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

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7-tee uaeehhg In the hunger of night for glow- ing day, in the yearning of parched soil for soothing rain, and in the craving of an aspen for the wind's pursuit, I found fragments of my longing for swift, smooth flight. I had no desire to satisfy this longing by lifting frail, silver wings against a deep blue sky or by urging a quiver- ing needle to race from fifty to seventy-five miles an hour. I wanted to fit my body to a springy leather seat, to reach down with my legs till they touched two firm dark pedals, to grasp a shin- ing black tipped bar in eager hands. I-low I longed to own, to ride, and to treasure a bicyclel Night after night in the quiet darkness of my room I saw maple-shaded streets, cinder-rough- ened paths, and clover-scented roads, and heard their clear insistent call-saw, heard, and thrilled. Every worth-while possession deserves a sac- rifice. By passing up rich foods in favor of sim- pler and less expensive dishes, by reading about school basketball games instead of at- tending them, and by making my best bib and tucker do, I accumulated twenty-one dollars. After a final recount of my treasury, I crammed the bills into a small coin purse. Thirty minutes later I strode into a downtown sporting goods store. A vigorous, white-haired man advanced. What can I do for you? he inquired. I'd like to see some bicycles, Ireplied. This way, please, the salesman invited. In the rear of the store stood a brilliant fleet. My guide's voice describing the different wheels' merits flowed on. The time taken by these word pictures offered me the chance to slip an inquir- ing finger under the price tags. I immediately decided that these steeds were too inexperi- enced, too unaccustomed to long stretches of pavement, too innocent in the ways of the world. Do you have any second-hand bikes? I ven- tured. Yes, Bill will help you. Take the stairs to the right, my companion retorted in a tone of not- too-well concealed disgust. I followed the steps which led down into a compact, modern workshop where a yonng man was bending over a bicycle skeleton. As I en- tered the room, Bill straightened up. Hello, he greeted me. Want to look at some wheels? I nodded. Bill stepped into a storage room, I fol- lowed. There between two boys' models my bike stood. Slender and streamlined in design, new in appearance, and serviceable in con- struction, this wheel would have pleased even the most exacting. Several minutes later I marched out of the door minus twenty bills, but far richer than I could have imagined in thoughts of the open road. I must have been born with an intense desire to peddle over shadow-darkened dust. Else why would the sight of spinning wheels compel me to don a sport jacket and seek new paths to conquer? A long, straight concrete strip lies un- rolled before me. The steady rhythm of the pedals stirs my blood. I want to lap up the miles. I want to speed past dusty fence posts and not glance back. I would like to race a locomotive. Perhaps I might win. Fasterl Fasterl My gasping lungs and twinging leg muscles make the world a reality. A twist of the handle bar introduces me to a rough, winding country lane. Curious maple branches shake inquisitive fingers in my face. A capricious breeze rumples my hair and passes on to rock-white cherry blossom cradles. While tracing tire patterns in damp, black soil, I lose and find myself. DOROTHY PAUL lffatie I looked in the mirror the other day, And back at me looked a face so gay With eyes the color of blueberry pie A mouth too rosy ever to sigh. But as I looked, it dawned on me This was not I, But my sister Marie- EDNA IOSEPH 14 giant When nights are warm and moonlight glosses Orderly rows of ferns and mosses Gracing the slopes neath the huge white dome With which man replaced his adobe home, As a coyote inspired by demons' criesg From paths of mist in the starry skies The phantom Don Antonia flies Astride his favorite stallion's back. And an old vaquero nods and says, Cursed is the Rancho Los Felezl BILLIE HOUGHTON 111, QM'

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19' 1212, Ae ' poitman Deep down, sometimes almost forgotten, must surely lie a tender spot in every- one's heart for the small town-the small town, with its Main Street, its few buildings, the pub- lic square With the court house in the center, and last, but not least, the happy, good-natured, contented people that populate the little frame houses, row upon row, on each small street. In such towns, one can almost always find an outstanding individual who is loved by every- one. Sometimes it is a kind old lady or the town's baker. Still other times it is a teacher, a child, or an old man. So it was in the town of Rossville, the most beloved person that perhaps ever walked its streets was the local postman. For years he had been in the post-office service and for years, ever since he had been in the service, the people of Rossville all loved him. No other town could boast of a better friend in need than could Ross- ville with its simple and human postman. Arther Dale was this postman's real name. Yet since their earliest recollections, the people of Rossville had always called their beloved postman by the well-fitted nickname of Happy No other title could have suited him better, for he was always spreading his own brand of happiness everywhere to men,women, children, and even the dogs. There was no special rea- son why Happy should be so happy, for his life had not been as pleasant as it might have been. When his wife died, years before, she had left him with three small children-two girls and one boy. Soon after this, the two girls grew ill, and they, later, were laid side by side with their mother on the little hill overlooking the town. For many years, the kind old postman and his son, Arther, lived happily together in their little white cottage on the outskirts of Rossville. Then one day as Happy and his son were walking home together, the boy spoke. Father, he had said, and Happy could remember every word of it, I want to make a place for myself in this world, so I am going to leave Rossvillef' Happy had been shocked and hurt, his only son was going to leave him for the big city. Yet in his heart he knew that the boy should have a chance at life, so scraping together his last pen- nies, he sent the boy to New York, and later, lost track of him. Some day, thought Happy, he will return and together we shall see the world. But he never had, and as the years continued to slip by, people thought he never would. Of course the people of Rossville all loved Happy, and he loved them. Wherever he went, contentment and gayness followed. Children and dogs were his favorites. All along his route both would follow him-the children, knowing that somewhere hidden among the mysterious folds of the nice postman's sack were choice bits of candy, and the dogs, realizing that they would always find a meal waiting for them at the end of his route. Like many small towns, the main recreation was the movie next door to the Rossville Meat Market. Every Saturday night, the residents of the town would take their families to the movie. Happy had been a few times, but he thought it much more fun to sit in his garden and watch the stars come out. One day, as he was passing the theater, he noticed large gilt letters plastered in a huge sign over the doorway, which read, Howard Tay- lor, the New Idol of Millions of American Women -In the Picture That Made Don Gable Famous -'All-American Lover' with Glenda Rogers. The words looked beautiful as they glittered in the bright morning sunlight, and Happy smiled one of his beloved smiles as he said to himself, What won't they do to make people come to a moviel Yet there is something that fascinates one when he does go. I do believe I'll come to the picture Saturday. But he didn't. It was that week that the people of Rossville noted the change in Happy. No longer would he allow the children to come for him in the morn- ings when he delivered the mail. But if his friends would meet him on the street, he would seem the same as ever. He talked about the weather, the new store, or the school. Yet they noticed a queer look Come into his eyes the min- ute they mentioned his home or something con- nected with his house. It was a look of happi- ness, at first, then of sorrow, and finally, of dis- may. What possibly could be wrong with him? they asked one another. The children were disappointed when they found no candy for them in his sack, and when they asked him, he replied that he must have forgotten it in his hurry to be on time with the mail, and that, perhaps, he would remember to-morrow. But he didn't, nor the next day nor the next. The people of Rossville could not un- derstand what possibly was wrong. Then, like a bolt of lightning a rumor sprang upl Several times someone had seen a strange man enter and leave Happy's house at night. lt was whis- H

