Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

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What ' s your beef? Ir. Snell: Neurotic nervous running in the halls. Miss Dunlop: Inaudible students ! Mrs. Wilson: Marking long essays. Mrs. Donaldson: Nothing I could report. Mr. Gilbert: Interviewers who come in at two minutes to nine. Miss Warren: Pupils looking at the clock while I ' m teaching. ' Miss Havey: Mornings! Mr. Hobbs: Nothing. I ' m too easy to please. Mr. Gordon: The failure of students to try out for school teams. What was your biggest mistake in teaching? Mr. Hobbs: I put a boy to sleep in one of my classes and left him there. He woke up in the middle of an all-girl class. Mme de Cirv: I ve made lots of them. Miss Dunlop: Can ' t think of anything risque. Mr. Smith: The time I got so angry that I hit a pupil over the head with the bible. Mr. Oke: Nothing humorous happens in my class. Mr. Snell: Trusting my first grade 13 study. Mr. Reynolds: One day I held up an historical picture for the class to see, and everyone started laughing. It turned out that I was showing them the wrong side — a picture from Esquire of a very beautiful girl. What do you think of the students generally? All of the teachers spoken to consider the students of Oakwood the finest, but some only agreed with qualifications Mr. Dunlevie: Entertaining. Mr. Gordon: Hopeful. Mr. Stein: Generally Mr. Hepburn: Students haven ' t changed in a hun- dred years. What do you like about Oakwood? AH of the teachers like the staff in Oakwood (won- der why?), but some have other reasons for liking the school. Mr. Gilbert: It ' s close to home. Mr. Snell: The sense of anticipation one gets on approaching each class. Mrs. Shime: The weekends. Mr. Stein: The cosmopolitan atmosphere and he- terogeneous student life. What would you suggest to improve the school? This was a dangerous question to ask (Big Bro- ther is watching!) but most of the answers were printable. Mr. McKinney: More young women teachers- Mr. Brooks: More people should take grade thir- teen Latin. Mr. Snell: Less neurotic nervous running in the halls. Miss Dunlop: Escalators. ' Mr. Lobb: There should be no School Spirit Week —every week should be it. Miss Warren: Can Oakwood be improved? As you see by these answers, the teachers are human after all. Editor ' s note: — All material censored from this article may be had by sending 25 j: in coin or money order (no stamps, please) to Scandal, in care of the Oracle. All teachers wishing to re- trieve their incriminating comments can do so by sending a S25 money order (no coins, please) to Blackmail in care of the Oracle. Read that chart said the draft-board doctor. What chart? asked the draftee. Right snapped the doctor. There isn ' t any. 1-A. Man to family, climbing out of car: Well, we finally found a parking space. Does anyone re- member why we re here? Tourist at Museum of Modern Art: Why on earth do you suppose they hung that picture? Companion: Probably because they couldn t locate the artist. HE: Girls are better looking than men. SHE: Naturally. HE: No, artificially. Teenager to doctor listening at her heart: Does it sound broken? Be it ever so homely, there ' s no face like your own. Love: A game not postponedbecause of darkness. Man: Did someone lose a roll of bills with a rubber band around it? ' Everyone within hearing distance: Yes! Man: Well, I just found the rubber band. : c + + + + + + + + ++ + Harried wife working at desk, to husband and children: Well, I worked out a budget. But one of us will have to go. HE: We certainly had a good time last night for only 10( , didn ' t we? SHE: Yes, I wonder how my little brother spent it? Student: I worked out the quest ion six times, sir. Teacher: Fine. Student: Here are the six answers. ' 92

