Appleby College - Argus Yearbook (Oakville, Ontario Canada)

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But . . . this is ludicrous! What would you want with me? The officer was silent for a minute, and then with a leer, said, We sim- ply want . . . some information. That ' s all. He pulled out a pair of hand- cuffs from his pocket. Peter Hill, you are such a fool. The three men and their prisoner marched downstairs. The landlady sat down on the landing, and then she cried for that about which she didn ' t know. She heard each step that the policemen made, the boards creaking in anguish. She heard the heavy step of a man now burdened with despair. At the front door they paused for a bit. She could hear muf- fed words. Then, as if in explanation, she heard the officer; Mr. Hill, you have friends. We HAVE your friends. JAMES HALL BROOKS IS AN UNUSUAL PERSON John Doe is no ordinary person. He lives in a small (but comfortable) house with Mary and the two kids, pays his taxes, and maintains a steady job as shift manager in a factory producing inscription - x m socket, stainless steel nuts and bolts. His work is seldom demanding, and he functions from nine to five, five days a week, never calling in sick more than once a month. At home, John is a father and a husband to be envied. With the ex- ception of a long-forgotten lipstick-on-the-collar affair a few years ago (Miss Matthews was the cute but inefficient secretary of the old boss ), he has always remained faithfitl to Mary; not ONCE in seven years of marriage has he forgotten an anniversary, or neglected to kiss Mary good-bye before leaving for work. His two sons (Jimmy, two, and John Junior, six) love and respect their father, who brings them candy every Friday, and who lets them pull his hair and climb over his knees during television commercials. Is John informed? The sports column is always missing from the mor- ning paper, and he watches the evening news with genuine interest and concentration whenever there are dinner dishes to be washed. Is John cultured? He has seen every play produced by Sundale Elemen- tary School during the past two years, and sat through Gone with the

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ped till he had reached his goal ... his goal was everyone ' s goal. Peter Hill - you are so naive. How can you believe that you and you and you alone are so right? Are you infallible? At the book shop, you make the connection. The imfornnation is passed on, secretly. Secretly? Peter Hill - You are so naive! In the shop, there are ears, not your own. In the street, there are eyes, not your own. Peter Hill God be with you. Mr. Hill reached the neighbourhood where he lived. On a brick wall there was a poster with the smiling face of the President. Beneath it a policeman stood, frowning. Children were playing ball in the streets. On the steps old men were playing checkers - winning, losing, shaking their heads, muttering chuckling. Mr. Hill kicked a tincan off the pavement and into the gutter, and then he ran up the steps of his boar- ding house. He said hello to the landlady, and she said hello back to him. At the foot of the stairs, the radio was blaring away loudly. He tur- ned it down a bit and then ran the rest of the way up to his room. Leaving the rest of the world outside, he closed the door. He was alone in a large, long hall. He looked around nervously. There were doors to the right of him, doors to the left of him, ahead a corridor without end. Behind the doors lurked the unknown. A noise, like the scurrying of rats in a cellar, haunted the place. Fear ' s claws gripped Into him. His pace quickened. He cried a cry of dread. He ran, stumbling onwards in an aimless frenzy. The floor resounded with his every step. Suddenly there was the rap of knuckles on hollow baord, and then again, and again, until at each door that he passed there was a knocking, the knocking of that terrible unknown. The hall seemed to vibrate with the hideous sound. What is it? The devil? A witch? Besieged by uncertainty, he fell to his knees covering his ears with his hands. He cried aloud .... And with a start he sat up in bed. His eyes were still numbered by sleep but he realized that he was in his own room. Calm yourself, calm your- self. He took two deep breaths. Still trembling, he fumbled for his alarm clock, and knocked it over. Twenty past three. Stupid fool. He cursed and sank back into his pillow. Bang, bang, bang. There it was again. His eyes opened. There were voices outside, a man ' s gruff ordering and a woman in great agitation calling his name. No, he was no longer dreaming. As if a splash of ice cold water had hit him he suddenly realized what was happening. His hands reached for his spectacles. He quickly threw his dressinggown around him and rushed to the door. A shaft of light stabbed into his body. Oh, Mr. Hill, Mr. Hill. It was the landlady, by now very high strung. Mr. Hill? ... Mr. Peter Hill? Ah, yes, . . we would like to take you down to the station ... for questioning . The man who spoke these words was of medium height and strong build. He was a security officer, but dressed in civilian clothes. He had heavy beetle-brows, a snub nose (broken many times by the looks of it), and a prominent capped tooth. He was smiling, unpleasantly. Behind him, stood two uniformed security policemen , tall and menacing. Is it me you are looking for? Surely there must be some mistake. We make no mistakes. One of the policemen brandished a gun, till then concealed by the shadows.

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Wind twice before passing judgment on the film. Is he active in his community? Last year, he served as a cubscout pack councellor, and he shows promise as a Lad ' s Leader in the future. In fact, he is presently leading a drive aimed at replacing the tattered and faded STOP sign at the corner of Main and Walnut. Does he keep physically fit? Why, he ' s a regular sportsman. As a member of the South Vally bowling team, he knocks down more beer than pins every Friday night. When John Jr. is a little older, he will buy the boy a rod and reel, and teach him how to nab the big ones . Is Mr. Doe a God-fearing man? A dedicated servant of the Lord, he at- tends church -services every second Sunday, and thanks God for His generosity and prays for every respectable human being who has crossed his path in the previous two weeks. Is he happy? Of course! He has a sound family, a steady job, good friends, excellent health, a car, a full-paid up house, and a television. A beautiful cheek - to - cheek smile covers his face for at least three- quarters of his waking hours. But is he really happy? What is his purpose in life? What are his ideals? His purpose is to do what he does, and to get it done. He is not bothered by ideals. He is an element of the system that created and directs him. When he is dead, John Doe will be a name on a small tombstone among many other small tombstones, covered for a month with a wreath of flowers, and sprinkled for a week by Mary ' s tears. How does he persevere? Why is he content? These are the essential questions, questions that not even John Doe himself can answer. He is indeed a most unusual person. Stephen Roloff THE STAIRCASE Jim had been living in the small log cabin at the side of Donald Lake for the past ten years. He had had plenty of time to explore the area and was consequently known widely for his knowledge. He was a tall man, in his late thirties, with sandy brown hair and a twinkle that never left his eyes. His features were strong yet gentle in motion as would be ex- pected from long years of hard labour. He wasn ' t known for his daring; that ' s why everyone was surprised when he said he would shoot the staircase. Of course, attempts had been made before but all had ended in failure and most of them, in death. To Jim, rapids weren ' t an obstacle to be portaged around; they were a means of getting from one spot to another in a very short time. He loved the feeling being in control of the small canoe that darted for an opening between the rocks. Everytime he finished a set, no matter how small, there was a thrill of accomplishment in his heart. It was never the