29他
P H O E N I X
The Phoenix 2014 Volume 29 ¾ Publishing History
The Phoenix was first published in the cupboard under the stairs on the thirtieth of February in -42 B.C. It was then revived back to the future in 1985, but it lacked color, substantial artwork, and photography. With great time came great responsibility and - Great Scott Marty! We’re back in the present! Flappy Bird, 1996 Too Sassy For You, 2014
Published By
Noir Budoir A division of Los Pollos Hermanos and CoCo Chanel Based in Dozod, OH Funded in part by J. P. Morgan J. Freeman & Co. and by Viewers Like You.
To Be Honest
We don’t have too many rights reserved, and the few that we do printed out funny. Distribution out of room 403, because ERROR: 404 – ROOM NOT FOUND. If you purchased this book without a cover or downloaded it from our shady website, you should be aware that it is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and unreported” to the indentured sheeple in the Phoenix office. The authors, artists and photographers have yet to receive any payment for this “stripped” book, but don’t panic. Just don’t forget to pay the Italians as soon as possible. To all the legen-(wait for it)-dary people who have supported this publication, please do not ever let it go. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole, in part, or by using 3-D printing technology, or transmitted by any means whether electronic, mechanical, or through quantum dot semi-conductors, including but not limited to scanning, Iris-messaging, “the twitter machine,” messenger pigeon, HTML coding, or via owl, without the written/drawn permission of the self-publisher. For information regarding permission, please write to 221B Baker Street, London, England. No run-on sentences, please. copyright 2014 © The Phoenix © “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in John Green.” Just kidding, John Green has no faults. (Neither does Beyonce) DFTBA.
Disclaimer
9 out of 10 Townsend Harris students recommend reading this book at least once a day for the rest of eternity. (The 10th student only said “no” because Mr. Sweeney told him to.)
Real Disclaimer
It is not recommended that you don’t not disregard this page. That is all.
i
THE PHOENIX VOLUME 29他
4
EDITORIAL CONTRIBUTORS EDITORS-IN-CHIEF YELENA DZHANOVA JILLIAN PANAGAKOS LAYOUT DESIGNER MEGAN PARKER LITERARY EDITOR ANTHONY BUDWAH ART EDITOR ANNA KIM PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR SOFIA MILONAS BUSINESS MANAGER KRISTINE GUILLAUME ADVISOR MR. RAFAL OLECHOWSKI
IT IS MY GREAT PLEASURE AND HONOR TO BE THE ADVISOR TO THE PHOENIX. THIS YEAR MARKS A REMARKABLE MILESTONE FOR THE THHS’S LITERARY MAGAZINE AND COMMUNITY; WE ARE CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF THE PHOENIX. I AM HUMBLED BY THIS MOMENT. I HAVE THE DISTINCT HONOR TO WALK IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF MY PREDECESSORS, FRANK POLIZZI, HELEN RIZZUTO, FARRAH KHAN, AND ROBERT BABSTOCK. WITHOUT THEM THE PHOENIX WOULD NOT BE WHAT IT IS TODAY. TO CELEBRATE THIS SPECIAL OCCASION, THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE PHOENIX WORKED VERY DILIGENTLY TO CREATEA ‘MID-YEAR’ ISSUE COMPOSED OF SOME OF THEIR FAVORITE SIGNS OF CREATIVE LIFE FROM THE 30-YEAR HISTORY OF THE MAGAZINE.IT IS MEANT TO BE A POCKET-SIZE HOMAGE TO THE GIANTS ON WHOSE SHOULDERS WE STAND TODAY. READ AND ENJOY! - MR. OLECHOWSKI iii
DEDICATION THIS SPECIAL EDITION OF THE PHOENIX IS DEDICATED TO THE ALUMNI OF TOWNSEND HARRIS HIGH SCHOOL, WITHOUT WHOM THIS ISSUE COULD NOT HAVE EXISTED. WITHOUT THEIR UNDYING SUPPORT AND ENDLESS CONTRIBUTIONS, THE PHOENIX WOULD BE AN ORDINARY COMPILATION OFpreface WORDS+ ded AND PICTURES, RATHER THAN A PUBLICATION THAT LIVES AND BREATHES AMONG THE STUDENT BODY. THE ALUMNI ASSOCIATION HAS ESPECIALLY BEEN AN INVALUABLE ASSET THESE LAST TWO YEARS, FUNDING AND PROVIDING OPPORTUNITIES TO SHOWCASE EVERYTHING THE PHOENIX HAS TO OFFER. THIS ISSUE OF THE MAGAZINE IS A TRIBUTE TO THE ALUMNI ASSOCIATION, AND TO THE MANY GREAT PIECES THAT WERE SUBMITTED DURING THEIR TIME HERE.
