Westmont Hilltop Senior High School - Phoenician Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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SAFETY In the wild» of Africa, in the wilds of New York. What is the difference? Many people on the street, on Broadway, would shudder to think of themselves in the jungles of Africa. But there they are, carelessly walking straight into danger of all sorts. Long ago in the caveman age, men were surrounded by huge and terrible animals, snakes, small treacherous ani- mals, alligators, and serpents in the rivers; not only that but they were in danger of being clubbed by their own race. But wherever he went at all times, even while he slept, his natural instinct of self-preservation warned him of danger and kept him away from it. Then little by little, man, by means of brains and an active mind, annihilated these dangers, until about early Victorian times there were no dangers except that of being killed in duel or battle. But, sad to relate, with the increase of activeness of mind and brain, and the decrease of danger, our priceless possession, our instinct, died a slow death. Then, again, danger increased swiftly and took a dif- ferent form. Great cities grew up, autos, street cars, and trains are everywhere, wiping out many lives a day, and we go along carelessly and thoughtlessly. The only way we can again develop this needed quality is to practice being on the alert all the time. In this we have many aids. Every year a drive is launched by some one who has realized the trouble with our streets and especially our factories. Signs are everywhere, papers print appeals, and factories make appeals to their workers. But still many retuse to take need and i!iey are paying the price. Many are killed in the street and on railroad crossings, but by far the greatest number is killed working at our industries, especially our factories. And why? Just because of careless- ness, thoughtlessness and lack of alertness. The factories and mills have done their share. They have covered dangerous machinery, printed warnings, and installed safety devices. Now, if the worker is careful, thoughtful, and alert, all of the danger may be avoided. Can’t we take warning from the dozens of warnings in the paper each night, do our best to bring back that priceless gift of nature, the instinct of self- preservation? It is for yourself only that you make this effort. JANET COOK, ’25. This essay won the first prize in the essay contest held by Cambria Steel during its safety drive.

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colm and Junior started in the direction of the voice; Hope dashed past them; it was her mother’s voice. Not far above them Hope stopped short, for at her feet lay her mother, un- conscious. Junior had run after his sister to see if he could be of any assistance. Malcolm stood in his place dumb-founded. Junior stooped and picking up his mother, followed Hope to the cottage. In her fright Hope had hastily but gently dropped her violin at Malcolm’s feet. When he saw the three descending the hill, he knew and understood, picked up the violin and bow and descended the hill to the cottage, behind his little re-united family. Everything was gone over and understood by all except Helen, who lay unconscious until noon the next day. At the time of the wreck Malcolm had been seriously injured and had lain at death’s door for many months. As soon us he was able he set out in search of Helen and Hope but met only discour- agement and returned home to devote his life to Junior. When Helen gained consciousness she no longer had the dreamy, dazed look in her eyes; she was, except for the “silver threads among the gold,” the same Helen Malcolm of eighteen years before. JUNE KERR, ’24. KING TUT’S RESURRECTION Since King Tut’s resurrection the styles and fashions of men and women (especially the women» have been revolu- tionized. So great has become the popularity of this man, that his name is known at the ends of the earth. Women’s wearing apparel has undergone the most change. Hosiery blocked and squared in such queer shapes, proves to us that the ancient Egyptians must have known something about checkers or chess! When a modern girl is made up (?) she suggests to us King Tut’s sister, (if he ever had any). The Tut style of shoes, hats and the like only goes further to prove that the living past in ever present. Next in line of those who have fallen victims to this pow- erful influence, are the dancers. The reappearances of an an- cient name accounts for the origin of another novelty, “The Tut Step.” And. last of all, the men are succumbing to this sudden impulse in the change of style. Tut shirts, ties and perhaps hosiery, have been and will be