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Holbrook, Hilary Taylor, Comp.An Exemplary High S :hool Literary Magazine:"Emphasis."ERIC Clearinghouse on Reading and CommunicationSkills, Urbana, Ill.Office of Educational Research and Improvement (ED),Washington, DC.186]400-83-002*72p.; Cover of the magazine removed due to poorreproducibility. Photographs may not reproduce well.For other magazine profiles in series, see CS 209701-720.Wayne Valley High Pshool, 551 Valley Rd., Wayne, NJ07470 (Magazine only--profile not included--$3.00plus postage).Reports - Descriptive (141)

MF01/PC03 Plus Postage.Competition; *Creative Writing; *Evaluation Methods;Faculty Advisers; High Schools; Periodicals;'roduction Techniaues; Student Evaluation; *StudentPublications; Liacher Role; Writing Evaluation;Writing for Publication

IDENTIFIERS *Exemplars of Excellence; *Literary Magazines;National Council of Teachers of 'Inglis)...

ABSTRACTOne of a series of 20 literary magazine profiles

written to help faculty advisors wishing to start or improve theirpublication, this profile provides information on staffing andproduction of "Emphasis, the magazine published by Wayne Valley HighSchool, Wayne, New Jersey. The introduction describes the literarymagazine contest (and criteria),' which was sponsored by the NationalCouncil of Teachers of English and from which the 20 magazines werechosen. The remainder of the profile--based on telephone interviewswith the advisor, the contest entry form, and the two fudges'evaluation sheets--discusses (1) the magazine format, including paperand typestyles; (2) selection and qualifications of the students onstaff, as well as the role of the advisor in working with them; (3)methods used by staff for acquiring and 'v'luatin9 studentsubmissions; (4) sources of flint. ng for this magazine, including fundraising activities if applicable, and production costs; and (5)changes and problems occurring during the advisOr's tenure, andanticipated changes. The 1984 issue of the magazine is appended.(MTH)

************************************************************************ Reproductions supplied by EDRS are the best that can be made ** from the original document. *

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U & DICPARTSIENT OF IDUZAT1ONMoo cil bducabonat Pssercb and Improvement

EDUCATIONAL RESOURCES INFORMATIONThis)1(CENTER (ERIC)

This document lu g been reproduced asfrom the person or organization

originating ito Minor changes have been made to improve

reproduction quality

Points& view Or opinions stated in this docu-men! do not necessarily represent officialOERI position or policy

"PERMISSION TO REPRODUCE THISMATERIAL HAS BEEN GRANTED BY

Louisa Dette

Rosalina Primiano

TO THE EDUCATIONAL RESOURCESINFORMATION CENTER (ERIC)"

AN EXEMPLARY HIGH SCHOOL LITERARY MAGAZINE: EMPHASIS

Compiled by

Hilary Taylor Holbrook

INTRODUCTION

In 1984, the National Council of Teachers of English began a

national competition to recognizJ student literary magazines from

senior high, junk_: high, and middle schools in the United

States, Canada, and the Virgin Islands. Judges in the state

competitions for student magazines were appointed by state

leaders who coordinated the competition at the state level.

The student magazines were rated on the basis of their

literary quality (imaginative use of language; appropriateness of

metaphor, symbol, imagery; precise word choice; rhythm, flow of

language), types of writing included (poetry, fiction,

nonfiction, drama), quality of editing and proofreading, artwork

and graphic design (layout, photography, illustrations,

typography, paper stock, press work), and frontmatter and

pagination (title page, table of contents, staff credits). Up to

10 points were also either added for unifying themes,

cross-curricular involvement, or other special considerations, or

subtracted in the case of a large percentage of outside

professional and/or faculty involvement.

In the 1984 competition, 290 literary magazines received

ratings of "Above average," 304 were rated "Excellent," and 44

2

earned "Superior" ratings from state contest judges. On the basis

of a second judging, 20 of the superior magazines received the

competition's "Highest Award."

As a special project, the ERIC Clearinghouse on Reading and

Communicatio. 'Iftlls has selected 20 magazines from those

receivinE, "Sup, _or" ratings to serve as models for other schr,ols

wishing to start or improve their own student literary magazines.

The profiles of these magazines are based on the faculty

advisor's contest entry sheet, the judges' evaluation sheets, and

interviews with the faculty advisors. Where possible, the

magazines themselves have been appended. Information for ordering

copies of the magazines is contained at the end of each profile.

3

EMPHASIS

Wayne Valley High School

Wayne, New Jersey

Principal: Richard Yanni

Faculty Advisors: Louisa Dette and Rosalina Primiano

Student Editor-in-Chief: Karen Parver

...Man and machine, symbiosis extraordinaire,

Neither the master, together unequalled....

--"Man and Machine"

Frank Borkowski

Wayne Valley student

Wayne Valley High School is a four year public-school

located in suburban Wayne, New Jersey, an upper middle-class

community of 50,000. The school enrolls aprroximately 1,320

students, only about 2 percent of which are minority

students--primarily Asian immigrants. Wayne Valley has a long

tradition of support for the cultural arts. For example, the

school sponsors frequent student poetry readings, and the

school's student literary magazine, Emphasis, has been published

for almost 30 years and has won awards from the Columbia

Scholastic Press Association and the American scholastic Press

Association.

4

4

FORMAT: THEMATIC

The 1984 issue of Emphasis measures 9 1/2" x 7" wide, is

center stapled, and printed on white felt finish paper. The

black coated cover is blank, with a rectangular cut-out showing a

Universal Price Code and the magazine's name from the title page

beneath. The price code, repeated throughout the magazine,

emphasizes the "man and machine" theme for this issue, taken from

the student poem excerpted above and other works dealing with

technology.

Text is printed in 10 Joanna typeface, and authors in 10

point Univers Italic. Most titles are in Meridian typeface, but

other styles include Clearface Bold and Libra. There are four

lavender colored sheets in the magazine, highlighting--among

other student works--poems entitled "the lavender-flavored bus,

etc." and "from Dream Amethyst: death song." Black and white

photographs and artwork complement the text, while two fuschia

line drawings contribute to the lavender theme. The magazine

features foreign language poetry, a musical composition, a

ballad, essays, poetry, and fi3tion.

PRODUCTION: BY COMMITTEES

Except for printing, which is done by a commercial facility,

and a small percentage of editing and proofreading done by the

faculty advisors, Emphasis is produced by the students on the

staff. This staff is open to anyone interested in participating,

and its 30 or more students are divided into art, business,

literary, and production committees. Editors for each of these

areas, as well as for typing and cultural activities, arc

5

5

selected. Staff editorsare chosen on the a basis of their

outstanding literary criticism skills, and their ability to

discern why a piece is good or poor rather than why it

appealspersonally.

Occasionally the staff meets during brief homeroom periods

forthe organizational stage of production, but usually the staff

meets after school. Louisa Dette and Hosanna Primiam., who have

been faculty advisors since 1976, are actively involved in the

'recision making and production processes, but the staff members

have the final say. Most of the production fork is done with the

editors and seniors on the production staff, and, since the staff

produces the camera-ready copy that goes to the printer,

production staff members strive until the last minute to improve

the design of each page.

SUBMISSIONS: AN INSTITUTION

According to Ms. Dette and Ms. Primiano, Emphasis is such a

tradition that they "just pass the word to the English teachers

and they become inundated with submissions." Names are removed

from submissions to assure anonymity when representatives of the

literary staff read them. Staff members then vote on which works

will be included.

Usually a theme suitable for that year's issue will suggest

itself among the submissions as, for example, with 1984's "man

and machine." Other topics touched upon by student writing are

divorce, friendship, death, and nature. Sometimes specific works

of art are selected to complement a written work, and vice versa.