PREFACE BUT OFTEN AMONG A SEA OF INTELLIGENT STUDENTS, THERE IS A PREJUDICE THAT THESE VERY STUDENTS CANNOT BE CREATIVE AND INTERACTIVE. THESE RESPONSES WERE GENERATED BY THE CURRENT STUDENT BODY OF TOWNSEND HARRIS HIGH SCHOOL, WHO TOOK PART IN A SURVEY ANSWERING THE QUESTION, ”WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST GOAL?” WE’VE MATCHED OUR STUDENT’S CURRENT RESPONSES IN ACCORDANCE WITH ART, PHOTOGRAPHY, PROSE, AND POETRY FROM 1985-2013. THESE ARE THEIR STORIES. iv
Editor’s Note Whenever we, the editors, receive a submission, our eyes widen to a size comparable to that of a saucer plate. However, when we receive a submission we absolutely adore, they widen to the size of the moon. Creating a work of art you’re extremely passionate about seems like an easy task, but for most people the process ends in a futile attempt of garbled jumble. Sometimes we know what we want to say and it doesn’t come out correctly. Other times, although rarely, we know what we want to say, and it actually works. Then there’s us, for whom most of the time, we don’t even know what we want to say, and our writing culminates in a humongous ball of spittle. We have the propensity to rework the intricacies of a submitted piece, whose contents contain the innermost thoughts and wishes of its creator. But we also have the tendency to fall in love with a work, and stay in love with it even after its publication. Just like a contortionist, our artists’ wrists bend and yaw while caressing the canvas with a roundhead paintbrush. And just like a magician makes a bunny appear out of a hat, our photographers make trivial details appear developed and significant. In the end, we transcend the figments of our imagination and our creativity rises from the ashes.
v
The Editors
Alumna Note It wasn’t until I entered college that I realized how much Townsend Harris had actually taught me in terms of academic discipline and certain life values. I learned how to better manage my time and how to study. There is an abundance of brilliant teachers in all departments who make learning easier and enjoyable. These adept individuals coupled with the bright student population is what Townsend Harris is best known for. Besides your parents, teachers are the most influential adults in your life. Teachers possess knowledge outside of the classroom that can deepen your mind and help you approach topics from a different point of view. Townsend is unique in that the teachers here genuinely care about the students, which truly makes it feel like a second home. Townsend gave me the opportunity to explore different interests and hobbies, including participating in various clubs and a sports team. The expenditure of time with a group of people who share common interests is bound to result in a close-knit community. Whether it be through the pain of running that last lap during track practice on a snowy, cold winter day, or through the act of reading a collection of literary works together on a Friday afternoon in the library, you’ll always have someone to talk to. High school has taught me how to open up to people, a skill that is necessary to acquire before entering the wider world of college. At every given moment, we are forever aspiring to achieve some goal in an effort to better ourselves, whether or not we realize it at the time. High school is about more than good grades and building an impressive resume for colleges; it’s the time to note who you were in the past, and who you want to become in the future. College is an extension of this exploration, but the journey begins in high school. As cliché as it sounds, it’s important to have an idea of who you are as a person by the time you graduate so as not to lose yourself in your prospective environment. There’s a world beyond the halls of Townsend Harris, an entire universe containing people from diverse backgrounds and rich experiences. You will be exposed to some of the best (and the worst) individuals you could have ever imagined. Townsend Harris is the familiar, warm nest in which you grow as a baby bird, but it’s only a matter of time before you’re pushed over the edge. Townsend Harris equips you with the wings and tools to fly. The choice to either plummet to the ground or soar towards the sky is entirely up to you.
DENISE ROBLES ‘ 1 3
vi
8 Table of Contents Literature
vii
Page Number
“Fourth of July on Long Island” - Lauren O’Connor (1999)
2
“The Braid” - Diana Stametelatos (1991)
4
“Cosmic” - Sheryl Rivas (2011)
5
“Wintersweet” - Susan Chiu (1987)
6
“Self Portrait” - Monica Gonzalez (2004)
7
“Gaia” - Kate Lu (2009)
9
“Stories from 1-A: A Sestina” - Cindy Wong (1997)
10
“It Does Not Compute” - Lynda Carroll (1985)
11
“A Guide to Loving Yourself” - Sarah Iqbal (2013)
13
“Schandmar” - Nikita Patel (2005)
14
“O” - Nishat Hamid (2012)
16
“A Coming of Old Age (A Petrarchan Sonnet)” - Kelly Villella (1994)
17
“Circle of Jade” - Angela Hom (2002)
19
“Merridip’s Story” - Lauren O’Connor (1998)
23
“The Laws of Physics” - Elizabeth Kussman (2010)
27
“Bear” - Jane Kim (1995)
29
“Itchy Silence” - Jessica Wang (2001)
30
“Sonata in C” - Vanessa Joseph (1996)
31
Table of Contents (cont.) Art and Photograpy
Page Number
“Digital Art” - Richard Bonilla (2012)
1
“The Arched Way” - Beverlie Leno (1991)
3
“Untitled” - Ryan Dennie (2001)
4
“Violet” - Jane Soliternik (2011)
6
“Untitled” - Tracee Ng (1998)
7
“Fan vs. Technology” - Michelle Szeto (2013)
8
“The Ever Distant Helping Hand” - Katherine Maignan (1996)
10
“Subhuman” - Sarah Kim (2011)
11
“Profile” - Hai-Phung Tran (2000)
12
“Ellenway Figure Sketch” - Rachel Sperling (1997)
13
“Young Boy” - Kate Margalit (1995)
13
“Sunset Wanderer” - Alice Kai (2004)
14
“Heem” - Lucy Hong (1999)
15
“I Said No” - Katherine Valles (2009)
16
“Photogram” - George Zervos (2000)
17
“Beach” - Rachel Schiffman (2001)
18
“Icy Road” - Erika Brown (1990)
19
“Untitled” - Leda Marritz (1999) “Autumn, Central Park” - Dionne Fraser (1995)
19
19
“Nafee’s Hands” - Nadia Ahmed (2008)
19
“Palm” - Jane Soliternik (2011)
19
“Woodland Path” - Beverly Leano (1991)
19
“Crunch” - Isabelle Ocampo (2009)
21
“The Stray Flower” - Lorna Chan (1987)
23
“Honeymoon” - Karen Abramowitz (2008)
25
viii
1
TO BE AN ANIMATORTO TOUCH PEOPLE WITH THIS WORLD I CREATE
2
3
To pass through the wardrobe that leads to Narnia, to fly over Neverland,
and to walk the halls of Hogwarts after dark without getting caught by Filch
w ten t
ith
ife yl m
con y l lete
to
p om c die
The Braid She combed her hair soft as silk auburn, like the autumn leaf and braided it, tightly, like a rope long and thick, like that of a ship, sailing out to sea. She stood out on her balcony with a smile so bright; thrice did she wrap around the neck the auburn braid so tight. They found her in the evening with that smile upon her face her bleeding tears still flowing: the wine spilled by the braid’s embrace.
