Yearbook and Scribe Highlights

Our lunch! What an inspiring topic! Truly, anyone who has ever visited our lunchroom ought to know enough about it, without having to consult the encyclopedias in the reference library; for does not everyone who has ever partaken of our lunch know all that he wishes about it?

Our menu card or rather board is well-known to all: sandwiches of all kinds, with the bread varying ln thickness from an eighth of an inch to two inches, cookies as hard as the proverbial Pharaoh's heart, cocoa and milk which is a very distant relative of cream's, gingerbread as dry as the fields of last summer, (fresh bread, you know, is unwholesome) and buns. Concerning, whose age like that of a woman's, it would be more polite not to inquire. These constitute our bill-of-fare.

Yet what a, rush to get this delectable lunch! An exciting race down the stairs - one stair a time, two stairs at a time, and a jump at the bottom - anyway to get there! When you reach the swinging doors at the foot of the stairs, the proper method of procedure is to open them very wide by pushing against them with all your might, and then to let them fly back and hit as many people as possible.

Now you fly to the ticket table and call out "Five ones, five ones. Please!" until everyone else has their tickets and your patience is exhausted..

Having finally received those bits of cardboard, which are the only sesame to the lunch itself, you now rush to the counter and probably are bumped into by several little freshmen who are scampering away, so frightened that they usually spill the greater part of the contents of their milk glasses over your clothes..

When you reach the counter itself and see what you want, or rather what you intend to buy, throw down your tickets and grab it. Don't under any consideration stop for the waiters to pass your food; they are overworked already..

O, I forgot! In summer we have an addition to our bill of fare, in the shape of very good lemonade and ice cream. The ice cream, however, has just one drawback. For who will ever forget the heart-rending cries of Miss Fuller? "But I'd like a spoon please. A spoon! I have my cream, but where's my spoon? I can not eat it without a spoon"-which last is a self-evident fact, if the waiters do seem to think that if fingers weren't made before forks, they were certainly were made before spoons..

But enough! Be consoled by this: Your lunch is healthful and wholesome. Nevertheless what would I give for a piece of Miller's chocolate cake!

Snowflake in the hand

Slips away from eager grasp

Beauty held too tight

Donald Blair 1963

Let the wind play in your hair,

Its soft subtle breeze,

For one day it shall be gone,

Its wonder will then cease.

Let it bring to you, my friend

Sand castles to stand for years,

And let it utters words so soft

To dry your daily tears.

Let it bring the laughter

That echoes' days gone by;

And let it be your happiness

To make your fears subside,

Let the wind play in your hair,

And struggle onward wth a smile

Let the wind play in your hair,

If only for a while.

Jennifer Salisbury

1985