Ms. Primiano and Ms. Dette note that the staff look for variety

6

when selecting works. In an effort to include works from every

kind of student, from honors to special education, the advisors

admit that sometimes a work will be included that my not be of

the highest literary or artistic quality, because publishing the

work will benefit the student's self-esteem and encourage his or

her creative endeavors. In this way, the magazine remains a

publication of the entire -tudent body rather than that of an

elitist group.

FUNDING: BUSINESS STAFF

Emphasis receives no funding from the school or the

district, so the staff reies on sales of the magazine and on

fundraising activities. Fundraising accounts for about 60 percent

of the magazine budget, and the planning for these activities

falls primarily to the students on the business staff, although

everyone on the various staffs participates. In 1984, the staff

sponsored a "battle of the bands" contest featuring local rock

musicians. Candy sales, car washes, and leaf Paking are among the

other activities used to raise money in previous years.

Thirty percent of the funding comes from sales of current

issues, with another 10 percent coming from sales of past issues.

The staff produces Emphasis at a cost of $6.50 per copy for a

print run of 400, and sells it to students for $3.00 each.

Expenses run from $1,500 to $2,000.

EMPHASIS: IMPROVEMENT

Because the layout and production work is done by staff

members, Ms. Primiano and Ms. Dette admit that putting the

magazine together "gets to be very big." Nevertheless, the

7

advisors and staff try every year to improve the magazine, in

terms of quality in content, production, and design. Emphasis

will continue to be a professional looking medium in support of

culture at Wayne Valley.

ft.

Copies of Emphasis are available from

Wayne Valley High School

551 Valley Road

Wayne, NJ 07470

Price: $3.00 (plus postage)

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s .7Man and machine, symbiotis ektiaordinaire,Neither the master, together unequalled.

Frank Borkowski

TABLE OF CONTENTSLITERATURE

Man and MachineWe Are All...HaikuLavender-flavored Bus, Etc.Dream AmethystPigeons With Red FeetThe FaucetIf A Girl Don't Got A Nice BodBallad of the DecalogueFrenchSpanishGermanLatinProgrammed EmotionsSonnetMy Height is a WallDevil's FoodKissingThe British Invade N.Y.C.The Golden SonThe GameDead EndThe RoseFloating on the WindBell JarIf This is LoveWedding VowsLove is Like a BoatHe Left MeRipped ApartStardust and MoonlightThe MoonThe Flickering CandleMemoriesDeathDeathDeathPortraitJournalTalk to Me, FriendMy Trusted FriendOn Tides of ParadoxFun and Games

Frank BorkowskiWilliam RubelComputerAndrew WheelerWho FirooziLiza MartinoRon FuchsKurt FauerbachDavid TorchinScott RotmanElyssa Rub:."Mark KrausAlbert EngJim MarinelliDeborah ReedMichael GordonKaren BoguczKarin RylanderLiza Martino & Tammy CoreminLiza MartinoJoe EsserLisa FareseMarc LevyJPn DesNoyerJennifer SyronCarol KastenLiz PanosJohn ZoghebLaura Bat bieriPat CastenadaAnne PollaertArpan GhoshBill BartnickChristy O'BrienCara ConwayTara PhelanLinda HoffmannJennifer SyronLiz PanosTracy FergusonPaula SanoWilliam Rubel

45578

10141516181818182020212223242626282930323334343435363639414343434445454546

Maureen Jarkesy & Laura Salizzoni48

10

Obsessed John Massood 50Russian Marsha Braslaysky 53My Life is... Amy Aslaksen 54Picture a... Susan Phillips 54The Race Marc Levy 55The Feather Meg McGowan 57The Peace of the Forest Kevin To Ina' 57Snowy Night Chris Wallace 58I See a Cloud Stephanie Taylor 58My Old Bear Erica Olsen 60Deep Inside Bill Raffo 61The Bleachers Andrew Wheeler 62Staff 63Acknowledgements 64

ART

Sequence in ink George Berrian 4White grease pencil Krista Schult 6Contour in lavender crayon Marci Stein 9Illustrated by J. Scott Hester 11Scratchboard Chris Cassera 14Cartoon J. Scott Hester 15Layout Karen Parver 16Crayon Marci Stein 19Mixed media Dot Englehardt 21Ink drawing Mark Kraus 22India ink Jennifer Porta 25Mired media Marsha Braslaysky 27Scratchboard Craig Alexander 28Ink drawing Marsha Braslaysky 31Ink on watercolor Darlene Kudla 32Ink on watercolor Tracy Melillo 33Photograph layout Lisa Herman 35Pencil drawing Rola Hannoush 37Oil Painting Marci Stein 38Pencil drawing Ron Fuchs 42Ink drawing Mark Kraus 44Photograph J. Scott Hester 46Colored pencil Karen Parver 49Mixed media Albert Choi 51Pencil study Brad Friedman 53Linoleum cut Missy Duchini 55Pencil sketch David De Vries 56Acrylic painting Carolyn Kam 58Room 152 (Music) Melanie Angiolini 59Pencil sketch Marilyn Johnson 60Pencil sketch Eileen Shine 61Photograph Bill Bartnick 62

11

flAil MD mno-riE

Peaceful, remote, the ultimate ecstasy,Man and his flying machine alone in the sky,The cockpit not cramped, yet reassuringly close,The controls responsive, but not too sensitive.Man and machine, symbiosis extraordinaire,Neither the master, together unequaled.The sun almost set, now downward it plunges.The runway lit in hues red, grccr and blue.Man and machine line up for landing,Over the runway, the engine shut down,Descending sory, now up with the nose,The wheels kiss, just as her wings stall.Oh so gently, ) ., firmly brakes applied,Together and apart, they have come home.

Frank Borkowski

124

agINIMIMIII36 x 12

We are all chimera men, the stuff of starsthe engineered

who engineerthe dust dropped from the sun.

Chimera men,who hew the stone

and make machinesto build the walls of Babylon.

HAIKU

Above opaque lustvoices of lovers murmuredwithin light breat'.

William Rubel

computer: Hewlett-Packard 2000

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the lavenderisflavored bus,etc.The flying clock wakes me up.Icnodo me outof ;ay cardboard-and-plastic world.Falling nom the rocking horse,I gpab for the floorAM miss,Float through the airWhile faces, distorted,Laugh at me from nowhere.The book of Reality drifts by,But as I grab for it,I lose my balance in thin air.I fall straight up,Brealdrqg my Ws,Which splintenAnd files through the ceiling.Gone.The room time green,And I must le my shoeI know not why.But I cannot find it.The book floats by again;with a snatch I have it.I try to read,When suddenly the giraffe screams.The book burns my hands.As I drop it leftStraight through the fun-house minor.Sideways through life.I find the door,It changes sound as I walk through it.The floor moves in waves,Breaking on the walls.Almost I missSeeing the car'68 Chevy-good yearRoars by up the wall.I wave to Uncle Fred,Doing a U-Turn on the ceiling.I see the smell of toast burning,Waft up from downstairs.Following the taste-green, in fact,I come into theMake some breakfast.Then depart for schooLDown the lavender-flavored hallwayThat some peopleCall a bus.

te,LALA LT., MOW

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Marci Stein

17

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rPigeons with Red Feel

So I decided to take a walk, right in the middle of U.S. History. After all,old man was practically falling asleep during the Civii War and my

knee was acting up again. When my knee acts up I can't sit still so I took allof my books, with brown paper bag covers from the food store with "LedZeppelin Rules" scribbled all over the place and walked out of theclassroom. You know, I don't even think he noticed. I went to my halllocker and after doing my gym locker combination twice, I finally got thedamn thing open. I chucked all my salutes to the Zeppelin into the lockerand ripped the picture of Pete Townshend off the door. That's the kind ofmood I was in. Anyway, I walked out of school with half of PeteTownshend's face and waved to the principal on the way out. Would youbelieve he waved back?

