Theodore Roosevelt High School - Saga Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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UKQQSAA 0' W v Q' A1 'if' 9 'f --Wg O! 4 Q '90 ,Me MOSS: mg r. PM I P :ri L' --2. AMELIA Iosephl How can you? CLEMENT I-Ie deserves it if only for the laugh I got, seeing you tear down the stairs as if a regiment of ghosts was after you. Besides, he has a likable face, and probably will have more use for the money than any of you would have. Therefore, Peter, I give you five thousand pounds and the deed to this castle so that you can play ghost whenever you please. PETER Five thousand poundsl CAROL Oh, Peter, you can publish your mushroom-scented poems now. POVLOFF It you gave it to me- SAMUELS You would be a capitalist and could use your oratory in after-dinner speeches. PETER Oh, Miss Carol, you have brought me this good for- tune. Will you allow me to show you my country? Will you come as my guest? CAROL You bet I will. I'll even let you quote your poetry to me. RITA HOLZ ON Tl-IE BRIDGE Theres romance in bridges. I, too, discovered this, one foggy, inclement day in November when I viewed the waters of the Hudson from the George Washington Bridge. I was quite alone, for on such days few visitors walk over the bridge. The many automobiles whizzing by were not dis- turbing, for they moved so quickly that one was unconsciously aware of the pleasing sounds coming from precise coordination. Perhaps as they hurriedly moved along, the drivers noticed a girl leaning against the railing, staring fixedly at all the magnificence about her. The stately majesty of the mountains vied with the sublimity of this steel structure called bridge. Insurgent waters rolled and tossed beneath, and the sky above was dim and night was coming on winged feet. The distant fog horns sounded exactly as I had imagined they would. I saw tug boats, steamers, and ferries pass by. It was really dark now and lights of the bridge had long since been lit. The mountains were gray and the sky dark, the river alive with boats and sounds, and I heard noisy cars pass me by. Reality had come apace. EDNA MCCLATCI-IEY 12

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GHOST Madam, I-you-really, this is not the way to treat a ghost. CAROL Now don't tell me you are really a ghost. GHOST At times I have almost been a ghost. But I am something much worse. I am a poet, a poet by choice, a ghost only from necessity. CAROL And What is a ghost-poet doing in a strange house eating someone else's dinner? But Where did you get that moth- eaten uniform? GHOST It isn't moth-eaten. CAROL Yes, it is. fShe sticks hcl' jinger in a hole in his sleevaj What sort of poetry do you write? POET fentlznsiasticallyj My poetry is full of the music of my people. In it is the odor of sun-drenched pine needles and of the mushrooms in the woods. In it is all the romance and the color and the warmth of my country. CAROL That sounds good. Does it pay? POET Not Very Well. So far I am the only person who thinks my poetry is great. But let me introduce myself. Cl I e clicks his heels and bowstj My name is Peter. Two days ago While on a Walking tour, I found this castle with a cellar door unfastened, and I climbed in, for it was a rainy night. I slept in the attic overnight and when I Woke up in the morning I found the house full of servants. Now, what could I do? How could I get out un- seen? So when I saw this uniform I remembered the ghost story and decided to get out that way. But I got lost and I blundered into the dining room. When the lady screamed I ran into the next room and knocked over a table. I intended to go out this Window, but I was hungry and then you caught me. Q The host and the other guests entenj CLEMENT I-lal so you've laid the ghost, Carol? What do you mean by this, you thief? PETER I am not a thief. I am merely a poet. CAROL Wait! This is my friend, Peter, the Poet from Prague. CLEMENT If he's your friend, then, of course, it's all right, but I still-- SAMUELS Carol, Where did you meet him? CAROL Never mind, father. CLEMENT fto Peterj Won't you join us? PETER I thank you. You are very kind. CLEMENT fspeaking softlyj Are you interested in him? CAROL Yes, I am, strangely enough. CThey seat themselves at the tablej CLEMENT I am sorry that our dinner has not progressed more smoothly but I am sure the young man is most Welcome. fHe casts a kindly glance upon Petenj Since none of you have earned the reward I spoke of, and since you, Carol, have no need of it, I propose to give it to our ghostly poet. ll

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qllffif 'Ft- Lt ' 7' iw ' 2 7:i?!'..... .f Krxil- . 'I ,Mis 122' I VAL DISGUISES It was a little shop tucked away in a secluded section of old Prague. It was so small and weatherbeaten as to be hardly noticeable among the other small, weatherbeaten shops and houses that fromed the cobbled square. I would surely have passed it by had not the curious information on the small sign above the door attracted my attention. I. Smetanaf' it said, Dealer in Disguises Conceal your personality in one of my creations. I stepped up closer and attempted to peer through the window pane. All that I saw there was a wig or two, resembling nothing so much as a bird s nest I was greatly tempted to step inside and investigate this curious place of business, but at the top of the short flight of steps that led into the inner darkness of the shop, I hesitated What ex cuse could I possibly give for entering and not purchasing any thing? But extreme curiosity led me on, and I stepped into the gloomy interior. As I entered, I was assailed by a powerful cloud of tobacco smoke. While I stood there coughing, a cheery voice accosted me and a figure seemed to materialize from the shadows My eyes were becoming accustomed to the light, or rather lack of it, and as I replied to his greeting, I studied the man before me The proprietor was a man of medium height and age and of extreme thinness. His voice seemed strangely unfitted to him for it was a cheery voice of a man who might be described as fat and jolly. I idly wondered if he had not developed this tone of voice to conceal the sadness of his face and eyes eyes that were mild and blue but despairing. His mustache looked as if it had been many a day since it had felt the touch of a ministering hand. In answer to his inquiries, I said that I was going to a mas querade ball and was in need of a costume. I-Ie laid down his pipe and fumbled in the pocket of his rusty trousers for so long a time that I half expected him to produce a costume from that region. But all he took out was a pair of spectacles and bal ancing them precariously on his nose, he favored me with a glance of mild reproof.