Tower Hill School - Evergreen Yearbook (Wilmington, DE)

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Does it know the beauty? Does it feel the brave, Surging thru its channels To cheat that distant grave? The brave who are the living, The brave who never die, The, brave who gather stardust From out a darkened sky. Does it smell the richness Of the earth below its feet, And see glory in the future It marches on to meet? Does it hear the rhythm Of sea and earth and time? Does it hear the music, Does it know the rhyme? Can it solve the riddle Of a world that's just begun? Does it know the outcome Of a race that isn't run ? This great and gaudy city, This thing of stone and steel, What, pray, does it know now ? What, pray, does it feel? J. STUART Goonuan, '34, GLIMPSES FRCM A TRAIN WINDOW 'PORTERJ Porter! A red cap strides by. Paper! Paper! Morning Edition! An elderly gentleman has temporarily stop- ped this dirty, ragged boy's calling. Here a family group, evidently, is giving its farewell advice to an aunt or some other relatives. There a crying child is being dragged along, his stocky legs unable to keep up with the long gait of his parent. A rumble of wheels of Q18 Tower c.7'fill ,School a handcar carrying trunks, some shiny, some like a patchwork quilt, is heard on a cement platform. The handcar is seen for a second among the throng of people, each interested in his own affairs. A glare of lights illumi- nates the faces of the people, a few sad, oth- ers intent on the project at hand, and still others laughing or chatting with a friend. Yellows, bright reds or gaudy oranges which belong to a hat in some cases or to a sweater or coat in others, catch my eye and then dis- appear or else another object attracts my at- tention. Across the platform a shiny train comes steaming in like a great monster. Its clanging bell moves intermittently. Its win- dows are a-glow from the light within, and its passengers are bustling to and fro Within it, for it has reached its destination. Puff ! puff ! our train is slowly beginning to move. A few arriving at the last minute have start- ed to run, their coat-tails a-iiying and their bags giving them an occasional bump as they make one last desperate attempt to reach the train. Chug, chug, the train is beginning to move faster and people are waving and then returning to the station room. Now the train has left the platform and set up a steady rhythm. An occasional iiash of blue, red, or yellow light, a glimpse of cold, shiny blue steel rails or a vague post is all that can be seen in this darkness of an underground entrance station. My journey has actually started. I take out my book and commence to read a story, a very interesting one. At intervals iiashes of sunshine cross the page. Why, we are out in the open at last! Above us is blue sky, and on eye-level with us are soot-covered buildings. A flabby pillow hangs out of a window, a dirty woman's face peers out of another. Lines of clothes are blowing glee- fully in the wind. Below us are streets where automobiles, trucks and an occasional wagon are seen for a moment.

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The Tower CDial tering teeth, Shall I let 'im have it ? The old Alaskan guide shook his head, Wait till he reaches fifty. Still he kept com- ing closer and closer. Cold shivers shot up and down my back and my teeth chattered harder every minute. Finally when he was almost on top of me a voice whispered, Bust 'im. Up went the 30.06 Springlield, but to my great horror the barrel shook like a leaf. At that moment the mountain of fur in front of us rose up on his hind legs. At last after what seemed hours of aiming, the barrel steadied and I touched the hair trigger. The huge bear in front of me fell backwards into the stream with blood gushing from a wound in his chest. Before I could think, he was on his feet, a fighting demon, belching out great roars and snapping teeth like fire crackers. The great hole in his chest turned the clear mountain water into a crimson red. Another bullet tore into his bull neck and down he went for the second time, only to get up a raging maniac. At last my sight rested on his giant skull and this time he sank down never to rise. We had to wait ten minutes before approaching my trophy because more people are killed by brown bears playing possum than in any other way. Bon CARPENTER, '34. COLORED WOODS OF FALL WHILE Jack Frost in his little paint vest now carries a small can of deep green paint, the rest of his vest is filled with cans of fall colors, with which he will decorate his many forests. Yesterday when I walked into the Rock- ford Woods I was held spell-bound by the picturesque scene that my eyes beheld. I knew right there and then that old Jackie had lost no time in getting his men to work redressing Mother Nature's peaceful land- scape. All the trees and shrubbery that not long ago were green are now changing to their fall dresses. Here and there we see long out-stretched arms covered with a coat of green leaves spattered with red, and where Mr. Frost has kept his men working overtime the red spottings completely cover the green. In some places Jack is throwing his paintings to the winds. These leaves have long ago turned red, and are now yellow. They come down very slowly, turning this way and that as the winds scatter them to the four points of the compass. Some fall to the ground, to be blown into nearby bushes, where they form warm blankets which will protect the surrounding vegetation that has been tucked away for the winter by Mother Nature. Others fall in the creek that peacefully makes its way toward the river. Here upon the water, which babbles in and out among the rocks, they sail like little boats, following the currents of the stream, while behind, others fall to make a carpet of gold upon God's flowing wine. As the trees shed their wearing apparel they become barer and bar- er, and it will not be long until they are rais- ing their leafless branches to heaven, waiting the descent of the snow which will hide their nakedness for the winter. ELLswoa'rn GENTRY, '35, METROPOLIS This great and gaudy city, This thing of stone and steel, What, pray, does it know now? What, pray, does it feel? Does it know the colors? Does it know the pain? Does it feel the sunlight Warming it again? 12 ,p