- Diana Stamatelatos
4
5
14
Cosmic When karma met the universe, there was a spark a big bang and a baby named Cosmic.
to be She played connect the dots with st nd the solar system, spoke parables t lif raig he h e that confused the stars, who pa t tt into lin er wept wonder, leaving a e a n cr of I just want to make mess a friend for of omnipresent dust to clean. oo ke life and spend the rest of our d
lives together. Because, that'd be pretty nice, you know? Karma said, ‘She’ll come around’ but the universe disagreed: the laws are never broken. So she left, became a vagabond, sleeping on a cloudy matter, causing trouble in our stratosphere, instigating supernovas, shooting vibes to the planets, stealing scoops from the milky way, coughing nebula, out of order, bringing chaos. - Sheryl Rivas
Wintersweet In the freezing winter weather While all greens have disappeared There you stand and blossom Golden flowers like shining stars Slight sweet smell floating in the air I was told that winter is sad All lives on earth die of cold But now I know that it’s not true For I saw you blooming in the snow No sign of sadness, no sign of death I carried you into my room I wanted to give you warmth and comfort But you died only three days later Your yellow fell off the branch And no more sweet smell floated around Wintersweet, that’s what you are You belong to the winter world Forgive me, for my misunderstanding I’ll be thinking of you Every snowy winter day -Susan Chiu
6
7
Self Portrait Paint me on a rainy day without an umbrella. Paint me in a wild wonder of honeysuckle plants. Paint me in vivid colors that would brighten every room. With a soft stroke of purple, paint a flower in my hair. With impressionistic dabs, paint a bright yellow moon. With the darkest shade of blue, paint a quiet night sky. Make sure my hands are raised; my smile touches the soul. Make sure my eyes glimmer and sparkle, hiding a certain secret. Make sure I am barefoot, dancing under a galaxy of stars. - Monica Gonzalez
To
be an independent woman who knows who she is and what she stands for
8
9 Gaia The stars passed out of my womb and scattered in the sky like a babys brain smashed on the floor when I look upon them I weep
they are
so far away from me It was their father who placed those electric kisses along my spine as he worshiped my body gold on soft brown sun on dirt
But afterward
after he left me with only cold ocean waves
after he had given
my children to his pale night mistress
after the space
between us filled with cloud cover a rush of air afterward I gave myself to life Kate Lu
us ve complet To ha et r
th ey ’l l for someon e me e b eav et rl te ve r
as my comfort
nd know th at ne a
ne
t
in
meo so
Stories from IA: A Sestina He lived just twenty stories below us in 1-A, a room Without windows, but furnished by security cameras, holding many secrets. I’ve known him all my life, greeting me every day, this old man With a genuine smile as I stepped off the elevator. Intriguing my six-year-old mind was the blue flower. Never wilted, it stood always covered with glass beads of water, like tears, By the greasy black telephone. A life so simple, all on his desk, the flower, the phone, and green colored pennies. Overweight and gossipy old ladies who never had more change than pennies Banded together every afternoon to invade the limited room Between elevator walls, whispering about indecencies that flow quicker than tears. They made elevator repair visits one of our new building’s many well kept secrets. I waited an hour, while the elevator redeemed itself from the shame, and ate candy shaped like a flower Given to me to keep me from playing with the cameras, by the old man. I liked the company. The stories that rolled off his tongue. The old man Talked of his old childhood days. Days when his vision was as clear as sparkling pennies Found on the bottom of wishing wells. The home he loved, surrounded by wild flower Kingdoms that called him out to pay - gone - as abrupt as someone turning out the lights in his room When the bedtime story was not finished. He remembered silence and whispers and no more secrets About the wartime enemy, and the shadow of his grandmother shoving valuables into his favorite thermos with tears. Sights and sounds. Jet fighters and children’s wails. Bullets and bombs. It all tears Into a young mind and banishes all that was secure. His voice was dry now, the old man. Mourning for youthful freedom never recovered. But I cried out for more secrets. He proceeded with held back tears in his eyes, that shone as new pennies Often do under pale moonlight. “My family would flee the city, away from the enemy, to make room For their new lives,” he said. Hanging on every word, my interest continued to flower. Japanese men in uniform ordered the family to surrender by the untended dying flower Fields. He clutched his thermos even tighter while his grandmother’s tears Drowned hopes of escape. He thought a protected thermos would fill the room Of the family stomachs; his only defense while his old man Was pulled aside and beaten. “Too ugly for a beautiful,” they said as drops of blood the size of pennies Fell to the ground nourishing the dying flower fields and their painful secrets. There was no food in the thermos, but their life savings filled to the brim. A secret Kept from him, a child much too young to understand. Men in uniform, who spat in the flower Fields where his father’s blood split, taunted his little body weighing less than pennies. The thermos he held so tight and dear, now in enemy hands. Nothing he could do but cry unbearable tears. Afraid of the bullets, he hid his screams that would pierce even the aged sense of hearing in an old man. “I am hungry, sir,” he pleaded. The men lifted their dirty boots and with kisses, the boy rescued their savings hidden in its room. He told me all this in 1-A, the security room. The story now seemed part of my secrets. I could see the expression on the old man - just like the flower On his desk: blue and decorated with tears... and cold like his green pennies.
