Forster Secondary School - Spartalogue Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

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‘■THE SPARTALOGUE 1952 Page Twenty-Three 4 The Ruby Necklace (Honourable Mention) As he gazed aimlessly through the jewellery store window, Mike Velda ' s thoughts were certainly not on the copious display of glittering jewels. The worn, gray suit hung neatly on his short, stocky form, but the usually squared shoulders slumped, and his usually affable countenance was creased in a frown. He was lost in deep and serious contem¬ plation—contemplation, which had been gripping him for the past week and which was surely and slowly robbing him of his will and power. He must save the store! It was the only thing that kept him going now that Emma was gone. At the thought of his sweet, patient wife, the bleak desperation of Mike ' s eyes changed to a fond, wist¬ ful reminiscent smile. However, he thrust himself back into the midst of his troubles and a feeling of suffocating hopelessness seized him. Then his eye caught the penetrating gleam of the ruby necklace. Its fiery brilliance seemed to burn into the black velvet of its case and Mike marvelled at its colour, its beauty, its worth. His eyes narrowed at the thought. Would he dare take the gem? He could pay off the mortgage on the store. But he would be stealing. He would go to jail. He would lose everything. A maelstrom of thoughts whirled through his brain; then an agonized groan escaped him. I must do it! It ' s the only way! The sudden sound of his own voice brought him back to reality with a jerk. He glanced furtively around him to see if anyone might have heard his exclamation, then cursed himself for acting like a common thief—Well, wasn ' t he? That night Mike stayed up late. He sat at the small, round table, his head in his hands, thinking and planning, thinking and planning. His thick, gray hair was rumpled and the harsh light from the lamp mercilessly sketched the deep wrinkles on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes, and the thin strained line of his mouth. There was one thing he did know. The jewellery store had a small window at the back. He’d often seen it when he cut through the alley on his way home. But would it open? Another thought flashed through his mind. Surely the store would have a burglar-alarm, even though it was a small-town store which had never been threatened with robbery. He could only hope and pray that he would not stumble across it, for if he did, there would be no escape. Finally he went to bed, but he found little sleep that night. The next morning Mrs. Brown met a friend in front of the jewellery store. She confided, Did you know that Mr. Velda just passed me on the street, and he didn’t even say hello? Oh well, I suppose he has his troubles. My, isn ' t this a beautiful ruby necklace in the window? That night Mike worked in his grocery store later than usual. It was dark when he cut through the alley on his way home. He approached the window cautiously, and after glancing from left to right, stealthily explored the frame with gloved hands. Here was a latch at the bottom. His desperate lingers clawed at it, its rough, rusted surface burning be¬ neath his hands. He froze. Footsteps were sounding around the comer, coming nearer, and nearer. He shrank against the wall, into the shadows; beads of perspiration stood out on his brow. For one moment his heart stood still; then Officer Kipple passed on down the street. Mike ' s shaky legs hardly carried him back to the window, where he pulled a small chisel from his pocket and clumsily inserted it under the base of the window. Slowly, straining, he pushed downwards. The window groaned and his heart leaped as it moved up. Then he was inside the room, barely breathing, the fear of an alarm engulfing him. Cautiously he felt his way to the front of the store. Yes, here was the necklace. He closed the box and gripping it with one hand, made his way, half-blindly, out of the room, through the window and out the alley. Scarcely realizing how he was able to make it, he arrived home. He laid down the box without opening it, as the realization struck him that he had actually stolen the necklace. When sleep at last came, he tossed fitfully, dream¬ ing that the necklace was around his neck, choking out his life. Gray dawn was streaming through the windows when he awoke and disentangled the covers from around his head. Lagging steps took him into the front room where he spied a letter under the door. Listlessly he tore open the envelope, then stopped, for he saw only the line Dear Mr. Velda: The bank has reconsidered your request for a loan. He sank into the chair, incredulity, joy, then horror, mirrored in his eyes. He grasped the jewellery box in trembling hands, tore open the cover, and gasped. There was no necklace. He had stolen an empty box. —Mary Jane Makar, 13A.

