks fastened together between two stalwart pines. I gave my answer, and he seemed to calm down after a bit more anxious questioning. After a while, he relapsed, satisfied, into the position in which I had first found him. Awkwardly kicking my sandal against a stump, I finally bolstered up enough courage to ask him: What are you doing? Thinking. uohja For seemingly hours I sat watching the tall Norway pines stretching and swaying in the wind, and I began absent-mindedly contrasting their pinkish-brown bark with the chocolate-tan of Ioey's skin. I moved restlessly. What about? About life-and no life. About how good it is to be alone without people-or civilization-for a while, and just plain about the sky, the wind, and the trees. Seeing my troubled expression, he smiled a sad, knowing sort of smile. But of course you're too young and wouldn't understand any of this. THE FRENCH POODLE A kinky brow of blackest hue Surmounts a magisterial frown. A dog to pay one's homage to, Who from her queenly pose looks down. One paw before the other placed With most meticulous precision, Her knees, in furry pompons cased, Must artfully avoid collision. A sheeplike muffler 'round her throat Protects her from the slightest breeze, And yet, her rear, without a coat, Throughout the winter months must freeze. She owns a lengthy pedigree, Resplendent, full of champions, And therefore snubs disdainfully All mongrels, curs, or vagrant ones. MARY BRIGGS Form VI Q CHARLOTTE F1'rzPA'r1ucx Form VI BEFORE AND AFTER I used to be scared of the wind in the trees I thought it might be a ghost. Then I was scared of a puppy's sneeze, When it came from behind a post. But now I love the wind in the trees, Especially the rustle of pine. And there's something nice in a puppy's sneeze Especially if puppy is mine. NINA Srnsrm. Form Il SYMPATHY His ship was sunk. That's all you said, But what was there that I could say? There are no words For things like that, So silently I looked away. My thoughts were there- Without a word I gave you sympathy that day. MARKELL Bnooxs Form VI THEFLAME IVU1N': ' 'ff f .- -' 1-Wu: ' ' - vvvfw V, . f. M ff ' 'F -Q-We -.f-fm'-Wm-f . , r: ' .H -, ul? -1, mfg..-.,.. . ' Y' --L rl 'A..mA,. ug-i ----'Tf '.yF,LHw- k , , ., A , , ,f '- '?'f, , , - Ekbggfn -,,r-,3qx,.4.' --,:,-51:59, ,-X-,Viz-..- : 2 ' i ' 2 ' -ff-v wff . ,.,,..-. S I I 'I U v1t.'5 r?1 J XQQSJ N : -i',:'ffT:--E ' if ' Sf :'--342553 f ifg-i l x ' ... .- ' , , 3.1: .frm '- ,- A '3'f lv ' ' . 51552, rM,:1iiY65 'W ' N 'T W , gb X 1 ,A . . X XX N. 'A- 2 'A .w4 '-TBVAE? w ar ci: I X . I I E ,Q . I . AB ,L V, 3 1 'wb ' vf x f. Ui ' A ,B ,L ', . ,I H512 'K wk, 1 ak-,T Q.. L L.:f.'?1'f'-Qg.5fQ?4114.4 ff - 7+f'..'f.5 ff'.'ft,.f-.1-g. : ' . , Lf A x. A' , ff 7- E. if ' ...gss.q'f,..:f- 1'-y,gy'1 ,W D A ,., A. Q52 QS 3 51 W' ' I -if 23:31 j., ' F , Y. A., , 1 - fp . Q --fl-H-11-If--f.aa 1 4313.'S'-r'f-12 f,44fVhiQ?h txi w I., ix mv ' 45 J, Q f ' f 1' ' H ,- Aff'- 4 if - Ac . H ff! . ta' , -,. ' :',.J 5:11, X ,. Q' N - nf.-1. X ' ' ' '-.Z,,u 3 W 3' ' x , 4 X- 1 f 9 Bidi' 'X,g,,,4 x 1- ig. ' ' ' 1 - 4, f w i, ' N' -45-4 ki 1 - ' . , 1.623 -.4 1' psy. ,Q 1 -A gy., v 5:2 Qc, 1 ,WP H 1- 1: .,, P kmnrzjvqi ' .W .33 , ,M,,,. ,Z fl 352-gy., ,Fil - r-I - 4 -as 'flag f.. Af. .. I ' -, .A , - were we f V4 ggi 'Q f? 'Q ' f . U-,ir 1: ji- 3 A' 1 'Z ai? A' ' x , ll , -' '1 .I - N ::,f.-V M a- -gy.. , t. ' iiij.-L b ui , '-for . -W, , iq, ,. ,, his ' .3 ' fp ' is i .fv-:Q : 1:5 F'-'nhl' ' jj-p' 'i?.j F? .:- 'ta' . , A nn i i i 'V ,--5 - H , ' N-if-'-JL '-1-waning Hifi-1'--f ' w ... -...- W ..kgA,.-.-- fu., .ML .4 V 77 THE SMALL BEER f Characters suggested by the series of books by S. S. van Dinej HERE was only white snow through the window of Murphy's saloon, slurred once in a while by the black blob of a hat bobbing by, or the red splash of the neon sign across the street. Inside, the whole room was wrapped up in the smell of beer that had grown sweet from splashing onto the wooden tables and sinking in to stay. Murphy him- self, presiding behind the bar, plunked a siphon bottle down by his best brand of Scotch and nodded across at his two customers. Lord a'mighty, I'd like to have seen that shooting, he announced. Detective Hennessy took custody of the Sf-nn-h with his huge right hand and grimly shook his head. No, Murph, it wasn't no picnic. That's one mob I'd just as soon do without. We were lucky to get rid of as many of 'em as we did. Detective Snitkin set his glass down with a ping like a rifle shot. An' we never would've trapped those guys without the Sergeant,'l he added. They were hidin' up a blind alley with us shootin' at 'em from behind parked cars. Looked like we'd be there till next Easter, too. But then the Sergeant, he just stands up shrugging his shoulders, an' he starts walking up the alley, calm as you please, with both guns loaded full. Well, I guess he must've surprised 'em sure, because the whole gang of 'em started leaning out of windows and jumping up from behind packing boxes to take a potshot at the Sarge, and just like huntin' ducks, we can knock 'em off. lust goes to show what I've always claimed about the Sergeant, declared Murphy. Guts, just plain guts. Say, is he coming here to play tonight? Snitkin raised his eyes from counting the worm holes in the bar. Who, the Sergeant? Yeah, I suppose he'll come. Unless maybe-no, I guess he won't. What's the matter with him? asked Murph. I don't get that guy sometimes. Well, I tell you, I don't want to say anything, or let it get talked around by the boys. I don't know for sure, you understand. But, anyway, it's just since he got married. Hey, shut up,', growled Hennessy. Here he comes. A hat appeared in the corner of Murphy's window. The door trembled and then pushed open. Hello, Murph. I wish it'd quit snowingf' Sergeant Ernest Heath stamped forward, shedding snow and brushing his arms. He brought the smell of Christmas trees with him, clinging close to him like the snow on his overcoat, and making the beer smell bitter. That's okay, Hennessy, sit down. Murphy's round, red face glowed with pride and pleasure. He began to dig for the brand of Scotch that nobody ever knew he had, setting the bottle down tenderly and beaming up at the Sergeant. A frown cast itself in the warrior wrinkles of the Sergeant's forehead, and a half apologetic smile tugged at the corners of his tight mouth. lust a little one, Murph. Then maybe a small beer. Sergeant Heath's big, square shoulders made the rest of him almost middle-sized, though he stood fully six feet tall. I-Ie was buttoned into his gray overcoat, straight as a soldier's statue, stiff and hard as cast iron. Are you goin' to play tonight, Sergeant? Burke'll be here, and Ben. No, I don't think so, Hennessy. I'm late now. Next time, maybef' That was sure swell this afternoon. Murph, here, wishes he'd been alongf, Thanks, Hennessy, but you couldn't have seen much, Murph. It was snowing too hard. Good night. Good night, Hennessy. A small beer, Snitkin groaned when the hat had bobbed by. Will you look at that. Time was when he'd come in here every night for a spot or two and maybe a game. THE FLAME You remember, Murph? And.now look. Can't hurry home fast enough. Yeah. Hennessy sank back to his usual monosyllables. The afternoonis excite- ment was over. Look what it does. It's pitiful, gettin' married. A swell guy like that. Best man homicide ever had. Even used to say he didn't like women. And now lookf' Snitkin's face was growing shiny andred from having come in out of the cold. Trouble is, theorized Murph, he donlt even realize it. I'd feel sorry for any guy tied down like that, but not if he don't even know it. And after what he did this after- noon. X Next time maybe he'll play poker, snorted Snitkin. Next time. Small beer, echoed Hennessy. K The snow fell quietly around Sergeant Heath walking home, but his shoes squeaked noisily with the cold. The streetlights blinked on along the curb, there was no answer from the stars. He couldn't even see the tops of houses where they cut into the sky, be- cause when he looked up, the snow drove into his eyes. Once he sighed and shrugged his great grey shoulders. Once he plowed through a cluster of leaves, lying soft and Warm together like a bowl of breakfast food under its sugar. Then at last, sloughing around the side of a chunky brick apartment house, he broke into a whistle. His row of stairs was the second from the corner, with the melted butter from a streetlamp oozing over the last three steps. The snow spurted up under his feet, the doorknob stuck to his thick leather gloves. He wrinkled his short nose at the smell of burnt paint from the radiator in the vestibule. The Hrst flight of stairs he took three steps at a time, the second with slow dignity. At the top he stood still a minute, half smiling. The door opened before he had even touched it, and his wife stopped to look at him, still holding her apron in her hands, her brown eyes open wide. Oh, darling, you're all right. Of course I'm all right. You haven't been worrying all day? He put his least snowy arm around her shoulders and bending down, he kissed her, regardless of the fact that the McGinties on the second floor might have opened their door just then. I wasn't sure, she sighed, from the way you acted this morning. But hurry, dear. Your feet must be wet, and we're having a new roast of pork for supperf' There were cottage brown potatoes beside the roast and leftover rolls from the delicatessen and new rolls from the square stove in the little red and white kitchen. The Sergeant in a warm flannel jacket sat quietly smelling applesauce and watching his wife bustling from cupboard to cupboard. the way wives should, until with a stamp he rose, caught her up as she was hurrying past the table, hugged her once, and then plunked her into her chair opposite him. The snow outside the kitchen window waited as long as it could, shelving, twisting, even trying to climb again just to look in through the red and white curtains, and it gave a soft sigh when it had sunk down too far to see the light. Sergeant I-Ieath's fierce blue eyes grew tender from looking at crumbly roast pork, and' his belligerent jaw forgot to jut out like a rock. He smiled out at the snow, and then back at his wife. She smelled like new wash in the first spring sun, he thought, and her neat brown hair was as soft as the snow. Suddenly he put down his fork. A You know, Becky, it's a little too bad. I was talking to two of the boys today, Snitkin and Hennessy-you know Hennessy. They wanted me to stay for a game. They were going to have a few drinks and then play poker. Do you know, that's all they have to do? Nothing to go to that you could really call a home. Iust Murphy's saloon until it's too late at night to be lonesome. Doesn't look like either of them will ever do anything about it-I mean get married. But I guess they don't know it. No, I suppose not. Iustithe same I feel a little sorry for them. I used to feel that way sometimes myself. He smiled at his wife, and then at the snow outside that was taking such a long time to drift past the kitchen window. SYLVIA BURNS Form V i 34 THE FLAME A HOLIDAY ' AN'T you move over, you big dope? Aw, shut up! Will not! Will tool You'll both walk from the gate if you insist on being so quarrelsome, Mrs. Stone announced with finality. Aw gosh, Ma, that's two miles, Iimmy complained. You heard me, Iimmy, Mrs. Stone replied, and I don't want to hear another word about it. Silence reigned as the old Chevrolet rattled along at a great rate. When we get to Grandma's, Ginny, let's go down and catch frogs in the pond as I did last summer. Oh, pew! Ginny made a face, and besides the pond's frozen over. We can skate, though. 'Tm Aw, you're just a big sissy! I am not. You are, too. staying in the house. Ginny turned and looked out the window. Mrs. Stone jammed on the brakes. Here we are at the gate. Climb out, please. Aw, Ma! . . ..... . Hurry up, please. I haven't got all day. Mrs. Stone left the children staring in amazement after the car. Soon it had disappeared in the distance. Gee whiz, why did we have to start the holidays this way. We'll be late for din- ner, and- Grandma won't like that. Ginny looked disgusted. It was your fault, Iirnmy accused. Was not! Was, too! Aw, shut up! They trudged along in silence. MICHAEL Michael is a little pig, But in the mud he'l1 never dig, 'Cause Michael is a cookie jar, And that's where all our cookies Michael is so cute and sweet, His clothes are always very neat, Around the waist he's very big, For Michael is a little pig. He wears a bib of lovely blue, He has some brown suspenders, too. Although he's bald, he has no wig, For Michael is a little pig. IEAN Mmns Form II THE FLAME SIC. What a way to start the holidays! Louisa Srourzn Form I SONNET ON CHRISTMAS lEVE I cannot help but think of you tonight And others who, like you, will soon be gone To distant lands and islands where they'll fight For what they think is right, against what's wrong But you will never know the word defeat, Nor any other word to that akin- Your calm determination in the heat Of battle will suffice to see you win. Believing this, I only pray for peace, That you will always have it where you go- Remember this, and it will never cease, That nothing is but thinking makes it so. If prayer is power, as so it seems to me, You yet shall fly when all the skies are free. Maru-:ELL Bnooxs Form VI 35 AUTUMN T FIRST I vigorously stamped on the leaves, gloating in my brutality as they snapped into pieces. The ones that had been blown into a pile all along the edge of the sidewalk made an especially nice crackling as I scuffed through them. I laughed at the dying leaves that hung on with all their remaining strength only inevitably to join the doomed ones I tramped over. Then a gust of wind swept past me, and the leaves came alive and hurried down the street. As they once more settled down, I, too, stopped and looked down at them more closely. Each small dried leaf was daintily curled. They were clustered together here and there as if they could get strength and safety that way against my demolishing tread. I was suddenly ashamed that I had disturbed them. The rest of the way I very carefully avoided stepping on them. It took a long time to get home because almost all the trees were bare. The house was empty except for Grandfather. He was asleep in his chair. I carried my books upstairs. My room had been too big ever since my sister went to college. It looked especially bare now. The curtains were not up yet, and outside the trees were empty, and the sky was a cold gray. I went downstairs again. The house was silent and watching, so I went outside. I thought I would walk, but I couldn't step on the leaves. I sat down on the steps and watched the people shuffle by. I thought of the dried tomato plants hanging in our basement and of the white house across the street that had its screens and shutters off and of the stupid people who walked on the dead leaves, and I already wished winter were over. I was angry with people who talk about war. What do they know about it, really? What can they know about being one little person dying because some big person lived when you wanted to live just as much as he did? I was angry that I had to worry about the war when it seemed so impossible that there could be one. I wondered what the point of living is anyway. I couldn't think of any. Any point for living or for dying. I sat for a long time on the bare stone step. Suddenly I realized I was shivering. It was growing darker and colder. I opened the door and went in. The Ere was blazing in the big hearth in the living room, giving oH heat and light that quickly spread through the whole house-and me. Roger was on his stomach in front of the fire drawing airplanes, and Grandfather was awake. In the kitchen Mother was cooking dinner, and it smelled wonderful. I was suddenly awfully hungry. Donoruv COUNTRYMAN Form V GRAMPA REMEMBER standing before the mirror in my white starched dress as Mother finished curling my hair. She added five extra curls. Whenever there was a special occasion, on went another curl or two-and today-five! This must be an important day, indeed, I thought. Turn around, darling, and let Mommie see how you look. I hope we're all ready to go now. Poor Mother! How she used to struggle to get all her darling little girlsn ready to go somewhere. Mother usually began with my eldest sister and laboriously worked her way down to meg but by the time she finished with me, the others had played with some ink or something equally bad, and it was necessary to start over again. Natu- rally I would complete the cycle by imitating my sisters. I can't quite remember how Mother ever managed to get herself dressed, unless she could have tied us all to the furniture. At any rate, we were all seated QI can't say comfortablyj in the car and finally on our way. Half ofthe space in the automobile was taken up by packages and presents. It was my grandfather's birthday. I had wrapped one gift all by myself. That must have been the one that fell apart in the lobby. Grampa lived at the St. Paul Hotel then, and this was going to be his seventy-eighth, and little did we dream his last, birthday. 