- Cindy Wong
10
11 20
It Does Not Compute They were the future in the years past, But they have taken over at last. No human emotion, no thoughts to hold, Only power -- only control. The day has finally come at last, To protect our own past. Are we man? Are we alive? Must we fight with a disk drive? “The Computer Age” has gone too far! Men must ask who we are! Must we stand for this? Or thoughts stored on one cold disk? I can feel them in the night. My brain a disk, my heart a machine, My human face turned to a screen. I can tell it won’t be long Until we sing their electric song… There’s no one else, there’s nothing more. There’s only horror waiting at my door. It’s been two years since they’re in control And taken over our human role. They’ve taken over, plain and true! Seems that there’s nothing left to do. I’ve now become one of them But I’ll soon feel nothing again. No more humans left to see. No one left, only me. Am I human? Am I alive? Or am I now some new disk drive? Am I a traitor of some kind? Have they removed my old mind? I’m one of them now, can’t you see? The computer over there just might be me. So now I lay me down to sleep, No more troubles I should keep. If I wake before I die, Plug me in -- I’m not alive…
- Lynda Carroll
16 12
22 13
bil s two pay the poeittrhy pret y time self a r u t o a Y x i s g ovin hfuls, the pits die L t u o o t m e o d i to fil rom the sky t i A Gu n cherries inndtwspit ingsoustcared Itr’ede r o f t i nd wrastil fal ing f oze eshy fruit a e and wa a cherry elf a d s a s a l e t g a fl e te ys on I oncuecking of f ttahl ey swal owed’d just becosomed to loverinmg rain wwithithathe rainwa heart y S acciden e that I as supp the pou ingled world m n o nce g a I t you told mu how I wt outside in my tears me physical d p a t Bu asked yo ld me to si nk it, and ctility of th d sweet ars ne decide tro your weddin I nd you to n I dra vor the ta bit er an nd my e ld someo ve you fo A cried whe t me to sa tears both wash behi ether shou nt Lucy ga I ou taugh ot time for ember to myself tog ase Au oleum Y nd to al to rem an put ke the v n i l d l o e it th A ou told me t that I c hy you bro release Y d to trus ed you w needed nyway did when eitdh Anhen I askthat anger ugly thing ae that vaseould be cur bal q I h c k a i W told me it was an racked l erything - Sar You nd that marriage c wished evter. A en your that you f rainwa Wh u told me a glass o Yo swal owing By
Schandmar To have never known a world without the wall, and how the other side lives, how could we tell the elders the wall is no more, no more? And tell those who have slept today, that it is a new day? That nothing now separates us from them? Killed her with my own hands. You were there, brother. That wild look was in you, too, as we drank cheap champagne, and we danced on her corpse. Abandoning their high towers, the guards stood watching. When we finally emerged these were not Berliners we saw. This was not the world we imagined. We were infants in the world of giants. Ashamed, we climbed back into our womb. Brother, I implore thee, let the elders sleep late. May they never learn the wall has fallen, and that today is a new world because we are a people not able to bear the weight of our own birth. - Nikita Patel
To to in
ight e w r unte things o c e e be th horribl he all t rld wo the
14
afraidd ofof storms, storms, and and toto lelearnarn how how toto saisaill mymy shishipp through through rough rough waves waves ToTo notnot bebe afrai
24 15
O a thunderstorm knocked on my door once, hidden inside the body of a long-legged girl. her breaths were tripping over one another and she tried to chew down words as if they were vegetables before she finally swallowed a sigh and threw everything up on my face. she was fully clothed and shivering as she clutched onto the side of her purple trench coat but somehow every fiber of her body stood before my eyes like the skyscrapers of tokyo and i felt as though i could wrap myself around every single one of them to keep them from falling. i told her to stay the night and found myself trying to build a nest in my heart so that she could lay herself down. in the morning, it thundered against the windowpane and her flesh and bones were scattered against the warmth of my bed - her legs were no longer covered and her breaths were steady but she didn’t quite seem naked anymore. the skyscrapers had burnt to the ground and there were matches in her eyes. - Nishat Hamid
16
17 26
The Coming of Old Age (A Petrarchan Sonnet) The nightmare clouds the empty mind with gray That outlines baby blues with fear, and grants The cheeks a sallow tint; it always rants Inside your head, regardless of the day, Transforming life where wrinkles start to stray, And brittle bones. To them “Stay still,” it chants “And bid the darkness come,” the cold implants Itself, as all life’s remnants slip away. But mourning yourself will not help revive Or clear the cloudy sky, or give back glow, Or vanish creases that form on barren lands; Some laughter shatters frightful dreams, disbands The cold to make the body come alive And brightens eyes with thoughts of long ago. - Kelly Villella