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into oblivion. In the year following our marriage the war broke out. For the first time in this century, our boys marched off with a grin and a song to the War to end all Wars. Your father was one of the first to enlist. He never saw you; you were born a month after he left. It was said of him that there was not a finer general in all the British forces. He commanded well and never sent his men into any fight he did not lead himself. . nd then it happened. It was a crude farm lad of some fourteen summers. This Child of the Kaiser was captured and brought before your father. Jeff wrote me and spoke of the son he ' d never see. While he thought of you, he thought of the boy - loved him. The boy escaped. You ' ve heard all the charges, my son, from Treason to Cowardice; you have believed them true; and you, like all the others, had a hand in the murder of a man as guilty by man ' s standards as ever any man was. Oh yes! he was guilty and like the gentleman he was he paid the supreme price honestly. When asked by the Crown from whom he took his orders, he replied, From the High Command. When asked why he did not obey these orders, he answered, I do, gentlemen, I do. He was shot. The boy? You feast tonight victorious in his death. He was a great man, my son, before the war. But when his time of decision came, he too chose to be respectable rather than respected. You will be remembered by succeeding gener- ations as a great man; never cease to reason what makes a great man great. You will be re- membered by this family as the one who saved their honour; never cease to question what is honour. Where they sav your father failed, they say you have succeeded; but what is failure? It is Christmas now, this time when the Fatherhood of God was established on earth. But there is also a Brotherhood of Man. Though there be men of war above vou, fight ultimately for the Prince of Peace. Do nothing in the name of Man. you could not do in the name of God. My blessings upon you. In love I remain Your mother. Gaellan Mcllmovle How much will it cost to send a telegram to Winnipeg? a pretty young girl asked the clerk. That will be seventy-five cents, miss. ' Isn ' t that awfully expensive for just one word? Yes, but you can send ten words for the same price. She thought for a moment. No, 1 don t think I 11 do that. Nine more yesses will sound as if I m too anxious, she said. TEACHER SURVEY One day after school we decided to talk to the teachers and instead of asking them about the usual things (their backgrounds, families, etc..) we tried to find out about their personal likes and dislike s. Luckily for us. most of them were in good moods and responded readily to our queries. Others were unavailable for comment, and one just would not talk. From those who did talk, however, we re- ceived some interesting information, most of which is printed below. Do you prefer teaching boys, girls, or both? About 95% of the teachers prefer mixed classes. However, we are inclined to agree with Mr. Snell, who says that every man has his preference. ' Mr. Snell didn ' t say what his preference was.) What did you want to be when you were a little boy (or girl)? Probing so far back in their memories was too much for some teachers. Here are some who man- aged to remember. Mr. McDonald: A cannibal. (I was always a little boy.) Mrs. Donaldson: A buyer for Eaton s. Mrs. Wilson: A librarian. Mr. Brooks: A railway engineer. Miss Havey: I wanted to marry a milkman. Mr. Snell: A firechief. ' Mr. McKinney: Mr. Cooper: A mountie. Mr. Wright: Prime Minister. Mr. Lobb: Footloose and fancy-free. (Truthfully, a surgeon.) Why did you become a teacher? Mr. Smith: When the depression came, it was the only job I could get. ' Mme. de Cirv: At the time. I didn ' t know what it was like. Mrs. Donaldson: My father thought I would be good at it. Mrs. Shime: I like the power! Mr. McKinney: It runs in the family. Mr. Snell: I couldn ' t avoid my life ' s destiny. Mr. Oke: I was too stupid to do anything else. Mr. McDonald: I had to earn a living. Miss Dun lop: I enjoy being in front of an audience. Mr. Gilbert: ! like telling bad jokes about maths. What is your hobby? Mr. Gilbert: Reading bad jokes about maths. Mrs. Donaldson: Gemology. Mr. Re nolds: Fencing, skiing, etc. Miss Havey: Correcting essavs. Mr. Oke: Pinochle. Mr. Dunlevie: Squash. Mr. Wright: Do-it-myself. Mr. Hepburn: Travel. Miss Dunlop: Theatre, theatre, and dramatics. Mr. Snell: ' orrying about school. Mr. Stein: Raising a famiU. ' Mr. Hobbs: International affairs, writing, etc. Mrs. Shime: Men! (Her husband has been dulv informed.) Trying to find out why some teachers alwavs seem groucln . we asked this next question: 91

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WIND IN THE TREES DIXIE ROAD Wind in the trees, mournfully sighing, What is the message thou waftest to me? Wind in the trees, trees that are dying. Come thou from over the wild, stormy sea? Yes, I can sense it, the tang of the ocean. Salt, briny waters that eddy and fall. Yes, I can feel thee Wind, ever in motion Wrapping around me thyself and thy all. What do you say, Wind sadly whining? What is the message from over the sea? Sayest thou someone is weeping and pining? Is someone pining and weeping for me? Haste thee Wind, haste thee! Carry a letter. Carry it over the green, dashing sea. Take it to her that is weeping, and greet her, Tell her I love her as she loveth me. Go, thee Wind. Go, yet do not go asighing. Whistle not sadly among the dead trees. Tell her not now that her true love is dying. Tell her not all of the message. Wind, please. TedReid DEATH CHAMBER The room was cold and drab and bare, A sink, a table, a bed, a chair. Not a window to let the clean light in To cleanse the hole of filth and sin. The air was thick and it stank of drink, (Bottles lay in the dirty sink). And smoke curled up and wreathed around From the pointless roof to the littered ground. And scuttling round the room, a rat As bold as brass, and more than that. The only sound, the old bed ' s creak, (More smell than sound with the whiskey ' s reek, Tobacco fumes, and moulding bread. And sweat and rats alive and dead). But among it all a person dwelt. Struggling now with the pain he felt, A WORN old man on the iron heap That he called a bed, where he tried to sleep. And between his drinks he looked and cried, And a throaty cough,- he turned and died. Ted Reid Two hundred miles we ve rolled this night, And but for auto s brave headlight, Virginia ' s hills would have swallowed us. On, on, up, down-round we followed The twisting white unbroken line. Passing neither farm nor city. No other car, no highway sign; Sore we yearn ' d a place for coffee. Then in the bosom of the hills Far down below — a blinking light — There nested in the sable night A town With coffee Haze fills At Hazel ' s all-nite restaurant The clinking mugs of porcelain Bold smells of twelve-inch hot dogs haunt The air, while Peter takes great pain In heaping relish on his ' dog ' In recess from Night ' s starless fog. Tyrant Whistle from nearby mines Exacts the men of midnight shift As four-to-twelve in exodus — Muckers, drillmen, And from the drift — Shuffle into Hazel ' s Grill. The hum becomes a din Of sizzling hamburg on the pan bleeding genial greasy smoke; The ting-ting mixing of the food And florid laughter At some miner ' s joke. Clack-clucking of pin ball machines Competes with noisy juke-box jive. Among the conflux Hazel dodges. Bringing apple pie to teasing men, Along the counter dust-faced miners Sit sucking hot spaghetti through smacking lips One cup more of Hazel ' s coffee Pete wipes the mustard from his chin And nods he ' s ready to begin. As we pull out, old coloured man Stands staring In amusement At our stunted ' 50 Austin. Morning in North Carolina New pigments stain the eastern sky; They rend Night ' s swarthy firmament And gild the roofs of share-crop farms. Straight on lies her southern sister. Then flat Savannah And the sea. A. Aarons 93