You know, as I was sitting in history I figured out what was wrong withthe world in general, Attitude. People just have the wrong attitude abouteverything. Like my history teacher for example, I don't know if he figure6out the reason everybody cuts his class, but if he can't stay awake duringone of his own lectures, how the hell does he expect us to? That's what Icall a poor attitude. And if you think Led Zep gives a damn whether or notyou scribble their name on your math book, forget it! As long as youbought a copy of their last album, they're thrilled to death. It's all attitude,you see.

We were dissecting frogs and I put the smallintestine down his sweat shirt.

I should have listened to my mom this morning, it really is cold out here.I'm the kind of person who usually isn't bothered by the weather. I canwalk around in July with a parka or in January in shorts and not feel athing, but today? It must be seven hundred below. I put my hands in mypockets and headed toward Central Park. Today rates a negative three on ascale from one to ten. Everybody's lost his sense of humor, for instanceEddy Jackson, my lab partner in Bio. We were dissecting frogs and I put thesmall intestine down his sweat shirt. Have you ever seen anybody turngreen? I mean really green? Neither had I until Bio this morning. Anywiy,everybody's lost his sense of humor.

Central Park. The only things crazy enough to be here in this cold areme, the pigeons, and the old ladies feeding the pigeons. Pigeons aredisgusting, really they are, so I'm not going to talk about them. Why peoplewant to sit in Central Park on a cold day feeding pigeons is beyond me.

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They should starve to death. Thousands of dead pigeons lying on '..4.e grassin Central Park with their little red feet pointed to Heaven, I have a goodmind to tell those old ladies to go home. Well, that's how I feel aboutpigeons. I feel the same way about the little old ladies who feed them. Iknow that's not a nice thought, but it's true. They sit with little brown bagsfull of stale bread and throw it in front of the filthy birds. I know they'reGod's creatures, but are they dirty or what? They go around eating the stalebread like it's quiche. Maybe I'll go have lunch at the diner later, all thistalk about food is making me hungry.

I have to sit down now because my knee is acting tip. Another thing I

12

don't like about the park is the little kids who come here to play ball ontheir lunch break. Damn, little kids should be banned from all publicplaces. Here come some now, all wearing heavy coats, hats and mittens. Iought to mug one of them for a hat, it's freezing. I feel very mean today.These kids can't even throw or catch a ball. They look like the damnedMets. I'm going to bother these kids. I enjoy doing that when I'm feelingmean. I'm going to take their ball, that ought to be good. Look at them,scrambling around like pigeons.

Oh, my damn knee! I told you these kids can't throw. I'm down on oneknee in front of this bench because some first grader hit me in the kneewith a baseball. Maybe I should tell you about the knee. Its an old footballinjury from sophomore year. Some jerk from Queens kicked me in the kneelast Thanksgiving. My knee wound up somewhere on my thigh. This oldlady just walked up to me and asked if something was wrong. No lady,nothings wrong. I'm proposing to this bench. Look lady, go feed yourpigeons. I don't feel so mean now, I feel very stupid. All I have to show fortoday is half of Pete Townshend's face and a sore knee. I give up. I hatepigeons with red feet. I'm going to have lunch now, and it won't be stalebread.

O

tfp?v-)e Liza Martino

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J. Scott Hester

THE FAUCET

Walled in,Repressed.TwistSteady streams,Flowing,Awakening,TwistWall surrenders,Freedom,Foamy waves,Imagination,Awareness,LifeSurging,

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BEST COPY AVAILABLE

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IF A GIRL DONT GOT A NICE BOD...Let's face it. If a girl don't gdt a nice bod, she's got nothin'. I've always

been a little chunky, so I thought to myself, "Hey, you're sixteen now, solet's do somethin' about it." So, I started lookin' into these new weight-lossproducts.

I

BODY-GONE

Are you fat? A little chunky? Or just right? Well,come on, take care of your problem and get with the004. Starve yourselfl Bony women are attractive totoday's men. and with "Body--Gone" you, too, can be astick. For your 14-day supply, send $17.95 to

Body-GoneP.O.Box 111

Anytown, N.Y. 12345

FLESH- AWAY

Come on. all you %tam. Let's loss that extrapoundage and get down to size. With our new formulayou will not eat a thing. In just two weeks we guaranteea loss of 30-40 pounds. What other company canguarantee that? Look for "Flesh-Away" at your favoritepharmacy.

Well, I ended up buyin' that Flesh-Away. Hey it's got a guarantee andeverything. You can't beat that.

It's now three weeks since I bought the stuff, and I'm down to 72 lbs. Iilgure in two more I can hit SS, and from there who knows the possibilities?Well, now I know the guys will notice me!

Kust Fauerbach 15

THE BALLADOF THE DECALOGUE

The mountainside was dangerous,Yet Moses did not scare,

He climbed the mountain, for he knewHis life was in God's care.

He disappeared for forty days,His people were so bold;

Unknowingly they built a cow,A:. idol made of gold.

When Moses brought the tablets down,He hated what he saw;

He broke the tablets on a rockAnd stood there deep in awe.

A second chance God gave to man,And Moses climbed that nights

This second journey took its toll:His hair changed, brown to white.

Commandments that the tablets heldTogether equalled ten;

A booming voice said from the sky,"My law is f all men."

The first is that of memory,For men cannot forget

There is a lord who saved them fromA life they would regret

The second law Ii that of faith;PSC

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Scott Rotman

1111111111111111111111N1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

La VidaUn camino de tinieblas,Estirando largo y ancho;No se sabe ad6nde va o queEs solamente una senda sinuosa.

Elyssa Rubin

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

WELLENauf and ab

drohende Stliimungzieht nach unten

weisser Schaummit seinem Geruch

nasst den Sandwo ich liege

bespriiht mein Gesichtmeine Haut brennt

aber ich verbleibeurn zu geniessen

die Symphonieder Wellen.

Mark Kraus

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18

Orbis, circumagens, vertens,Fluens e praeteridsAd presens, ad futurumUnb in moth perpetu5.Omnia in unam picturam inuniscuenintMovens in spiral!, ad infinitum.

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ppograwasti =WoosDoes the mind that grasps at naught but air,Dwell about without a care,But to ponder what rhythms singFrom the beating insect's wing?Will the heart that knows no song,Ache just to sing alongWith the riotous gush of rainn'anketing the window pane?Mind the hand that does no harm,A blessing to its parent arm.Kiss the lips that have no voice,For silent protest means no choice.Lean heavy on subservient crutch,False Mends for which you care not much.Walk the roads of life alone,Ice-cold blood and heart of stone.Keep your back against the wall,Over your assets on which to fall.Your gold to which you clasp so tight,Travels heavy but feeds too light.Keep your life one step aboveThe mortal ways of hate and love.

11111111111111111111111111111111111

SONNET

The lights go down, and up the curtain goes.Electric stillness fills the quiet air,And steadily anticipation grows.Excitement mounts as actors start to dare,Becoming ether people for a night.The audience becomes as one to live,Their problems, sorrow, laughter, joy and fright.They reach out to the actors, for they giveTheir sympathy till ev'rything is fine.The folks sit on the edges of their seatsUntil the finishing dramatic line.The spectators, amazed from all the feats,Begin to shout, and now the actors knowIt was all worth the trouble of the show.

28

Jim Marinelli

Deborah Reed

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The dessert on the table-a luscious cake of devil's food,

Its icing--a facade, a sweet, sugary coating,It sits innocentlywaiting for the attack.A hand grabs, devours

the once perfect dish,A piece is gone...Yet not the last,ru there will be others;Why shouldn't there be?Another piece is taken,Another,Still another;What is left of this lurer?Only crumbs,A result of the lip-smacking,

seductive appearance.Only crumbs,Swallowed by society.

Koren Bogucz

30

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Karin Rylander

31

THE BRITISH INVADE NEW YORK CITY

It seemed only fitting that the year celebrating the twentieth anniversaryof The Beatles arrival in the United States that Duran Duran should begintheir biggest and most successful U.S. tour to date.

The "Fab Five", as the band has been dubbed by fans and critics alike,launched what's been called the "The Second British Invasion." Onlynoone was screaming "The British are coming! The British are coming!"; itwas more like, "John, I love you!!" and "Simon, look this way!"

