Adlai E Stevenson High School - Ambassador Yearbook (Prarie View, IL)

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Athletics Page 50 K tli tor Walt Andrus Assistant kditor Honnie Isaacson

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A school is made up of more than just important events scattered here and there throughout the year. It is also the place, the people, and those little things that not too many students consciously notice that gives a school a certain feeling or character. These front steps, what did they lead to? How much re- luctance had they felt in the morning, and how much joy in the afternoon? How many emotions had they felt pounding over and into them? But these front steps, where did they lead to? The stage was empty. The lighting panel and sound board were locked. The doors to the dressing rooms were closed. The auditorium was empty, no, not really empty. The walls still held the tension, later giving way to laughter. The floors were scuffed from shoes trying not to hit the places where the soft pine boards squeaked, and socks slid along the smoother sections. One forgotten glove had been left on the floor of the dressing room. And in the auditorium, the memories just melted in with those of past plays. A ray of sun, feeling its infinite power, reflected off an open window into the opposite lower classroom. It dis- turbed a thought. It was just an idle thought, not one of those that would shake the world. Maybe it would be con- tinued at another time, maybe not. The roof extended over the two flights of stone steps leading to the entrance. It covered up the groans and insults hurled at no one in particular at eight and laughing at three- thirty. That roof attempted to shelter young ones from the world, yet eight months later reluctantly let go others that were four years older, yet only a little wiser, adventurers off to individually face the world. The purpose of the school had been fulfilled, but now the lives were out of the hands of the school to guide; there were new problems to face. A black-top area encircles the football field. This area is about a quarter mile long and twelve feet wide. The Queen’s court, mounted in convertible cars, circled the field on it before stopping in front of the bleachers. A custodian swept the loose gravel off so the cheerleaders wouldn’t slip. This made the football field look rather attractive, a deep green encircled by a black track. After the Homecoming Game the band marched around this track practicing street marching for the Northwestern parade. Eventually this track will get a rubber coating so that sports activities could also be conducted on it. The landscape had changed. The football field had been torn up by spikes. Cross country runners and track men had worn down the grass. Time will mend this, however. New grass will grow to fill in where the cleats so viciously tore the other away. The cross-country span will have time to recuperate over the summer for a new season of torture. Unnoticed at the top of a flight of stairs is an unassailable door. Anyone who has ever tried that door would know that it is always locked. It might be the entrance to almost anything, but very few will ever know what. Stevenson has changed. Its halls have changed. The tile