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Page Tw enty-Two 1952 “THE SPARTALOGUE — Deflated Ego (Honourable Mention) The wind whipped wildly at my clothing. It was a dark, rainy night, but not even the gloom could dampen my spirits. My book had been accepted by the publisher. I was now a full-fledged mystery writer. Absentmindedly, with thoughts of golden royalties, I turned down Blue Street, when suddenly 1 heard a scream. I stopped short. There it was again! I could not be mistaken. It seemed to come from a large black house which stood back from the street several yards. The shades were drawn; it looked very suspicious. Silently I debated within myself whether to call an officer or investigate the matter myself; but curiosity getting the better of me, I bravely mounted the stairs and knocked boldly on the door. No answer. Then as I prepared to retrace my steps, the door opened abruptly. I turned—and almost fainted. Before me stood a character borrowed from the most harrowing mystery story ever written. His dress pro¬ claimed him a butler, but a more unsavoury indivi¬ dual I have never seen. A huge, livid scar rent his dark, sallow face, and his mouth was twisted into a hideous snarl. Blindly I turned and ran. About a block later, reason finally overtook me. What was I running for? There was nothing to be frightened of. Yet I could not explain away the sense of evil that had assailed me as I had looked at that man. He had seemed to contaminate the very air. Then I thought—the scream! The thought of some poor mortal in the clutches of that villain made my blood run cold. There was no time to call the police. I would have to go back; only this time I would use some common sense. The house looked just the same as before. I crept stealthily around to the back, and there, as in the best mystery novels, was a small, unlocked window. With difficulty I crawled through and found myself in a tiny, dimly-lit room, containing assorted photo¬ graphic equipment. Suddenly I heard voices. They were moving to¬ wards the room. Quickly I looked for a place to hide. The closetl Swiftly I slipped behind the cur¬ tain that covered its entrance. I heard the door open. A harsh guttural voice snarled, You stupid blundering fool! Why did you let her get away? She will go straight to the police, and then you know what will happen. Did you take care of that lames girl? Looking through a hole in the curtain I saw a short, swarthy man, who seemed to be the leader, deliver¬ ing this scathing tirade to none other than the butler. The leader stood silently awaiting an answer. No, Evard . . stammered my acquaintance. He got no further. A stinging slap across the face silenced his words. The one called Evard continued in a voice as cold as steel, ' You will attend to it. Now bring me the records. We must destroy them, and leave these premises immediately. The F.B.I. is much too . . Suddenly he stopped, looking towards the curtain. My heart stood still. I stepped further back into the cubicle, pushing against a wooden cabinet. Over it came on top of me, shoving me half out into the room. The curtain fell down on my head. I at¬ tempted to rise. Then my head exploded, and everything went black. The next tiling I knew a voice was saying, She ' ll be all right, just a slight blow on the head. Slowly I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed! Where were those men? What had happened? I soon found out; I was a heroine. Those two men had been spies, and the F.B.I. had had a watch kept on them day and night. Then I blundered in, but luckily, I did no harm. In fact, if it had not been for me, Miss James, who was an F.B.I. undercover agent, would have been killed. I had an idea. My adventure would make a good mystery story. Speedily I typed it out and sent it to the publisher, expecting a cheque by return mail. Back came my answer. We regret to have to return your manuscript. Unfortunately we find it lacks the realism of your first work. Please honour us with any other story you may write. Very brief and very polite, yet how it deflated my over-sized ego. —Marilyn Snyder, 12B. Mine Is Forever (Honourable Mention) I love a lass, she loves me not. There was a time when I had thought Our love was sparked with lasting fires, But I found out my thoughts were liars. She loves me not, I love her still, I love her now, I always will. What can I do to make her see Tb ope my heart, she holds the key? But soon she ' ll wed, she ' ll be so glad, I ' ll be a bachelor, alone and sad. She ' ll have children, one, two, three, I ' ll have misery, woe is me! My lonely fate I will not curse I ' ll show my grief in written verse. —Mel Steinhart..

