Townsend Harris High School - Crimson Gold Yearbook (Flushing, NY)

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a E 9 SHORT STORY CONTEST A , fa ,X ,O Y mul K sei if L0 l li li l X, 5' 9 be nf 'X f-ii if GJ Sd 37 'S .W V .. lf if + l N ' f' Page Fifty-Four Second Prize .2-10-i THE MOPING OWL By SIDNEY FREIDBERG, U. A. 21 OE was a queer fellow. His Q 3 Q classmates thought so his , ' I parents were aware of it and ', ,il joe admitted it. He was a I1 ll 7 at is xl nu I Www? I 'VMSI real introvert - m o o d y, i i 7 thoughtful, and self-contained. He seemed to Walk about in a perpetual fog-always thinking. He had few friends and wanted less. fZQlX .1 in E Yet, joe was not a bad fellow. He was neither a freak nor a hypochon- driac-just a bit too serious and thoughtful, that was all. Once when he was elected to some minor class office, he worked hard and conscien- tiously. Nobody could find fault with him on that score-he was a hard worker, all right. But he was not the kind to accumulate a long service record, and get elected to the G. O., win a service pin. He was abso- lutely devoid of school spirit, and never stopped to lament the sad fate of this or that team, as his classmates did. He had ideas-theories they could better be called-of his own, yet he did not possess the power to make others believe in him. In the classroom, he often got up to argue a certain point, but found it hard to express himself and soon sank back into his seat, spluttering with embar- rassment. joe was an exceptionally good student, yet nobody ever tried to bor- row his homework, or get him to work out a translation for them. Those who knew him best, said that he had too old a head on his should- ers. They called him The Moping Owl. joe was in Upper A now, and it was his proud boast that he had never flunked a subject in Harris. It had been tough going all the Way, and now, in his Senior term, he didn't want to fall down on the job. To- morrow he was to have a quiz on all the plays of Shakespeare that had been studied in school. joe stayed up until two o'clock that night--studying. Somehow, he had never been able to understand Shakespeare very well. Finally, his head fell wearily upon his arms, and he closed his eyes. The

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coming laughter-or something of the sort. Edith read his name, Dr. Phil- lip Brownley, Edith considered it a very nice name, and, of course, told him her's. I suppose I ought to notify the po- lice about that. He pointed in the direction which the train had taken. But it will have to wait. The quiz- zical smile deepened and the expres- sion about his eyes of coming laughter -or something-waxed beautiful and beatific. Please let me apologize for the crazy way I conducted this affair, but. . Yes, It waited. Why go on? Let it suffice to say that we should be thankful-as Edith was-for the fol- lowing and other reasons-that Edith's faith in mankind was revived. As for Dr. Brownley, come to think of it, the role of Good Samaritan to the maiden in distress suited him admir- ably. And as a parting thought even though murderers are running about scot free, three o'clock in the morning is as good a time as any for two people to get acquainted. Now isn't it? THE END .-lO . SURGJIMUS SEMPER , 5 cs ITH a swing to the drumbeat of hearts throbbing quick At the trumpet of challenge, and girt for the fight, if Into battle a thousand strikes smartly. The pick Of our gallantry dares and endures, to requite .-QWQQ5 The debt of its manhood, the Crimson glows bright, The Gold flashes to shame prudent pallor. Oat from the higla Hall, proad in epic Jfory- Gfay .rpirei .roaring fo greet ine day'J einbraee- Hariif Jallief splendid, diadeined in glory, Song on near' lips, and radian! bei' face. Heads up, and alert, then, and into the thick Qf the fray! For the fire of courage gives light To fix honest worth by. Who lags is a stick When the legion goes marching, secure in the might Of its cause, of its honor, its trust in the right, And the sounding report of its valor. Oat from the gray walls, .raining in flie morning- Gifay towers tall, agleafn apon the bill- Hawif rallies splendid, forfanelt hazards Morning, Strong in her yoarli, and indomitable will. JAMES E. FLYNN. Page Fi Jkh 1' 61 X mi ii' x E ll fill - 3 ,UE u i N yi A . I I9 We MES lg! a f yi ll ft 4. jzy-Tlnree

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street lamps far below him shone dimly through the blackness. Only the sound of a solitary policeman, pac- ing up and down his lonely beat, re- lieved the oppressive silence. Suddenly, he was startled by a pe- culiar noise behind him. He turned around, and almost fainted with fright and astonishment! He found himself face to face with a tall, gaunt individual who wore a small Van Dyke beard, and, most surprising of all, he was dressed in Elizabethan doublet and hose! W-W-Who are you?,' Joe man- aged to stammer. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, and stepped on his pet corn, just to make sure that he was awake. Yet the apparition, if such it was, refused to disappear. You needn't be frightened, Joe, it said: you see, so many people have been calling me 'The Immortal Bardf that they've sort of convinced me that I am immortal. just to con- vince myself, I took a little stroll this evening, and found that I'm still very much alive! Say, whatfs the trouble, joe? You keep staring at me as if I were a ghost. Honestly, I'm not. Here, feel my arm-real flesh and blood, I tell you. Gosh, I expected a warmer reception than this. Don't you recognize me, joe? This is your old friend Bill Shakespeare! At this, joe pulled himself out of his stupor. Shakespeare! Friend! Now just listen here, Mr. Shakespeare, or whoever you are, this has gone far enough . . . Now, now, joe. Don't get ex- cited. That's just what I came here for-to find out why you twentieth- century fellows dislike me so. You know, I used to be quite popular when I was young. Even with Queen Elizabeth, and you know she was very difficult to please! And say joe! don't call me Mr. Shakespeare any more. Bill's the name. I joe was just a bit reassured, and pro- ceeded to unburden himself of his grievances. Well, in the first place, Bill, why did you fellows back there in 1600 use such flowery, poetic lan- guage. We can hardly understand what you are trying to say. Take this passage from Hamlet, for in- stance: Bat look, the morn, in raise! mantle clad, Walks 0'e1' the dew of yon eastward bill. Why couldn't you use some simple expression like 'Came the dawn'? Shakespeare laughed good-humor- edly, like one who is pointing out the truth to a misguided little child. My dear boy, someone must have been putting queer ideas into your head. In my day, we didn't talk any differ- ently than you do now. We play- wrights just used that redundant, ex- aggerated language in our comedies to bring a bigger laughf' joe was even more puzzled. But if that is true, why did you use that style in your tragedies? You see, l'm not very familiar with your comedies and historical plays, because almost all of those we study in school are tragedies-Julius Caesar, Macbeth, and The Merchant of Venice. Most of us also read Hamlet for a book re- Ju S -- 252 Q.,- X I- S' :- wo ii' of . .Eg K- . - Ev 4 x jd!! .9 5 , I E V ll!! MES tw f jr li- f Page Fiffy-Five