To own a handmade dress shop
18
28 19
Circle of Jade The jade bracelet dangles from my mother’s wrist. It is warm and smooth, like the marble kitchen countertop after my mother removes a plate of steamed vegetables sitting on it. Its color resembles the patchwork of summer green fields my mother and I drove through in England - light and misty in some areas, dark and secretive in others. Its shape is an unbroken ring of strength, giving my mother reassurance that it will always be there, just as her family will always be by her side. My mother’s reflection can be seen in her jade bracelet. In Chinese superstition, jade bracelets protect their wearers from evil. There are stories of how women have fallen and gotten up unhurt, because they were wearing jade bracelets. Instead of their bones breaking, their bracelets did. Ann Wing Mui Lee Hom, my mother, believes in such superstitions. She tells me not to play around with spirit invocations, lest I become host to a ghost. There are ornaments placed or hung in certain spots of the house - a pair of jade dragons guards the window above my desk, and a small ball of crystal is hung on red string above her bed. Her belief in superstitions passed down from our ancestors has given me a greater respect for the forces beyond the running water of indoor plumbing and electricity. Her firm hold on what seems to be old wives’ tales from the past in this age of technology is admirable. The color of jade deepens with the passage of time. It is gradual change, unnoticeable until one takes a good look at the piece and compares it with memories of a time before. My mother’s jade bracelet has darkened in patches with each year that she has worn it. It is as if the purity and strength of the jade is being absorbed by my mother’s body, while her troubles are being expelled into the bracelet, leaving murky hunter green pools in the translucent jade. She does not give in to the monotony of housework and
life, but tries to retain her individuality in the maternal role that so many other women have already defined. She will play video games with her children, and sometimes even on her own. Her perseverance in being a good mother and her energy in keeping up with the lives of her children amaze me on a daily basis. Her life hasn’t been an easy one, but she continues pushing to the surface of her ocean of obstacles even during a storm. In a crowded store, I can pick my mother out almost immediately. It is not only because we joke about having a psychic connection to each other, but also because all her admirable qualities make her glow. The love, sympathy, and warmth she exudes as a mother, combined with the strength, fearlessness, and imagination she shows as an individual, make her stand out as the woman I admire. When my mother enfolds me in her arms in a hug, I feel as if I have my own jade bracelet.
- Angela Hom
iterally l e it u q s ther s shoe shoes- but I'd o m y m o t e to fit in s use mor s she is y a w l a d l a cou sand kind because I s e l f l e s s a love to be
20 20
21
I want to be a STREAM of COLOR
in this BLACK and WHITE world
22
23
MERRIDIP’S STORY by Lauren O’Connor
Charles Merridip, at that most brilliant age of twenty-five, was heir to the immense Merridip whistle fortune. He was the richest man in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and lived on the longest road, in, without a doubt, the largest house. Within these turrets and staircases and museum-like rooms, Charles lived most exclusively alone, not counting his butlers, maids, and chauffeurs. His grandfather was one who must be described as “a young seventy,” still forging on through the decades with no intention of slowing. Charles Merridip’s sister, Ginger (you’ve read of her in the society pages, I’m sure), as well as his dear old brother and dear old grandad lived in Kalamazoo. Ginger lost the name Merridip years ago, in an ill-conceived first marriage to a kickboxer. That name has since been changed four or five times (no one’s quite sure), yet she remains her smiling, insipid self. The Merridip family of Kalamazoo lived rather comfortably. They, themselves, could attest to not wanting another swimming pool, or car or nose job, yet Charles Merridip felt somewhat lost. And what man having reached five and twenty could say that he too never felt lost? He had spent those blissful days of childhood at English boarding schools and Swiss banks, cut off from baseball, ice cream trucks, and scraped knees - a sheltered existence to be sure. He knew nothing of a life that didn’t own yachts, or a summer in Geneva. In his own opinion, he never truly lived life. As a confused youth is apt to do, he visited a psychiatrist. He told his life’s lament to the psychiatrist, a Dr. Plotka, who suggested (after many sessions with this trouble-ridden lad) a sure-fire remedy. Perhaps because Dr. Plotka needed a good, hearty laugh after years in a stressful profession, he suggested that Mr. Merridip “take to the streets.” “Pardon?” asked Mr. Merridip.
