Crawfordsville High School - Athenian Yearbook (Crawfordsville, IN)

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.......-.... JAQATMCHIAH - A Nothing before or since has equalled the frigidity of that stare. The country for miles around lay thick with frost. The monkeys froze and fell from the trees, near Little Black Sambo a frozen bird sat on the frozen branch of a frozen tree and breezingly sang a frozen song. Little Black Sambo climbed haughtily down from his lofty perch, picked up the unconscious lion, threw it over his shoulders, to take his mother so she could make a new rug, and started home. As he crossed the hill he saw smoke rising from his Uncle Tom's cabin and he knew his Aunt Jemima was frying pancakes for supper. , JOHN SLATTERY, '36, To A Naughty Crocus Dainty little crocus Poking through the snow, Don't you think it's all too soon Your pretty head to show? Indeed your fairy lavender Upon the snowy lawn Is thrilling as a sunset Or early tints of dawn. But March is big, and March is cruel, And cold his wild wind blows, And there my tiny crocus In proud assurance grows. Are you so vain and anxious To show your lovely hue That you can't wait and mingle As the other flowers do? And so you beat the very spring, Dring frost instead of dew, 'Though you're a, foolish little thing I'll stoop to cover you. --ALBERTA BECHTEL. I 'age Sixty-three Q

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UAQATHCHIFIH Social lu activity we find our joy as well as glory. Hi-Y-Girl Reserve Banquet Blue slips! lists! tardy bells! and mad rushing hither and thither! This was the scene preceeding the Hi-Y-Girl Reserve banquet. Meat loaves grew seareer and scarcer, yet on the gala night food popped up seemingly from nowhere. The girls were solicited for the main course and the boys pooled their money for the desert. After consuming this, the guests shoved back their chairs to watch Wild Nell eavort across the stage for the Girl Reserve stunt. Next the Hi-Y's portrayed a typical Chicago shooting which ended, My word! l'm in the wrong apartment ! Then the banquet was adjourned to the tune of rattling silverware. Homecoming Look at all the automobiles decorated with bright-colored crepe paper! And why are those boys dressed so funny? Oh, it's homecoming! Just see the parade-the band, Girl Reserves, Hi-Y's, Sunshiners, Aggies, classes, and lots more. Don 't they look pretty? Why they 're coming right up through town! lJet's follow them to the field and watch Wiley get beat. Jack Alexander certainly made one good job of this affair, didn't he? Ink Drops In the last few years this little literary magazine, printed through the courtesy of Mr. Biddle 's printing classes, has become quite well-known and is very much enjoyed by the students. The poems, essays, short stories, and book reviews contained in it are all original, being written by the members of Miss l'!allard's Creative Writing class. It is published in the spring and each member of the class makes at least one contribution. The 1933 issue, the fourth to be published, is larger than any preceeding number. Dr. VV. Wilbur Hatfield, Editor of the English Journal wrote an interesting article especially for this publication. Junior Class Party What 's all the noise? It 's the Junior Class party! This gala event was held November 11, and certainly portrayed the depres- sion, for it was a hard times party-the only kind they could have in these days. First. they played games-you know the good old ones such Drop the Haiidkerchiefn and Three Deep ! These were played mainly because they wanted to say good-by to their childhood days. Next year they must be dignified seniors. The music for the evening was provided by a Junior Class orchestra and other musical number were given by Margaret Everson, Betty Johnson and a splendid quartet including James Houlihan, Harry Streibich, Bruce Byrd, and John Moritz. Betty Johnson and Catherine Davis impersonated some of our favorite radio stars. VVere they ever good! Of course the party closed with a bang, for you see they ended with refreshments ! - Page Sixty four

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me Amcnmn Cold Cocoanuts CThis story placed first in the short story contest conducted by the Athenian. Judges for the contest were Dean Kendall and Professor Osborne, of Wabash College, and Mrs. VValter Linn.D One evening little,Black Sambo had ridden to the corner chain store ot' the jungle to buy some Cocoanut Play chewing tobacco for his father, the elephant driver. He had lingered a while watching the old timers at their checker gametand it was now dark. He stayed a while longer waiting for his two old friends, Amos and Andy, the local cannibal chiefs, hoping they would escort him home through the deep dark jungle. They didn't turn up so he hopped on his bike and started for home. After an hour 's pedaling over winding jungle trails, he reached the deepest and darkest part of the jungle where the biggest and most ferocious of the jungle beasts lurked. He was traveling slowly over a difficult stretch of trail thickly overhung by large vines, which gave a mysterious appearance to the jungle, when he thought he heard the pad of a foot on the trail behind him. It was not repeated so he decided it was his imagination aided by the many detective stories he had read lately. After a short while he heard the same sounds again, louder and clearer. This time he knew it was true. Something was following him! He turned in his seat and looked back. There, in the clear light of a full jungle moon, he saw a lion, twelve feet long and six feet high, leaping over a palm tree. Owak! said the Little Black 'Sambo and bent over the handlebars. He rode faster than he had ridden in the African Olympics' -seven-day bike race. His whirling spokes, which sounded like a great siren, echoed through the forest and mingled with the lions' hair-elevating roars. These noises soon attracted a large, enthusiastic audience. Monkeys shrieked, tigers roared, pan- thers screamed, hyenas laughed long and loudly while wild boars could be heard crashing through the underbrush. The lion had gained quite a distance by using a short cut and was right behind Little Black Sambo and still gaining when Little Black Sambo put all his strength into a last minute spurt. His home was just over the next hill. He was pulling away from the lion, who was about to turn back as they neared the clearing, when the front wheel hit a porcupine which had crawled to the middle of the trail for a short nap. Little Black Sambo shot off the seat, into the air, and landed in a banana tree by the side of the trail. Mr. Lion put on the brakes and slid twenty feet down the trail to a stop beneath the tree. Little Black Sambo sat on a branch and looked down into the great, luminous eye of the king of beasts and quivered. From the lion 's actions he knew that it would stay there until he came down, so Little Black Sambo prepared himself for a stay in the tree top and slow starvation. He could not eat the green bananas. Suddenly the lion made a fatal mistake. Evidently he was bothered by the still spinning wheels of the wrecked bicycle and, after roaring at it, he gave it a swipe with his paw that sent it whirling over the forest and into the sluggish waters of the Congo River. This act changed Little Black Sambo's fear to anger. He had loved that bicycle better than any of his other possessions. Santa Claus had brought it to him. Cold anger suffused him, he gave the lion an icy stare that made it wish it were miles away from that banana tree. Page Sixty two 1