Arsenal Technical High School - Arsenal Cannon Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 11 text:

HE ARSENAL CANNON Memoirs of the old Sugar Maple April 1, 1700. Spring with its cheering companions is here again. Great sleepy-headed violets nod here and there. My forest. friends are waking up to the glory of spring. The warm east wind blew by now carrying messages of welcome to all the world. The grey squirrel frisked madly through my neighbor's budding branches. A robin cheered his caperings wildly. The slick round form of a. snake glided stealthily through the muck below me. A toad hopped importantly upon the dead hulk of a log. The squirrel tells me that the creek, freed from its coat of ice, is flowing merrily again. Yes, Spring: is here. April 2, 1700. I have always scotfed at fear, but after what has hap- pened today, I shall entertain the greatest respect for it. Red-skinned people have entered this neighborhood. Indians! The first I ever saw! I knew they were Indians for 1ny friend, the wind, had described them carefully to me. One of them walked around as if he were looking: for something. Suddenly he darted toward me. He bent me over and around: then he shook his head. Evidently I was safe. After that, I saw him break the back of the little sapling which hovered in the shadow of the big beechg then he bent it into a bow. I pray that that will not. be my fate. April 1, 1800. One hundred years ago, I made my Iirst entry in my diary. Since then many of my friends have lived and died here. I have changed. Once a sapling. terrified at the touch of an Indian, I am now great and husky. I shelter my new friends. A descendant of my first friend, a grey squirrel, flhmlzzdml' on Pagf 5,11 9 hx, 'J XX .a..., .,., . P U fx ' ,

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HE ARSENAL CANNO Vistas 1828 The old chief leaned against the sycamore, And held outstretched a bow of hickory. Strung with a strip of hide from some dead deer. Which he had made to teach the circling score Ot slim-thighed, copper-colored. awe-struck braves Who studied his each move and heard each word And prayed that they might some day be as wise And boast as many scalps as this old chief. Who knew to cure a hide and string a bow With still young hand and eye of wondrous skill . . The braves watched earnestly his furrowed face --- But saw a wigwam. fire, papoose. and squaw, Awaiting them beyond the western ridge, When they in turn would teach the lean-loined braves. 1928 The quiet, man tipped back his wooden chair And prolfered patiently his humble words To the long room of drowsy boys and girls, Who at times listened to his restful drone. He pointed to a globe with one thin hand And spanned the faded Adriatic Sea .... Their eyes ran down his face, his chin, his vest, And pictured in their hearts the far-off day Whcn they should not be taught-but live. They thought These days a prelude which gave welcome way To the more blatant music of their lives: They saw the time when they would toil and take, Forgetting that their words would sometime be A lullaby to some long room of youth. . . . lil'SSljl.l,, 1'4l'l l'l11R. S

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HE ARSENAL CANNO 10