“Take to the streets. Experience life as a John Doe, a Walter Mitty, a Horatio Alger. Be the common man, a face in the crowd,” the doctor responded. “I do mean this in the best possible sense but do you know who I am? It is certainly impossible for me to become incognito.” “My dear boy, I assure you that I do indeed know who you are,” Dr. Plotka began. “My advice is meant in the most sincere way. However, it is not altogther impossible. Find a small town, change your name. Alter your appearance. This need not be of long duration, only until you have experienced life and ‘real people’ as you’ve oft repeated. That was the bell - your time is up. I’ll give you my number. Let me know how your experiment progresses.” So our friend, Mr. Pidirrem (A.K.A. Merridip) joined the working class of Kalamazoo. He took up residence in a cramped, one room apartment. All that needs to be said is that the tap water was brown. He had entered the working world. On one nine-to-five Thursday, Mr. Pidirrem sat at the breakfast counter in a greasy diner of otherwise fine repute. Next to him sat a girl holding no more than twenty years and a coffee cup. The girl looked lonely, and being lonely himself, Mr. Pidirrem struck up a conversation, if a fairly feeble one. “Good morning.” “Morning,” said the fair girl. “Is that your breakfast?” he asked, eyeing the coffee cup. “Mhmm,” said the fair girl. “Nothing else? No toast? Or muffin?” “Nope.” “Well, that can’t be healthy.” “Prob’ly isn’t.” “Oh.”
So the two diners talked about the weather, at once the safest and dullest of conversations. The girl introduced herself as Cathy Chiswick, newly transplanted from Munsey, Indiana. She worked at the largest (and I might as well say it, the only) emporium in Kalamazoo.
Mr. Martin had also embezzled lots of cash and lost even more, betting on a blind horse named Caligula. He wasn’t about to tell them that. Either way all but the senior workers were dismissed, leaving only dear Mrs. O’Reilly. The rest were given their notice, two months pay, and a fruit basket.
“Cathy, can we make a deal?”
Charles tried calling Dr. Plotka for advice. Dr. Plotka, however, had had his fill of psychiatry and had flown to Tahiti. Without hope in his heart or money in his pocket, Charles Pidirrem shuffled back to his mansion and the Merridip way of life. He didn’t tell his friends. How could he explain it? He left them without a farewell.
“Maybe yes, maybe no. Why?” “I’ll buy you breakfast if-” “If?” “If you help me get a job at Pike’s Cosmetics Counter.” “Fellow, you’re loony. I couldn’t get you a job working for your father.” “That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking for a job at Pike’s. Besides, I’m buying you breakfast. It’s really the least you can do.” By that afternoon, Mr. Pidirrem was working at Pike’s. He displaced a pug-faced young man who was much happier working at his mother’s used car lot. The days in Kalamazoo went by quickly at a leisurely pace. Thanksgiving came and found Mr. Pidirrem happily settled into the working man’s ways. His electricity had even been shut off - twice. He spent Thanksgiving with Mrs. O’Reilly at her family’s apartment. She worked at the department store with Charles. Patsy, the toy counter girl, Joe, the floor walker, Cathy Chiswick, and Pepi, the sock boy were all there, too. The group had become fast friends, sharing hardships, triumphs, and what little they could. He learned from these people generosity, humor, friendship, and Pig Latin. One day Charles was able to pay his friends back, but you’ll see what I mean later. It was after Christmas when Mr. Martin, the manager, called all of them into his office. The store had lost more games than usual after the holiday rush.
“MY BIGGEST FEAR IS TO BE STUCK SOMEWHERE I DON'T WANT TO BE, THEREFORE MY GREATEST ASPIRATION IS TO FIND OUT WHERE I WANT TO BE. ” Charles Merridip was at a dining club a few months later when he saw Cathy. She was working as a hat check girl and Charles recognized her berry lipstick and cheap peach perfume. He knew she wouldn’t recognize him. It was so sad to see her and his old temporary life. Right then, he hated himself for leaving his friends when they had been so kind to him, and never expected a thing from him. He was sick of himself. That very next day, Charles made a large purchase, even for the Merridips. He bought a store, and employed Cathy, Pepi, Patsy, Joe, and even Mrs. O’Reilly. Charles paid them well, real well. At first they didn’t believe it. They thought that maybe in his desperation, Charles had scammed the government or something. He showed them his mansion, pools, cars, and whistle factory and made them believers. So ends this happy tale of Kalamazoo.-
24
25 34
to
with
travel
the
my
iend
r boyf
world
bulletin board pin some stuff
my wall of a e t a r o ent to dec apartm e r u t u f
from ve that I ha s o t o h p with taken
all of the p laces
to
eled ve trav a h I h whic 26
27
The Laws of Physics We’ve got the laws of chemistry, let’s move on to the physics. You defied gravity the moment you swept me off my feet. In fact, the last time I felt “grounded” Was not by gravity, but by my mother. So really Einstein, how relative is your theory? But hey, maybe gravity is not for everyone. I moved on to centripetal force and found I was just going in circles. I tried to calculate the time it would take for us to get somewhere, But the distance between here and somewhere was unknown. I checked my reference tables and wound up with a number that had 17 significant figures And it didn’t mean a thing. In physics, you’re supposed to take the average of all measurements, But you told me my measurements were above average. So I guess my figure is pretty significant, Though maybe you were acting on impulse. I tried some quantum physics and found out that If, aligned perfectly, We can walk through walls. And according to this week’s horoscope we are perfectly aligned. Right now, I could be walking through walls But instead I let you step all over me. See, you’re just a scalar, and I’m like a vector. You tell me we have value but I need direction. I need to know where this is going Because I have this theory that you’re stringing me along And what’s worse, if the string theory’s correct, you’re doing it in 11 different dimensions! They say the laws of physics are universal, But what’s just one universe? I mean, right now I could be in a million different places. But instead I’m here with you, waiting for three words. The laws of physics clearly state: What goes up must come down. So why are we still up in the air?