36 THE FLAME 9 -v Q! 3' el? mg g . ? . K I x . - X -, e N ,.?..t-1 x. 4 -.vp , fl 'I' A- we ...:... ...lsr , , .. .. j A I-,Few g A - .S 4k..1j Daddy planned to go right from his oflice to the hotel and meet us there at four o'clock. However, Daddy knew that if he arrived at the hotel about five o'clock, we'd all make connections. Mother always had her children to use as her tardy excuse. fBut when we were all able to dress ourselves, it was the dog. Daddy would always say, 'KAren't dumb animals wonderful things? Q We parked the car without any serious catastrophe that I can remember, and we all filed into the lobby. That reminds me of the many times that the whole family got ready to go somewhere and we'd find that we had all donned the same color and resembled a study in blue or green, or whatever the color happened to be. But this time Mother had dressed us all, so no such thing happened. Come, children. That's what Mother always said when she was in a hurry, no matter whether we were all hanging on her arms or clinging to her skirts. Daddy was waiting there ready to corral us all into the elevator and up to my Grampa's room. I can remember the urge I always had to run from one end of the hall to the other. I vowed then that some day I would do it when no one would be there to stop me. Of course we all dibsed to ring his doorbell. I never said dibs with the thought that I would ever be so lucky as actually to wing I just said it because it made me feel more like one of the group. Happy Birthday, Grampaaaaaaaf' we all chimed. How about a big hug for your old Grampa? he said. I came up only to his knee, so there was nothing else for me to do but to give his knee a big squeeze. I can see Grampa sitting in his big chair now. His feet are stretched out on the footstool and the smoke from his pipe is curling around his head. Oh, his head, the top of it, I mean, was always so shiny! At first that worried me greatly, so I once asked Grampa why he didn't want hair like the rest of us. I was sent up to my room for that. We all gathered around him as he slowly opened his presents and related some little incident about his child- hood that each gift reminded him of. Grampals birthdays were great days for his four granddaughters, too. He always had a present for each of us. I still have the little glass dog that he gave me. Grampa had a collection of glass animals himself, and he wanted me to start my own. I remember how excited I became thinking that some day I might have a huge collection like Grampa's. My enthusiasm must have died out, because all I have left is that one glass dog. Grampa was happy and in good spirits when we left him. I can't remember much more about my grandfather, I was always told he was a wonderful man. I can remem- ber, though, that the next day Mother called us all into her room and told us that Grampa had died right after we had left him. He had lain down to take a rest and had died while asleep. It was funny I never felt sad about it. Maybe I just never knew him very well, or perhaps I was too small to know what death was. Mruqorma Oxns Form VI ON TOP OF THE WORLD NE last step, and I was at the top. I collapsed exhausted into a mass of heather, which was somewhat prickly but had a sweet and refreshing smell. Instead of everything being quiet, and still, as you would expect when alone on a hill, there were noises of all kinds buzzing in my ears-the faint baaaa of a distant sheep, the deep lowing of a cow, the ripple of water from the glen, and a noise of a bee busy at work trying to get his honey. Today was one of the rare days of Scotland, for it was not raining. The sun shone THE FLAME brightly, beating down on my head, although I was shaded by the long, overgrown heather. The sky was blue with not a single cloud, and I could see for miles. I lay there for a few seconds, trying to catch my breath, as climbing hills in Scotland is no easy matter. Sitting up, I looked about me. My eyes, for some reason, were in a blur, but I could see, way in the distance, the River Clyde. Only yesterday we had been swimming in it, but now it seemed miles away, and I wondered how I had ever got there. My eyes now getting clearer, I could see our house, surrounded by trees. I had to admit it was not a very beautiful house, but I loved it just as much as if it had been. The village looked as if it were a child's miniature toy, or as if someone had waved a magic wand, and it had appeared, complete with neat little gardens. The neighboring farms also looked like playthings, with wooden cattle and sheep, and toy hedges dividing up the fields. A Turning my head, I saw a line of never-ending purple hills. It seemed as if they might go on forever. On my left was the loch with the lonely white swan gracefully swimming and every few seconds ducking under to catch a worm or grub. We had fished there often and had never once caught even the smallest of fishes. Coming out of my thoughts, I suddenly remembered the time. It must be getting late, I thought. Looking down at my watch, I saw it had been precisely four and a half minutes since I d been there. If I had not done it myself, I could never have believed that anyone could see and think so much in such a short time. It was as if I had been standing on WP of the W0fld- BRIDGET Hasrmcs Form IV MORNING AFTER HE disagreeable insistence of someone's alarm clock brought me sharply awake. I lay with my eyes firmly shut waiting tautly for someone to shut it off. The ringing came to an abrupt end, cut off in the middle of a sentence, and silence again flooded the house. Sunday, I thought. Sunday morning-funny papers-English muffins, but the thought was Hat. I turned over heavily and cautiously opened my eyes, focusing them on my bedside clock. 8:30. Damn, I said thickly, without any real feeling, and clamped my eyes shut again. I turned to face the wall and relaxed with an effort. I tried to keep my mind a blank, to slip back into the clinging darkness, but always just as I felt myself retreating from consciousness, my mind would snap awake again. Charles dropped his shoes, Mother padded downstairs, Daddy turned on the radio, beds creaked, and Tigger scratched at the sitting-room door. I lay rigid, straining to hear every sound yet pushing them from me. The ticking of my clock rose and fell in waves, first receding into the distance, then advancing until it seemed as though the clock must be pressed against my ear. At last I yielded to consciousness and opened my eyes wide. I lay there blinking in the too-bright room and listened to the distant fizz of bacon frying. Sun was streaming through the broken lattice in the Venetian blinds, sending radiant columns on the heap of clothes on the chair. I looked at the dress I had worn the night before- it lay draped over the arm, tired and limp and wrinkled. My shoes lay on their sides, pigeon-toed. They needed brushing. I stared dully at the spot on the ceiling. Why didn't Charles stop that stupid humming? He was always giggling or humming. I heard him start violently downstairs, letting himself go limp at each step. Gathering my energy, I inched out of bed and wearily pulled on my wrapper. Mother and Daddy hailed me cheerfully as I came into the dining room and plied me with questions about the dance. Their bright cheerfulness, like everything else, irri- tated me. I glanced at the headline-something big and black about Italy-and reached for the funnies. What was it I had been so happy about the night before? I couldn't remember. I bit into an English muffin covered heavily with jam. It tasted thick and fiouryg I pushed my plate away and turned back to the funnies. SHIRLEY WRIGHT Form VI 38 THE FLAME THE SHEEPHEHDEIFS MONUMENT E HAD crossed the field, the stream-yes, I could tell we were almost halfway there. I was anxious to see the scene that had been indelibly stamped in my memory. The present slipped away, and instead I was once more living the trip I had taken several years before. Did Nigger remember too? He was getting old and feeble now, but surely his years couldn't make him forget that day. As he picked his way through the sage, I recalled my first day on the ranch years ago. Looking around at the land, the hills, the mountains, far in the distance a strange pillar- like object caught my eye-a sheepherder's monument I was told. I resolved then to ride there on my horse, Nigger, and find out what it was like. We had taken the trip, Nigger and I, and that's the reason we were going again today. On that first trip years ago we felt as if we were breaking a new trail where no one had ever before set foot. We had gone through a pine forest, across streams, up hill after hill covered with sage, every now and then stopping to look for the monument. Suddenly, as we approached the top of another hill, it had loomed up in front of us. It had been a very tall pillar crowning the highest ground. I got off Nig to look more closely at it. The sheepherder had built it by gathering large flat rocks and piling them on top of each other. His monument, built long ago, then seemed to cast a spell over the hill, standing there straight and proud, as if a watchman. I remembered how I shuddered thinking of it on a howling night or when half covered with snow in a blizzard-always there, immovable. . I had sat down beside Nig. He, too, had seemed taken in by the spell. He stood silhouetted against the sky, head up, his mane and tail blown back by the wind, looking like a statue. It was then I realized what heaven must be like-no worries, no unhappiness, just peace and beauty. All three of us had shared that paradise, our private paradise. The country stretched below with patches of different greens and yellows in the fields. The tiny moving specks were the ranch hands. We had watched them working, noiseless, like a silent movie. The brown dirt road twisted and curled like an enormous serpent. A square of dark green trees protected the ranch house. Dotted here and there along the brown serpent road, hiding other ranch houses, were similar patches of green. We must have sat there looking thus for hours, because suddenly I realized that the sun had gone down. I had to hurry back, for it would take an even longer and slower ride to go back down the hills. But wanting to leave some tangible evidence of my dis- covery, I had still taken time to build a miniature monument beside the sheepherder's. Thinking about all this on my way up there again today, I suddenly realized that I should be seeing the monument any minute. Stopping every now and then as I had on my first trip, I impatiently looked around for the monument, but I couldn't see it. Then I reached the top of the last hill, still I could see no monument. So many years had passed since my other trip, perhaps I was in the wrong place. But no, it couldn't beg there was no other higher hill around with such a view. Suddenly, after getting off Nigger, I stopped dead, as if I felt a blow. There, in front of me, was a crumpled pile of flat rocks. The sheepherder's monument had been smashed. I turned and looked at Nig, he was no proud statue now, but a feeble old horse with his head down, still puffing and coughing from his long climb. One last hope was left- the scene below. Yes, it was the same and yet not the same. Fundamentally the hills hadn't changed, and yet without all three of us to appreciate them, as we had, together, they seemed different. I turned around, and Nig and I left quickly. I couldn't stay there. Time had changed all of us, it could never be the same again. DEBBIE DONNELLY Form V THE FLAME 39 C1 Q- C! Q.: sosgf' ae Xu 'H' r- 4?- isxx is N N,W,azuevvARr1 xmas?-it 4-,we wi V XX 6,55 Goff: sw ' valor '02, we 'QW GW 2523053955 Q9 Ca so 6005 .5 RROFZ- ' 510 GX 1 fi'-ig,-2 -X ' ow, Q Q cw + Q 'Ps Q '49 Q?-qv! 5 vi? fs .f 5 5,59 5 VJ? QS' SI 1 J '2 as 5 Q Q a W 'U Lu 5 avril! ', Q 555 -55555 'Q 3 'U atfzxg A E 33555555555 S EOE-E' 'E 'la W6 E s 23,2 E as Q59 gligv.. .1Qg,S af-2 'wi-vdxg 2' A W, 0 2 31 ,. W Y 95 6- QQ 'Ev N9 5.9 r 1' 6- 9 0 W abd' 'PQUQP H H Q12 fl 'f 'I 5 4393374 'J Q+q 'rf::'Q3S,t 'o '2 f3ff - 3 'vocab rlsvooq N9 u U s lr ' ' 3' ff,,+n,,Q 0 'CN 4, p 0 3 4-D 5393 ' Lv 91 vw 3' M 9' 515 AP, Wlwag WJ VJXVJIH IQMVJVA 2 u S J gudunuaixlgg .nvug bsmua Mixing SX E Q giii-il! I . W ' X. 5352 Q. wx 'll' I X- X ,gslzlt jgZ': s HA '7'2ZSggtf 70111 v aw 9 e yy MISS Bogr X AN5-NGL AN THE '54 R bgocmwrwl in . I 25:2 04625-924' 04' NUKTMROPP Q ofmqgoqgreb 06' J' '00 A90 4511? 122, qff 0 e lx' 0 A 45 li NI ' 0G '70i'a.0 GG 0' Qifobpbfcffl 5'4'? 9 2 eg ff' ' gi-s'g3f qi 5 if w04 2:9' -big? N qilho says V. 558,-if ie? A :laxx A W 955905 95 W w 'f5 Qq:f-x'l'if'3s sa 'ca,:u, 507 .v'n,s'o 4561933 Atagifs x -, 9 sum! ,.. o+' galil- 462409 922,099 6 af, A754 15 0 04' 6 4.g'?1-'iirv-'ij' KYQSQ Wa 8 F' Jw 'QQ 2729 Mgwmwgaa EA Q Radar' as gigs .gan-435,212 if 'v '5 S 532155 55555. gE4g'am mg 'l is Q 'sf or-9 v',ql?! fliiffffs QQNNVWN 5 6 . me 'W' ' O :Maud ipvtns ig ,fr QQ: , I 'C 5,1 s '5'f 12236 9 14K 1 vu 0 'ah EYE 1.5! PN I gf p 4 g' i X 7 I I I X J W Q .J X 'Fr 7 Q- '-ig ' ...Fi 7'5FEEf:A:.-1Eks,-4 V 7 'E A? TQWZEUQE A1T'Q'f'l'T 'f ' iigx' L K, I 5:1 LL., 'I Q J XV. j Q if 'A J, ffl ,JN E f - 1 A l C b x i' ' f ' I f 4 'f xx- ,K ,ff- Yw -in ,fe -- 155. f il: -E ,- .N - ag. --4? ff-J i ff-fi 1'4 E 5.1 -4,-',.,. a..:-- L'HEURE DE COUCHER DE MA PETITE SOEUR ' IENS avec moi, lui dis-je. Non, je n'aime pas aller au lit, dit-elle. 'KIe vais essayer de t'attraper,', repondis-je et nous courons a la chambre. Quand nous sommes arrivees, j'ai vu des joujoux partout. I'ai fremi, mais j'ai dit gaiement, Ramassons les joujouxf' Non, repondit-elle. Mais oui. Enfin elle a condescendu a m'aider. Puis je lui ai mis les pyjamas de nuit, tout de suite et elle me dit, 'Tai oublie de prendre mes bonbons. Bien, dis-je mais depeche-toi. Elle a couru vers papa et a demande les bonbons. Bientot elle est retournee en machant. Saute dans ton lit, lui dis-je. Non, non, non, cria-t-elle, 'Tai oublie de brosser mes dents. Eh, bien, dis-je encore une fois, m'asseyant sur le lit bien fatiguee. Quand elle est retournee elle est montee dans son lit tres lentement. Bonsoir, dis-je et j'ai commence a quitter sa chambre. Attends, dit-elle, ale veux un mouchoirf' at Ah! j'ai gemi. Ie l'ai pris et puis j'ai repete, Bonsoir, ma cherie. as Raconte-moi une histoiref' Non, je n'ai pas le temps, dis-je. Tout de suite elle a commence a pleurer. Ah bien, eh bien, une histoire tres courtef' I'ai raconte la plus breve histoire que j'ai pu et puis pour la derniere fois j'ai dit, Bonsoir, et j'ai ferme la porte. Laissez la porte entr'ouverte, cria-t-elle. Iiai laisse la porte entr'ouverte avec un soupir je me suis sauvee. KATE DAVIDSON Form IV JUST THINKING HE horn tooted impatiently as I rushed down the stairs, struggling to get my coat on over my suit. I'm going out now. Illl be back sometime, I yelled to anyone who might be within hearing distance as I slammed the door behind me. I squeezed into the car after greeting everyone with a bright hello. A rnan's voice blared forth from the radio. We will now hear an old favorite called Green Eyes, played by Iimmy Dorsey and the boys in the band. Gosh, that song was popular the summer we got out of the ninth grade. Remem- ber, Dorothy? Ioyce said laughing. I remembered. That Was the summer Malcolm, Ioyce, Sid, and I continually went around together. People thought we were crazy, because every night after dinner we four filed down to the speedboat loaded with a radio, flashlights, and a deck of cards. After whizzing in circles around the Carlton's sailboat until Ioyce was sulliciently mad and the boat suih- ciently full of water, we tied up at center buoy for a wicked game of bridge. Sid and I to this day swear that We always beat Malcolm and Ioyce, though they never did pay us the ten cents. Of course none of us knew how to keep score. I can still see us lying on the stern of the boat, holding down the cards so that they wouldn't blow away, and at the same time trying to keep ourselves from falling in the lake. Other boats would speed by wondering what we were doing sitting out there holding flashlights. In a couple of seconds they would be back asking if we wanted any help. I think we got more fun out of just watching the expressions on their faces when they saw we were only playing cards than anything else. I remember that was the summer when our families were so worried because we didn't get in until 2:00 o'clock the night of the moonlight race. I guess they didn't know 42 THE FLAME that on the moonlight race you weren't supposed to come in first, in fact, it was a dis- grace if you did. We started the race well supplied with food, pillows, and, of course, the radio. I don't know why we brought the radio along, for we sang, or rather yelled, all the way around the course. We even took time off for a midnight swim. When we arrived back at the dock, we found our respective families waiting impatiently. Some- how the boys disappeared, and Ioyce and I were left to face our families. I stillthink to this day that our coming in so late was just an excuse to get our families together for a party. That was the summer I learned to drive, and I was proud of myself. I remember that I felt as if I were walking on the clouds, because everybody would think that I was very old and experienced. My only dread was going down the Peninsula road. My worst fears came true. One day as I was driving along minding my own business, a tree at the bend of the road got in my way and took 05 the fender. As I crept back to the house, I could just hear my brothers kidding me, and worst of all I could hear Dad say- ing to Mother, I told you that you shouldn,t have given the car to the Punk. I don't know why it was, but when Malcolm had his accident, he didn't get bawled out. It's always different with girls. I vowed then and there that I would never drive again. That was the summer we used to sit on the Carlton's hill and throw apples at the cars speeding by. We made sure that the boys knew where we were and what we were doing beforehand. This was very easy to do because I always made a point of telling Mother what I was going to do, and then asked Malcolm what he was going to do. It hardly ever failed. If that didn't work, we would tell them that no boys were allowed, and they would be sure to come. The boys would always wander up, and there we would be just as if we hadn't been expecting them. I think by the end of the summer they must have caught on to us. The end of the song brought me back to the present, and I was startled to see every- one staring at me. What on earth are you laughing at, Dorothy? Marge asked. Oh, I was just thinking. Donor!