Upon walking into Madison Square Garden March nineteenth, 1984,you could sense that this wasn't going to be any ordinary concert. Maybe itwas the electricity in the air, or maybe ii was the unusually large number ofmulti-colored spiked haircuts, felt fedoras. leather pants, and the leathergloves cropped at the knuckles. The slightest glimpse of a fedora from thebox seats over head sent 20,000 girls into fits of delirium shouting, "Oh myGod, it's Nick!!!" at the top of their lungs. After five "Oh my God, it'sNick!!!" 's and a few "Oh my God, it's John!!!" 's, you realized that it wasn'teither one, but you couldn't help looking up Just to make sure.

Now you've found your seat, right up front so you can see everything,and you have the entire line of Duran Duran memorabilia planted firmly inyour lap: a Jersey, a bandana, a headband, eve posters, a program, and fivepins which Just cleaned you out of three months' allowance.

You start to get Jumpy. When are they going to get this concert started?All through the warm-up band's set all you can think about is seeing yourfavorite guys standing not more than twenty-five feetaway from you! Thewarm-up band's finished and you wait as the roadies move the equipmentaround. Wow, there's J.T.'s bass and Andy's guitar and....What if they don'tshow up? What if....

All of your fears are put to rest as the lights dim and the roar of the crowdsends a wave of energy through the Garden. Strains of "Tiger Tiger" driftout from behind the red curtains. Within three minutes it is MASSHYSTERIA with everybody Jumping to "Is 'ere Something I ShouldKnow?'

And something you knew all along was that the most popular band tocome out of England's "New Romantic" period wasn't going to let youdown. Lead singer Simon Le Bon was in top form, his voice was at its bestand he could have danced circles around Michael Jackson.

Keyboardist Nick, "I've-Got-More-Synthesizers-Than-You-So-There"Rhodes and bassist John Taylor were the recipients of screams that wereprobably heard in Pittsburgh. Besides being the most popular guys in theplace, they contributed to the excellent presentation of such new waveclassics as "New Raligiori. "The Reflex," and "Hungry Like The Wolf."

Drummer Roger Taylor and guitarist Andy Taylor got a mighty warmreception as well when their faces appeared on the Diamond Visionscreens which hung above the stage.

You've been dancing wildly for an hour, so when Simon brought hisacoustic guitar on stage, you breathed a long, but happy sigh of relief. Itwas time for their eternal love song, "Save A Prayer." The sweet melodicflow sent twenty thousand lighters and twice as many bodies into ahypnotic sway. Tears fell from thousands of starry eyes.

32_

Simon says you've rested long enough, and the last songs of the set haveyou dancing again. Leaving everyone with the sounds of "Planet Earth"still ringing in their ears, Duran Duran exited, stage right. Then the chantswent up. "What about 'Rio'?"

More screams, the boys bounce back on stage, rip through "Rio," andle .ve again.

And once again the chants begin, "Girls On Film! Girls On Film!" You'dbe amazed at how effective 40,000 people chanting "Girls On Film" can be!The five not-so-ragged tigers graciously obliged us with the Duran Duranclassic, "Girls On Film."

Then the house lights went on and you knew it was over. You look at theempty stage with ar equally empty feeling. You want to cry, but you laugh.Was it something Simon said? No, it was the picture of Nick trying to Lemacho by taking of his shirt. It was great. You had a good time and you'vegot your memories...And hey, aren't they going to be at the Brendan Byrnenext month?

Liza MartinoTammy Coreimin

a.

"'s

26

THE GOLDEN SONMy God, you are so perfect,Every golden beam,Every sacred dream.Everything you own I wish I, too,possessed.Your brilliance is yours alone,You share it sparingly, angrily, unwillingly...Yet you are still so perfect.A tiny crack in the mirror there may be,But if there is, I cannot see it.Am I blinded by the mirage of you^Your golden age, your golden hair,Your barren white smile that fails to warm despite your glow.My God,you are so perfect,Every bronze hill,Every blue pool,Everything you are I wish I were too.Your love is yours alone,You share it warily, cautiously, bitterly...If I were to pull the brick from the bottom of the pile,Would you crumble at my feet?Am I strong enough to break you?Your silver voice, your silver tongue,Your frozen heart that fails to melt despite my love.My God,you are so perfect

Liza Martino

THE GAMEA long, green field.The gambler stands amidst the shooting,Spewing money like blood.As he wages war with fate,He is mercilessly stripped of his wealth.He must win it back

The gambler enters the circle at the poker game,Desperately hoping to regain his loss.But the odds are not in his favor,And the spade that will dig his graveIs drawn,As he loses all.

34 Joe Esser

4-'

28

1344 x 101/2 . Cm* Alexander

DEAD END

A sad sound clanged from the steeple. The usually cheerful afternoonchime was replaced by a loud, thudding bang, echoing through the town.Figures in black crowded at the church steps with only comfort andsympathy to offer the broken-hearted mother. The dark veil covering herface was not enough to hide her loud cries and sobs as her mind drifted inawhirlwind of memories...

Spring's valiant attempt to arrive was not in vain, as the fresh sunwarmed the chill in the air. A crack of sunlight crept between the windowcurtains, and the motionless figure slowly came to life.

"Stud! Saturday morning," mumbled the seventeen year old. "Thatmeans tonight is Saturday night!"

"Samuel," a loud, pleasant voice called,"a perfect morning to cut thelawn, don't you think?'

A grumble under his breath, and then, "Yeah, okay Mom, I'm getting upnow."

The late morning sun was hot on his back as he pushed the mower withdetermination. Finishing the lawn meant getting his allowance, and he

36

knew what that meant Jacks candy-apple red Mustang pulled up in frontof the house.

"Sam, ready for tonight?'"I'm working on it buddy, I'm working on it."Two honks of the horn and another innocent victim was on his way.The big decision, his leather or his denim? Which jacket should he

wear? Better wear the leather, it gets a little cold up there at the dead end."Mom, I'm going.""Be good, have fun, and not too late!" The unsuspecting mother saw her

son off to a night of fun-filled tragedy.A few quick stops, Ron's, John's, Jacks, then one more, Carriage House

Liquors. Two cases, four guys, all the necessities for a great night."Next stop, the dead end!" With cheers of agreement, they were on their

way.Crunch, clang, the crushed beer cans formed a large pile."Beer run, anyone? We're running low.""I'm game," Sam replied,"Jack, come along for the ride."A screech of tires and they were off for another needed beer run. Fifty,

sixty, the speedometer climbed, seventy-five, cruisin' on the main strip."Sam, are you all right? Sam, Sam, oh my God, look out for that tree, look

out!" A close call, back on the right track. The car slowed down; Jack letout a loud sigh of relief.

"Hey, Jack, let's take Lakewood's curve at fifty. Ron and Craig took it atforty-five. Lets go for it." Deaf to Jacks refusal, Sam approached thedangerous curve, revved the engine, put his foot to the floor. Speedometerat fifty, go for it

The six pall-b rers carried the brass trimmed oak coffin. Thedevastated mother followed hopelessly. The steps cleared as everyonefiled into the church.

Lisa Farese

THE ROSE (In memory of P. F.)Sometimes a rose is not a rose.When the doors of perception are flung open,And a fire roars inside your head,The only constantIs your hand

which fades before your eyes.And the big orange polyclogs climb into your headAnd devour your brainAnd envelop your sense.

And the only comfort is the glassy-eyed adultDoubled-over the sink,Puking up the memories of his midnight romp.

And a rose is a rose is a rose....

Marc Levy

31

FLOATING ON THE WIND

On and on,I float.

By my own feelings,My own dreams,And fears.

Paralyzed,

Like a flower,Blown on a breeze...

I continue to float,Lost,

Lost in my own world.There is no soundExcept for the sound of wind,

WhistlingThrough my mind.

