Churchill High School - Victory Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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THE CANDY-CANE POLE Ed Fehr 11-5 You probably have, at one time or another, read a comic strip dealing with the haphazard visit of a young boy to a barber shop. If you have, you most likely smiled or perhaps even chuckled a bit, but no doubt you thought of it as little more than a ridiculous comic strip and you never even considered the idea that such a thing could actually happen. However, it can and does happen; I know because I was once the central character of such a cartoon adventure. When I was young my father did all of the barbering in our house, as did the fathers of most of my unfortunate companions. The ordeal took place about once a month, and I often wished my father would forget. It seems though, that he had an excellent memory, so good in fact, that I often wondered if he shouldn ' t have been born an elephant instead. So, when the time arose, contrary to my wishes, I would receive a hair cut. Then, one day, fortune struck; the day had come and my father ' s shears were nowhere to be found. It was discovered later, that my mother, in cleaning the closet, had conveniently left them buried beneath a mountain of cardboard boxes. Apparently all hope was not lost for me and I gloried in the feeling of victory. Meanwhile, my parents suggested to one another that I pay a visit to a barbershop. Well this was really my lucky day; not only was I free of a hair cut, but I was also going to a barber shop! Now it occurred to me, as we pulled up to the curb, that I had never been to a barber shop and had no idea what it was. Then to my amazement, in front of a small building I ' saw a cdlossal candy-cane with a monstrous gum-drop on top and I figured that a barber shop must be the world ' s greatest candy store. Entering, I was quite disappointed to find that there wore no candy counters. Instead there were three huge padded armchairs with foot and head rests, two of which were occupied by curiously bibbed men. Behind the chairs were large mirrors, under which were numerous shelves, well stocked with diverse bottles and an assortment of other curios. Then the remnants of my expectations were crushed with the dreaded sound of hair clippers. I reeled around but was snatched up swiftly by the arms and planted abruptly in one of the huge armchairs. I struggled furiously as the barber draped a huge white cloth over my eyes, probably the blindfold before the execution. I saw that this was not as he intended it, because he then proceeded to wrap, it around my neck in a deliberate attempt to strangle me. Terror-stricken, I lashed out savagely and in a brief skirmish, the barber sustained a bruised knee-cap and a fractured elbow. My father leaped to restrain me as the barber completed fastening my halter. The barber then began tinkering with a myriad of strange gadgets of which only one was familiar, the shears. My muscles tensed as he approached me and I detected a definite glimmer of lust in his eyes. Then, with the gentleness of a wrestler, he attacked my head. Within moments my beautiful hair, the rewards of a full month ' s growth, lay on the floor and my head was a barren wasteland. My bib having been removed, I sank sheepishly to the floor and headed towards the door as my father paid the uncouth mercenary. My pride destroyed and my head air-conditioned, I departed knowing that I would never eat another candy-cane. I lay, still and quiet. The silence, unnerving as it was, filled the room so that the air seemed infested with its very presence. Suffocating, I dared to take another slow, prolonged breath. What lay in wait for me behind the curtain? A creature so terrible that its intelligence and capability could not be comprehended by the human mind? I wondered. Tension built up in me; a choked scream burst forth from my dry, cracked lips; then darkness, relief and numb thoughts of home. PAGE 102

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THE END OF A DAY Brian Clarke 7-22 P-t-t-eet! The shrill whistle broke the calm of the morning. Immediately a streaking bundle of fur responded, chasing the stubborn sheep to the crude pen. It was the start of a new day for the shepherd. The sun had finished its long climb to its place in the clouds, its bright and life-giving rays filtering down to the earth. The old shepherd watched the young dog acting on his whistle commands. He was very tired today. After the long work of herding the sheep into the pen, he and his faithful companion trudged into the shack which was his home. The man lay down on a small bed and closed his eyes, with the dog nearby, resting his head on his paws. Hours passed, and still the shepherd did not stir. The dog moved to the man s side and nudged him, knowing little that his master would not wake again. Time flew on and again and again the dog rose, nudged, and quietly lay down. Then, whining pitifully, he edged to the door, took a last look, and slipped off into the dark of the night. His master was gone. . . . A STRANGE FATE Paddy Toole 7-22 Dr. Bill Smith was tired of being laughed at, so he built a time machine. A scientific genius, his thoughts and discoveries were far ahead of his time. His purpose: to travel back to medieval England, bringing along three common¬ place objects. Inside he stepped, on went the power switch, and suddenly he blacked out. He awoke inside a stone building, a castle no doubt. Then, two guards rushed in. Still struggling, he was placed before the Queen of England. ' Observe, O mighty Queen , chanted Bill, with a flip of my thumb this package will burst into flame , and out came a lighter, as the whole council and the queen burst into laughter Click! Click! Click! What ' s the matter? thought Bill. No fluid, I guess . But then he had a camera. He pointed it toward the queen, but a suspicious guard thrust his spear in the direction of Bill. Startled, Bill dropped the camera, exposing the film. Peals of laughter streamed into Bill ' s ears. But, this next one will knock ' em dead. Out came a radio, and he claimed he would pull music out of the air, but then it occurred to him, No radio stations ! The chief vizeor feared he was making mockery of the throne, but because of his amusing antics, he was ordered to be court jester Fate is strange indeed, for what he attempted to escape had become his very lifeline. PAGE 101

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