-rv CAMMACK Form VI TOTAL RELAXATION . E CALM. There is nothing that will harm you. Relax. Stretch out between those cool, clean sheets. Send those aches flying into the darkness. It's so cold and wet outside. You're safe and warm within your house and bed. Enjoy the weight of the quilt on top of you, move a little and feel the softness beneath you. It's quiet every- where as if no other person existed on earth. You can't hear it and you can't really feel it, but it's there and you know it. Outside a blanket is descending. A blanket of snow. It makes no sound, but falls, like a plague, without warning. It is everywhere. Softly, silently thousands of little Hakes twist and turn, blow this way and that, coming to rest on roofs, sidewalks, streets, lamp posts, trees, grass. The air is full, so full there is no room for noise. It's creeping around you to make you warm. To keep out noise and thoughts. There is no one to disturb you. You are in a world of your own. Nothing can be heard. A rustling. Don't quake in fear. It's only the Hr tree outside your win- dow. No one could possibly get in. Don't think about it. Push all your thoughts away, draw a curtain and make your mind an empty, black space. You're tense. Relax. Shut your eyes. Let your bones How into the warm, soft darkness. Leave this world behind. Sleep. Sleep for tomorrow. BETTY ANN PARSONS Form V THE FLAME 43 1 4. NUMBER FOUR F YOU are ever in London and have business in the Inner Temple, stroll up King's Bench Walk until you find the house with a crooked dragon for a knocker and a white card announcing Number 4 in Victorian flourishes. My charwoman may be too busy to answer the door, but I'll get up from the-very-comfortable-chair and usher you in myself. You may have heard of my cupola windows from which you can see almost all of the city spread around on three sides. Beyond the-very-comfortable-chair and over the rolling lawns and through the spiky trees, you can see the mist on top of the river. QI call it the Thames River instead of the Mississippi, just the way I say London because it is a more dignified name for Saint Paul.j You'll recognize my apartment by the two carpets laid down one on top of the other, making my room like the dining hall of a Kentish castle strewn thick with rushes. We never could decide which rug looked better, so we left them both. My room is a soft, gentle room with ten walls, because of the cupola, and mysterious doors, like the one that leads to the balcony and is never opened fexcept for a parade-when the king goes byj. The National Gallery has lent me a few art works until after the war, and you may want to inspect them. Over my bed an original of King Henry VIII hangs from a silken cord-a striking likeness of his royal majesty, even if behind him stands a dig- nihed servitor bearing a chalice on which are inscribed the words, Bisodol for good digestion, like the quotation from Macbeth. And across from him, on my radiator cover, Christopher Columbus peers over the sea in search of land. He is dedicated to the dis- tillers of Canadian Club. My own art Works, The Assassination of Iulius Caesar and The French Revolution, have been tacked on the backs of two of the mysterious doors. My room, you see, remains a seat of culture through the ages. Then, from the position of honor on top of the bookcase, my bones look down. The horsels foreleg, the donkey's jawbone, and the perfect muskrat head which I pretend are the bones of Thomas at Becket, even though they probably wouldn't fit him very well. Bones and posters have predominance in my room, but there are objets d'art like the elephant bell and the row of perfume bottles on my bureau that don't really belong anywhere, not even in Westminster Abbey. My prize is a sword, a Knight Templar's sword once, I suppose, though it came from a secondhand shop. Its ivory hilt is gilded with figures and there are twisty picture fables all around the scabbard. My sword hangs on a silken cord, too, next to a Chinese devil's mask and the epic of the French Revolution. A The crumbly leather books, borrowed from the Temple Library, which I've for- gotten to return, emanate atmosphere: books on philosophy and the seasons in poetry. There are three mascots at Number Four. One, Sir Mordaunt, is for gloomy days. He is a little black knight of glum iron, resting a discouraged head on one mailed fist. Beside him stand an iron basket to hold matches and a shield to scratch them on. He sits, a disillusioned stump, in the warmth of the poster behind him, probably most unhappy because he was too late for the Battle of Poitiers. For times like Friday afternoon I go to my other mascots, two lucky worrybirds, Simon Taylor and Hartley. They are made from pine cones, and Hartley is the hand- somest with a white beak and red toenails. They understand my room, too, better than Sir Mordaunt, who hasn't the eye for color to appreciate the posters. If you are ever in London and you stop at Number Four King's Bench Walk, I should be glad to get up from the-very-comfortable-chair to show you the points of interest and works of art. If it is just before sunset, you can see the mist on the river, which some people call the Mississippi, but which is really just a newer name for the Thames. Svtvui BURNS Form V 44 THE FLAME TRANSFORMATION HE mist hung like a fallen cloud over the cool, dim streets, shrouding in a veil the clean houses and Georgia pines bordering the road. The air was damp and fresh in my lungs, like the air after a spring downpour in the woods, and I felt I would burst with some inexplicable happiness. I walked along the wide road, humming softly and peering through the mist at each house I passed. They seemed gracious with their smooth lawns and curving driveways. Their shaded porches invited, they made you think of Scarlett O'Hara, liveried Negroes, Southern fried chicken, mint juleps, cornbread .... I hurried on, past the bus stop, past the schoolhouse, till I reached the meadow. The wet grass brushed against my ankles as I followed the twisting path. All around rne was the soft enveloping whiteness, I felt lost in it, as though I were in a strange, mystic land. The air was unawakened to the brilliance of day, its coolness foreign to the heat-filled afternoons. s The path abruptly ended at the bridge. I leaned against the stone railing, still guard- ing the singing happiness within me. Looking down, I watched the river slip, red and cloudy, beneath me. A white-haired Negro sat slumped upon the bank, listlessly holding a Hshing rod. He sat motionless, his hat over his eyes, lost in the drowsiness of the morning. Near him, in the river, wallowed a splintering rowboat, half filled with muddy water. The two were equally torpid, almost companionable. I watched the ruddy water part around a big rock in the middle of the river. It rippled over its smooth sides, giving it the appearance of a gray whale stuck in the mud of the river bottom. I looked and looked until the water seemed to reach up and pull me down, until gray whales blotched the landscape wherever I turned, until I felt I must jump down onto the stone which was so smooth and fiat and inviting. I pulled back and looked up to see that the mist was at last lifting. It was dissolving slowly, reluctantly, into the skies, leaving clinging tendrils wrapped about the tall pines. A few white streamers still lay twined about the hills and clung to the meadows. The shining fingers of the sun reached out through the trees and left their golden imprint on the road, the river, the silent fisherman. The first warm rays fell softly on my back as I turned away and started down the road. As I walked, I could feel them strengthen, feel the gentle caress change to pene- trating heat. I paused to watch a road gang working. They seemed to grunt in unison, their muscular arms straining, beads of perspiration rolling down their black backs, eyes popping with the effort. By the time I started off again, the sun was in full power of the day. The heat beat against the pavement and reflected back in shimmering waves. The air throbbed. I felt stifled, caught between scorching sun and mirroring earth. All the subtle mystery of the morning was swallowed up in blatant heat. I wiped my damp forehead with a damper hand and sought the sticky shade of the pines. The day had begun. SHIRLEY WRIGHT Form VI HOME AGAIN S WE approached the house, I suddenly felt weak. Suppose everything was changed. Maybe it wouldn't be the same house at all after two years. Two years away is a long time. I was remembering the picnics down the driveway when the hot summer's sun beat down on us as we played barefoot on the lawn or ran through the sprays. I was thinking, too, of the warm evenings when we would go flying down the hill to the canyon, only to climb breathlessly up again through the fragrant sage brush. I'd been only seven when we had moved, and yet now the pungent odor of the sage penetrated my memories more intensely than ever before. Cautiously I peered out the window of the car, and the shadowed rows of glossy, luxuriant orange trees outside reassured me. The entrance to the driveway was ahead THE FLAME 45 with the tall stone gateposts on either side. We were nearly home. The lawn beside the driveway was soft and green, and even the scattered dandelions along the edges were gay and welcoming. I remembered the fat little green frogs that used to hop out from the boxes where you turned on the sprays. Once I had even found a family of tiny pink mice curled up in the collected grass clippings there. I had care- fully put back the lid, telling no one about them. They were still my secret. And there was the acacia tree that used to be our playhouse. I recalled with a rueful grin the 'KInjun show Patty and I had presented with the assistance of the Badger boys. The climax of our performance was to have been a rather elaborate tightrope actg but at the crucial moment the clothesline selected for the purpose had snapped, pitching all four Injuns headlong into the leaves below. It had been quite a show. All at once I felt shy and a little jealous. Had the Badger boys played Injuns while we had been away? I wondered if we would 'be strangers now-outsiders. The gravel crunched furiously under the tires as we whipped around the curve, and my spirits rose in anticipation. It was still the same house. The porch to the left was a riot of brilliant bougainvillea, fading the tiles of the roof to a muted red. The hibiscus bushes and potted begonias made bright splashes of color along the sunny wall, and long leafy tendrils of ivy, hanging from the balcony above, were swinging in the breeze. The heavy garage doors were open a crack, and through the darkness gleamed the eyes of Skeesix, which I remembered as a roly-poly kitten but which met me now as a grown-up cat. I spied my long lost red wagon neatly parked in the shade of the courtyard wall. A eucalyptus leaf sailed through the sunshine, and I almost thought I heard the tiny scraping sound it made, landing gently on the warm bricks of the court. I could hardly wait to see if the swallows had come back to their nest in the tile by the arch. Suddenly it hadn't been two years at all, and we were just coming back after a long day at the beach. The car stopped, and, jumping out, I ran up the steps, through the arcade, into the sunny patio, skipping the top step the way I always had. ANNE ZIESMER Form IV MORNING AWOKE quickly and completely. My eyes opened wide, and there was nothing of sleep about me. Lying on my back, I pulled one leg up and swiftly thrust it and the sheet away from me. Looking up as I stretched, I saw my reflection in the window. Our porch windows hinged at the top and were held open by hooks hanging from the ceiling and by corresponding hooks screwed to the bottom of each window frame. Thus there were three squares of glass suspended parallel to and above my bed. Somehow, sprawl- ing there in peach-colored pajamas, I looked taller than usual. My just-cut hair was critically studied and pronounced an improvement. The telephone rang loudly enough to be heard out in the garden. I wondered vaguely if it was for me but really didn't care. I looked at the clock, which had stopped. I always look at a clock when the telephone rings. It's a habit. This was a day to take slowly. Hurry in the morning always ruined the illusion of living a smooth, luxurious life. I was free only so long as the world thought I was sleep- ing, sad experience had taught me that, once up, there would be plenty of work to do. I knew, even before sitting up, that it was a heavenly day. The leaves of the maple tree shone in the morning sun. They reminded me of the words in a poem I had read, Nature's first green is gold. A squirrel jumped from the roof to chase himself through the heavily laden branches. The sky was like many, many layers of bluish-white organdy. The lake was a deep, bright blue. The wind, so quiet that I had not noticed it, sent the waves and the puffed out sails skimming across the water. Two or three boats were always sailing on our side of the lake. A big dog ran across the wide front lawn, and the boy next door whistled for him. 46 THE FLAME I I knelt over the back of my bed, looking towards the whistle and knowing it would be Michael, because the clackety-clack of the lawn mower had momentarily stopped. At fourteen Michael had avoided the awkward stage and was as handsome as ever. His shorts were a motley of loud colors and his skin a golden brown. Our neighbor for several years, he was almost one of the family. I watched his short tussle with the dog and then lay back on the bed. A truck whizzed down the driveway and stopped. I knew by the sound that it was the milk truck, the milkman would hurry onto the back porch, get the order, and rush away. A few minutes later the truck rattled up the drive. The windows at the other end of the porch mirrored a basketball game between my sister Cynthia and Frank, who lived two doors away. Their shouting and silences were as much a part of the background as the chattering birds. Suddenly I was out of bed. It usually happened that way, I was out before I even thought of getting up. This had baffled me for so long that sometimes I forgot to think about it. I crossed the room and took a deep breath by the window. The air smelled clean and sweet and fresh. Mother looked in the door and said, Good morning, Merry Sun- shine? Nom BAER F arm VI DISCUVERY Y SHOES were full of sand. I walked slowly down the road, lifting each foot with a separate effort, not because of the sand but just because there didn't seem to be any point in going faster. The pebble under my right heel hurt, so I sat down in the middle of the road and took off my shoes. It was hot. The late afternoon sun beat down, and the whole world was filled with the steady hum of the heat. The sky was clear and blue, and the air was thick. I had decided to go barefoot, so I got up and started out again, carrying my shoes. My hair was still wet from swimming, and the water dripped slowly down my back with an aggravating persistence. The pasture gate was the kind with three bars that you have to pull down. They always stuck. I pulled as hard as I could and Hnally succeeded in getting the two top bars down. The cows