Let me land,I need to plant myself,

Steady myself,Root myself

Into something that will allow meTo grow

And blossom beautifully

I feel the earth under me;Let's become one.

I can't grow if we don't unite!My world will continue to be

A flower floating on the wind,As I float on my dreams.

Like a flower we mustPlant

OurselvesIn reality. Until then,

Life will beA lost Flower...

Floating on the wind.Jen Desnoyer

30 38

,

.A

1'44",:rr":

tV.,.tw

r'4

0

THE BELL JARI saw her hanging a tree.The tee where we used to sitThe tree where we used to play.Her face was a strange color blue.It blended with the fall leaves.Her feet dangled.The oxfords sklumAng across the tall dry grass.I saw my best friend hanging from a tree.

Jen Syron

3240

At

If this is love, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF--I don't want it.If this is friendship, ITS NOT REAL.ff this is IT HURTS.If this is hate, IT FEELS THE WAY IT SHOULD.If love is blind, DOES IT HAVE TO HURT?If growing up is hard.I'M GROWING UP TOO MUCH, TOO FAST.If you're to break my heart.STOP IT. YOU'VE DONE YOUR JOB 100 TIMES OVER.I'm I cam so much.I can't help it if I love you.If only you felt the same.

Tracy Melillo

41:114%_+-,:Pt- .= 1-

- ,

Carol Kasten

41

33fb bah Aula was thawahask

Or

WEDDING VOWSwith this ringI LOVE HER, MEGi thee wedANOTHER WOMAN? YOU S.O.B.!to have and to holdI JUST KNEW YOU'D BE LIKE THIS!in sickness and in healthWHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING?till death do us partGOODBYE, MEG.

Liz Panos

11111111111111

Love is like a boat on a winding river,Floating gently through the water.Then up around the bend,The rapids thrash the boat,Tossing it to and fro,And the mariners fight toKeep it afloat

John Zoghab

1111111111111

He left me Just likeThat.With two small children,Rent to pay.The car at the mechanics.The house needs a fresh coat of paint.Our kitchen wallpapek noLOW": clinging to the walls isLike a worn band-aid,Peeling away from an old wound.

Laura Barbieri

42r

RIPPED APARTSo dustyOld boxes and rummageI start in one cornerSearchingBut I don't know what forThen I seeA big black bookGold letters--WEDDING

I stopDrop the bookAlmost frightenedShakingI reach for itOpening it slowly

There stands- -My motherIn a beautifulWhite silky gownMy fatherAt her sideThe first few pages- -Ripped apartThe tears startThe hate comes backThe book- -Ripped apartJust asSmiles--Ripped apartLove- -Ripped apart

I hide the bookTo bring it homeSafe? Safe?From what?Is it somethingBetterLeft behindAs my hurtHatred and tearsShould be?

It now sitsOn my closet shelfWith pages--Ripped apartAs my family- -Ripped apart

43

Patricia Castenada

STARDUST AND MOONLIGHTWhen, as a child, I'd gaze intoThe sky, I'd see the wondrous viewAs though it promised much to me,Each star an opportunity.To me the future gleamed as brightAs all the sky's celestial light,And the moon's most silver beamsCould not outshine my childhood dreams.

While growing up, the stars somehowSeem more to mock than promise now,Reminding with their graceful glowOf laughter that I'll never know,And hinting, with their stunning shine,That they have joys that can't be mine.A moonbeam is a teasing cry..."Come tread on me, and reach the sky."

My greatest fear is when I'm old,To see the sky will turn me cold,For what was once a childhood friendBrings only memiries in the end.The stars, so permanent, shine on,And will long after I am gone.Stardust and moonlight will fill the eyesOf youngsters looking into my sides.

Anne Pollo._.re

THE MOON

Jewel on black velvet, pearl in the seaPolished with frost, many times exploredSparkling in obscure bright ebony.

Amen Ghosh

44

44,

IS

The Flickering Candle

Candles, candles, flickering, strug-gling for life, and then.... my dreamended; the cool wind woke me up. Asoft ocean breeze flipped my curtainshigh in the air waving at me. Sleepy andtired from the day's work at the boatyardwith my brother, Hank, I lay in bed inthe early evening. Either the change inthe weather or the bug zapping itselfagainst the screen door as the windwhistled through woke me. Sam hadtipped his litter box and was off wan-dering. I wasn't fully awake but gradu-ally I came to. I didn't know what it was;I Just felt disturbed, cranky. Maybe itwas because everything was quiet,maybe because the whole atmospherefelt different or maybe because I had tofind Sam. I didn't know; I Just didn't likeit.

Was that Sam purring outside?Walking to the screen door to check itout, I peered into the street. The windhad picked up even more, and the skywas getting darker. The wind rustledthrough the dry leaves overhead. I sawa stray baby carriage begin to roll

down to fish for flounder. This weekendtoo, they were down and everyone whoknew them at the boatyard was happyto see them. Now as I looked at theirhouse, I noticed something peculiar: asmall, lighted candle on their porch bythe rocker. Howl it get there? How didit stay lit in the wind?

A small ball bounced across thestreet as Sam chased after it. There hewas! He ran and caught it, then chasedafter the ball again, over and over till forsome reason he stopped. He stoodtransfixed as a man now sat in Mr.Walsh's creaking chair. Pushing openthe screen door, I walked to the frontsteps. What? How could tnis be? Howdid he get there? I walked down to thestreet to pick up Sam, while I continuedto watch the man. He Just stared at Sam,with eyes so...so vacant, so ugly, sodeathlike. He continued to stare at Samas if he were directing him throughthose sad eyes. Suddenly, Sam turnedand ran down the street seemingly oncommand. I had to get Sam; I had to gethim before the storm broke.

I noticed something peculiar: a small, lightedcandle on their porch by the rocker. How'd it getthere? How did it stay lit in the wind?

AN

backwards faster and faster, until itcrashed into the Walsh's fence acrossthe street. Within their fenced yard, thehouse seemed alive as the wind whinedthrough it and a rocking chair creakedslowly on the porch.

The Walshes had left the shore amonth before the summer season ended,but every weekend Mr. Walsh and hisson, Danny, Hanks best friend, came

_ e ee *4-1,0e.e. eee

From the street, I could see theclouds racing inlandblack, ominous,threatening. Nobody else was around.It struck me how different it was fromthe summer when boys on bicyclesfilled the streets, people walked theboardwalk and ladies sipped Iced teaon the porches.

Following Sam's sounds, which Icould barely hear through the howling

47 39

wind, I searched on. I turned around,but could no longer see the man, onlythe chair rocking in the wind. Was Imad? Had there really been a manthere? This is crazy, I thought. Yet thecandle still stood next to the rockersomehow it made me sure that he hadbeen there. At that instant, the windsuddenly swung the branches in theopposite direction, and a crack oflightning struck down a nearby tree.Then the rain, gushing from the stomachsof the dark clouds, flooded the streets.

I saw Sam turn the corner and racetowards the boatyard Why? On I rushed.The sea was alive, seemingly possessedby evil spirits, as its turbulent waves,like fingers, clawed wildly at the wind.The boats at the dock strained againsttheir ropes, trying to break free. Samstopped at the place where the Walsh'sboat was docked. But no boat! The boatwas gone. Oh my God, they're out in thestorm! But, how did Sam know to takeme here?

I thought I heard a scream,a scream of pain...a screamof death?

I raced towards the edge of theboatdock. There! Way out there on thereef lay two boats upended and slowlysinking. I thought I heard a scream, ascream, of paina scream of death?With Sam tucked under my ?rm, I racedhome. Hank had to be home now or elsethe rescue could not be made.

Mounting the steps, I heard Hankinside. Thank God! After phoning forextra help, we raced back toward thedock. I never saw Hank run so fast.There was a terrified look in his eyesthat reflected his anxiety for Danny.

