Trinity College School - Record Yearbook (Port Hope, Ontario Canada)

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To Go the Hard He was looking forward to being home again, The fact that he would be able to see all his friends, his parents living in the quiet v illage not far from the big city, that he would be with them again, had very often given him strength during the time lying behind him now. When picturing all the people who would be waiting to meet him after a long absence from home, he had always felt better in those many moments when the life around had seemed to close in on him with its remoteness and frigidity. He had never understood the people he had been with: it was mainly their unattachedness to things that confused him, and he was glad that it had been nothing more than his profession that tied him to the society meaningless to him. Soon his plane would arrive at the airport. They would all welcome him after he passed customs and all would be fine. Thinking of the warmth the fireplace exerted, how they used to sit in front of it, he could hardly wait to hear the clock in the old fashioned living room ticking away time again. Wondering whether had changed at home he denied that question immediately. Maybe the owner at the old barber shop at the street corner died, or they finally tore down the old fire hall and built a new one. The city would be the same, for sure: a grey concrete desert towards which you could develop sentimental feelings despite its nature. The moment the wheels of the airliner touched the ground a funny thought crossed his mind. He imagined himself kissing his native ground on the runway showing symbolically how good it felt to have a place in the world you could fall back on in times of trouble. Just the reflection of all the people he worked with back there, who did not have anything to rely on but themselves, and even admitted that to each other, made him feel forlorn himself. Having not even left customs yet he was already looking out for familiar faces in the crowd waiting outside the terminal for the arriving passengers. He could not recognize anybody though, probably because of the distance between them and him. ln a few moments he could look them all in the eyes again. After leaving the airport building he glanced around for them but there was no sign of anybody, even after the rest of the crowd had departed. He was left over. Did the car break down on the way, or might not they have received his message telling the time of arrival? To be sure, there was no indication from them that they had. ln fact, they had not answered many of his last letters, if any at all. He decided to take a taxi home. Hc did not talk to the cab driver on the way. The car went through the inner city, and reaching the outskirts he could not help noticing some oddness about everything. The people that passed by had something about them he did not like, or rather he could not relate tog although the scenery of everything around had not changed much since his departure, he felt that it still had changed, very much so. He had not imagined coming home to be like this, yet believed that on finally reaching their house all would be fine, anyways. Telling the driver to turn left at the end of the village he looked out the window to identify his home town. The grocery store where he had so often stolen apples, the local pub. Here again he sensed some remoteness of himself: he had returned but not come home. There was a change in everything, not a pleasant change. The car stopped at the front porch which led into the garden he had once known so well. After getting his only suitcase out and paying the fare he walked towards the door of the old mansion. The house at one time had been radiant with emotional warmth and happiness: now it somehow had lost its appearance. There did not seem to be a great difference between it and other buildings. He was irritated. The brass button of the doorbell felt cold when he pressed it. Remembering the bright sound of the clapper he was surprised not to hear anything this time. Trying again there was still no response. Neither did anyone answer his knock, the knock of a small boy. After walking around the house a couple of times and trying to find a way in, he gave up. He had looked through a window to see what was inside but no matter how hard he tried, his eyes could not get used to the different and now darker light that filled the rooms behind the glass. Nobody seemed to be home. All he could do now was to wait. The trees in the garden wore leaves in warm fall colours, and the sun was casting brightness over the village. Yet, it did not reach him where he was sitting in front of the door, in the shade of the roof. He was cold. At one point he decided to get up, and walk away but his mind got caught up in the thoughts of stuffed turkey on the family's Thanksgiving Dinner, of how he slipped into his cold bed at night, and how his body heat warmed it up tit had been cold for too long nowl and made it comfortable. Thus he waited what he knew to be five more days. During this time the struggle became increasingly harder, wrestling with the past. When his life finally left him, the sun was shining into the doorway filling his eyes with light. He went the hard way. Hajo Eicken First Prize Story, Gavin lnce Langmuir, Writing Competition

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arts

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The End of the Automobile Age ll' you have to go to the store a mile away how are you going to get there? Be honest. Which would you rather see, dirty, grimy automobiles driving along a slab of concrete or your fellow man walking or cycling along a path made of good old mother earth? Now you are being silly. You just contradicted yourself. Now look back to the first question and think of a better answer. I say that we do not need most cars because there are better ways of getting around. We can't get by without cars, says North America in unison. I reply in my humble oration, Yes you can! How? inquire the millions. I quickly answer them with the suggestion of a largely magnified public, and intercity transportation system. But that will cost too much, whines the North American population. At this cue I launch into my humdrum financial hypothesis, complete with estimated figures. I say that 20,000,000 people spend two dollars daily on gas and fifty dollars yearly on in- surance. Then I say that the same 20,000,000 people buy tive thousand dollar cars every ten years making two million cars a year. Finally I say that 70 million people pay a hundred dollars yearly on taxes for roads and sewers. All these figures are less than the real ones. Yet, ifall the money of my estimation went to public transportation, there would be 32 billion plus dollars yearly. That is easily enough to pay for subway and bus service for 99.99 7o of the population. Oh! reply the confused masses with mouths agape. Well then, what do those in the auto industry do? they ask, trying to trip me up with their feeble arguments. Not even bothering to answer, I let them figure out for themselves that they would be employed making and running transportation systems. They would also be busy ridding the world of many of the hideous concrete strips crisscrossing the nation. But it's such a hassle not to use a car, complains the North American race. Ahh! l quickly counter, That thought is an offspring of the automobile age. I know from experience that in a city, a bicycle can usually get around more rapidly than cars can and if there were no cars they could get around even faster. As a New York millionaire once said, lt's much easier than fussing with a chauffeur. But you can't ride bikes in the winter, say the people, hoping they have found a weak point. I'm quite upset at how lazy my countrymen have become. Listen you lazy bums. Between our new public transportation system and those precious gifts of God we call feet, we could travel better than with autos. Feet are the most natural form of locomotion. Walking has been in use since before the invention of the wheel and the discovery of Ere. It is reliable and totally non- polluting. No parking. No cost. The people of North America linally and reluctantly become mildly interested. Tell us about long distances, they order. Sure, I say trying to supress my grin. I'm sure all of you would rather sit on a comfortable bus, train or plane than behind a steering wheel being chased by a trillion and one cars on a high- way. I won't mention how much faster trains and planes are. I also won't mention how much less pollution there would be without cars. Before the people could open their mouths I hit them again. And planes will be cheaper by a great deal because without cars gas will be as cheap as water. Wow! the crowd exclaims. Picture these two scenes side by side: First picture the city we know today full of streets and cars. Now picture a city with nine- tenths of the roads removed and parks in their places leaving only a few roads for buses. Which picture do you like better? The second! yells the crowd, now very excited. In the excitement I confess the one fault in my crusade, hoping they will not notice. There will be some people, however, that will not be able to do without cars. They come in two groups: the isolated and the infirm. I will give in and let Joe Farmer keep his pickup in order to get to and from other means of transportation. The infirm, or those who could not easily get to subways and buses, would be the recipients of a new type of welfare. I call it taxi welfare: It would be a free taxi to the doors of those who need it. These are the only cars needed. Hurray! yell the millions ol' people having heard nothing of my last statements. Now, having them all eating out of my hands, I decide it is time to drive home my point with a little sarcasm. There's one drawback, I say being as serious as possible. Many jobs will be lost. Silence falls over the crowd. Thousands of doctors and nurses will be out of a job if we get rid of cars because there cannot be any more car accidents. Trains, buses and planes do not have as many accidents as cars. Banners wave, streamers fly and the population of North America screams and cheers. I know I have them convinced. Tom Hayes