were in the swamp, standing peacefully munching the long grass, their feet deep in the mud. I finally got them to move, and they started slowly towards the gate. They lifted each foot heavily over the bar and plodded across the narrow road to the other pasture. They started obediently down the steep hill to the road, going single file. Their legs were dirty from standing in the mud to reach the tall, lush swamp grass. The cows trotted clumsily down the last part of the hill, and I thought how undignified they looked when they hurried. From the hill you could see the whole lake and the houses on the hill on the other side. In the fields the hay lay raked into small piles to dry. The tops of the piles were burned gold by the sun, but I knew that underneath, the hay was still damp and green. The clean, poignant smell of the hay filled the air. I loved the smell of it. I went down the hill to where the cows were drinking. You could hear them sucking the water, their heavy throats swelling and contracting with each swallow. At last they had enough. They lifted their heads, their mouths dripping. The path was only a few feet from the edge of the lake, and it was wet and slippery. The oozing mud felt cool on my bare feet, and the sharp slit hooves of the cows made deep holes in the muck. Frogs jumped wildly about in the long grass, and near the shore a snapping turtle slid off a log, making ripples in the still water. Willow trees hung low over the path, and the cows brushed through them to get rid of the Hies. THE FLAME In the barnyard the horses were standing in a little bunch. They eyed the cows drowsily. I opened the door of the barn, and the cows filed in and went to their own places. It was dark and cool in the barn. My skin suddenly felt damp and clammy, and my hair was Wet and cold on my neck. The cows stood chewing absent-mindedly in their slow, sleepy way, their eyelids drooping heavily. I went out of the barn slowly and thoughtfully and shut the door behind me. The sun was going down, and the immense shadow of the barn stretched across the yard. I went by the farmer's house. The kitchen was brightly lighted, and through the open window I could see Mrs. Peters busy at the stove. The radio was on, and the air was full of the smell of frying meat. I knew our house would be the same as this one. It always was, but I had never thought of it before. I ran the rest of the way up the hill. As I Went into the house, everything seemed new and wonderful as if I had never seen it before, but still it was the same as always. A contentment filled me that was as slow and soothing as warm honey. There was so much I had never noticed before. NANCY GAVER Form IV OVERHEARD OVERHEAD ALE 4 . . . 9 . . . 6 . . . 8 . . . Buzz, buzz, buzz . . . Oh, fiddlesticks, wrong number! Dale 4 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .8 . . . Hello, Mom? Say, Mom, darl. . . . Well, honey, I couldn't 'cause I, ah, ummm . . . But . . . But I said that I'd stay at Sue's house for . . . Oh, you're so mean! . . .U Oh, honestly, GoodBYE! That was the last telephone conversation I heard today. You needn't think I am an eavesdropper. Oh, no, far from it! If you have ever telephoned from the Summit School telephone booth, you must have noticed me. I am quietly hanging over a cloud, not quite as conspicuous as Hermann, the devil. He lives in the lower right-hand corner. You see, I am the angel on the ceiling. No doubt you have seen Mrs. Weatherby talk- ing to her husband at the office. She listens in quite often, although she can do no harm, for her party line goes only to William and Mary. There are many pictures on the walls. We call ourselves the Booth family. I have told you about Hermann. He is the one who unties your shoelaces while you are tele- phoning. Evelina and I are the cloud angels, and Theodore's foot can be seen protruding quite obviously from the same cloud. The merriest people are Tubbs and Iohnson. At the time they were sketched, Tubbs was taking a shower and came to the phone in a most peculiar costume. Of course, there is Myrt, the telephone operator. She really has a busy time, especially on dancing school nights. There is Bill, who always calls up Patsy to find out what she is doing, and the girls who talk morning, noon, and night. The most amusing is the penciled art work on the walls, but fame is short, for it soon gets washed off. Many's the day that I have seen some poor girl come in and work laboriously to get the art and manuscripts scrubbed off. There are many beau- tiful hearts quite well inscribed, and one inscription that I always laugh at is the fol- lowing, elegantly lettered in four fat hearts: SALLY SALLY SALLY SALLY 1940 LOVES 1941 LOVES 1942 LOVES 1943 LOVES BILLY IIM CHARLIE TOMMY These are carefully hidden and have always somehow managed to escape the watch- ful eyes of Miss Converse, but I know Where they are, for I see everything, and I hear everything. So let me give you a word of warning. The next time you make a con- fidentialv call, remember the whole Booth family is listening in. PATTY COURTNEY Form II 48 THE FLAME LE PREMIER JOUR A LA TABLE FRANCAISE A CLOCHE sonnag tout le monde se precipita vers le morceau de papier attache a cote de la porte de la salle a manger. Ie ne pouvais rien voir. Ie demandai, Leaven- worth, ou est-elle? On m'a dit, A la table francaisef' Ce n'est pas possible! begayai-je. On m'a dit qu'on ne peut parler que francais. Ie mourrai de faimf' Le coeur battant, je m'approchai de la table ronde pres de la porte. La, je trouvai trois amies, aussi effrayees que moi. Ie pris ma place sans bruit. Mademoiselle, sonna le gong. Une minute apres, tout le monde s'est tu. Nous repetions la benedicite. Alors il s'est eleve un grand bruit qui emplir toute la salleg mais personne a notre table me parla. Mademoiselle s'approcha de la table et nous nous sommes attablees sans rien dire. Avec un sourire encourageant elle remarqua, Quel bon dejeuner! Oui. Oh, oui. Oui! repondirent toutes les quatre a la fois avec empressement. Sans plus de conversation nous nous servons soigneusement. Toutes sourient des sourires de politesse. Toutes etaient rigides. Nous nous mimes a manger. Alors Mademoiselle recommenca, Qu'avez-vous fait samedi passe? Moi? Oh, rien du tout. Rien? ce n' est pas possible. Oh, j'ai etudie. Ca n'avait pas reussi du tout. Il y avait un moment de silence profond. Alors elle esscya encore une foisg Avez-vous vu le cinema avec Charles Boyer qu'on presente en l ville maintenant?' Oh, oui, repondit une des plus intelligentes eleves, avec une expression inquiete. Mademoiselle se retourna vers la jeune fille qui avait fait la reponse. Ie pense que c'etait excellent, n'est-ce pas? Mais oui! repondit-elle encore une fois. Pauvre Mademoiselle, personne ne parla, tout le monde mangea. C'etait ma premiere visite a cette table fameuse mais pas ma derniere! Quelques jours plus tard on pouvait entendre de faibles efforts des quatre eleves, et au bout d'une semaine il y avait une con- versation, courte mais libre et tout le monde portait des sourires faciles. La lutte est Iinie. I lie upon a sand dune sifting Far above the waters drifting Over the horizon's ring Where lazily a lone cloud lumbers. All at once appears before me, On a grassy promontory Reaching out to meet the sea, An orchestra of countless numbers. Leading them, a tall musician Beating time in close precision, Supple movements, patterns spun, As no baton his hand encumbers. THE FLAME Donornv LEAvENwox'rr-I F arm VI MIRAGE Music, lucent, easy, Rowing From the souls of men who, knowing How to understand it, sing Its message, while the ocean slumbers. Even as I towards it waded, Silently the figures faded, Slid into a watery bed, Engulfed amid the ocean's slumbers. Many Bnlccs F arm VI 49 MIDWINTER DAY'S DREAM T WAS a beautiful day. Not the sort to do English but one to sit by a window and day-dream. That is what I must have been doing when a small voice at my elbow said, Whatl Dreaming again? You should be ashamed. This has gotten to be a regular habit. I've been watching you, you know. I looked around and saw that the room was empty and that English was over. I gathered up my books and resolved to go to the doctor's that afternoon. As I was leav- ing the room, the voice said, Don't go, stay and talk with me. I turned sharply and was amazed at what I saw. There, perched on the edge of the very desk where I had been sitting, was a little elfin man. He swung his legs back and forth and then squeaked, Well, what are you gaping at? You certainly rnust have seen me before, I am Robin Goodfellow, otherwise known as Puck. Oh, you look just like the Puck in the picture up there,', I stammered, pointing to the mural of Midsummer Nighfs Dream over Miss Savage's desk. I glanced up as I spoke, and to my surprise the green space where Puck should have been sitting was empty. I put two and two together, but it didn't make four. Instead it added up to the fact that somehow the Puck up there had come down here and was now talking to me. As I looked at him, I noticed he was glaring at me as if I were very stupid. I also noticed he was very small, so I returned the glare adding a doubtful Well?,' I know all about you! he remarked superciliously. K'How? I asked. Well, goodness, you are stupidf' he answered. How would you think? I sit right above you every day in elassf' This was provoking. I racked my brains for a witty reply, but the only thing I could think of was, You're not so smart yourself. You poured the love potion into the wrong person's eyes. He gazed at me with a maddening air and replied, Oh, that. I did that purposelyf, We both knew he hadn't, so that put me in the lead. Iust as I was about to make a jeering reply, Nancy appeared in the doorway and said I would be late if I didn't hurry. I turned around to make introductions or do something, but the room was com- pletely empty, and Puck was restored to his original place in the mural. Every day in English since then, when I can't answer a question, I am sure I see Puck leering down at me with the same supercilious air. IACQUIE APPEL Form Il THAT WILD BLUE YONDER MOVED reluctantly through the high iron gate. What had been like a wonderful adventure yesterday seemed foolhardy today. Merely for the purpose of self-encourage- ment, I sneered bravely in the direction of a small yellow airplane towards which we were walking. Much to my distress the offended vehicle coughed, reared, and moved belligerently to meet us. Iust as I was about to retrace my steps, the creature roared abruptly over my head. By the time I had started to breathe again, I found myself climbing none too agilely into a small closed cockpit. I sat stoically in the front seat while the pilot sat behind me. I took a last look at the ground. The plane taxied smoothly for the length of the runway, and then gradually the ground moved away from the wheels. At least you can die like a heroine, I argued. Maybe they'll give you a medal like Amelia Earhart's. I leaned gingerly forward and peered doubtfully in the general direction of what usually was the ground. The view was magnificent. It was as though you were a giant watching the struggles and daily tasks of a race of midgets. The houses looked small enough to hold in the palm of your hand. Tiny mechanical toys like those children play 50 THE FLAME with moved jerkily along thin, concrete ribbons of highways. For miles around stretched a panorama of American life: men mowing the lawns, nurses wheeling baby buggies in the park, tiny swimmers, pausing in their splashing to gaze in awe at the sky. I was so entranced with my new magnitude that I forgot to be heroic until a voice broke the spell. How about a few stalls, Ieanie? I didn't know what a stall was, but it sounded far too terrifying, so, hoping it was the pilot's idea of a joke, I smiled appreciatively. The smile was misinterpreted. The smooth hum of the motor stopped. The world was suspended in time and space. It was as though a huge hand had caught the plane and refused to let it go on its way. The nose of the plane dropped down, and the green fields rushed towards us with a roar. I opened my eyes a few seconds later and had the feeling we had gone right through the green sod and had come out on the other side. The plane was soaring up into a cloudless sky. I looked around for my stomach. As it was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, I gave my attention to the pilot, who was seriously contemplating another stall. How I arrived on the ground in good health is still a mystery. It was several weeks before I could look an airplane in the propeller without cringing. Now I am anticipating a return performance with enthusiasm. And they say we learn from experience! IEAN MERRILL Form VI AVANT LE MABIAGE ES premiers invites arrivaient, et Centie n'etait pas encore habilee! Elle etait comme une tres petite Hlle qui voulait voir tous les visiteurs qui venaient. En quinze minutes elle allait etre mariee! I'ai ferme la porte au verrou puis j'ai dit: Voyons, il faut mettre ta robe de mariee, maintenantll' I'etais la demoiselle d'honneur, c'etait mon devoir. Il y avait beaucoup de coup a la porte, je liai ouverte. Ou est la mariee? Ou est la marieeP I'ai regarde ma soeurg elle est devenue inquiete. Ie regrette, mais vous ne pouvez la voir. I'ai referme la porte. Quand je me suis retournee, Centie fumait une cigarette, ce qui est bien rare pour elle. Les coups continuaient a la porte, c'etaient toujours des amis qui voulaient lui souhaiter bonne chance et bonheur. Mais chaque bruit nous rendait de plus en plus nerveuses. Enfin, nous avons entendu une voix familiere vers la porte. C'etait notre mere. Es-tu prete? Oni, Maman. I'ai quitte la chambre pour voir Scarlett, le mari, comme je le lui avais promis. Il etait debout avec le pretre sur les escaliers du fond. Scarlett m'a fait un clin d'oeil, puis il est descendu avec le pretre. La musique s'arrete. Tout le monde reste absolument muet. Le moment est arrive. Centie, mon pere, et moi nous nous alignions au haut des escaliers. Soudain, apres le silence, les forts accords de Lohengrin sont lances de l'orgue. Ie me suis retournee et avant de descendre j'ai dit mon dernier mot a Vicenta Donnelly, habillee magnihquement en blanc. La prochaine fois que je lui parlerais elle sera Vicenta D. Scarlett. DEBBIEWDONNELLY Form V '11 - ' . SQ-ig. THE FLAME ' -I 1 T- 1Muf l't'll Y f 754- 'W' 'Z I x x X Wydiit gg il af 1 f f was H-itz:-it 1! L If -,I V bzfzf I' ,NNN X X -I I. V v 1. 1 A if' . T if 412- ' ' s -lu f VX I, in GX N ul 'T' THE HOMECOMING SAT on my bed and gazed thoughtfully at the liquid sunlight that streamed through the window, bathing the autumn-gilded tree in the yard. What would he be like now? What could I expect now after nine months of army discipline and hard work? Certainly he would look older. Even in his brief letters, written at long intervals, there was an intangible maturity underlying his light words. Would the second lieutenant who was to walk through the door within a few minutes be the same older brother whom I had idolized and fought with alternately for sixteen years? Or would he be a complete stranger, one whom I would have to come to know all over again? I lay back on the pillows and let the warmth of the sunbeams pull my mind back into rcminiscence. I remembered riding on Iohnny's handle bars, eating an ice cream cone, and marveling at how superior he was to all other big brothers. I recalled trying to hold back tears of rage and frustration and devising diabolical schemes to exterminate him and his race from the earth. I winced, feeling again how my wrist had stung for days where he had twisted it so that the car keys would fall to the floor from my clenched Est. I smiled involuntarily, remembering the careful nonchalance on his face the morn- ing after he'd had anaccident with the car. He had shared all of this with me-girl troubles, college escapades, football predic- tions. And now he had experienced something that I could never understand, days of grueling work, physical and mental, alone for hundreds of hours in the blue California skies flying trainers, Wacos, bombers. My thoughts were shattered by the sound of the front door closing, exclamations, laughter. As soon as I could conquer a sick feeling of dread that enveloped me, I got ,up and went slowly down the stairs. He was standing with his back to the stairs, but his head was turned so that I could see his face. He seemed older and considerably taller. There were lines of fatigue around his mouth, but his rich tan rnade him seem healthier than he had been before he had left. In his green tunic with the silver wings he looked like the answer to a wornan's prayer. I almost wished I weren't his sister. He turned, and the old dread of that undefrnable change returned. Then a familiar grin lit his brown face. Hi, Skinny! The same old Iohnny! I returned his smile wholeheartedly. IEAN MERRILL Form VI THROUGH THE LABYRINTH OF 0NE'S MIND T IS a Sunday afternoon, and here I am peacefully lying on the porch swing in Arlington, Virginia. The hot sun is glimmering on the leaves as the soft winds rustle through them. The radio's music soothes my mind and beckons it on to thoughts afar off. Ocean, miles and miles of ocean, all wending its way shoreward. Blue, calm ocean on sunny days, gray, forbidding ocean on stormy days, golden, serene ocean at sunrise, but always beautiful ocean. Rahoboth Beach, Delaware, and its vacationers are peaceful today, but across this ocean who knows what fear, danger, and persecution lurk around the corner. Cannon Ere? No, just the breakers crashing down the beach. Here comes a giant one. See it gather momentum as it approaches. The smaller waves rush to meet it. Now it culminates, rolls over, and lands with a thud that sends the spray skyward. Ladies and Gentlemen, now we are going to commence the evening's 'vendof 'Ven do' we start and 'ven do' we quit? The nightly auction at Rahoboth Beach begins against the roar of the breakers. The two owners of the shop, Mr. Dave and Mr. Murray, circulate around in their unobtrusive way. While they try to interest prospective buyers in some fine piece of Sheiiield silver, the auctioneer babbles away on some wild tale. The small room is now almost full with aged grandparents, chattering children, and observing parents. 