Kendallville High School - Kay Aitch Ess Yearbook (Kendallville, IN)

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WE COULD MAKE SUCH BEAUTIFUL MUSIC, SO WHY DON'T WE? As the bell dismissing the 9:-I0 classes rings, the usual flurry of humanity rushed from the wide-open classroom doors. But wait! Why hurry? Here and there we see other pupils whistling, Let the Rest of the XVorld Go Byy' while they are in no hurry at all. Orchestra! we think. Ah, this is one class to which We can be late. We escort our friends to their classes then, as the 10:25 bell rings, walk leisurely to the music room. Seeing that the chairs aren't set up we go get a drink until some too ambitious person under the guidance of Mr. Arnold opens the balcony door starts carrying in chairs. After .1 sufficient number has been brought in, we exert ourselves by opening them. Sud- denly we are awakened by a loud crash. Oh, my sides! I should never laugh so hard, but this is too tempting! Burnell Aungst and his violin are seated on a chair, but-the chair is flat on the floor. Luckily, the violin wasn't hurt. Then the music begins. The tone A is struck on the piano for the stringed instru- ments and B-flat for the horns. XVhen we start we find char, rather than stopping to tune again, itls easier to trade music to ht the key to which welre tuned. Thank good- ness none of us were blessed with perfect pitch. Sometimes we wish Mr. Arnold's weren't so perfect. After the resemblance to a traffic jam has quieted down, Mr. Arnold tells us from which book we are to play. Being color blind Cexcept when he bought his carj, he tells us the number of the book instead of the color, which our juvenile minds more easily comprehend. But before we can use our music we must set up our racks. As usual, some have been forgotten. jackie Graybill claims she lives about three milesa' from school, so she doesn't have to go home for hers. Lawrence Hess can be seen peeking over the top of his trombone case on which he will stick his music. fAfter he sticks the music on the case, he can't be seen.j Now what's this? Poor Burnell Aungst seems to be having more trouble. Oh, we see! He has drawn the rack left to the school by the late Belgina Alacazam of '02. Bur- nell expresses the suppressed thought of the whole orchestra when he says fquotej XVhat a wreck of a rack. Cunquotej. Finally the music is to begin. Mr. Arnold, praying fervently, starts us twice, and on the third chance we're otf gin more ways than onej! As he becomes more warmed to our playing, his arm slips, and Vivien Engle's music is knocked off her rack. It's .1 good thing her bow fbeauj didn't slip. After finishing the Unfinished Symphony, we are saved by the bell and Mr. Arnold reminds us that each one is to fold his chair and put it away. Hearing this thoughtful and well-meant advice, we all rush up the stairs leaving Mr. Arnold with a warm glow in his heart for the Boy Scouts. Edith Cripe and Alice Berry And they,ve been there! THE ALL AMERICAN PEST Yes, I was doomed! Much as I wanted to go to the basketball game, I had to take care of him. My folks had made arrangements with the neighbors that afternoon for me to do so, while they all went to the movie. QI had previously seen itj. And there was no way of getting out. Oh, well, I tried to console myself, wat's one ball game or another? But it was to no avail. XVell, he arrived promptly at 7:00 QI shall refer to the neighbors' one and one-half year old son as he j, and the folks, all left. We were alone. I gave him my sister's doll to play with while I turned on the radio. Suddenly all seemed unusually quiet ex- cept for the blare of the radio. I turned around. He was nowhere to be seen, but there on the floor was the doll. One arm had been neatly amputated and was now invisible. The head was tilted at a crazy angle and I knew that very little effort would complete- ly remove it also. I called him: no answerg I called again, still no answer. I started to hunt: first in the parlor, then in the bedroom, dining room, and finally the kitchen. There he was, perched precariously on the table, his face smeared with newly made jam, and the doll's rubber arm rammed down the toaster which he had somehow managed to turn on. The air was blue with the smoke of the arm and smelled foul I pulled the plug on the toaster and grabbed him in time to prevent his toppling to the floor. Young man, I said, This is the first and last time you get out of my sight this evening! Later I was to remember those words. Now you sit there while I get some Page Eighteen

