Bryant Junior High School - Junior Life Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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» T HE JllNI O H LIFE Grandmother’s Story m Father left early on a Friday morning for Emmctsburg to sell our grain and make our week-end purchases. My mother and I were left alone with my small brother. The bread was baking to a crisp, and I was churning the butter for my mother, who was not very strong. We had never been taught fear and when a heavy pounding was heard on the kitchen door, I ran immediately to answer it. Imagine my surprise when upon opening the door a huge dark figure loomed in the doorway. As he tried to push the door, the light struck his face and to my horror, it was an Indian. I had heard many times creepy stories about Indians from the neighboring farmers, but I had never seen one and never really expected to. It was too late to think of that now. My strength suddenly left me as I realized the situation. I was powerless to shut the door. The Indian grunted and motioned. I could not interpret this until the odor of the baked bread reached me. Then I understood. He wasn’t begging, but demanding the bread. I walked weakly to the stove and drew out three loaves, wrapped them in paper, and shakily tied them with cord. I was trying to take my time, hoping someone would come. The Indian’s squinting eyes followed every move I made. Finally 1 was compelled to hand the box to him. He grunted and disappeared from the doorway. During this time my mother had guarded my brother’s bed. She picked up a blanket and sweater. We crept silently out the front door and down the road to the nearest neighbor. In the morning a farm-hand ux k us home. When we reached the gate, we found the ground covered with white feathers of our prize chickens. The Indians had killed and stolen them. My courage was coming back; the farm boy and 1 searched the grounds. We had decided that the Indians had left when a string of smoke curling lazily above the trees caught my eye. We crept behind bushes and trees until we came to the camp. There were two Indians paddling a canoe near shore. Not twenty feet away was a grey-haired Indian carving what proved to be spears. It was plain that he was teaching the young boy beside him the art. The women were cooking our chickens

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THE JUNIOR LIFE 7 Competition The love of competition is in every one's blood. Just the desire to come out ahead of someone else in anything is natural to us. Take, for instance, our last paper sale. It followed very soon after the previous one but the amount of paper collected was remarkable. Why? Because the boys stood opposite the girls. We always have had competition in our paper sales but these results were unexpected. I was on the loser’s side and have been shamed enough already, but I must give credit where credit is due. The 9B boys deserve comment as they were the only boys to surpass the girls. Was it that they did so well or that the girls did not do as well as they might have. In each of the other grades the girls were the hard workers. There is something more than muscle needed to win in a contest like this. The girls accepted the challenge and showed what team work and hard work can do. Who would enjoy running a race alone? Why, there wouldn’t be anything to it. Competition always makes one work harder. The greater the challenge the greater the effort. The greater the effort, the greater the results. How are we meeting the challenge of Life every day? Are we responding with the best that is in us or arc we willing to acknowledge defeat before we start? Let us meet this challenge with the spirit that we accept any other, be it paper sale, athletic contests, or field day marching. • • The Lunch Period of a Boy at Bryant B—gins eating lunch on the way to the lunch room, and by the time he has found a comfortable scat he has finished. R—gues with the student officer; Y— s cracks a bit with A—girl that comes along. N—ters the girls’ gym where he is soon pushed out. T—zcz a group of 7B s. The bell rings and he rushes to his room for Home Activity period. • • Do You Know Your Definitions? Discreet ........In answering Odyssey tests Winged ..........To the lunch room Naiads ..........The girl splashers Cimmerian Land Study period Sacrifice........Two cents for banking Lotus Flower ...Fruit gum Wimple........... What can that he now-adays? Heedful .........After several warnings or receiving a “Fail” slip Prophecy ........That you'll receive all A’s on your report card

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THE J UN I OK LIFE 9 and baking pottery in the sun. It was a peaceful scene that I always will remember. We returned to the farm and the hoy went to town in search of help. I barred the windows and doors and we sat down to wait. I awoke with a start. It was the Indian’s heavy pounding on the door. What could I do? My mother awoke. The pounding grew louder and the grunts more frequent. We knew it was best to open the door. Mother went with my brother tagging behind. The door was opened and the same huge figure stood in the doorway. There was a terrified silence. The Indian spied my brother clutching my mother’s skirt and with a grunt jumped for him. My mother was quick and stepped before him. His eyes flashed. In a moment he had my brother in his arms. He ran swiftly from the room. My mother screamed. I heard a shot, and my father came running into the room. He had returned just in time with a sheriff and posse to sec the Indian with my brother. They had to shoot him down, which was not easy. They immediately set out in search of the Indian camp, but there was nothing to be found but arrowheads and dying camp fires. “And that,” grandmother said with a sigh, “was fifty years ago.” —Dorothy Bruyn. Just My Personal Opinion Laughter may seize you when you read of the queer characteristics of an Indian, but you yourself are not so far removed from them. Take, for instance, their precious scalp lock. Have you ever seen a girl or a boy, for that matter, who didn’t spend a good part of his waking hours on his hair? Another little matter under consideration is that of “War Paint.” We consider it primitive on Indians and also a rare joke, but it is perfectly natural when a girl paints her face to hide the one Mother Nature gave her. Beads, of course, we all like. Who wouldn’t? But it all leads back to the Indians. Didn't the early settlers buy the friendship of the Indians with bright colored trinkets? Bright feathers have the same lure. An Indian would give anything for them. All that has gone before generally refers to the fair sex, but now I will mention the other. Where is there a man or boy who doesn't like to sit around a big campfire? Show me the boy who doesn’t like to whoop and yell. Why do men like to hunt when all the meat necessary can be secured at the corner store? Of course! Why didn’t I think of it. It’s just their Indian blood coming to the surface. —Mary Louise Roll.