52 THE FLAME Now here It have a pair of Hne silver salt-and-peppershakers, very heavy and very massive. How much'll you give for them? How much or how little? A dollar? All right, little girl. Ladies, these are SILVER! I have a dollar fifty here. Any more? Sold here for a dollar and a half. A small orange bus pulls up saying Rahoboth to Washington. The anxious people dash for a seat, and after much confusion they depart. While the bus rumbles through the country, companions chat happily. A race between the bus and the ferry develops, and people glance nervously at their watches. Ten minutes to five, and nine miles to go. When they arrive at the ferry station, the ferry has just started its journey. The bus lost the race .... Lights and signs glimmer, traffic moves slowly in masses, people walk hurriedly across the street, and the bus arrives safely in its Washington home. And now I want to tell you a little about refreshing Coca-Cola. With a jolt I fall back to reality. Still, however, fondly remembering the wonderful wonderful week at Rahoboth. BETTY HOLMES Form V GO0D MORNING E ARE early this morning at the corner. It was only five minutes after eight when we left school. We put our police signs on the cold, stone wall and sit on them. They keep out some of the frigid dampness. I open my geometry book. We try hopelessly to do the problems we couldn't do last night. My fingers are cold without my mittens, so I put them on again. The mailman comes. We seldom see him, but this morning we're early. Kate gives him a letter she has forgotten to mail. It's probably for her sister. Most of her letters are. We miss Paul in winter. I-Ie is the little four-year-old who lives in the white house with the blue shutters next to the house on the corner. He comes out only in warmer weather. Our first customers are just coming over the edge of the hill. I can recognize the same three seniors who are always the first ones. I get up to take them across the street, but they are already halfway there, so I sit down again. We open our geometry books once more, but work is useless. It is too hard to con- centrate. We throw down our books in disgust. I hope I won't be asked the particular problems I don't know. Three little children come whizzing up on their bikes. They demand impatiently to be taken across. Ginny goes across the street, and we hold up our signs together. The children are always excited when we stop cars. There weren't any this morning for blocks on either side. A large coal truck lumbers by. We have seen it almost every morning for two years. The same driver smiles at us. The coal is steaming. I always think the truck is on fire. Kate cracks her usual joke about that being her limousine and chauffeur. Ginny and I laugh automatically. We hear several loud good mornings from across the street. We know without look- ing that they come from the juniors, but we look anyway. These girls never cross at Goodrich. They probably think they're too old to need the invaluable protection of school police. We are just about to leave our corner when suddenly we see Polly Nye, running. We know it must be late. Polly always runs when it's late. We take her across the street and then wait a minute. We never hurry to school unless it's awfully cold. We pick up our signs and start to walk slowly up the hill towards school so that we can enjoy to the full our permisison to be tardy. PATTY APPEL Form IV THE FLAME 53 AL EXAMS XAMS are really fascinating affairs. My Hrst reaction is utter horror. At once I think up one resolution after another, such as, I'll study four hours every Satur- day. However, soon enough the terror wears off and I simply become apathetic. I reso- lutely ignore the subjects that are definitely borderline cases and concentrate my sinking morale on the ones that are just too easy. But the week end before the dread events I snap alive again. I pile up stacks of books around my desk and with bitter self-condemnation plunge into idioms, declensions, and so on. Frantically I leaf past page after page, collecting, in most cases, only the exceptions to the rule. The family is cautioned to tiptoe when in my vicinity, and I greet the infant with a fierce scowl when he streaks in on his kiddy-car to cheer me up. I also begin a rigorous two-day training schedule, involving an aimless trot around the house every once in a while in an effort to consume a little fresh air, and a stern rule about going to bed early. I virtuously keep to the last part of this grim program even though I tossed around in bed sleeplessly till it is much later than my usual bedtime. Monday morning I awake, and while still in the inevitable early morning fog, I have a sense of impending disaster. Then I remember and leap out of bed determinedly in an effort to quell that sinking feeling. The family remembers that this is the fateful day, and as I stumble into the dining room, the radio and the baby are tuned down. In a pathetic attempt at cheerfulness I seek to drown my direful anticipation in orange juice. The radio insinuatingly purrs about the relative merits of Malto-Meal and any other kind of meal as I struggle through a muffin. At last I tuck myself into coat and beanie and stagger out the door. Coming up the path to school, I stop, look, and wonder. The beaming faces look unnatural. Don't they know there's an exam on? I'm assured cheerfully that today's going to be terrific, and my sprightly informer skips off to spread the good tidings. The expressions of the teachers vary-some looking grim and purposeful and others probably ruefully worrying whether any of those morons will get that last question. As- sembly drags on indefinitely while I try desperately to recall what the teacher said to re- member about irregular verbs. A threatening diatribe against tardiness makes some slight impression on me, but it's with relief that I greet the nine o'clock bell. Breathlessly I collapse into my desk, staring, fascinated, at the endlessly long sheet of type, flanked by two lethal looking bluebooks. I am off! The first question strikes terror into my heart and then- Next semester, I tell myself Hrmly, 'Tm going to turn over a new leaf! ANNE Zrasivnza Form IV - HAPPY BIRTHDAY? f STOOD looking out of the window wondering how iewould be possible to escape. I thought of running away, but that didn't work, I had tried it. It was now seven- thirty in the morning, and I was due at eight. I reviewed painfully in my mind what had happened in the last hour. Mother had come bustling into my room at six-thirty with the cheery announcement that I was going to the hospital! I had sat up and stared at her in amazement. To me a hospital was a large dreary mansion with millions of nurses who scurried around like ants. At least that was my impression when visiting my sister a month before. Mother had disappeared into the closet and had come out carrying a large suitcaseq While pouring me into my clothes, she had explained that I was going to have my tonsils out. I had protested because today was my fifth birthday, a day I had looked forward to for weeks, and it was awful to spoil one's birthday by such a dreadful event. Iacquie P I' 54 THE FLAME I came to the present with a start and realized that there was to be no escape, for I was on my way to the hospital. When we arrived, Mother took me up to the desk and registered. An orderly gave me a quick smile and showed us to a room. A nurse then came in and laid on the bed what looked like a night shirt slit down the back. Presently she came back with another nurse wheeling a table. They lifted me onto it. I kissed Mother goodbye and was wheeled out the door. I went through a long corridor and into an elevator which crawled slowly to the next Hoor. When I reached the operating room, I was greeted by a grim row of doctors and nurses, large and bright lights over an oper- ating table with shoulder clamps. When I was on the table, a nurse placed a funnel- shaped cup over my nose and mouth and told me to breathe deeply. A few minutes later I felt myself rise off the table, circle around the room, and Hoat out the window. I looked back and saw the doctors and nurses grow dim and fade away. I looked around again and saw lots of pink balloons Heating about. I reached out to touch them and they popped. Down, down I went. I was falling faster and faster. Suddenly I stopped with a bump and heard a faint voice say, She's asleep nowf' I knew I really wasn't, and I tried to tell them so, but I couldn't see or speak. I guess I really must have gone to sleep a minute later, for that is all I can remember of my fifth birthday' IACQUIE APPEL Form II ORCHESTRA REHEARSAL T WAS just after ten o'clock when we walked up the wide, shallow steps of Northrop Auditorium. Alone beneath the high Grecian pillars and tall doorways, Ieanne and I felt very small and yet rather important to be entering this impressive building at a time other than Friday evening. Once inside, we had to walk down a long, slanting corridor. Deserted at this hour, it echoed our footsteps back and forth all the way down. Through the thick walls on our right, we could hear muflied strains of the orchestra rehearsing. We were late, and I worried that Sam, the doorman, might not recognize Ieanne, who had the permission for our admittance to the rehearsal. By this time we were at the foot of a dirty, paper-strewn Hight of stairs, which led directly to the stage door. We hurried up and went in, the force of the music suddenly hitting us in the face. In the spacious room behind the stage, layers of props seemed to merge into the wall in the murky darkness. Through the opening at the front we could see Mr. Mitropoulos drawing out the music with controlled movements of his Hexible hands and arms. Iust then Sam came out to learn who the intruders were and to send them away, if possible. At the sight of Ieanne, however, his pleasant face lit up. He almost put his arms around her. Where have you been all this time? . . . New York? That-a girl! Sure, go right inf' We walked through the opening onto the edge of the stage, for a moment right under the stage border lights, but we skirted around the American flag and went down the few steps to the main floor. Once accustomed to the darkness around us, we saw that there were only a few scattered visitors this morning. Behind them two men with a high stepladder were replacing burnt-out lights in the ceiling, nonchalantly tossing bulbs up and down to each other and never missing a catch. They seemed so uncon- scious of the music and so intent on their job that the little scene they made was entirely apart from the rest of the atmosphere in the auditorium. THE FLAME il We took seats in a front row in order to hear what was being said on-stage, as well as to listen to the music and to watch the musicians. They were dressed in comfortable slacks and very mussy shirts and didn't quite resemble the stiff, starched figures who appear every Friday night. Some of them sat slumped over their music stands, seemingly very bored. Newspapers were spread on the Hoor all around the horn players' chairs. It was rather disconcerting to watch them empty out their horns in a none too elegant fashion. The violin section looked as if it were a morning after for most of its mem- bers, what with sleepy eyes and scraggly hair and untied shoelaces. A long green and red plaid scarf was wound around and hanging down from the neck of one of the cellists. He must have had laryngitis, for he coughed incessantly. In spite of their untidy appearance, most of the men maintained a strict concentration throughout the morning. The rehearsal itself was long and energetic. Mitropoulos spent most of his time working over and over faulty passages in one section or another. It was hard to hear what he said, but now and then a few fragments of his directions came down to us. Once there was a,bad mistake in the cello section, and he stopped them all to point it out. Someone, far in the back, called out, I didn't do it! The conductor picked up a dilapidated old chair and slammed it down again hard. Such conceit in this orchestra! It is intolerable, so childish! and he glared at the offender. The rehearsal began again, the music being taken apart and fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle, until it was long after noon and time to stop. Mitropoulos pulled the same abused chair up on his podium and sat down. Resting his elbows on his knees and passing his hands over the back of his bald head, he spoke again. We heard only bits of his little speech, but we could see by their attitude what a respect and love the men had for their leader. Speaking of a sick friend he said, The best Christmas present you could give him would be to pay him a visit . . . not necessarily right now, but sometime , then, . . . a good year . . . one of the best . . . thank the new members . . . fine job. I hope you haven't taken me too seriously when I've lost my temper! . . . good vacation . . . go nowf' It was with laughter and pleasant con- versation that the rehearsal ended. There was a general scufliing and scraping of chairs and a resonant interference of stands with instruments as the orchestra rose to leave. The once empty room backstage was now filled with the bustle of men and overcoats. In the confusion the double-bass players were having a hard time moving their huge cellos. The dusty and impenetrable gloom made it difficult for anyone to see until someone, somewhere, turned a few switches. As inconspicuously as we could, we started out. Sam appeared again, his rotund figure and beaming red face more visible now. Come again whenever you want, he announced, as if he alone possessed the power to grant that permission. We left him grinning after us and walked up the long ramp, out the tall doors, and into the blinding winter sunlight, which glared up at us from the snow and the white granite steps. MARY Biucos Form VI WETNESS Cold rain spatters lightly on concrete pavement, Massive sponges of sea mist undulate over the treetopsg Grass, saturated and squeaking, gives way under bare feet, And pale lights far across the fields pierce the obscurity. Winterly wind-squalls swoop around protruding bluffs, Hovering trees shrug off their added burden, Blotches of heavy liquid drop into bloated puddles, And merging rivulets of rain form flowing streams. MARY Biucos Form VI 56 THE FLAME v N' V 1- v f 1 5 2 R ' ' ,W ' ' If A ' ir' SFA up S, 3 a V iv il '32 M 'ia If 5 a: .'ffi' nl.. 453 ow a -qv .Am 4 FEAR HROUGH a cool, poorly-lighted corridor Mother and I walked slowly toward the back of the building. Because the hall was dark and unoccupied, we kept our voices subdued to almost a whisper. The air, though it was musty and damp, felt pleasantly cold to my skin after the oppressive heat outside. The thick waves of midsummer heat had settled in tight layers that clung to the island, and its heavy weight seemed even to mufile sound. Choking arms had a stranglehold on the entire city. In most tropical countries businesses close down and activity ceases for the space of a few hours in the afternoon. Shopkeepers withdraw behind bamboo curtains to the rear of their stores. Even the hard-driven coolies pause for a singsong conversation under the somewhat dubious shade of a palm. But unlike the sensible natives and Europeans, we Americans rush about from dawn to dusk. So Mother and I had planned to spend siesta time at a native art exhibit. We paused momentarily at a doorway and then entered. Although the sun shone bright outside, in here the large room was dim, as the only light came through a tiny window in the hallway. I thought I had become accustomed to living in the East, but occasionally I found myself in an atmosphere that was strange and incomprehensible to