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Page Twenty-Four “ TH E SPARTAL OGUE — 1952 A Ghost I Should Like to Meet (Honourable Mention) I have often thought that I should enjoy entertaining a ghost. A ghost? you ask, Why in the world a ghost? Well, to tell the truth, I think a ghost would be one of the most genial sorts of guests, if not the most interesting. One of the ghosts which I would like to encounter is Aunt Mabel (gone these ten years, poor soul). After passing through my bedroom wall, the old dear would seat herself on my bed and say, How about a cup of tea? It ' s going on four. Then, she would examine the book that I was reading and exclaim, Hmphl One of these murder mysteries, eh? Now I ' m sure one of those nice Elsie books would be much more educational. Aunt Mabel is on my list of Choice Ghosts to Meet for several reasons. She would keep me well-in¬ formed on such matters as the activities of the Heavenly Harp Society, the Promotion and Demotion of all Heavenly Persons, and the casualty list of all new angels who happened to have broken a wing after a fall from a cloud, or suffered a black eye caused by a very unruly and tremendously mischiev- ious halo. Another ghost I would like to meet is Uncle Henry. He was not my real uncle but he married Aunt Mabel, thus bestowing upon himself that dreaded title. I often wonder whether Uncle Henry ever gain¬ ed his freedom. I wonder, is Uncle Henry blithely chucking pretty angels under the chin or is he duti¬ fully playing his harp under Aunt Mabel ' s careful and beady-eyed supervision? 1 would like to see Uncle Henry just to make certain that he was happy and that his back did not pain him any longer (Aunt Mabel was always a bit careless about those plas¬ ters). Uncle Henry would be no source of informa¬ tion for me. He was never one to talk much, especi¬ ally with Aunt Mabel around to furnish details. Of course, neither of these people were important to you, nor did they interest many others. However, to my family and to me Aunt Mabel and Uncle Henry were very important. They furnished family gossip, their children all had wonderful cases of measles, mumps, and chicken pox, and last but not least. Uncle Henry was the owner of the first motor car in town. Truly, Aunt Mabel and Uncle Henry lived very exciting lives in this world and I should very much like to hear of their adventures in the next. Public Speaking Public speaking drew quite a number of enthus¬ iastic and eloquent candidates from both the senior and junior forms this year. Miss Graham, who handled all the details of the contests. Miss Harris and Mrs. Haeberlin, who spent hours coaching the speakers, are directly responsible for such a fine showing by all the students. Ross Archibald of 1 IB won the senior boys ' contest with a highly entertaining and intriguing speech on Flying Saucers . His impromptu dealt with sev¬ eral interesting aspects of Air Travel . John Lindsay of 13A, who delivered a timely speech on Canadian Industries , tied for second place with Walter Parashak of 12A, who spoke very well on Why 1 Am Proud to be a Canadian . Third was George Mahler who spoke on the United Nations as a force against Communism. In the senior girls ' division, the winner, Marilyn Snyder of 12B. delivered an excellent address, India To-day , and topped it off with an equally well-done impromptu, The Importance of Education . Runner-up, Nancy Her of 11 A, gave an interesting speech entitled Plastics . Competition was exceptionally keen in the junior boys ' contest. Douglas Paton of 10A netted first place with his speech, The Atomic Bomb . In his im¬ promptu, he gave a pleasant account of a trip through the Laurentian Mountains. Second-place winner was Stuart Klein of 9A who gave an inspiring oration on Why I Am Proud to be a Canadian , while Richard Randall took third place. The winner of the junior gi rls’ contest was Diane Yates who opened our eyes to some interesting facts about the discovery of radium in her speech dealing with Mme. Curie ' s contributions to science. Her im¬ promptu outlined the difficulties she experienced in learning to swim. Special congratulations go to Diane who placed second in the W.S.S.A. contest. Phyllis Smith took second place in the school con¬ test with an informative and inspiring speech on Helen Keller. In her impromptu, she told of her am¬ bition to be a teacher. Third place went to Anne Johnston who spoke on the dangers of narcotics. Her impromptu dealt with the peculiar Ontario winters. Other contestants deserving credit for fine speeches were Judy Kidd, Janisse Staples, Margaret Carson, Stuart Mills, Garry Tucker, and Carl Bjerkelund. Congratulations! We thank also Mark Johnston, Bob Wade, and Don Bradley under whose capable chairmanship the contests were conducted as well as the time¬ keepers, Don Erskine and Garry Newman and the messenger, Mary Sibley. —Judy Steadman, 1 IB.