Wilson Vocational High School - Columns Yearbook (Jamaica, NY)

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QOIYLQO! ,..N0l0l9el'leJ fo JLLAQL? .Sze 5aivL l:-- ,E Abe fkougkf C- -D fHere comes that creep again galloping down the hall. Uh, oh, he's coming up to me. Goodness what does ape man want?l Hella Skating Saturday nite? Why l'd love it. fI'd rather go to a funeral than out with that stiff.l 7:30. So long. CGood riddancell CSaturday nite already? What a night! It's even raining! Dracula's leaning on the bell and Mom's going to answer it. The drip's dropped in from the rain and stands there gaping at me as I come down the stairsl Hello! Why thank you. You look pretty nice too. fHoly mackerel, what did I get myself into? He looks a mess. His hair is dripping Wet and hangs over his forehead like bangs. His shirt looks as if a steamroller Went over it. As for his spaghetti- sauce spattered tie, it hangs limp around his rubber neck. The saddest thing of all are his droopy drawersg they are droopier than ever.D So long Mom. Yes I'll be back early. fDead or alivell Q fWel1, finally got to the rink.l Yes, l'd love to skate now. fYes, l'd like to go home too. No sooner do We start skating, he slips and kicks me in the shin.l Hurt me? Of course you didn't. COW, oh, ooo, gosh I think it's broken. I-Ie's got such clammy hands and I've been holding them all around the rink.l Yes, I'm having a swell time. It's a good thing you were holding me up or I would have been hurt. flf I don't hold him up we'll both end up in a hospital. Maybe I should let him fall. Ah temptation! Even being in a hospital would be better than this.l Yes, the music is swell. I remind you of a song? 'Hair of Gold, Eyes of Blue?' How nice of you to say that. tHe reminds me of a song, too, called The Thing .l fAfter the torture at the rink, he finally took me home.l Tired? No! fl feel like I just ran a race at Hialeah. l arrived home feet aching, head throb- bing, throat dry.l Yes, I had a lovely time. Sure you may kiss me good- night. fI'd rather take gas. Me and my soft heart and big mouth. I-Ie's got me in a strangle hold, back breaker, arm lock, and is kissing me. I can't catch my breath, not because he kisses so Well but because he has more suction than a vacuum cleaner.l You're moving to Texas! Oh how terrible. fWhy move to Texas? The East Indies are farther.l CThank goodness that bird brain is gone. Now to get to sleep. Good night!l ' ICAN IACOBS Four

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SAQFACL .y0!l'Yle5 af ,MA 50l'l Even Egghead Murphy, fresh from a successful career of breaking the law at P.S. 37, couldn't get past Warden Weiss and his assistants. Crime at Woodrow Wilson definitely does not pay. k 'A' k it 1' 'k I-IE Judge spoke: Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached your ver- dict? Yes, your honor, we have, answered the foreman. I recognized the last speaker. I-le was the shop teacher at P.S. 37 against whom I had committed many atrocities. For a while I was lost in the past. I remembered the astonished look on his face when he had found the frog I had planted in his desk. I remembered the agonized scream that had rent the air when his body met the tack I had planted on his seat. Now he was facing me. We find the defendant, Egghead Murphy, guilty of having learned noth- ing in ten years at P.S. 37. The courtroom buzzed loudly, but the continuous rapping of the judge's gavel soon brought silence. Will the defendant please rise? asked the judge. With a smirk on my face, I rose and faced the jury. The judge began, his voice sounded like the knell of doom. Egghead, you have heard the verdictg I hereby sentence you to four years hard labor at Woodrow Wilson Prison. Woodrow Wilson Prison! These words echoed and re-echoed in my head. I had hoped for Alcatraz or even Sing Sing, but Woodrow Wilson was more than a nightmare. I had seen morons go in there, still in their youth, to come out experienced, hardened idiots. Soon enough, I began to miss the matinees at the Valencia and the games of chance in the lots on l37th Avenue. There could be only one way out- escape. It would take months of careful planning and studying. For a time I did nothing but watch and observe. I knew when guards changed their posts and when the trusties returned to their cells. I prepared to go through with a well-organized plan. They herded us into the cafeteria like cattle. I wisely maneuvered myself about to the last table adjacent to the door. I hardly touched my bread and water, but instead gazed intently all about me. At last a guard went to adjust the loud speaker situated in the center of the cafeteria. I checked to see that all was ready. My weapon was tucked away in my back pocket. Six