my Western matter-of-factness. This was just such a time. In this darkened room, hushed with a certain watchfulness, something akin to fear took hold of me. Try as I would, I could not evade it. Mother seemed not to notice my anxiety and casually asked why I was glued to her trail, and couldn't I move away a few inches so she would be able to breathe. It was not until I turned around that I saw we were not the only occupants of the room. A man with his back turned to us was standing about fifteen feet away. Although he wore European clothes, the skin on the back of his neck was black. His hands, too, were dark. Nothing unusual, I told myself. We often saw natives in Western dress. While he was seemingly absorbed in an exhibit, his body was alert and tense, and his whole attitude was one of watchful waiting. Somehow I man- aged to get interested in a Balinese head of a woman. I remember even her shell-shaped earrings because of the impact of what happened next. When I raised my head to speak to Mother, who I did not realize had gone on to the next room, my gaze looked straight into a pair of eyes reflected above my head in the glass case. They were narrow and slanted upward at the corners-dark, inscrutable eyes that held mine completely. I could do nothing but look, and never have I experienced such fear. My arms hung limply at my sides. My palms were wet, and I could feel little beads of perspiration forming on my forehead and around my mouth. But still I, stood, fascinated by the power of those eyes. Vaguely I wondered if being hypnotized felt like this. I tried to tear my eyes away in an effort to come back to reality but all in vain. I knew I had to get away, but my feet seemed paralyzed. Before I could summon up sudicient strength to move, the man bent low over my head. Time for me had stopped. Hard knots convulsed my stomach in pain, and I was shaking with fear. Suddenly Mother's cheerful voice shattered the stillness and with it, my panic. The man, who had heard her call, silently disappeared through the open door. I wanted to run to Mother and thank herg but as we came into the reality of daylight, my fears seemed foolish and infinitely far away. For a long while after, I said nothing about the strange man. Then one day, in a conhding mood, I told her. I-Ier reply made me burn with embarrassment. Didn't you know that a foreigner's hair has an odor very different and fascinating to the native? Dear, he was only paying you a compliment in his own queer way. Irma Hassrauzmx. Form VI THE FLAME 57 PILGRIMAGE T0 FAIRYLAND HE lath-house was a little mysterious even under the bright sun of a Sunday after- noon. It was no wonder, because fairies are always mysterious, and there were fairies in the lath-house. Patty and I knew. We hadn't actually seen them, but only the other day there had been unmistakable signs. The bright colored leaves we had hidden in the rock garden had disappearedl U Right then we had decided to hide in the lath-house till we saw a real fairy. Naturally, Sunday afternoon was the best time, because then nobody would disturb us. Daddy was in the garden, Mother asleep on the porch, and the rest of the family were engrossed in the funny papers. A slight puff of air disturbed the leaves of the bamboo tree. Hush, we both whispered automatically. We stopped for a moment, then resumed our tiptoeing down the gravel path. We circled the lath-house and crawled through a small opening under the kumquat tree. It would never do to walk through the door just like ordinary people, that would have broken the magic. i The lath-house was like a dark, cool cave after the brilliant sunshine outside. For a minute we rested, breathless, on the damp, green sod, then stealthily arose and headed for the rock-garden. We climbed over the moss-covered rocks, stepping carefully around the young plants, and finally knelt beside a small pyramid of stones. This was the fairies' domain. V We excitedly set aside the biggest stones and peered into the resulting gap. A tiny, crumpled leaf was all there was to be seen. A grown-up might never have noticed it, but to us it was the cast-off frock of a fairy queen. I, being older, was privileged to pick it up, holding it tenderly in a moist palm, while Patty gently deposited in the tiny cache one bougainvillea blossom, truly royal enough for even a fairy's gown. The stones were rolled back into place, and we settled down to wait. Suddenly a thought came to both of us. We whispered together, then silently crept away as we had come, not waiting for the fairies at all. Not even after we were again under the beaming sunshine did we speak. But the thought that had come to us both had been that maybe it was never a good idea to wait for the fairies. Maybe it was better to just pretend. ANNE ZxEsMER ' FwmIV BROTHERLY LOVE 1 Big Brother Thinks About Little Brother I LIKE him, but he bothers me. He plays with my toys. He knocks down my build- ings. He bangs on the piano when I'm trying to play nicely. He gets all the rides in the stroller because Mother says I'm too big, and if I try to climb in beside him, she says it will get broken because it's rickety. He has that nice room I used to have. The room I have now has Sister in it, too. When she forgets to lock her' closet door, I play in there, and she doesn't like it a bit. We used to bother each, other at night, but now I go and sleep in a little cot in Mother's room when she goes to bed. Sister and I both think that's fine. That way I'm luckier than Mike, but he's asleep and doesn't care. In the bathtub he grabs the washrags and soap, but Mother says never mind, I'll have them to myself when he's out getting dried. Mother always wants to know why I can't eat as well as he can. I just don't want to eat well. He finishes so fast she lets him down from his high chair to Wuxi awoun an' wun awoun, while she keeps me eating little bits of apple. Mother once said her breakfast had boys in it. Sometimes I do have fun with him, though. Sister made a slide by putting the end of the bench on the sofa, and he came, and we took turns sliding down. Sister caught us at the bottom. Mother says when he isn't a baby any more weill have fun together all the time, but I don't know. 58 THE FLAME 1' Q Smeg 'Eff . , ,A . I 1 XE P X V 'V r' , f X' ,s ,Y- ' . 'Y .., ,. -2-'G' '-1-a ' fr... . ' ' Q' Little Brother Thinks About Bzg Brother I like him, but he bothers me. He plays with my toys and grabs his toys away from me. He pushes me when we brush our teeth. He yells when I come to help him play the piano. He has a gate on the door of his room to keep me out, but I go in there and play whenever I can. There's another gate to keep me out of the pantry and kitchen, and I used to howl when I saw him playing there. Now I can open that one, so I play in there all the time anyway. In the bath I used to want to stand on the edge of the bathtub holding on by the shower pipes the same way he did, and I cried because I couldn't pull myself up. But I practiced on a fence outside, and now I can stand on the edge of the tub just as well as he can. Mother pays too much attention to him at meals trying to make him eat, so I have to keep yelling for my food. Sometimes he's nice, though. I had a big box and was stepping on and off it, and he came, and we took turns. One time he took my hand and led me all around the house, showing me all the rooms and places. He meant well, but I'd seen them all before. When I got tired of it, I shook him off and went on playing. I wish he were nice to me all the mme' MARGARET METCALF Form I A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM T WAS one of those summer nights that press down on the ground like a dark, wet blanket and smother the helpless inhabitants of the earth. As I was unable to sleep, I rose, dressed, and groped my way to the side porch. Here I collapsed into a wicker chair and shut my eyes against the overpowering weight of the air. The opaque darkness was full of dreams-transient forms in the night ..... The sharp smell of onions and beer hung over the pavilion. Stars like gold confetti reflected the light of the moon. The harsh tones of a juke box cut across the lake and lost themselves in the ripples. We sat on the rotted pier, and I dangled my feet in the cool water. We talked about airplanes and new songs, the war and the prospects of the Minnesota football team ..... The grey clouds chased each other across the colorless sky. In a few moments the wind subsided, and the rain slithered to the ground. We walked hand in hand across the rain-glazed grass, feeling the moistness against our faces. There was no need for words, we walked in silence. The wet wind explored the long grass, whispering of its discoveries. We could talk to the wind ..... The sun filtered through the thick leaves, splashing gold on the horses' manes as we trotted down the bridle path. I dug the heel of my boot into the warm flank of my little mare, and she responded with a burst of speed. The sharp rhythm of hooves was doubled as you joined in the race. The trees galloped by, and the dust rose sulkily in our wake. As your mount drew up beside mine, you looked down and smiled ..... I stood on the runway and watched the planes dissolve in the cloudless sky. The whole day seemed artificial and brittle, like the scenery in a cheap movie. I turned and walked mechanically back to the car. The monotonous hum of the motors was still in my ears. It grew louder and then softer, it came in waves, like water coming and reced- ing on a beach . . . closer, closer. . . . . The drone of a lonely plane broke through the wall of sleep. I opened my eyes and saw that the night sky had been ripped from horizon to horizon. The rain sang tunelessly on the roof. JEAN MERRILL, Form VI THE FLAME? N0 ONE KNOWS HE clouds guarded the stars and would not let them shine. The trees swayed, mak- ing grotesque shadows against the dark sky. The leaves scattered, frightened and chat- tering, across the cold earth. The village shook and rattled under the power of the wind. The woman in the gray stone house was dead. The cat lay guarding the door of the bedroom. She was white like the death in the room she guarded. Anna saw her there, saw her eyes gleaming in the blackness. Anna knew the cat hated her, and she was afraid. The cat crept from her place by the door and glided down the stairs to the kitchen. She sniffed at the milk Anna had left there, but she wouldn't drink any. She heard the stealthy whirring of the clock before it struck. Her white figure crouched tense as three harsh clangs shattered the dead quietness. Her mistress had died at three. It was day. No light could penetrate the still darkness of the house, but the cat knew. She closed her eyes and slept. Anna found the cat there, lying stiff and motionless in the kitchen. The milk was overturned and it spread out over the floor like a long, white hand. The people in the village thought Anna was crazy, but she wasn't afraid any more. The house where her father was born was theirs again. Her father would have liked that. Anna laughed. She was free and unafraid. She turned and hobbled upstairs towards the room crying, No one knows. The chattering leaves, the swaying trees, the banging shutters answered her thoughts. No one knows. LASSE Ma lecon est demaing Il me faut travailler, Mais mon cou se raidit Sous le poids de ma tete. Mes cheveux en desordre, Ie suis si lassel Ie regarde la musique Ou les croches noires s'embrouillent, Et les lignes semblent obliques Sur les pages eblouissantes Sous la lumiere jaune. Ie suis si lassel Mes pieds aux pedales Sont lourds comme des pierres Des doigts sur le clavier, Qui glissent sur les accords, Tombent des gouttes de sueur. Ie suis si lassel MARY Bruccs Form VI W MONNIE RUSSELL F orm V THUNDERBOLT Thunderbolt: The thoughest yet of fighters- Heavily armed and armored- Fast and high it flies, That low-winged monoplaneln Thus the papers read Or magazines or what you will- But what they say is this: We've found a better fighter still! Thunderbolt: Your pilot is capable. I-Ie's young and strong and trained- His mind's alert, but best Of all, he's very brave. This seems to be my thought Or surety or what you will- But what I pray is this: Make him a better pilot still! MAxu4Eu. Bnooxs Form VI THEFLAME SON NET And did you know what I was thinking then, Amidst the party noise, when you replied Your brother had been killed with other men, Reminding me not he alone had died? He and the others in his flight you said Bitterly, upset about them all. Your lowered eyes bespoke revenge ahead As you lit your pipe and leaned against the wall. The hours passed and time had come to leave, My father shook your hand with parting word: This is goodbye till March then, I believe? I hope to be in combat, sir. I heard. I wanted to, yet could not smile again, Oh, did you know what I was thinking then? Maxucsu. Bnooxs Form VI T0 A FRIEND If someone were to ask me what you've meant To me in years gone by-and even now, I'd find my words already had been spent By men of note--just glimpses they allow. But say that I were Euclid in my mind And saw you through his eyes, what would I see? An evenness of temperament--a kind Of balance that is steady as the sea. If Brahms could take my place for just a while, I'Ie'd hear the harmony we see you bring And maybe write a song-but in your style, A song of latent rhythms, fresh as spring. But Dante's mind would see you as a whole, And he'd express the beauty in your soul. MARKELL Bnooxs Farm VI HEADACHE Expelled from the innermost depths of my brain, Squeezed forward through channels and forced through its pores, In rivers, incessant, tormenting, comes pain, Where, blocked at the surface, in anger it roars. MARY Bluocs Form VI We regret that we do no have room enough to publish the 10,400 word story, There Three, by Sylvia Burns. We advise you to get it from Sylvia and read it. It is worth it! ELEMENTARY SCI-ICDCDL Cloppity clop, cloppity clop, Go the horses' feetg Over hill, over dale, Out of the valley, into the street. Cloppity clop, cloppity clop, The sound is becoming clearer, On they come, at a run, Always coming nearer. THE FLAME Cloppity clop, cloppity clop, Now they're within our sightg On the run, here they come. The leader's as black as night. Cloppity clop, cloppity clop, Away the horses rung Soon it's night. They're out of sight. Their long, swift journey is done. BETH HEADLEY Sixth Grade 61 rw 4.-A AN UGLY CATERPILLAR Once there was a poor, little caterpillar who was so slow and so ugly that everyone made fun of her. She lived in the back yard belonging to a boy named Bob. He, and a few of his friends often found sticks to poke Lizzie with. Poor Lizzie! She knew that she was ugly, but why did everyone have to pick on her? There were other caterpillars in the yard, and some of them were almost as slow and ugly as she. One day some caperduds, a mixture of a Hy and a grasshopper, discovered that Lizzie was a Hne thing to have amusement with. They sneered' and jeered at her until she wished that she was dead. On a fine, sunny morning in Iune, Lizzie decided to take a sunbath on the top of a sunfiower. The flower would turn its face to the sun, and Lizzie could spend the day in drowsy laziness. As she slowly and painfully climbed the stem, the caperduds saw her, so down she crawled, a sad, miserable caterpillar. The summer days that were left were torture to her. Finally winter came and, as is the way of nature, she spun a cocoon. The inside felt like silk and was soft and warm. Into this Lizzie crept. Soon she went to sleep and she slept all the winter long. In her sleep, she dreamed a dream that was to come true. She dreamed that a beautiful, winged creature asked her what she wanted most. Lizzie answered that she wanted to be beauti- ful and be able to fly like a bird. The fairy waved her wand and vanished. Now, soon after this, Lizzie awoke. She felt bigger and different. To her surprise, she found that she was flying. The caperduds saw her and recognized her. They were very respectful indeed. They wanted her to be their queen, but she said no. She told them that they, who were so cruel to poor, ugly creatures and so kind to beautiful ones, could not appreciate her. With that she Hew away. Was she a very happy and contented caterpillar? No! A very happy and contented butterfly. HELEN Hanrrrm. Sixth Grade IUCNHB g Ied and I went on two picnics. The leaves rattled and we thought it was an animal. We ate grapes. On the other picnic I wiggled and wiggled and I seemed to have ants in my pants. I really did, and when I got home I shook my pants and the ants came out. Tukie, Why didn't you sit on them and mush them up?,' Ginger, I did, but they still wiggled and were alive, so in the middle of the picnic I shook my pants and then they didn't bother me any more. f BUSTER Elise has a lamb named Buster His tail looks like a duster. Elise is proud of her little lamb, And feeds it lots of bread and jam. GINGER Mums First Grade Q GINGER DAVIDSON Kindergarten, Four Year Old Group THE SNOWMAN