Claremont High School - Hickory Log Yearbook (Hickory, NC)

Page 10 text:

An 8:20 bell rings and another day begins. Last minute lipstick is applied, cars squeal into the parking lots, a tower of books collapses, papers are spilled, gathered hastily and piled on top of the reassembled books-greetings are called, cigarettes flipped aside, locker doors clang, the 8:20 bell rings, and another day begins. A teacher says good morning and writes on the board. The speaker in each room buzzes, and the principal's voice an- nounces the day's activities. The roll is called, a lunch order is taken, absence slips are signed, the tardy come, leave and return again. The tower of books has been reduced to one or two, and fever- ish last minute cramming begins. Meetings are held, mimeographed sheets are passed out, filled in and returned. This is homeroom-a period of relaxation for some, a tense beginning for others, but it is another day. A bell rings-8:40. The bee hives empty into halls churning with the passing and the passed, the greeted and the snubbed, the Seniors and the Sophs, the purposeful teachers, the eager and the reluctant pupils. Another bell-the world is run by bells and clocks, buzzers and speakers. English- a paper due, French-a conversation, math-proofs, history-dates, places, movements, an exam-rush, fail, pass, try. A bell! Lunch. For Seniors the bell is a permissive signal-a status symbol. They leave the campus early, proudly, quickly. They laugh and call as they leave-the faces once so harried are now unlined and laughing. Another bell, another signal, and the underclassmen descend in force. They mass attack the buildings' doors, and bolt for the outside and the cafeteria. Two lines con- verge, separate, pick up silver, milk, talk in the muffled pandemonium. Gradually they drift out and the walkways fill. The walls and steps are dotted with boys, girls, friends, steadies, and always with them are the books and the afternoon tests and the evening plans. Bells-the cafeteria is deserted, the parking lots are filled. The stairs and fire escapes reverberate and then are silent. The afternoon classes have begun. The chorus room echoes with many voices, the typewriters in another building insistently beat the refrain. The shop motors hum and the mix- masters whirl-activity everywhere. They are learn- ing new skills, wrestling with new ideas, earning an A, failing with F, and always feeling that their world is surely the most harrowing, the busiest, the most demanding, yet somehow the only place where they would want to be. A bell rings-it'st 3:30-another day has ended. LUNCHROOM NOISE gives way to private conversations and momentary relief from tensions as students forget the rush of a day. They Find BellS, Classes, RLISI1

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LADEN WITH HEAVY TEXTBOOKS, constant streams of students carefully file up and down the well-worn fire escapes in an attempt to reach that next class in a short five minutes. FIVE MINUTES BEFORE the tardy bell, Susan Jar- vis snatches her only chance for a quick session with compact and mirror before it is time to meet her first period class and another school day. BAND DAY at the University of North Carolina was fun, but the ride home provides a welcome rest for Pam Padgett after an exhausting day of march- ing and twirling with the Tornado Band. The Oise Of A Crowded SCHOOI