In seconds we were cutting, slicingand knifing our way through the wind-blown, four - foot waves. The spray

pelleted our eyes and Hooded the floorof the craft. It was almost impossible tosteer. For one brief moment, I lost theangle into the wave and it leafx1 asthough we were going to capsize. Butsomehow we regained balance.

There were the two boat?, one theWalsh's and the other an old dingy.This I barely made out through therocking and swishing water: water frombelow and above, water from everywhere.As we drew near the wreckage, I heardno sound. It seemed as though Hankrealized this also: it made him work thatmuch faster.

Finally, we closed in on the wreckageand saw two bodies lying on the bow ofMr. Walsh's boat and another floatingface down. Carefully, I timed myself. Atthe right crest and angle, I pushed thecraft forward, avoiding the wreckagestrewn about, and pulled alongside thebow. Hank leaned over and in one swiftmotion, hoisted one of the bodiesonboard, and then the other. The firstbody was Mr.Walsh, alive but gropingfor air and energy. The second wasDanny who appeared dead at first, butafter Hank listened for his heartbeat,we realized he was alive. Positioningthe craft for the third body, I pilotedHank alongside, and he pulled the lastone onboard who as obviously deadhe had a nasty gash across his head...and the eyesso gray...so deathlike...OhGod! It was the same man I had seen onthe porch! It can't be...I couldn't makeany sense of it. In the heaving waves, Istared at the man, but I had to dismisseverything else and steer the crafttoward shore. The ferocious wavescoughed up our craft like, yet weremained afloat. At last, after strugglingwith the ocean, we were back and Mr.Walsh and Danny were put on stretchersby a small rescue team that had gathered.Somebody exclaimed that the deadbody was Mr. Steinfeld. With this,everyone became quiet. He had been

48

r,

an old friend of Mr. Walsh and of manyof the older anglers at the boatyard.Now they carefully laid Mr. Steinfeldon another stretcher and covered hisface with a blanket. Hank decided to gowith them to the hospital and theydrove off.

he just stared at Sam, witheyes so ... so vacant, sougly, so deathlike.

Iwas alone now standing on thedock looking out over the sea with myface into the sharp wind. In the distance,I saw both boats had sunk. A few waveshurled some boards high into the air.The rest was gone. The wind flipped myrain-drenched stringy hair as water,trickled down my collar. My mind startedto twist as I tried to sort things out. Howcould Mr. Steinfeld be on the porch, Ithought? It Just couldn't have been him.Then who?...The gash was the same asthe man on the porch. But Mr. Steinfeldwas dead-he died in the ocean...and

how did Sam know to take me directlyto the boatyard? The man on the porchhad been staring at him. Was itpossible...?

Shivering now, I turned and crossedinto the street. The wind was beginningto weaken. No one was around-no one.As I approached my house, little Samcame racing out to me. Scooping himup, I tucked him next to me and heldhim close. Ins; de I placed Sam back inhis box. Exhausted, I stretched out onthe bed and gazed out the window. Mymind raced over the events of the day,as the curtains waved high in the air atme. The ocean breeze that filteredthrough was cool and drafty. Throughthe window, I could see the old rockingchair-rocking back and forth, movingby itself, as though Mr. Steinfeld shouldbe sitting in it gazing with those vacanteyes. But no one was there, nothingexcept the lighted candle. It was theonly light left shining in the late evening.It struggled for life against the oceanbreeze; it flickered ... and then ... itdisappeared. The chair stopped rocking.

Bill Bartnick

a

MEMORIESDeep brown cedar chest,Filled with scents of old cashmere sweaters and mothballs,Amongst the cobweb lace,Frayed, yellow snapshots of long gone ancestorsHidden beneath the brassy lock,I peer inTheir faces reflect up at me through the keyhole.

49

Christy O'Brien

41

a cluban exclusive fraternity

with reluctantmembership

whereno one resigns

but for somegratefulbenediction.

Cara Conway

a dark alleyin which

newspapers arestrewn

plastered wet tobrick walls

yet even thoughthey may be

overlooked bymost

they will remain thereforever.

DEATH-

Linda Hoffmann

scary yet soothingdark yet lighta sadness to the hearta loss to a friendsomething of wondersomething of feara light at the enda painful tripa question of whya question of whenlike a veil of blacknessdeath captures.

Tara Phelan

51 43

1f

PORTRAIT: JACK SMITH, THE KOREAN WAR

The killing hadn't bothered him. He had been in artillery, and the peoplehe fired at were shapes, merely a blur. "It's not a feeling," he thought, "Itdoesn't affect you. To kill is to kill."

The hospital was worse than seeing a uniformed corpse lying on tillhard ground. If you were in uniform, "it was part of the job." "But somehowwhen you were in the hospital, out of du.. iniform, away from the guns, youwere supposed to be safe. You just shouldn't have died."

Lonely. Yes, that was what way was. He remembered the nights in thehoachies (a hole in the ground with a log cabin top covered withsandbags.) The hoachies were infested with rats that carried hymeoragicfever. No matter how much DDT was sprayed, there was always a rat whosurvived. "And that rat used to sit in the hole with you. but you neverminded because at least it was someone."

Hills had been a major part of the war. It had been "take a hill, lose a hill,and back and forth." And in the end it was "crazy, for nothing."

But there had been good times, too. "It was just like MASH." In basictraining there had been a guy who wanted out on a Section 8. He originallyhad been a vegetable vendor and used to scream in the middle of the night,"tomatoes" and other vegetables. As he grew more desperate, he hadpunched a priest and an officer, but still wasn't dismissed.

Then there was his closest friend, Barney Schwartz, who was so opposedto fighting that he volunteered to be Captain of the Latrine.

The war had been a "phase of growing up, an education you couldn'tbuy." "As long as there is no fighting, everybody should spend two years inthe army."

Jennifer Syron

Mark Kraus

JOURNAL"All right, girls, we need 2000 sandwiches by lunchtime." That's a lot of

bread to butter! With the clamor of the slicing machine and the swishing ofsandwiches into plastic baggies, we turnedout sandwiches like a GeneralMotors assembly line. There was a cheerful chatter as we packed the foodfor the victims of the ravaging flood.

At the Mass Care Center in Wayne, stationed in the James FallonEducational Center, is the food unit that makes and distributes meals tolocal shelters and nearby towns. Sitting behind a desk piled high withpapers, forms, and sign-in sheets, with a patient, good-naturedexpression, was Teresa Schulman, full-time Red Cross volunteer in chargeof Mass Care.

"Where's the janitor, Teresa?' "I'll be in tomorrow at nine, Teresa.""We're out of juice, Teresa." "I need someone to help on the van, Teresa."Amidst the constant rush of food-making and delivering, she must contacthigh-shoolers, boy scouts, girl scouts, women's clubs, and church groupsin search of volunteers. And who was to be her totally inexperienced, butwilling assistant? You guessed it! It was a step up for me, anyway. Theprevious day the unit made 4000 sandwiches, and I had been a sandwichbutterer. That's right, sandwich butterer. Pretty big step, wouldn't you say?

Helping people in a time of need, directly of indirectly, making friendsand having fun-seeing people care. That's fulfillment enough for Teresa.Do you know anyone who can't butter a piece of bread?

Liz Panos

MY TRUSTED FRIENDI am not thereto laugh at your jokesbut walk right beside you.

Paula Sanu

Talk to me, friend,

For when you are troubled,Your eyes reveal the emptinessin your soul.

53

Tracy Ferguson

45

on tides of

panaDox

AJ. Scott Hester

Peering through the clouds of fogEyes search for islands in the hazeForgetting where he's come fromHis mind flows through the ancient moonlit maze.Struggling through the labyrinth without a destinationHis confusion gradually deepening,Instincts rise in desperationIn the paradox lies true meaning.

54

Drawn through peril and paths unchartedInto maelstrom and inferno,Drawn through death ano rebirthInto pc radox eternal.

Distant wailingDistant calling

Arms are flailingBody's falling.