I have a snowman Fat and big. He does not go to movies But stays in his blanket white. Knnsrm PEDERSEN First Grade THEFLAME WINTER IS COMING The great hall clock is striking loud, The work is done, and fields are plowed, And over- yonder hill we see, The grain is waving, bright and freeg And all the birds 'are taking Hightg The leaves are turning their colors bright. There were loads of them out there, Freely and loudly blow the winds, HOPPIUS hcfe and h0PPing there'- As over yonder hill they spin. Big ffogs and little frogs, too- Soon all the fields will be covered with snow, I was Scared and didnit know what I0 do And not a single leaHet will show. SALLY EMERSON The squirrel is scarnpering with nuts in his mouthg K1-ndcrgarten And even the littlest birds Hy South, ' For soon, very soon, will come the snows, Winter is coming as everyone knows. ' IUDY Mooms Sixth Grade FLORIDA We went to Florida one year. First, we rode on the 400 and then we rode on the Blackie, We came to Iacksonville, Florida. We stayed at a hotel that Daddy's friend with the curly hair told us about. Then we drove in a car to Daytona Beach. First, we stayed at a lady's house but the house smelled musty. The stove wouldn't go. Then we went to Mr. Ally's cabins. He had a dog and his name was Noodles. There was a boy named Dicky. Every day when we went to feed the gulls, Noodles atc the bread crumbs. There was one gull with one leg. He could catch bread crumbs in the air. All the other birds teased him and tried to get his food. We went to anice restaurant by the name of Iohnson's. We always sat at the same table. The waitresses always had a special table. The same waitress always served us. We went back home and when we got here it was raining. ELLEN Husn Second Grade THE VICTORY GARDEN The victory garden over there Has vegetables everywhere. It has carrots and tomatoes But it does not have potatoes. The sky above is a pretty blue, And gentle breezes are blowing, too. The vegetables are growing Fine With all the carrots in a line. BABBIE LANGFORD Fourth Grade THE FLAME SAINT PAUL The city that I like best of all Is the city of Saint Paul. It isn't too large, and it isn't too That is our city of Saint Paul. In the winter comes the snow, In the spring the wind does blow, In the summer the gardens grow, And in the fall to school I go. Iojo M1u.AnD Fifth Grade small 63 rv, LH A 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY Ioe was sick. He had pneumonia. He had been in bed for three weeks. His birth- day was on May thirteenth and today was May sixth. Seven more days thought Ioe. He would not have much of a birthday this year. And besides that, his Dad's horse, Pal, had a newborn colt. He was anxious to see it. After dinneer he took a nap as usual. When he woke up it was almost time for his father to come home, so he just lay there until his mother came in with his dinner. He had steak for dinner. The days dragged by. Ioe had lived on the ranch all his life, but never had it been so boring. On his birthday he woke up early. There at the foot of his bed was a little collie dog in a dog basket. It was from mother. On the floor stood a dog house from his brothers, dog pans from the ranch help, collar and leash from his older sisters, and a dog ball from the twins. That afternoon after his nap he looked out of the window. There was a colt standing on long spindly legs. lust then his father came in. That colt's from me, Ioe. Her name is Whitey. When you have trained her you will have fun. Now your job is to get well. Ioe did get well. He was up and out in three days. After he had trained Whitey he had many fine days. SNUWF LAKES As I woke up one morning, I saw the snowflakes falling, I saw them falling on the trees, On window panes and on the eaves Gently, gently they came down, Then faster, faster to the ground, They looked like fairies at a dance, Or horses starting off to prance. Yet as I saw the snowflakes falling, As they came they seemed to be calling To the merry wind to come- Whirl them round to have some fun. CATHERINE MYERS Fifth Grade CARoLE BOUTHILET Fourth Grade PUPPY Our little puppy dog is sleeping He will awaken soon We must be kind and quiet So he can sleep 'til noon. TU1uE GRIGGS Kindergarten, Four Year Old Group FLAME BOARD SHIRLEY WRIGHT, Editor-in-Chief Literary Editors MARY STRINGER, DoRoTHY OERTING, NORA BAER First Semester Art Editor CHARLOTTE FITZPATRICK CAROLYN STOLTZE, MARGARET HERBERT, SYLVIA BURNS First Semester Business Manager POLLY NYE M DOROTHY COUNTRYMAN SARKELL BROOKS, MARGARET SPicER, PATTY APPEL econd Semester Faculty Adviser ANNE ZrEsMER IEAN MERRILL, CHARLOTTE Minus, IJOUISE MAIRS Second Semester Faculty Art Adviser Photographs in this issue are by LUTHER GREEK 64 i T H E F L A M E HISS COBYZS DESK fi MISS SFIVRCE CHRISTIE F T IN P s LL AJ FRU. an! THE FLAME W. ll- llllll N Q., ' gfv! XY 72? H Q, ,, 7,'u.. .sf-f: 'I 4 ' wi. ., .fr ,1 FRESHMHN WEEK cgggug cop 41 Rtnfnasn mmmw Qtmf 1 Ma-an 2 ' rms C muck TAIL! .pf W rv K 'Sw' K 4526 C J 1 v 5 . -H Q 9 .ii 54 trlg U Mt l IN 00M .X mf- ,x lg U ' ll Q i- '54 x.. . OHV . V -- Q I dl' h',w11 ' I' I., I 'l 4 W- I DRNCF CLHSS HOMEQFRD ou A I s zij U-F55 M T55 W FRIIDHY P-0INTf NME l .. . Vff :f2'1 1'ff:E1' W WJ 'I 5 I 5 f . g 1 - Z 7 4.04, 9 gg g E F Qff h -, 7i2. ,f X X J, .-.. Hzcnm ur A Q 7 ? . 'N amunnncs REPURTS V P ON THE wnv ' w CLORK' Room mnaoi 66 THE FLAME SPURTS REVIEW JUNIORS 'l'0P SENIDRS Field Hockey Before the snow had coveredthe field this fall, the juniors and seniors had played four battling games of field hockeyg but winter struck early and kept us from finishing the tournament of three out of five games. The first game was brought to a vic- torious end for the juniors, who scored one goal in the last few minutes of a score ess game. The second game was a see-saw battle with the seniors hav- ing the edge. However, they weren't able to elude the spectacular defense of their opponents, and the game was scoreless. The score of the next game was also tied 0-0, but the junior line crashed through in the fourth game for a 2-1 victory over the seniors. The juniors had brilliant defense: Sylvia Burns, Debbie Donnelly, and Dorothy Countryman were outstanding. The seniors had an excellent offensive line: June Hassenzahl, Dorothy Leav- enworth as forwards, and Shirley Wright as halfback played a speedy, skillful game. Field Hockey Varsities Mary Briggs Binky Brooks Dorothy Cammack Sis DeCoster C. Fitzpatrick June Hassenzahl D. Leavenworth' Marjorie Okes Georgie Ray Mary Stringer Shirley Wright Mag Barber Sylvia Burns Dot Countryman Marnie Cudworth' Deb Donnelly Betty Holmes Virginia Kinkead Nancy Mairs' Polly Nye Happy Stringer Jean West SKATING The skating season this year was only five short weeks. It began about De- cember 12 and lasted until the middle of January. This year, for the first time, Summit gave its winter carnival without a skating rink. But with bas- ket ball as its main attraction, the car- nival proved to be a success even with- out the skating. Third and fourth forms exhibited their skill in basket ball, and the sophomores piled up 15 points against the freshmen's 9. The Junior High School played captain ball. SEIIIDRS DEFEAT JIINIURS Basket Ball The senior basket ball varsity soared to great heights in registering a con- vincing 30-19 victory over the juniors' team. Dorothy Cammack and Mary Stringer dropped them in the basket while Shirley Wright and June Has- senzahl assisted many of their shots. The game was one of the fastest ever witnessed at the school, with very few fouls and skillful playing on the part of both teams. In the tournament basket ball game the seniors were once again the victors. At the end of the first half the score was 9-9, but in the second half the seniors piled up one point after the next, making the final score 39-9. Basket Ball Varsities Mag Barber Mary Briggs Dorothy Cammack Sylvia Burns Soccer and Speedball The second form defeated the first form in their soccer tournament this fall, while the sophomores carried the titles in their speedball games with the freshmen. Sis DeCoster C. Fitzpatrick June Hassenzahl Margie Hawthorne D. Leavenworth Dorothy Oerting Marjorie Okes Georgie Ray' Mary Stringer Shirley Wright Helen Clark Dot Countryman Evie Crooks Deb Donnelly Betty Holmes Nancy Mairs Polly Nye Betty Parsons Happy Stringer Jean West' Speedball Varsities Amity Alexander Willette Bacon Ginny Clark Kate Davidson Catherine Dunning Peggy Driscoll Nancy Gaver Bridget Hastings Hope Macartney' Nancy Ames Betty Bancroft Cynthia Kelly Glenna Millard Teedie Mairs Edie Nye Pondie Ordway Doris Rosenholtz Sally Stoltze Soccer Varsities Sue Cammack Pat Courtney Sally Fitzpatrick Nancy Harris Ann Hartley Martie Holman Frances Holmes Lucy Jackson 'Captain of varsity. Barbara Lang Alice Nelson Pat Smith Jean Carlton Aleeta Englebert Juliana Griggs Nancy Neimeyer Roxanne Paper THE FLAME This year Northrop and Summit couldn't have their usual friendly clash in basket ball. With so many girls out of school with the measles, it was de- cided We postpone our playday. How- ever, we're still holding out for some good competitive games with Northrop before the season is over. TENNIS All eyes are focused on the tennis matches in the spring. Both a singles and a doubles tournament will be played this year. MARJORIE OKES Head of Athletics First Semester 67' OUR FACULTIES 9259 GS' cv 5.9-M.. gil-'UC 'SBU 20:2 F0058 Ph ig? 4,,,m S4553- E51' g 543s l9c'i-I : 9, 595 E 34' ag '51 - Bl S' 4. CI DeU5 gag? F0 0353 ESM? ,,:.9... U'-'on' 205-E 'TGI ng 5 gs-.ggo ..: o g'E .. H0355 12 H E ggi? Q.- 5302 IJ cnfb E 9-0 2 E S '15 K ,s fe, 1 Xl She lives in constant dread for fear His pointing fingers, ilaying arms We'll soil our hands in acid: Create a frantic hreezeg Mid test-tubes and dissected frogs His earnest plea forever will Her temperament stays placid. Be, Ladies, will you please . . . 8 You serve her salad separately And thus maintain the peaceg She jumps at any noise at all And queries, What eez zees? U 'Nl I D23 11 Q 'll I vie 4 liili N ilk!!! r She shrinks from every camera And enters late for mealsg Clandestine aeronautic jaunts She mystically conceals. THEFLAME click GOOD FOR A LAUGH Miss Stephens: What plants do we eat to get protein? lean West: Eggs. C i I Charlotte Peet, on a test paper: You can tell that the story took place long ago because they were living in mid-evil times. l Q I' Gaver in English: A white blanket covered the ground. Miss Spicer says nothing. Appel: She means a blanket of snow, Miss Spicer. U I O Miss Spicer, giving spelling list to senior class: Dormitories-t.hat's where you're going to live next year. Next word: Drudgery-that's what you're going to do next year. Next word: Dissipate . . . U U C lean Merrill in history: At Iackson's inaugura- tion all the common people came and put their feet on the chairs, and this was very democratic. l C U Peggy Driscoll: When did King Arthur die? Willette Bacon: On the next page. O O l Miss Busyn to American history class: . . . and besides gold, did they find deposits of potashium and magneshium? Enthusiastic class: Oh, yesh! f I I Marjorie Okes in French class: Do all the stories of de Maupassant have a moral? Mademoiselle: No, no, no, no. The French haven't any morals. Ray, after having forgotten to bring back the French Bible for assembly: Mrs. Dein, have you a French Bible? Mrs. Dein: No, I have the New Testament. Ray breathlessly: Does the New Testament have the story of Iesus in it? I U O Nadine in current history: Well, what we laborers don't like .... I O U Miss Converse to Mr. Harris: Did you know that the Glee Club has been invited to sing over a national hick-up? I 1 Y Miss Busyn, giving an example of not being specific: If you say snow is a form of precipita- tion, you have not distinguished it from other pre- cipitadons like hail and rain and .... Stoltze: And barium sulphate. 1 U I Nadine in French, translating Lui jetant une tape dans le creux de son ventre, lui cria par la ligure : throwing him a tape in the hollow of his stomach, cried out to see his figure. l I F Wright: I just found the best quotation for Stoltze's picture: 'If I should chance to talk a little wild, forgive meg I had it from my father'. O I l Nadine in chemistry: Hey, that's wrong! That's not what I gotl I O I Miss Busyn: Mildred, what do you think the most characteristic thing about Cleveland was? Mildred: Well, I think his character was. REUNION SCENE: The living room of loyce's house, wherever that may be. TIME: 1950. lover-:: My glove, my rose, my reception! CAROLYNI fWho has spent the night.J Relax! fShe falls into a chair and lights up a Phantomj M1uto.uua'r flinteringjx Am I late? CAnot.vN: Hell, no. My father says . . . M.uioAnE'r: Is everyone coming? Iovcla: Yes, but Shirley can't get here until after the matinee: and Sally will be late because she's taking care of the baby. GEORGIE fEnteringl: Well, where is everybody? Iuun fSlightly behind herb: Here I am. Pome: No grass, no trees, no birds, no bees, no wonder, November. Sxtvivv Gust arrivedj: Ha, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ha, ha. Mnctn H. fWith Skippy and wearing the latest thing-orchids instead of bows on her shoesjz Caro- lynl Play some boogie-woogie. I'rct-i fAbsent-mindedly pulling petals off wilted daisyj: Medicine, art, medicine, art . . . Ah, the eternal dilemma. LEAVY CUnconsciouslyJ: There'll be a War Committee meeting . . . Eek! What am I saying? Mzinctrs O. Cln a Petty girl bathing suitj: Hello, Mother, hello, Sue. The calla lilies are in bloom again. That's life. Inuit: QLanding on the lawn in a helicopterjz Isn't it cute? I've got to have a name for it. IUNE fRunning DPP? Oh, let me see. Mun' B.: What? Where? When? Who? Which? Why? Oh, heavensl Manx S. fSauntering injz Let's go in and play bridge. Sxsrlan: Hmmmm? O. K. SALLY: Hi, kidsl You didn't think I'd do it, did you? Dorvr: Well, frankly, no. Nolui Un nurse's uniformj: What? Please tell me. SALLY: Don't tell me you've been in school all this time. Bmxv QUnder a raccoon coat with Fitzl: Oh, isn't this fun? Frrz: No, no, no, nol I'm in Pop Pop. Mn.mu-:nz I'm terribly sorry I'm late: I overslept. NADINEZ I think you're absolutely right. What? Oh, excuse me. S1-tnu.r-:Y lPosing effectively in the doorwayl: Hello, everybody. Non CSitting in the bay windowj: Hey, please be quiet. THE FLAME Norm Bren Form VI 69 3' g.A BALLAD OF THE SOPHOMORES QWith Apologies to Coleridgej It is a stray Fourth Former, and She stoppeth one of three, By thy desperate look and haggard eye, Wherefore stoppest thou me? She holds her with a shaking hand, I beg a boon, quoth she, Pray tell me how to Figure out That dread geometry. But now the second bell doth ring, 'Tis tyrannous and strongg The sophomore turns a paler hue And totters on along. The other three do watch her Hee, And mutter undertone, The way they act, this sophomore class, We simply can't condone. The fourth form here, the fourth form there, Swarming all around, They shriek and yowl, and whoop and howl, Like noises in a swound. We look upon a merry face, For it belongs to Kate. She struggles o'er her harmony, And sighs, Ah, such is fatel Now Patty paces down the hall, Red as a rose is she, For she hath just a teacher met And is Hustered as can be. We see a third, we hear her voice, It is Virginia Gregg. As she comes forth, she calls to us, Her query, Where is Peg? And now we hear a roaring wind As Peggy looms anear, With oh's and ah's, we gather 'round The sweetheart of the year. A waist of twenty-three hath she, Amazing, we agree. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still she nears and nears, lt's Caddie in the distance as She swoops and tacks and veers. Oh, happy living thing, no tongue Thy beauty can declare! As Ginny dashes to and fro, We all do stop and stare. Her lips are red, her looks are free, Her locks are yellow as gold. Barbie's a comedienne- But that need not be told. Swiftly, swiftly by us Hies, Yet she sails softly, too. At sports and such doth Nanny shine, Her rivals now are few. . But soon there breathes a wind on us, Nor sound or motion makes And forth comes Hope, a willowy form, The Lady of the Lake. Oh, dream of joyl Is this indeed Fair Billie Io we see? An apple a day won't keep her away, A surgeon she will be. The upper air bursts into light, And sunshine does aver, That Bridget grins so cheerfully 3 We smile to think of her. The fair breeze blew, it eastward Hew, And with it brought us Anne. Her writing is well-known to all, To each and every fan. ' What loud uproar bursts from that doorl There goes the whole Fourth Form. Farewell, farewell, we leave you to The calm after the storm. A little distance from us now KATE Davmsou and Tall Amity we see. ANNE Znzsmsn SENIOR WHO'S WHO CSE: Prcruiuas ON PAGE 155 1. fRayI She refused to let her mother cut her bangs. 2. f0ertingj If she didn't agree with her nurse, she said so. 3. fStoltze1 She agreed with her father by saying, Checlql 4. fStrongej She giggled instead of crying. 5. fHassenzahU .She forgot to grow. 6. 