Broad Ripple High School - Riparian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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Nineteen Thirty-Seven Twenty-one ▼ V V W V JUST YOU You came when skies were cloudy: You made them all look bright; You made me want to live again; And do just what was right. You awakened music in my soul- True happiness I could feel, But somehow I would always ask, Could all these things be real? You taught me how to live and laugh; You smiled and I was gay; Could there have ever been a time When all the skies were gray? And now my heart is singing, With a song of pure delight, For you ' ve changed my life com- pletely From darkness into light. —DOROTHY McCLEASTER. HOW I KNOW! Spring is herel How do I know? It isn ' t the robin that tells me so, It isn ' t the buds on the tr ees, or the sap, It isn ' t the grass waking up from its nap. It isn ' t the flowers peeping up through the ground, Or all nature changing to green from the brown, It isn ' t the sun or the warm, balmy breeze, No, I can assure you it is none of these. But in through my window, there comes a loud call, And it bursts on my ear, the cry of Play ball! The thud of leather, the crack of the bat, A bystander shouting, That field- er ' s a gnat. So it isn ' t the flowers, the grass or the buds, It isn ' t the breeze or the usual spring floods, It isn ' t the birds, or the songs that they sing, But the cry of Play ball that tells me it ' s Spring. —FRANK REESE. WHAT THE SCHOOL BELL SAYS It is wonderful what unlike things The school bell says to boys, when it rings; For instance, the laggard, who drags along On his way to school, hears this sort of song. Oh — say — hum, Why did I come? Study till four — Books are a bore! Oh, how I wish I could run off and fish! See! there ' s the b ook, Here ' s line and hook. What ' s that you say? Hurry away? Oh — hum — ho! S ' pose I must go, Study till four. Books are a bore! Then the boy who loves to be faithful and true, Who does what his parents think best he should do, Comes bravely along with satchel and books, The breeze in his whistle, the sun in his looks, And these are the thoughts that swell up like a song, As he hears the bell with its faith- fu l ding-dong: Cling — Clang — Cling I ' m so glad I can sing! Heaven so blue, Duty to do! Birds in the air, Everything fair; Even a boy Finds study a joy! When my work ' s done I ' m ready for fun. Keener play For the task of the day. Cling — Clang — Cling — I ' m so glad I can sing! These are the songs which the two boys heard, When the school bell was ringing, word for word? Which do you think was the truer song? Which do you hear, as you ' re trudging along? —BETTY MURNAN. XXX THE RAIN DROPS Little drops so crystal clear Are music to the Dreamer ' s ear. Ah! to go to bed and sleep, And listen to the dark skies weep. In spring the rain drops patter fast, To let us know that winter ' s past, To make the grass so smooth and green, To serve as a carpet for nature ' s queen. —SHIRLEY TALBOTT. XXX LIFE, LOVE, AND DEATH Living and loving and dying, Life is complete in the three; Smiling or sobbing or sighing, All are for you and for me? Hoping and struggling and striving, Dreaming success by and by; But whether we ' re driven or driv- ing, We live and we love and we die. CHARLES WEISENBURGH. r w w v v T

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Twenty THE RIPARIAN MY GRANDFATHER As you sit there in your wicker chair, Arocking all day long, Now saying nothing, eyes a ' dreaming, Then humming an old love song — I sometimes wonder what you think, When your mind ' s so far away; Are you thinking of times when you were young. Or of loves of a by-gone day? Are you dreaming of old Kentucky, And the places you love so much; Are you dancing again to the music From an old-time fiddling touch? I, too shall grow old in the future And sit in my rocking chair, And then I ' ll know what you ' re dreaming As you sit arocking there. —DORAS CRANFILL. (Cut by Betty Applegate) FUTILITY For having failed to be a friend, Make me to spend the lonely hours. For having failed to see the beauty in the sunset, Take from me my sight. For having failed to find the loveliness of great music. Make me deaf. For possessing life and yet being so like the crawling things. Let me die. For I have not deserved to live. VANITY Hair pins, Powder puff, Cold cream, and tan. Nail polish Eyebrow stick, Ruffled gown, and ma n. -HARLESS WAGONER.

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Twenty-two THE RIPARIAN THE WORLD A UNIVERSITY By GEORGE STEVENS II TTENTION of Broad Ripple pupils for many years has been attracted to a man who twice daily passes the school house, riding an old-fashioned motorcycle. Compelling thought convinced me this man had interest. He is William H. Rhoades, 1581 North Rural street, who teaches draft- ing and mechanics at the Indiana State School for the Blind. Living excluded from other people, Mr. Rhoades is a difficult person to locate; so his cheery Come in to my knocking at his back door was indeed a welcome sound, after an hour had been spent in searching for his residence. My host was found seated at his desk in a small room where boxes surrounded him on three sides and a wood stove was at his back. He lives in only one of the five rooms in his house. It is furnished with the above men- tioned articles plus a folding bed and one chair. In the cabinets were bottles contain- ing chemicals and a number of scientific instruments. In the brief beginning to a four hour con- versation, Mr. Rhoades revealed himself as a world traveller and nature enthusiast. His motorcycle, a Ner-o-car, has carried him all over the United States where he has collected 10,000 plants that he has mounted and placed in boxes which are stacked to the ceilings. The other four rooms are used for housing his collection, including specimens from many foreign lands. One of the rooms is called his herbarium, and it is truly named. He had built shelves all around the room from floor to ceiling. On these and in the middle of the floor arfi the plants. Many have been sent from ac- guaintances traveling in far places of the world. When asked if he had had this hobby when a boy, Mr. Rhoades replied, No; as a boy, I was too old for my age. I didn ' t care for such things then. In another room are cabinets filled with stones and shells, 1,900 different varieties, each classified and named. This self-de- veloped scientist has a high-powered mic- roscope and 1,000 slides. He places no money estimate on his collection, but thinks his plants could be sold for seven to ten cents each. The theory of life motivating all of this is that the world is a great university and its people can be learners as long as they live. Mr. Rhoades cares little for what most people care much. He has attended in his life-time one movie and three dances and has smoked only one cigar. To his guestion, Now that you have seen the old hermit in his cell, what do you think of him? I would reply, A kina of men. His use of beautiful English, his practice of human psychology, his knowledge of life, on the earth, in the ocean and in the heav- ens left impressions which made me real- ize what are eternal values. The four hours and twenty-five minutes spent in his home are the most inspirational moments I have had. A FRIEND TO MAN He was just a country doctor. He was no more than that, nor did he pretend to be. How vividly I remember the visit I paid him, when I was just a small girl. I can see his musty old library, lined with fat old books. I remember his spotless medical room, filled with curious bottles and delightful odors. I remember the doctor himself. He impressed me as being a jolly, highly educated old gentleman. In his rambling old house at the crossroad, he served one and all. Stray dogs and cats, ragged beggars weary farmers, and even some of the town people came to him. He strove to serve all, rich or poor. His kindly advice strengthened many. He was known for this wisdom, as much as for his doctoring. He died two years ago, leaving pleasant memo- ries of his lifelong service. He was indeed a friend to man. —JEANNE GASS.