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niung lfetoei BASED ON A TRUE STORY HEARD OVER THE RADIO A moment of fumbling-then a strong hand grasped the key of the small radio transmitter in the rear of Bill Halstead's Repair Shop. The hand belonged to Iames Elkins, Bill's student, who was learning the noble art of the dots and dashes. Iim's ambition to become a radio Ham had existed from the day, two weeks before, when, in a moment of weakness, Bill had suggested radio as a hobby. Yet Bill did not regret volunteering to become Iim's in- structor, for never had he been privileged to have a more able student. In these two short weeks, lim had mastered the code and was well on his way to sending and receiving efficiently. lim came of prosper- ous parents, therefore, with the help of Bill, he was soon building his own transmitter., Every day saw lim hard at work on the rougher parts of the set, while Bill adjusted the fine points. At last the set was built, the license obtained, and another career as a was begun. Iim's first act as a licensed amateur was to call his pal, Bill, who lived only four blocks away. He experienced a thrill in the thought that he was one of the great league of invisible com- rades. At the end of three months, Iim had built up an acquaintance with more than one hundred amateurs. He had come to know them by their signals so that he could tell the different stations by merely hearing their calls. Dawn broke one morning to find him tapping ceaselessly, trying to find someone with whom to talk. He called W8LI..Z, Paul Williams of Hills- boro, a small village on the banks of the great Muskingum River. By chance he got a return to his swift call. After the usual radio chatter, they switched to voice so that they might hear one another talk. Iim noted a bit of anxiety in Paul's voice. When he inquired about it, Paul an- swered, There may be nothing to it, but we have heard rumors that these recent rains have weakened the Molmouth Dam. At least, I am glad I laid in a new supply of batteries. lf you get any news, let me know, but I wouldn't worry, lim flashed back. At that moment the voice of Iim's mother sum- moned him to breakfastp therefore, he was obliged to sign off to indulge in one of his fa- vorite pastimes. Back at his receiver he heard a frantic signal. Realizing it was his call letters and recognizing the peculiar sending of W8LLZ, he answered swiftly and, without the usual preliminary rec- ognition, Paul broke in excitedly. The dam's broken! Water is rising! I'm on the second floor, so I am safe. Try to contact Pittsburgh Red Cross. l'll sign off now. Please stay at your trans- mitter. With mingled feelings Iim turned to the task of contacting the Red Cross. To think that he, Iim Elkins, a licensed Ham of only three months, was chosen by Paul out of all acquaint- ances to act as intermediary between the flood zone and the outside world. Paul Williams- alone-on the second floor of a flooded house! He was awakened from his reverie by a return call from Paul. Paul's words fell like a thunder clap. The power lines are down, so you and I are the only means of communication. Here is a list of supplies we need. Having made note of the needs, Iim contacted Bill Halstead to have him stand double shift with him. Skilfully he cleared the air lanes and estab- lished two-way communication with both the Red Cross and Paul. At a moment's notice the forces of relief had been marshalled by these unsung heroes to rush aid to the sufferers in the flooded district. For twelve hours, lim was at his key, con- stantly sending or receiving latest reports. His small room had become headquarters for news reporters who wished latest flood bulletins. The flood is rising! The water is coming under the doorl This in response to Iim's anxious inquiry for Paul's present position. Forty-eight hours later the flood had reached its crest. Paul was in water to his knees. As for Iim, he had been at the key steadily for eighteen hours. Through their efforts very few lives were being lost, and the suffering of the refugees was greatly reduced. The flood was over. The crest had dropped, and already many people had moved back to their homes. Iim Elkins, tired and worn, called Paul Williams for the last time that day. Say, Paul, flashed Iim, why don't you visit me? I think it would be swell! I'm sorry, Paul answered, I could never visit you. I am paralyzed from the waist down. Maybe it's just as well, replied lim. I could never see you. I've been blind all my life. IOE MCGUIRE