- Elizabeth Kussman
To learn how the world works 28
29 38
Bear I called him “Bear” but everyone else called him by his real name, Mr. Tim Berry. He sat on the corner of Houston and Bowery selling incense on a folding wooden table. He never spoke out like all the other vendors did, urging people to buy their t-shirts or jewelry. Bear sat there and waited for his goods to attract their own customer. He just thought of himself as a middleman. Sometimes, when I went over in front of him, he’d look up but not for long. He would go back to smoking his cigar until there was nothing left but ashes. Then he’d take out another one and start all over. He never talked much, but he gave great advice. One time I couldn’t decide whether to go to this concert or study for my chemistry test. Bear said, “Do what you want. Do you live for the moment or for the future?” I decided to go to the concert and it was great. I didn’t regret it, not even after, when I only got a C+ on my exam. We ended up getting a really big curve and my C+ turned into a B. I always went to see him at least twice a week if I needed advice. He never looked straight at me when I talked; he just stared at the ground. For some reason, he was deathly afraid of eye contact. He couldn’t even look straight into a camera because he said, “There’s always an eye behind a camera, watching.” But he was a good listener. He would let me speak my mind for hours and never interrupt. Sometimes, I’d ask him what the last thing I said was, just to see if he was paying attention. He always answered correctly. Just two weeks ago, Bear asked me if I knew how old he was. I answered, “40s or 50s. I’m not sure.” He just nodded and kept smoking his cigar. Then he did something that I thought was strange. He threw the unfinished cigar on the cobblestone street and put it out with his foot. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He had never done that before, throw away an unfinished cigar. But five minutes later, he took out another cigar and starting puffing away. He told me, “I’m old. I’m too old to be selling incense on the streets.” I’d never heard him saying anything else besides the advice he gave me. It felt strange to hear him talking out of his own will. He
paused, and then spoke again. “Emma, I think I’m dying. I just know it.” I was so shocked. It took me a while for me to formulate my question. “Have you been to a doctor? You really should, especially at your age.” “I don’t need to. I’m the best doctor for my own body. I know best. And I know I’m dying.” “Don’t talk like that. What’s up with you today? Did something happen? Tell me.” That was the end of our conversation. He kept on smoking his cigar and stopped answering questions. It seemed like he wasn’t paying attention either because when I asked him what I had just said, he didn’t answer. He was back to the old Bear the next day though. He didn’t say a word, just listened to me talk about how I regretted going to college instead of getting a job. That’s why I forgot about that day. I thought it was just one of those days that don’t fall into the pattern but doesn’t really matter. But this morning I found out that I was wrong. There was a significance to that day. I got a special delivery. When I opened up the package I found a bunch of incense tied together with a piece of string. At first I thought it was a stupid joke. But then I found a tiny note attached to the bottom of the package. I ripped it out of its envelope, half expecting some riddle or joke. It read, “Emma, my only friend. I leave you everything I have. Bear.” That was the last I ever heard from him, Mr. Tim Berry, known only to me as “Bear”. -
- Jane Kim
Itchy Silence itchy silence interrupted by my father’s vain attempt at jokes bleary eyes try swallowing me over half empty soda glasses
To make a friend for life and spend the rest of our lives together. Because, that'd be pretty nice, you know?
he hands me a crisp fifty worth less than my mom’s wrinkled, worn five in my back pocket the table between us stretches for miles
- Jessica Wang
To raise a family and give them everything I never had
30
31
Sonata in C Through the density of our sin-stained summer, it rose from your living room above Manhattan and made me cry. The melodies hovered for a moment. I heard the deep voice of a man crying out for his lost mistress And her answering his call with my voice on the ivory. Sonata in C you played not knowing I listened from your bedroom hoping you played for me. - Vanessa Joseph
To become a successful violinist and a graduate from the Juilliard School
To become a pro trombonist like Mr. Lustig
To play in Carnegie Hall
THANK YOU With the production of any worthy magazine, there is, as always, a plethora of contributors we’d like to thank and a multitude of hands we’d like to shake for the endless hours put into producing it. Firstly, a giant thank you goes out to Mr. Rafal Olechowski, our beloved advisor (and shepherd). Without your guidance, our heads would never float up into the clouds, we’d be forced to keep our feet grounded, and we’d never dream, innovate, or create. You teach us how to imagine and make sure that we land (at least) somewhere in the stars because you know that we can accomplish a lot with just a handful of mystical stardust. Thank you for always being there to complain to, for always supplying us with caffeinated beverages to keep our minds sharp, and for always staying with us until the crack of dawn while we slave over these magazines. We’d like to especially thank the alumni of Townsend Harris High School, without whom this issue would not have existed. You all were the inspiration behind this entire process and your wisdom and ideals still pervade and pilot the halls endlessly. Another thank you goes out to Mr. Robert Babstock, Mrs. Helen Rizzuto, Mrs. Margherita Wischerth, and Mr. Peter Wamsteker for their perpetual support for and continuous involvement in The Phoenix. Thank you also to Mr. Anthony Barbetta, who constantly supports the publication and permits us to inhabit his conference room post readings for fine dining. Finally, thank you to the students of our school. By the looks of your goals, there’s way more going on in Townsend Harris than just the achievement of high grades.