bordered with Egyptian figures. “Well,” thought King Tut, as the sound of the excava- tors’ shovels on the stone roof disturbed his slumbers, ‘‘that goes to show that you can’t keep a good man down!” But history repeats itself, again; for, after being enclosed for thousands of years, in his pyramid palace of wealth and unimagined splendor, King Tut-ankh-Amen, comes to rule. He remained there until Father Time’s wheel had made a com- plete revolution. He commands, not in u political or social sense but as u spectre whom we dread; yea, we worship, praise and even make sacrifices to him, as to a God. By sacrifice and worship we hope to secure his favor. This God is the “Tut Style,” the “Tut Fashion.” WILLIAM E. HINKEL, ’24. APPRECIATION OF MICHAEL ANGELOS WORK The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican at Rome was decorated by Michael Angelo and is by far the greatest example of fresco work which the world possesses. This fresco work is decidedly more difficult than picture painting. Some- times the space to be decorated is in a very dark spot so that the lights and shadows of the work must be exaggerated. Often the painter must lie on his back and paint above him, stretching his weary arms to his work for many hours at a time. The paint must be put on while the plaster is yet damp so that it will not peel off. These pictures on the ceiling of the chapel by Michael Angelo seem especially wonderful in that the figures stand out so prominently that it is difficult to realize the work is paint- ing and not sculptoring. Michael Angelo accomplishes this through the exaggeration of his figures, lights and shadows and through his force and desire to make us see the visions which he wished to portray. The decoration begins with the creation, and the rest of the ceiling is divided into small parts each representing a Bible story. These events and stories are all in consecutive arrange- ment finally leading up to that of the last judgment. This is considered Michael Angelo’s best painting, but he has produced many other masterpieces. In the field of sculp- ture his statues of Moses and David are famous the world over and he will never be forgotten as the designer of the dome of Saint Peters at Rome. CATHARINE SIMONS, ’24.

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WITH THE BELLS Think when the bells do chime, ’tis angels’ music period, O wonderful bell! O beautiful bell! () merciful bell, I I thank you again and again and again For the good deed you’ve done me this day. The subject was Latin, The work was translating. When lo! On the stuffy hot air You brought forth peal after peal after peal, And I sank with a sigh to my chair. JANE CLARK. '25. TO OUR GRADUATES Let me say just a word or two In memory of our Seniors true. Your departure is felt by all, You whom the world saw fit to call. It takes you from our Senior class And places you among the mass. Though your joys are somewhat ended And your many trials begin, Strive to live by all that’s in you, And through your efforts you shall win. Cheer up, old pals, for all must pass Into the world from their Senior class. MARGARET ROACH, '24. THE CLASSES Some ignorant Freshman, oh, so green— So small that they can hardly be seen; Some saucy Sophomores in a bunch That always give us a nutty hunch; Some funny Juniors, pry and perk, Always working with a jerk; And some bright old Seniors, very shy— Help to make up Westmont High. ROBERT CROOKS, ’26. 9f say! POETS MEMORIES We are wading in the brook, laughing brook. Leaves are rustling in the breeze. Mothers watching from a nook, shady nook— Just memories. Love is sparkling in those eyes, dreamy eyes, ’Neath the daintily perfumed trees. Two are breathing many sighes, lovers’ sighes— Just memories. Cool and sweet the summer day, lovely day, Winds are sighing through the leaves. There I watch my children’s play, merry play— Just memories. Now my hair is turning white, snowy white, My book lies idle on my knees. While I’m dreaming through the night, lonely night— Golden—memories. VIOLA PROUDFOOT, ’23. ON FIRST SEEING THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL To you, who, from a distance, beckons us Come and commune with your sacred self, we speak In humble words; of your human self We knew but little before, but now we Feel we know you as you were; you sit there As we think you sat in life, grave and calm. Drawing to you and guiding the untold Numbers who come to you for aid. Before Going to you, we thought of you as dead, but Lincoln, you are not dead, you will live on As you live now. and lived in the past Leading the Union, and all human beings In the trials of every-day life. We lived centuries in those few minutes— Cast under your spell, we forgot our own lives