Out on the sea a storm is raging;A ship is borne upon the way....s.Out on the sea a storm is raging;Man lies sleeping in his caves.

Distant wailingDistant roaringStrength is iiilir.gBody's soaring.

Standing on a timeless shoreLooking towards an ageless seaWaiting for a summoningWaiting for a chance to be.

Distant wailingDistant rantingConfusion failingThe whole world's dancing.

He waits no longer;The task is done.The summonerHe has become.He sounds the hornThree mighty blasts to fulfill his destiny;He sounds the hornThree mighty blasts to set the eye of paradox free.

Distant wailingDistant chantingHands grasp railingFinally standing.

Out on the sea 111 is calmAnd man steers ship onto the shore.Out on the sea all is calmAnd of fog and haze there is no more.Standing on a timeless shoreLooking towards an ageless seaSearching for the summonerHe knows that he has ceased to be.

William Rubel

5547

F011,<\6 GAM GSBRITAIN, 20 years after Ralph is rescued in Lord of the Flies.

The rain had stopped and the mist was lifting as Ralph briskly walked tohis small flat on Castle Street. As he neared the drive, he could hear thefamiliar sounds of his two young boys and their friends playing in theeinr*- lot behind the apartme-'

"Hi, Dad! How was your .

"Hello, Jeff, Richard. Just tine thanks. Don't stay out too long. Supperwill be ready in about an hour." The laughter continued. Smiling tohimself, Ralph began his ascent to their third floor flat. The sharp cackleof the blazing fire and the burst of warm air gave him a feeling ofcomforting safety when he opened the door. With a cheerful hug his wife,Samantha, greeted her husband and he sat down to read the eveningpaper.

About an hour later, Sam asked him to call the boys. The crisp eveningair poured into the room as he slid open the glass door and stepped outonto the balcony. Just as he was about to speak, the boys' actions cau3hthis attention. They had formed a circle around Johnny, the smallest, andwere taunting him with sticks.

"Get him. Get him," the boys were chanting. Ralph broke out into a coldsweat. "Ill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" spun through hishead. Unable to coiaol his thoughts, Ralph was thrust back into thesavage world of the island. He could feel bullets of rain pelting on his bareback and his matted hair clinging to his forehead. A jagged blue-white lineof lightning split the tumultuous sky in r....in. and thunder exploded, addingto the abominable noise of the screaming savages. Jack and his tribe werebeginning their obscene dance on the beach. A thing was breaking theboundary of the living circle.

"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" Spears, sharpened at bothends, jabbed at the screeching figure and ripped at the hot flesh. As theboys staggered away, the once-white sand became stained with Simon'sblood. Slowly, the body was washed to sea.

"That was murder," Ralph blurted."It was no accident. No accident...no accident!!!""Is something wrong, Dad?" Jeffs inquisitive voice jolted Ralph back to

reality. Face flushed with fen and anger, Ralph harshly ordered the boys tocome inside.

"Oh, Dad. Can't we just stay out for a few more..."''No! Come in right now!"Jeff was confused. They hadn't done anything wrong. The tear smudged

face looked up and spluttered, "It was only fun and games..."Maureen Jarkesy

Laura Salizzoni

48 56-.11-tillil- ..,4,e..

114

Karen Power

14 x 17 colored pencil

I ILL

OBSESSED

The day at the boardwalk waschilly and brisk, but the weatherdidn't bother me since the sun hadbeen warming me up. After scuddinghalfway down the boardwalk, Iaccidentally stumbled into an arcade.Little did I know the brilliant arcadewould become my new bedroom. Uponentering. I familiarized myself with thekind of people who dared to invade thatenthralling asylum

While I stood glancing at the videogames, a boy. wanting to play the samegame I had been looking at, jostled meinto the side of the adjacent machine.He, after I impaled himwith my fumingeyes, shamelessly sal! "Excuse me: oh.do you have change of a dollar?" Themachine that gives change wastemporarily "out of order." I tried tomake as little eye contact as possible tolet the boy believe that I was broke, yet Icouldn't help but notice his peculiar-ities. His sweaty and chalky hands hadmassive callouses; his saliva oozedfrom the corner of his mouth; his eyestransfixed the air. But the most bizarrewas the inseparable attachment of hishands to any machine as though itwereenergizing a powerful force throughouthis body. Life was now not at the heartbut at the hand! What was that hold themachine had on him?

As I strolled through, I found mysister Diane, who had introduced me tothe hypnotic world of so-called funthe urcade.

"John, play a game," she urged byplacing a quarter in my hand.

"Why? Ws only a waste of moneyyour money," I laughed.

"Oh, lust go play something," shebegged.SO

Just as I was about to leave thearcade to buy some gum with hermoney, he grabbed me. As I cautiouslyglared over my shoulder, PacMan, thegrabber, glowed. He displayed featureswhich I had never seen before in anyother gamea glowing screen withvivid hues, the PacMan's definedphysique, silhouetted on a screen ofdots, and monsters, adorable only atfirst. I loved him at first sight.

Life was now not at theheart but at the hand!What was that hold themachine had on him?

The next weekend, I prepared myselfby overflowing my pockets with quarters.While I waited for some kid to finish hisgame of PacMan, my sweaty andsteamy hands grappled with each other.Finally, when my turn came, I looked atthe machine, took a deep breath, andsmiled slowly. The quarter was in; it wastime to start. I played fairly well, but notgood enough for me; I had to do betterso I played again, and again till theperson waiting to play scornfully told meto "take a hike." Thinking about howniuch money I had spent, I then leftPacMan with an unsaid good-bye.

Each time I played was neverenough. I would go home, take markerswith the same colors as those in thegame, and draw the board of dots, themonsters, and the PacMr.n. That done, Ipretended I was playing a real game onthat piece of paper. But that vicariousplan still didn't satisfy my ravenousappetite.

58

Insomnia hit. I wo,ild sit in bedand think about getting more points byescaping from the monsters. In short, Ibecame PacMan. At night my eyeswould be so tired yet were glued openin fear that the monsters might kill me.Obsession struck! No longer in control,I was ensnared in a world of luminatingscreens, never sure how to escape.

To crush my addiction, my parentsforbade me to play PacMan for amonth. When the time passed, istumbled into my long missed arcadeand noticed that my callouses haddisappeared. I played. Now I. realizedhow much better I had become.As soonas I had finished I needed to play again.My appetite awakened, hungrier thanever before. Quickly my money vanished.And when all my quarters hadrun out, Isearched the other machines, stickingmy hands into the quarter slits. Once ina while, that scheme worked.

But the most bizarre wasthe inseparable attach-ment of his hands to anymachine as though itwere energizing a power-ful force throughout hisbody.

I wanted to control myself butcouldn't. I remember praying to God,asking Him to stop my PacMan fever. Aweek later, outside the arcade, a groupof people, wearing black shirts with theletters V.A. printed in fluorescentbanana colorPacMan's colorcame

to me, after I finished my quota ofgames, and handed a business card tome. It read V.A. "VideoholicsAnonymous."

"Are you serious?" I laughed withsarcasm.

"Yes, quite serious," the V.A. manresponded, "Our organization hashelped many video junkies and hasmade"

Obsession struck! Nolonger in control, I wasensnared in a world ofluminating screens,...

"Wait, are you implying that I amaddicted to video games?"

"That's right, particularly PacMan.I've been watching you the past fewmonths, and each time you play, you'renever satisfied: you can't stop."

I realized then that the V.A. wasaware of people's addictions to videogames. Intrigued and flattered that theyhad followed me, I decided to go totheir meeting. After three months ofsessions, I was no longer obsessed. TheV.A. freed me from my PacMan bond. (Imust refrain from telling exactly howthe V.A. helped me because theirmethods of "deobsessionizing" arekept a secret between the patient andthe therapist.)

Now, two years later, I am a therapistfor the V.A. I must confess that Isometimes rekindle the flameplay thegamebut this time I'm the one inCONTROL.

