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Page 25 text:
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Page 24 text:
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M if-M-f As we recollect the long road we have traveled from the awe-struck be- wildered seventh graders we once were, to the .X young adults we have be- come, many of us feel very ya mature and almost ancient. Let us look back to the time when we as small fry, first entered high school. After being allowed, tra- ditionally at least, to go down the stairs two at a in ff- The s 'lo's we Hug' time in sixth grade at grammar school, we were frustrated at the start by a sign reading UP ONLY. While we were still awed by the immensity of the building and kept breathless by the many flights of stairs, we started out as a fairly normal class. We were admonished for screaming in the lunchroom, squirming in assembly, and darting in and out among the feet of the seniors in the halls. We wore out our teachers like light bulbs and each time came through with renewed vigor. In English class our attempts at poetry were pitiful, so Mr. West- burg thought to inspire us with this masterpiece of his: The wind went howling past H25 the. little children shuddered. The clouds on high went scudding by, and Anna Mulford muttered, 'Old Westburg is a meany man, l hope he cracks his do-em. l've wracked my brain the best l can -I still can't write a poem.' By the time we reached eighth grade we had be- come acclimated, and were happy because we could look down on the new seventh graders. We began our campaign of doing things that were new and different. We spent one English period virtuously removing papers from the lawn in front of the school. The entire class went roller-skating without any serious casualties. We had a picnic at Durand-Eastman with the eighth graders from Seneca who were contem- plating coming to Charlotte the following year. We went on the first of our annual trips to Cobourg, which continued all the way through high school. We tried to teach our English and homeroom teacher, Miss Watkins, how to ride a bike. T One of our class politicians originated a new type of campaign. He passed out small strips of paper on which was printed: I LOVE YOU: MYRNA - JIMMY GRAHAM In the ninth grade we elected John Schroth as Junior High School President, after Schroth, pro- nounced Skrawth, handed out free passes to the Lake Theater, which he wrote, to anyone who would prom- ise to vote for him. In Mrs. Mitchell's Elementary Algebra class that year, apparently a word to the wise was not sufficient. Because we talked when she had visitors, we were all requested to write a composition on Manners, which she turned over to our English teachers. We were now allowed to sit downstairs during com- bined assemblies. This was ample evidence of our maturity, since we were too old to fire on the long- suffering souls who were required to sit below, and pellet them with ammunition ranging from paper wads to rubber erasers. Our second trip to Cobourg proved successful and eventful. We took a variety of pictures, sailed a toy boat from the rear of the ferry, turned our stateroom into complete chaos, and almost convinced the Cap- tain to let us steer the boat. In the tenth grade, we furthered our reputation for originality of conduct by electing a girl as president of the class. The two rival homerooms, 'l'l2 and 207, changed places, which added to the general confusion. By this time we were convinced that we knew all there was to know, except for a few insignificant items such as Geometry and World History. Some of our teachers disagreed with us, among them Mr. Westburg. He decided that we would profit by an understanding of Semantics, which for the benefit of the unenlight- ened multitude, includes-a study of the interpretation of words. We made a futile attempt to convince Mrs. Mitchell that 1 does not equal 'l, but since she had also studied Semantics, we were foiled again. In the second year Latin class, a competitor for Translake was planned. Mrs. Denise threatened to The Bike Broke Down Continued on page 62
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