1Ormej She was always fascinated by the flight of birds. , 7. fDeCoster1 She wouldn't let her nurse feed her more than fifty calories a day. 8. fSmithj No one had to teach her how to hula. 9. f0kesj She won the Olympic races in 1928. 10. fHerhertj She gurgled twenty-four hours a day. 11. fGoodson1 Her Dr. Dentons were trimmed with white lace. 12. fDunningj Her vocabulary consisted of Who? , Why? , What? , Where? , and When? . 13. fBaer1 No one had to pick up after her. 14. fMerrillj She tore up the streets with her kiddy-car. 15. fBriggsl She cried in harmony. 16. fStringerj She managed the neighborhood gang with eiiciency. 17. fFitzpatriclqQ Her baby talk was punny. 18. fBrooks1 She played Bach on her rattle. 19. I Carlton I Her streamlined landing gear was a kindergarten sensation. 20. fCammaclqj She made her own diapers. 21. fWrightj Keats was her Mother. Goose. 22. fLeauenworthj Her Florida tan was the envy of the kindergarten. 23. fHawthornej She had her own high chair in the Waldorf-Astoria, but no baby picture. 70 THE FLAME SUMMIT AND THE WAR HE opening of school may have found the War Committee weak and unsteady, but the closing of school will leave it a strong and successful organization. During the year the War Committee under the direction of Miss Busyn and Dorothy Leavenworth, has called upon and obtained the support of the entire student body, through talks and skits it has impressed upon the girls the necessity of work, money, and conservation in help- ing in our national war effort. After hearing speakers from the Red Cross and the O. C. D., many girls were anxious to answer volunteer calls. The only call before the Christmas holidays was for clerical work from the Children's Service for which several seniors volunteered. The two free weeks at vacation, however, brought many opportunities for a variety of jobs: over a dozen girls, freshmen through seniors, Hled for the O. P. A. Regional Ofhce, which needed help desperately, several girls volunteered at the Iunior Red Cross to wrap and pack presents for servicemen stationed in the Twin Cities, a faithful senior again helped at the Chil- dren's Service by addressing cards, the second form made gumdrop favors to brighten Christmas trays for the patients at the Children's Hospital, and six first formers worked in sorting Christmas seals. During school the art department produced two lovely draw- ings to brighten some barren walls now seen by soldiers, and a group of second formers decorated a baby basket for the station canteen. When vacation came again in spring, three juniors and one senior volunteered their aid to the Y. W. C. A. Besides these periodic calls, two projects were undertaken, six seniors attended the Staff Assistant course offered by the Red Cross, and in December six sophomores began a project which they will con- tinue until Iune, that of taking care of the children at the Wilder Nursery every Saturday morning. This undertaking is an energetic one for which they should be given full credit. Another effort of the War Committee was to increase the sale of war stamps. When the second national bond drive came in Ianuary, the school voted to play at buying a jeep. Propaganda agents Qcalled Bulletin Aidesj sprang into action: posters appeared in the halls, classroom blackboards had ominous warnings against inflation and suggestions for saving part of allowances forwar stamps. They seem to have succeeded, the total sale of stamps before the start of the campaign was about five hundred dollars, after the cam- paign, between Ianuary fourth and February sixteenth, the total was over one thousand five hundred dollars. The first jeep was soon presented, and we started on our second. We cannot overlook the excellent record of the elementary school, for they have bought a jeep of their own. Three jeeps in one year would be a Fine record. By second semester the conservation drive was also in full swing. Attention was cen- tered particularly upon the waste of food. An interview of the kitchen staff, followed by an inspection by student detectives, revealed the deplorable amount of food left on the plates daily. Skits by the sixth grade and the detectives effected great improvement, espe- cially in the butter and milk record. Bulletins and announcements have also encouraged the saving of paper, another important item in the national conservation program. During the year we were privileged to hear two very interesting speakers, Madame Barzin and Madame Ortz, both from Belgium. They told us about the almost unbelievable horror of the life in Belgium today and of the courage and spirit of their countrymen. We learned much from them of the ceaseless struggle which is even now going on between the underground and the German conquerors, but above all, we realized how much we have for which to fight. Every bit we do, no matter how small, helps preserve our rights and privileges. Donor!-IY LEAVENWORTH and SHIRLEY WRIGHT THE FLAME 71 MUSIC' IN THE SCHOOL NE popular innovation which Miss Kelly has instituted this year is allowing the students themselves to take an active part in the school's music. Many of the piano students have given performances during the year. There is a larger number of girls studying music than ever before. The practice rooms are filled every period with diligent pupils, as those frequenting the library will agree immediately. After the spring recital one can be sure to hear the student part of the audi- ence commenting, Oh! I remember that piece-every fourth period on Monday. Many of the girls have helped out with the marches and hymns for the assemblies, I'm sure Miss Coby appreciates this help. Formerly Miss Coby has always started us off on our day with her jaunty marches, but this year the piano students have taken over the job, and many of them have overcome a reluctance to perform in public. A student is assigned one full week of assemblies. This means the girl has to learn a march and five new hymns. One student, wishing to play her hymns without a mistake, practiced them diligently in advance. It so happened that a paperhanger was working in the next room during that same week. After his job was finished, he left very much impressed with the religious attitude of the household which seemed to tolerate no music other than hymns. Another enthusiastic practicer, when asked to play for a family guest, thought it would be a good time to try out her hymns for the coming week, so willingly she sat down and proceeded to play live of them with not less than six verses each. The guest has had a definite aversion for Rock of A gc.: ever since. Mr. Russel Harris is our new chorus director, he replaces Miss Pehrson, who this year is devoting all of her time to her piano pupils. Mr. Harris in the fall gave us a piano recital of his own very modern compositions. One of his numbers was quite unusual in that the pedal was held throughout the piece. He explained that this motif was inspired by a pupil who knew no better way to use the pedal. We hope with this startling example she soon mended her ways. Miss Kelly played a Roussel Sonatine for a morning assembly. We all enjoyed hearing such a fine musician. Later in the fall, Stanley Rice, a twelve-year-old boy, played his accordion for the school. Mrs. Deneke, the wife of the man behind the drums in the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, gave us an informal Hute demonstration. She played while walking around the room, giving us a good chance to see how the instrument worked. The Glee Club gave its first program of the year for the British War Relief Society at the Minnesota Club. We all felt like the motherless chile because Mr. Harris sud- denly caught the Hu and we were left without a leader, but like the real troupers that we were, the show went on. We were sought out a second time to sing on the radio program, Overseas Special. The arrangement at first was to broadcast from the canteeng but later the plans were changed, and to our disappointment we found ourselves segregated in a soundproof room of Station KSTP. This time we did have the leadership of Mr. Harris. We sang light songs such as Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, Summer Time, and several others. In May the Spring Recital will bring the music of the 1943-44 year to a close. DEBBIE DONNELLY Form V 72 THE FLAME THE SUMMER PROJECT E HE Summit Summer Day Camp, or then Summer Project as it is called in Summit circles, was organized by the students last year to help provide amusement and recrea- tion for children who lived in neighborhoods where playground facilities were inadequate. Although to many people its title is ambiguous and its activities unknown for the most part, the purpose of our project was carried out to more than fulfillment of everyone's hopes. Mrs. Marr, head of St. Paul,s Volunteer Civilian Defense, first suggested the idea of such an organization in our school to the students one day in April last year. According to her plan, the school building was to be used, and any students who wished could volunteer as L'Vacation Cadets to help train, educate, and amuse over one hundred small children from a certain St. Paul district for six weeks during the summer. Mrs. Marr's plan was quickly accepted, and with many students eager to volunteer their services, our plans for the Summer Day Camp went underway. Our first problem was of course the financing of the project, for with careful research we found that quite a sum would be needed to provide milk and fruit as well as bus fare for one hundred children every day for six weeks. Our needs were, for the most part, taken care of by the profits from a very successful fair given by the school in May and from The FLAME sales at this fair. Together these profits amounted to 35649.00 By Commencement and the first of summer vacation, our plans were almost com- plete. Four oflicers were elected: President, Betty Bremer, vice-president, Andy Hunter, secretary, Georgia Ray, and treasurer, Ioyce Carlton. Ioyce was later replaced by Marjorie Okes because of an untimely appendectomy. To direct the camp, Mrs. Nell Whitaker, a former member of the Summit staff, was chosen. The training course for the Vacation Cadets began on Iune twenty-second and lasted until Iune twenty-seventh when examinations were given. This training course was given to equip us with the ability to instruct young children in some field such as arts and crafts, modern dance, and athletics. The training course also included trips to the Neigh- borhood House and to the Public Library where helpful suggestions and ideas were given to us by more skilled and professional social workers. Thus equipped, Mrs. Whitaker and the Cadets were ready to open camp on Iune twenty-eighth. Each child was registered that first morning and was asked to pay his twenty-five cents to cover the cost of his milk and fruit for two weeks. This milk and fruit was furnished every day to each child to be eaten with his own packed lunch brought from home. This question of fruit and milk soon brought up our financial problem again. We found that twenty-five cents did not nearly cover food expenses for each child every day, but we thought it unreasonable to ask any more since ours was principally a charitable organization. Bus transportation and insurance for each child also proved to be an over- whelming expense, for at the end of six weeks this cost reached a total of 345000. How- ever, our original 15650.00 added to the sum paid into the camp treasury by the children each week furnished a large enough fund to pay these expenses for several weeks. Thus we managed to keep our Summer Camp running efficiently and smoothly for six weeks of the summer. This is perhaps due largely to Mrs. Whitls foolproof organ- ization and perfect schedule, but much of the success should be attributed to the Vacation Cadets. Some girls devoted as many as ten or fifteen hours a week to the camp, and most of us found that our interest in the camp increased with the amount of time we invested in it. The actual program of the camp was organized into two three-week periods. At the end of these periods, families and relatives of both campers and Cadets were invited to assemblies at the school to witness the progress and results of our Summer Project. At these assemblies, plays were given in which white and colored children were seen in equally prominent parts, and the best examples of the arts and crafts activities were dis- played. At the end of six weeks, the almost unanimous wish was for continuance of the camp for at least another two weeks, but there seemed no way by which the necessary funds could be raised in time. Thus one month and a half after its opening, the Summit Summer Day Camp closed, a complete success to both campers and Cadets. Giaoncus RAY Form VI THE FLAME 73 SENIOR PLAYS THIRTY MINUTES IN A STREET by B. MAYOR A Stray Man ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,A,,A,,... DOROTHY OERTING A Man with a Bag .....,.,.,,. DOROTHY CA1vIIvIAcK A Rioh Lady ,,,,,.,,,.,,,,,,I,.,,,,,..,..,.. JOYCE CARLTON A Curate ,,.,,,,,,,,.,.,....,,.,.,.,....,..., SIDNEY STRONCE An Actor ,,,,,,,,, ......,.. C HARLOTTE FITZPATRICK A Child .,,,,,, ,,,,.,...,.... M ARGARET HERBERT A Girl ,,,,,,,,,, ........,..,..,..,....... N ORA BAER A Visitor ,.,,.,E,.. .,..... E LIZARETH DECOSTER A Hostess .,,,,,,.,.,, , .....,.,E,... MILDRED GOODSON A Young Man .,,,,,.,..,.,... MARGERY HAWTHORNE First Shop Girl ................................ SALLY ORME Second Shop Girl ................ MILDRED GOODSON An Old Lady ..............,.,...,,,. JUNE HASSENZAHL An Elderly Gentleman ......,,....,. JULIA DUNNING A Musician ,.,,,.................., DOROTHY CAMMACK A Husband ...,.,...,.,.,....,.,,.... DOROTHY CAMMACK Servant ,,,,...,. ....,.,,........... S ALLY ORME JUNIOR OPERETTA H. M. S. PINAFORE by Gilbert and Sullivan Buttercup , .......,...................,,...... EVELYN CROOKS Boatswain ...........,.......,............,. HAPPY STRINGER Dick Deadeye ........ ....,,,,,..... B ETTY HOLMES Ralph Rackstraw ...........,.... DEBORAH DONNELLY Captain Corcoran .................,..,... SYLVIA BURNS Josephine .....,,.,............. MARGARET ANN BARBER Cousin Hehe .......,...........,..,....... VIRGINIA CLARK Sir Joseph Porter .......... DOROTHY COUNTRYMAN The British Tars: Constance Catheart, Helen Clark, Margaret Cudworth, Virginia Kinkead, Emmy Lou Levy, Nancy Mairs, Polly Nye, Betty Ann Parsons, Margaret Rus- sell, Jean West. The Ladies: Amity Alexander, Patty Ap- pel, Willette Bacon, Kate Davidson, Peggy Driscoll, Catherine Dunning, Nancy Gaver, Virginia Gregg, Bridget Hastings, Barbara Lyle, Hope Macartney. SHAM by F. G. THOMPKINS Thief ,,,,,,.,,.,.,,,,,,,,,.,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, SHIRLEY WRIGHT Clara ,,,,, ,,,,,,,, ,...,,,.,.......... N A DINE SMITH Charles ,,,,,, ...,.,,.,..,.,.... M ARY BRIGGS Reporter ,,,,,,,,,.,,,,,,,,.,,,,,,.,.,..,,. CAROLYN STOLTZE REHEARSAL by CHRISTOPHER MORLEY Freda ,,,,,,,,.,.,...,.,,,....,.,, DOROTHY LEAVENWORTH Christine .,.,,, ,...........,.....,.... J EAN MERRILL Barbara ,,,r, .,.,................. G EORGIA RAY Sonia r,,,, ......... M ARJORIE OKES lwarjorie ......... MARY STRING!-IR Gertrude ,I,.... ........, M ARKELL BROOKS SOPHOMORE CHRISTMAS PLAY THE LITTLEST SHEPHERD by Florence Ryerson and Colin Clements The Prologue .....,,.......,...,..,...... WILLETTE BACON The Littlest Shepherd ............ AMITY ALEXANDER The Star ..,,,....,............... ......... K ATE DAVIDSON Mary ,........,......,..,.,,.,... ......... V IRGINIA CLARK Joseph ,...,..,.......... ..,.......... P ATTY APPEL Three Wisemen . ..... ......... H ORE MAGARTNEY BRIDGET HASTINGS PEGGY DRISCOLL Three Shepherds .......,...... CATHERINE DUNNING VIRGINIA GREGG ANNE ZIESMER The Angels ....r.... ................ N ANGY GAYER BARBARA LYLE THE JUNIOR DRAMATIC CLUB This year a dramatic club has been started by the junior high school under the prompting of the third form. The officers for the year were: Nancy Ames, presidentg lean Carlton, vice-president, Patty Courtney, secretary, Barbara Baer, costume chairman, and Nancy Harris, chairman of the stage crew. The club gave Stuart Walker's play, Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil. Those in the cast were: lean Carlton, Sally Seabury, Patty Courtney, Betty Bancroft, Kitty Wolff, Dorothy Griffith, Cynthia Baer, Lucy Jackson, Nancy Ames, and Lesser Stoltze. Nieta Countryman was the announcer and prompter. The ofiicers and members hope that this club will continue as a permanent part of the school activities. The faculty adviser was Miss Constance Savage. M THE FLAME PLAYS Form VI 1'Rehc'ar5ul Form VI Sham Form V UH. M. S. Pinaforen THE FLAME 1 gg!! 45 iijg 2123 IE if 1 -SQ i Tf- --f Z L ,W W, ,W , 7, ,,,,,, ,YW , Y, , , 4, iw V Kgs?-'AQx ,g W--. NL 'K 3 M3525 MW Aw pi... . M-wus fix 'ajax The silk screen prinls in this isxue were designed by Dorothy Fitzpatrick, lean Merrill, and Barbara Lyle. Oerling, Charlotte 1 THE FLAME r AUTQGRAPHS 'T r THE FLAME
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.