John Massood

0(!ceicseeceacccee52

60

9x 11 Brad Friedman

Cl/arne a, a4,4 l'emenzIL perozu eaotoacal/abiax atHbli eleta4c37.4 mara ciera. elfzer4'W eaapr 1 la6ro6'61 x eald.. Marsha Braslaysky

like off the shawl of timeAnd melt the memories with candle lightLet the candle cry crestingA silhouette of 'u with tiers of wax.

6153

54

My life is a yo-yo,Traveling up and downThe emotional string of my mind.My yo -yo goes high and ow--

success\ love onfidencefailure to fear joy

depressionBut at timesMy mind becomes a captiveIn an emotional rut--My life's yo-yo hits a knotAnd just spins

spins.

1 I I I I I I I I I I I II it I 1 I

ecstasy

Amy Asleksen

Picture a tall, creamy, spinning, thick, melting, double dip, chocolate,and peanut butter ice cream cone from Baskin Robhins. As you work yourway up the cone, it gets wider and crunchier, and the chocolate lumps andpeanut butter chunks hang down from the sides. The colors swirl togetheras if it were the origins of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. The huge, plumpscoops of ice cream are placed down one on top of the other, forming apermanent bond as they melt into each other. Continuously chewed,licked, and sucked upon, the ice cream slowly disappears. Then you hearthe first crunch of the cone sounding like two helmets hitting in the NFL. Itbecomes a contest to see if the ice cream melts before you are able to pushthe whol , thing into the mouth. A chunk of peanut butter gets stuck to theroof of your mouth. OH NO! The melting cone approaches the finishingline andit wins! Remaining in your hand:a puddle of chocolate and achunk of peanut butter.

Susan r'hillips

62

THE RACE

Running in silence,Each aware of the otherOnly by the funnels ofWarm, wet, winter breath.Across the frozen gladeThey sprint.Billows of ste2m,Like a Vim of-the-century railroad engine,Ignite their courseAnd signal their approachAs they mount the slope of the final peak

Accelerating downhill,They part.Two as one,Stride for stride,Separate,Diverging flurries of flesh.FinishingOne and two,Separate entitiesCollapseAnd share common exhaustion.

Marc Levy

639x 12

Duchini

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Dave DeVries

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THE FEATHERAs I walk along the waterConfused, bewildered,I see a featherThe whiteness of it caught my eye.So calm.So gentle.So innocentA feather lying between two rocksitaPPedLost.What bird did this come from?Why did it fall out'?Where is the bird now?The feather.Safe,Calm,Silent, as it lies on the sandSo distant from its home.Lost,Never to find its way back

Meg McGowan

THE PEACE OF ME FORESTThere I stood alone in the vastness of crisp green trees. The cool, damp

air filled my lungs with an almost medicinal refreshment; I savored thesweet aroma of the endless ground covering of buttercups and daisies.While the music of the birds relaxed my mind and filled my heart withappreciation of the stillness, the first descending beams of the fieryorange sun darted over the distant ice blue mountains. The linear rayssliced unbent through the mist prod perfect quills from a single

The dew-slicked leaves touched by the points of light reflected and*added, giving the forest a silvery, glassy fairy-tale appearance. From thesimplicity of the spider walking across her droplet-covered, symmetricalweb to the perfectly uniform rows of giant pines standing like a brigade offraduathw cadets at attention, everything was in order. Lying in a pile of

leaves. I fell asia, and dreamt all the world could learn to live inOoperadon, love, and peace like that found in the community of the

I ''4figita.144i

Kevin Tolnaltr" f.5.4e

57

se

SNOWY NIGHTSnowflakes sweepingThrough the treetopsThe snowSparlding glisteningAs it drifts softlyTo the frozen earthThe solemn forestOf nightIs all alightBy the luminous glowOf the snowThe ominous hushOf the for itIs broken onlyBy the swishOf the snow

Chris Wallace

I see a cloudgo floating byI hewsthe laughterthe sound of a myI see those daysthey pass me bysometimes I laughsometimes I cryI see my lifeas it was beforeI feel locked upwhere's the door?I see a dreamI want so muchbut it seems too farI'm too out of touchI'm living aloneall by myselfIts g phase I'm inI'm crying for helpcan't you steI want vou heresomeone he memy mind isn't clear

StPh's.

66

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MY OLD BEARmy

old bearhe kept me

companywhen it was

darkhe chased away the

shadowsand was always there

to listenturning tears Into

rainbows.though he's missing

his noseand his eyes

don't glow,he is still___

my friend...my

oldbear...

Erica Olsen3-

tn.

it*

...

Eileen Shine

DEEP INSIDEShe gave me life and spoiled me,A mom whose love was always free.There is no one to fill her spot,'Cause she's the only mom I've got.I love her when she makes me smileOr stays with me at night awhile.She gives advice and helps me out,But through it all she'll never shout.In still her little boy for now,

ain't tell her, I don't know how,That someday soon I'll be a manAnd will repay her if I can,But deep inside I'll always beThe baby boy she sees in me.

Bill Reffo69

THE BLEACHERS

The bleachers standing empty.Silent reminder of the pastGood times, bad times,Wins and losses,Out o- the football field.But not today.No, no one is here.No football team with their sweat-stained jerseys,No cheerleaders, stirring up spirit,No fans, rooting for the home team.No one but me and the memoriesAnd the old empty bleachers.Home of fans,Past,PresentAnd future?I walk home through the softly falling snow.

Andrew Wheeler

'1/444-

Editor-in-chief: Karen ParerArt Editors: Tracy Ferguson, Sue Hazudalusiness Editors: Edward ;:attell, Scott RotmanCultural Editors: Eric Kramer, Debbie RussoLiterary Editors: Sharon Brennan, John MassoodProduction Editors: Lisa Herman, Mark lannelli, Edgar MuellerTyping Editors: Marianne Albarez, Sarah Scully

ART STAFF

Dave CassadayRola HannoushJ. Scott HesterMarilyn JohnsonMark KrausKrista SchuhEileen ShineMarci Stein

BUSINESS STAFF

Jeffrey BackmanKaren BoguczPat CastanedaPamela CohenShelagh CollinsSteven DahlMary Beth lannacconeSusan KrohMark LesnikJudy MancusoDenise MoserAlice NewellCheryl PolandCathy RoccaseccaLaura RossMad SchwarzSusan SilverStephanie TaylorEd TuckerPeter Weiss

71

LITERARY STAFF

Lauren AlbarezBill BartnickRon FuchsMike KaplanRon KerenMarc LevyLiza MartinoLiz PanosDan RamerMike RamerKaren RoschelleWilliam RubelJodi RubensteinBogy ShremStephanie TalmadgeAndy WheelerDanelle Drifts

PRODUCTION STAFF

George BerrienAl ChoiSue FogelLauren LombardoChristy O'BrienErica OlsenJoyce RomanskiLisa Torchin 63

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We would like to thank the following people who generously support usthroughout the year.Mr. Yanni, our principal, Mr. Sinofsky and Mr. Domin, our vice principalsThe secretarial stafffury Tedy esco, Judy Faley, Gene Manila, Nan Hoemer, Anne Lipariand Ginn Cumings'lie foreign language teachersBea Genie and the Business DepartmentCliff Elleton and the custodial staffMild Musetd and Bob Silbernagel, fellow Battle of the Band enthusiastsThe fine art department, especially our art consultant, Barbara HughesThe English teachers, who encourage student writingAll our Mends (with or without earplugs) who chaperone our activities,especially the Battle of the Bands

Louise Dette end Romaine Primieno,Advisers

I IMan and machine, symbiosis extraordinaire,Neither the master, together unequalled.

Frank litorkoweld

I I I 1 IRecognition:

Columbia Scholastic Press AasociadonFirst Place, 1981Medalist, 1979, 1980, 1983Gold Crown Nominee, 1982

American Scholastic Press AssociationFirst Place, 1981First Place with Merit, 1982, 1983

64 72