32
AWARDS 2013
GOLD MEDAL COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION RANKING OF SUPERIOR NATIONAL COUNCIL OF TEACHERS OF ENGLISH
2012
GOLD MEDAL COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION
2011
SILVER MEDAL COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION GOLD CROWN COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION RANKING OF EXCELLENT NATIONAL COUNCIL OF TEACHERS OF ENGLISH
2009
RANKING OF EXCELLENT NATIONAL COUNCIL OF TEACHERS OF ENGLISH
2008
RANKING OF EXCELLENT NATIONAL COUNCIL OF TEACHERS OF ENGLISH
1990
RANKING OF SUPERIOR SCHOLASTIC WRITING AWARDS
1989
MEDALIST COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION
1988
1ST PLACE COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION
1987
1ST PLACE COLUMBIA SCHOLASTIC PRESS ASSOCIATION
To gain love and respect from those around me, so that I may be accepted for who I am, and not what others want me to be - To make use of each day without any regret - To marry Kate Upton - To find true love - To become a top javelin or discus thrower, hopefully become good enough to enter the all American League for either or both events -To conquer my phobia of heights. Just stepping onto a slanted platform triggers the fear, and it prevented me from walking down the auditorium aisle for graduation - To make the world remember my name for years and years to come - To own a skyscraper - To publish my philosophical story, turn it into a film, a play, and then a charitable organization (somehow) - To find an occupation (maybe baking) that makes me happy, one that I will enjoy doing or the rest of my life - To pay off my debts and live in a good community of family and friends back home in Forest Hills - To be an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to work, but to know my limits - To tell my crush that I love her - To be happy no matter what; I want to feel satisfied and I don’t want to dread waking up every morning - To be able to work with big parrots like cockatoos and macaws - To become a successful doctor so I can go around, travel the world, and help those in need of medication and those who are too poor to afford to go to the doctor - To never have a goal -- to never be the man who crosses the finish line, looks up at the roaring crowd, wipes his brow, and asks, “What now?” - To inform individuals of their surroundings - To become a bioengineer and change the way biology is looked at - To forget my troubles and escape the grasp of what people fear in their life, the evils and darknesses that cause a spiraling depression - To discover a cure for cancer - To make the biggest, best, and most expensive action film ever - To become a game director - To represent the United States in the World Cup - To work at Google’s X labs - To step up on that stage as my parents watch and be the first one to graduate high school in my family - To go to as many concerts I can and meet a ton of celebrities - I believe that everyone on this Earth has a task that they were called to do. I want to find that task and accomplish it to my best ability. - To get my band signed and become famous - To get married and start a family of my own in which my children can feel loved and protected - To paint a picture of Paris in the rain - I want my school, my city, and my country to associate my last name with a dynasty of philanthropists, engineers, philosophers, literary masters, and leaders - My goal is to inspire someone so that I’d know I was a positive role model for someone - To start a hospital in a rural 3rd world country - To be the president of the United States - To be a real life Mackenzie Hale from The Newsroom - to bring the news back to the news again instead of focusing on ratings - To invent something that will change the world - To find out how many licks it truly takes to reach the center of a tootsie pop - To be a published author, to see my name on the cover of a book when I walk into Barnes and Noble - To live on my own instead of with my parents - To go on a world-tour and try the specialty dishes of every country I visit - To become a female general in the US Marines Corp so that I can inspire other girls to be successful in a dominantly ‘male’ job - To learn how to speak as many languages as possible just to travel and meet people and be able to listen to their stories - To be creating large works of art to put in museums and on sides of buildings - To keep life interesting: try new things, not be afraid to do things that seem frightening, make change where change is needed - To shake hands with President Obama and make it my Facebook cover photo - To help others. Many people have eating disorders and more disorders because they hate themselves. I want to show people that there’s still a chance to accomplish what they want and it’s never too late. - To find out what kind of person I am - To strive for perfection, no matter how impossible that may seem - To be brave and happy - To pursue my career in criminology - To stop regretting and overthinking everything that comes my way; I want to live a carefree yet meaningful life. - To be the reason one other person in this world is happy - To be able to take time to enjoy the little things in life without thinking that I’m wasting time - To become a pediatrician - To be friendly, loving, and compassionate to everyone, including the homeless and the handicapped