Textile High School - Loom Yearbook (New York, NY)

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The sfill figure sfirred nof. The wind sfill howled as if in friumph buf fhe rain slowly ceased as if in sorrow. The soul of fhe sfill form had depar'red- Now lef us frace fhe beginning of so fragic an ending. Johnny was wounded in fhe lasf agonizing few momenfs before Armisfice. He awoke in a reioicing afmosphere. The Armisfice was signed. Johnny slepf, af peace wifh fhe world. On his arrival home he was greefed as a hero. The parades of veferans were cheered and polificians orafed wi+h pafriofic eloquence. Buf soon fhe enfhusiasm died. Johnny could noi find a posifion. A girl had faken his place. The democracy he had foughf for had furned againsf him. lf was fhe old sforyq fhe refurning soldier finding' fhings foreign fo him. Johnny found prohibifion, and fhe money in fhe hands of fhe rackefeers and crooked polificians. And fhus Johnny came marching home. Unshaven and unkempf, Johnny had become a hobo, buf in his eyes fhere burnf a fierce lighf. This was an inspirafion fo save himself by wrifing a book felling fhe frufh abouf his advenfures, and more offen-fhan-nof. misadvenfures. Hunger would no+ be denied nor would fhirsf. Johnny siole food and drink. All humanify would iail him and deny him his measly exisfence. A sform was coming up and in fhe cold, Johnny lay shivering near an ufferly inadequafe fire. The gnawing pain in his sfomach was forfuring him. His sense of pride would nof permif him fo again sfeal when possibly employ- menl' mighf come soon. So he sfarved on. As fhe wind increased in volume and fhe snow and rain sfarfed fo come down Johnny shrugged his shoulders. 'righfened his bell, and gof up fo leave. He sfood for a momenf gazing af fhe lasf sparks go ouf of his fire. He raised his fhin hands complainingly fo fhe clouded and merciless heavens and uffered a low mournful cry. He sfarfed 'ro frudge painfully across fhe frainyard. Bul' fhe sform desired re- venge and began in earnesf. An hour or so lafer Johnny lay . . . a vicfim of fhe democracy for which he had foughf . . . dead! Page Thirteen

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ENDING . Charles Levine, W-I ll' was a slormy nighi' in The middle of December where our sfory begins or should l say . . . ends? The wild wind drove lhe snow and rain scurrying over +he sleer-coafed ground. The single searchlighf of fhe deserfed 'rrain yard was circling idly, ignoring The fury of +he elemenls. In i'rs palh wa suddenly revealed a sfaggering figure which looked like a man. As if came closer one could see lhal his unshaven 'Face was gauni' and blue wifh cold . . or was if hunger? His cloihes hung in lalrers and fhe wind flapped greedily a fhem. His lips and iaws were working. A. gleam of lighl' fell on a universifj pin in his coalf lapel. A sudden gusl of wind blew his ragged hal' off anc immediaiely his hair was plaslered againsl' +he from' of his face by 'rhe winc and rain. Wiih a sob The man 'lripped over a rail and fell lengfhwise inlc Jrhe mud. Slowly, ever so slowly, he arose. The rain was slreaming down hi: lace cuHing a paih, 'rhrough 'rhe mud on his face. His chesf was heaving wilh lhe girear sobs which racked him. There was a frickle coming from hi: mouih. He arose and srood gazing wisifully in +he direclion from whence he hac come. Wearily he lurned and noiiced a lunch counler for railroad men Wifh a rasping cry he srrelched ou+ his hand and slaggered 'lo +he windovi which displayed all soris of foods. His breaih made a haze on lhe colc window pane and he fried +o brush i'r away. Suddenly a wild lighf appearec: in his eyes. He drevq back warily and picked up a large s'rone and wilh e hoarse cry he senl' if sailing fowards 'rhe bounfiful window. lf shaflered wifi' a s'I'ar+ling' crash bul ihe man had sunk ro +he ground . . . unconscious. The exciiemenf around him soon died down, Hs ardor dampened by 'rhe rain. Page Tu'el1'e

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The fire a+ which he had been warming himself revealed 'rhe ashes of hall:-'Finished manuscripf which was fo have been his salvafion . . . Johnny boolc. The wind blew lhe ashes io all corners of +he ear+h and Johnny's sou now came marching +o +he home of his Crealor. SEA SONG . . . Clara Picconi, 7A. The sun, +he wind, The sound of The sea, Swepf in+o my room and awakened me. Come ou+, come out 'rhey gayly cried Rose 'rhe wild sea horses wifh 'The fide. The sea is green and +he sky is blue And sea and slay are calling you. I 'roolc my pillow and hid my head. Oh, do fhey no+ know 'rha'r love lies dead? Page Fourieen