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The Tower CDial I resume my reading. When I look up and gaze out of the window again, a view of a fleeing landscape meets my vision. Hills fringed with green, over which great billowy clouds seem to be sliding, a sparkling brook, a red barn, or a colorful farm house, cattle grazing peacefully on spring grass, a winding road are some of the things that I catch glimpses of. Now the train is chug, chug, chugging along an ascent on a mountain side and we are gradually gaining height. A pan- orama of a winding, shining river on which tug-boats, excursion boats, fishermen's boats are moving, of groups of oak trees which line its sloping banks, of bridges which are spanned across it, of roads, of fields like patches on a brown coat puffed out in places and in deep folds in others, now greets me. Over yonder a series of neat houses are in a row, with red or green roofs gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Again I resume my book and again I stop, this time, however, because of a sudden jerk -the train has come to a small station. One of our many passengers gets off. Then the train again starts and with each chug I am coming nearer and nearer to my destination, for the train is eating up the miles. On thinking back over this trip a few of these glimpses from the train window flash before me. I think that these views are like a moving picture of what civilization has done with itself and with this land. BETTY HAWKINS, '34. NEMESIS IT was a most unusual night. The wind came in spasmodic gusts which shook the old house from roof to cellar. The shrubbery cast eerie shadows about the grounds, flut- tering in the cold lunar radiance like things alive. . Within Roger Coleiield was feverishly running to and fro with vials of multi-col- ored liquids in his hand. The room seemed but half a laboratory, for, although one wall was equipped with scientific apparatus, the other wall was a mass of books. The Next War, The Great War, Legal Murder, Menace to Civilization, and similar vol- umes lined the wall. Several of these were lying open on a nearby table. Roger Cole- field picked up one of these and commenced to read it aloud. The next war will proba- bly wipe out the whole of civilization. It will doubtless involve every living man on the globe with its deadly gases and deadlier germ cultures, culminating in the complete annihil- ation of human life. The next war will be a lesson lost on polluted corpses and gleaming skeletons which are no longer bothered with worldly affairs. - Oh, I say, did you call, Sir? It was Williams, Coleiield's ancient man-servant. Confound it, no! thundered Roger. How many times must I tell you to never disturb me when I am at my work? Do you realize, man, that human civilization might depend on this? Oh, no, Sir ! lCWhat?!! That is, I mean, most assuredly, yes, Sir! Ah, that's better. Roger's voice took on a confident tone. You know, Williams, I am on the verge of the greatest discovery in history. A lethal gas that will produce a harmless sleep of several hours on the sub- ject. By means of this non-fatal weapon an entire army may be disarmed while in a sound sleep. Don't you see? It's the thing of a lifetime, man. Now go and leave me alone with my work. Colefield promptly returned to his laborious experimenting. Finally he immersed two electrodes in a pur- plish green liquid and stepped over to a 1419