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IGHTIER THAN THE SWORD AFTER THE RUSH The Christmas rush is o'er my dear Now we are planning for another New Year. NVe've taken down the Christmas tree A roosting place for the birds 'twill be. Now we are looking back o'er the day XVhen we didn't have school and we could play, But seven o'clock has rolled around NVe're to get ready for school without a sound. Now we are back to the same old grind We have to write poems or whatever we find, Maybe a short-short, or maybe a play Or even a speech, or .1 little essay. The kids again have their tricks down patg Norm came in and sat on a tack. The seniors are wearing their sweathers, oh! gee just fit as a fiddle, oh can't you see. This New Year's Eve is .1 big event, But in your sleep it leaves a dent, And in the morning in Assembly I, Someone will iind you asleep. More fun! On New Year's day at school we'll call To make up time we lost last fall. If late, Mother writes an excuse for you And then Brummy writes an Hadmity' too. On Friday the game is with Columbia City. If we don't win 'twill sure be a pity, But now dear friends, please have no fear You can count on K'ville to give 'em a cheer. After this beginning it's hard to tell What lies in store for us to yell. So now I'11 close for this poem here And write you another in the brand New Year. -Barbara Hauff. THE SEA The sea sings a song in its waves, Centuries and centuries it braves Time. It gains our losses like :i bleeding man, And washes its never-ending waves upon the sand For the sea is my guiding light, I go there when the world is full of blight. It never falters as a home, And so to the sea I dedicate this poem. -Fred Haskins, jr. Page Seventeen

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water and wash your face. With that I set him on a chair and turned to the sink. Having drawn the water, I reached for a wash rag, but my hand was stopped in mid- air by the sound of a crash behind me. The ice-box door was wide open, one dish was broken into jagged pieces, several boiled potatoes rolled drunkenly across the floor, and he stood there with one hand on the wildly swinging bird-cage, looking at me and say- ing, Oh-h-h-h-h? Now I ask you, Whac was I to do? The folks weren't gone half an hour and he had ruined one doll, one good toaster, a fresh batch of jam, one dish, and several boiled potatoes, not to mention spilling one bird cage. Again I ask you, Wl1i1t was I to do? I'll tell you what I did. I washed his face, and, with one eye on him, cleaned up the mess on the floor. Then I stuck him, much against his will, on the davenport while I sat beside him and tried to read. All went well, if you can call reading three pages in half an hour well, when I heard the tinkle of broken glass. He had somehow managed to climb from under my very nose and had found the china compartment in the buffet. I must have lost my temper, for I found him turned over my knee and my hand up-raised. I counted ten, but the hand descended with Z1 resounding crack. Immediate- ly I wished I had counted to a hundred and ten, for he set up such an awful howl I thought my ears would burst. Nevertheless, he screamed for ten minutes straight and only then began to quiet down a little, By the time I got him to sleep it was eight- thirty, half an hour till the folks would come home. XVith a sigh of relief, I took my book and curled myself into the arm chair. -Trent Knepper. OUR KAY AITCH ESS just a moment, schoolmates, I'm asking you to look Carefully at every page In this, our memory book. It will bring you sunshine When the skies are gray, Many times you'll read it And to others say: This is my old Kay Aireh Ess, Forty-one's the year! Thinking of these happy days, You'll wipe away a ICa11'. Each page brings a memory Of some sweet face you knew- Your classmates and teachers All come back to you. It isn't just a simple book: That will with time grow cold, But people couldn't buy itg It's worth its weight in gold. So hold on to this Anual, Guard it, schoolmates, dog Give a thought to us some day, For we shall think of you! -Clyde Whitson, Jr. Page N ineleen