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

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grown colder, not even the stannping of feet and the clapping of hands helped much now. Adding to the general uncomfortable feeling was the torture of having to smell the fragrant odor of coffee coming from a cafe behind us, and of being prevented from slipping in to drink a cup of that stimulating beverage. At the end of another hour there was a general restlessness in the ranks. Officers had to keep a sharp lookout for anyone who tried to sneak away to get himself something hot to drink, for if one were to start, a general stampede would have followed. Suddenly a blare of trumpets was heard, a hush fell over the ranks, and amid this silence the Secretary of Education inspected row after row of Avanguardisti. Once the inspection was over, the welcome order to march was given. On coming out of a comparatively quiet street, we found our- selves marching up the main street of the village. The band was playing, flags were flying from every house top, and hundreds of people lined the street to watch us go by. I was bewildered, although the others around me were living an exciting moment. I could see it in their faces. But this moment was short-lived, and the intermin- able wait began again. The trains that were to take us home did not arrive for another two hours. Fortunately discipline was more lax, and it was possible to slip away to some warm cafe. Night had fallen before the trains arrived, and when they did, we lost no time in getting into the cars to get out of the cold night air. We were all eager to get home to the hot dinners we knew were waiting for us. A few of those in the railroad compartment with me who knew the use of the bathtub besides that of storing oil-flasks, rubbers, shoes, and umbrellas in it, were telling each other of the hot baths they were going to take. I could go on like this indefinitely, but since this is the best time to take leave of them, we bid farewell to these young fascists, war- riors of the future. C =sjC= NINETY-EIGHT

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for none of us had expected to leave the city that morning. Runnors started circulating, as usual, annong the ranks that we were going to Venice, which was extremely unlikely for Venice had its own Avan- guardisti, or Boy-Scouts. Meanwhile the square was filling up with more and more Avanguardisti; even the Sea-Scouts or Marinaretti had been summoned, for several squads of them, each trundling its light field cannon had just come into the square. By this time several hours had elapsed, and we, the first arrivals, were becoming restless. Although I had had some experience in standing on line (for example, when trying to buy a ticket in the lunchroom), it was hardly compar- able to this. It was tiring standing there in complete ignorance of what we were supposed to do, and of where we were going. Besides, we were all cold and stiff, for the thin shirts we were wearing afforded no protection against the keen mountain air coming from the Alps. At noon when everyone in the square had become restless and tired, the trucks containing our food rumbled up and we each received a paper bag with our lunch in it. Almost simultaneously the order to file into the station was given. Slowly the square was emptied of all the humanity it had contained a few minutes previously. Two trains were needed to take all of us to our destination. While the trains were going at full speed we found time to eat lunch, and to take pot-shots at objects standing along the embankment with the refuse. The food had warmed the vocal cords of a few budding tenors, who started singing the same songs they had sung that morning. There are only seven or eight of these songs, so they become slightly monotonous at the third or fourth hearing. When the trains finally came to a stop, the great mystery of our destination was solved. We had arrived at the historic village of Legnano, which is situated to the north-west of Milan, about seventy-five kilometers away. Without further ado, as soon as our ranks reformed, we marched, centuria by centuria, to a little square located in front of the city- hall. There we were stationed with our backs to the sidewalk, facing the street. The ranks four deep could be seen extending down the street as far as the eye could reach. As usual rumors started circulat- ing again, but none of them sounded convincing; to this day I still do not know why they brought us there. It was colder in Legnano than in Milan, because it is nearer the Alps. The hours dragged on; two hours had already elapsed since we had been stationed there, and there was no sign of the official who was to inspect us. Singing had been given up long ago because everyone was tired of hearing the same old songs. No one knew any more jokes; those who did, reminded me of the humor often heard in hiarris locker rooms, they were that bad. There was a general dampening of spirits in the ranks. It had NINETYSEVEM

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SIDE-SHOW by Daniel I. Rothbaum Step right up, ladies and gentlennen, and for the tenth part of a dollar see the greatest array of freaks ever presented before an American audience. Fronn the heights of the twelfth floor we bring you a red-bearded nnan who will thrill you as he cowers into submission any Latin pony that happens to invade his room. Or a man, short in stature, the terror of the ninth floor, who will enter a cage unarmed to do battle with a dozen ferocious T. D. ' s. But first and foremost we offer you what we consider the most unique, terrific, colossal, tremendous, gigantic exhibit of all, the Harris snobs, as queer a group of individuals as ever picked up de peps in the lunch room. Walking along the tenth floor we meet him of the Arts and Letters Society. A prime requisite of an A. L. S. S. is an icy stare. He is indignant when you con- fuse him with a member of the Art So- ciety. They are painters; he an artist. This term his nose went still higher. He is thinking of the shiny new $40 victrola. Like the bit of harmony geometrically inclined, his brain goes round and round. Whoops! Max Smith, he of entrance exam fame, has unknowingly, we sup- pose, bred his own particular brand of snob. They are interested in nothing but marking entrance exam papers, and take particular pride in having stayed later than anyone else the day of the exam. Mimicking their creator, they have everything down to a system. They never dare murmur while in their master ' s den, but once outside there is no holding them. They rattle off long, complicated formulas until you, and they, are dizzy. They are a proud product of his Phi Beta Kappa mind. I am the Lord thy God. Stooge! Last, and contrary to custom, least, is the Senior snob. He ' s been stepped on all his life and now he ' s ruler of the roost. His senior hat perched precariously on his head threatens to fall off at any mo- ment. His nose rides in the air, and you are sure that if he Is so foolish as to sneeze It will knock him flat on his back. The senior button he wears glistens In the sun as he happily struts along. Only one cloud darkens his horizon. He ' s buttered his bread; now he ' ll have to sleep In it. HI-Ho! And all this for the slight sum of ten cents, one dime, the tenth part of a dollar. All right folks, don ' t shove. There ' s plenty of room for all. How many, sir? NINETY-NINE