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

Page 24 text:

•THE SPARTALOGUE — 1959 Page Twenty-Three WHAT EVERY TEACHER SHOULD KNOW Crack! A long silence. Crack! The screams of a child. Bang! The closing of a door. Clop, clop, clop. A skinny black-coated figure strode to the front of the room. Waving a flexible willow switch, Master Stonehouse growled, That goes for the rest of you little urchins too! Repeat the Declaration of Independence. Weak little voices answered his terse command. Louder, do you hear, or you ' ll get the licking of your life. Perfunctory shouts sprang from the trembling students. A piercing smile of cruel satisfaction appeared on Master Stonehouse ' s face. When I was a boy, I knew my lessons perfectly. I had to! We had strict teachers in those days. None of this molly-coddling! shouted Stonehouse. That night, one of those petrified pupils of Master Stonehouse went to see her grandmother. Grandma, do you think the pupils were really as good as Mr. Stonehouse says they were? she asked. Certainly not, dear; children were just the same, answered her grandmother. Imagine that Mr. Stonehouse scolding you. For land ' s sake, do you know he was the worst boy for putting frogs in girls ' lunches or sneaking off to go swimming. I guess he doesn ' t remember too well, giggled Jeannie, but you ' d think he ' d understand us a little at least. The next day at school, Master Stonehouse looked dif¬ ferent somehow, but in what way? He did not look really different and yet there was something different about him. Please recite your memory work with me, he said blandly. All joined in with an eagerness hard to describe and smiles dotted faces that would not have dared a smile otherwise. Don ' t you know your memory work? questioned Stonehouse. All the smiles vanished as little Jeannie trembled and said, No, Master Stonehouse. Then a look of amazement spread throughout the class¬ room as Stonehouse said, Let me help you, then and he proceeded to recite slowly with her. That evening, Jeannie just had to go to see her grand¬ mother. ' Gee, M r. Stonehouse was different to-day, blurted out Jeannie; she was in an especially gay mood. Mr. Stonehouse helped me, and Mike and Georgie tool she hastily added. Why was he so nice to-day, but so bad before? inquired Jeannie. Grandma smiled, rocked gently back and forth, and then said, Sometimes a little memory work does a teacher good. NIGHT FLIGHT Up and down, with dips and dives, With black hooked wings, and shiny eyes. Without the sun, always at night, He screams ahead and continues his flight. His target is sighted, destroying the land, He climbs high above and dives on the band, He continues his flight one knows not to where. Then returns to his homeland through the same silent air. His companion, the night hawk, is making no sound, But swiftly and suddenly swoops on the ground, Attacks his object, then circles up high. Attacks again without even a cry. A screech is screamed from the tree-top tall; Two lights are gleaming as they commence to fall. The white feathered owl with his two hooked feet, Has captured the prey and has made his retreat. Like the shiny black bat making his dive, While screaming, descending, gleaming like eyes, The powerful jet of enormous size, Streaks boldly along, dominating the skies. —Milton Lesperance, 13C. JOHNNY Johnny was a brainy, scientific kind of chap. He knew his cubes and calculus, Geometry and formulas, As soon as he could talk. He studied up on physics with his pablum and his pap. He nearly made an atom bomb, For which he was chastised by mom, As soon as he could walk. At school he was a problem to his teachers, one and all; Discovered anti-gravity In Kindergarten primary While playing with a top. He floated rafts of building blocks that cluttered up the hall, And coasted on them, yelling, While others did their spelling. They couldn ' t make him stop. In high-school tho ' , he settled down and worked with might and main. He polished off his chemistry, His history and his hemistry, And looked around for more. Higher education made a certain minor change inside his scintillating brain. He began to build a rocket But later he just dropped it For it had begun to bore! You ' ll find him in Bahama lying underneath a palm tree, Gathering virtue like a Buddhist, Contemplating his left knee. —Andy Small, 1 2A. —Mary Holden, 1 2A.

Page 23 text:

Page Twenty-Two THE SPARTALOGUE — 1959 MEMORABLE NIGHT Along the decks they amble gaily With only care of what to do, The game of skill and sport are over And now they must invent anew. Let ' s watch the path the ship is cutting (That sparkling spray of foam!) Or count the stars that glow o ' erhead— No night like this at home. Among the many faces there Not one could ever guess That soon they ' d find their final home— Their final home of rest. Dash it all, what have we here? You say the ship is sinking? It cannot be; it must not be: The danger light ' s not blinking! So many died, so many failed To grasp at life ' s fast-fading hand, Yet no remorse, regretting now Can help the members of that band. What can it be that in men ' s minds They dare to tempt the mighty gods? It cannot be; it must not be: Or else be victims of the odds. AND THEN THERE WAS ONE The date is August twenty-seventh, nineteen fifty-eight. The setting is a United States Air Force base in the Mojave Desert of New Mexico. The place is a glass-walled control tower, crowded with military dignitaries, and scientists. The occasion is the first attempt of a jet plane to shatter the confines of the earth ' s atmosphere. From the control tower of the air base the viewers can see the poised profiles of two sleek United States Air Force experimental rocket X-9 aircraft. The planes are a bee¬ hive of activity as technicians and mechanics scurry to and fro making the customary last minute checks and test s. The picture changes as the broad expanses of runway become remarkably void of movement as the wail of a siren signals that the runway area must be cleared for action. Now, only two men stand beside each plane, one to help the pilot into the cockpit and the other to remove the ponderous blocks from the airplane ' s wheels. Two test pilots emerge from some unknown area and walk side by side towards the needle-nosed metal birds on the runway. Their faces are not taut with anxiety; instead their warm human laughter at some personal joke seems to shatter the tense atmosphere of silence which has prevailed. Indeed, as the two pilots strode to their planes and climbed into the cockpits one could not help wondering where and what human emotions lay cloaked beneath the plastic bubble of their oxygen masks and the bloated swellings of their thermal flying suits. Were they really as calm as they seemed; or was their stoical app earance and laughter a mere cloak for human fear? A blaring loudspeaker once more motivated a burst of activity. The runway was cleared for flight and the control operator gave the okay for take-off. One, then the other hurtled down the runway at screaming speeds until the noses arched upwards and wheels no longer touched our world. The first plane wheeled in a broad circle ' till the two were at the same altitude; then they disappeared into the haze of the afternoon sky. All eyes were then turned to the scopes and dials of electronic tracking devices, while on the runway trucks with mobile antennas started tracing the flight of the two planes. Meanwhile, the co-ordination control centre locked and guarded its doors for security reasons and was en¬ gaged in a wave of furious action. Plotting reports from radar and detection apparatus were relayed on to the scopes in the co-ordination center room, revealing the altitude at which the planes were flying. One minute, two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes went by until finally the planes could be detected no longer. They had flown through the atmosphere. The co-ordination center announced this via the loud speakers and pandemonium broke loose. Men slapped each other on the back and shouted phrases of jubilance. But in the control center room there was cause for alarm. After one minute the scopes had again begun to track the planes. True, enough, there were the blips on the scopes. But anxiety turned to stark fear and amazement, for now there was one. —Jean Holdsworth, 13A. —Arthur Armstrong, 13A.

Page 25 text:

Page Twenty-Four THE SPARTALOGUE” — 1959 IS CHILDHOOD THE HAPPIEST PERIOD OF ONE ' S LIFE? Who ' s that crawling around the floor? Fred laughed as he picked up his year-old son, lifting him high above his head. Little Donny gurgled his pleasure at this man with the big thumbs which tickled him in his ribs. Fred and Dorothy loved their new son. They laughed together at Donny ' s curiosity as he crawled under the chairs, through the door-ways, and around the chesterfield. He had been a nosy, happy little thing ever since they had brought him home from the hospital. Dorothy had had some trouble in childbirth, and, as a result. Dr. Rhodes had performed several tests on Donny to see if he was all right. Dr. Rhodes had assured Fred and Dorothy that nothing was the matter with Donny at all. And on seeing this bubbling little creature running wild in his bliss, they were certain that Donny was perfect. The day Donny had been brought home seemed so long ago! Ever since then, he had been made the centre of attraction, and he was enjoying every minute of it im¬ mensely. As he lay tucked in to the chin in his tiny b lue crib just before nap time, Dorothy would come into the nursery to admire him. She would coo at him and tell him what a beautiful baby he was; he would gurgle back at her, a twinkle in his eye. As Donny grew, he grew in a house of love and affection. Fred and Dorothy were deter¬ mined that Donny would never be able to say that he had grown up in a house without love. But love and affection did not seem sufficient for Donny. In almost everything he tried to do, he failed miserably. He just couldn ' t seem to co-ordinate his brain and his hands. He stumbled frequently as he climbed the stairs. Even though he was not yet in the first grade at school, he did not seem to do as well as the other children in many ways. Dorothy realized that something was terribly wrong with Donny, and she arranged an appointment at the Medical Clinic. The following week, as Dorothy was walking out of the Clinic, she seemed too stunned to speak. She clutched mercilessly at little Donny who was in her arms. Mentally retarded! What could she do? How would she ever tell Fred who had always been so proud of his son ' s perfection? Somehow, Dorothy managed to blurt out the horrible words when Fred arrived home from work. He, too, was too stunned to speak. A look of horror came over his face; it changed to sadness; it changed to disgust. The next day, Dorothy applied for Donny ' s admittance to the city ' s special school for retarded children. Bui there were now so many children at the school, that the head-mistress was forced to tell Dorothy there was no room. Donny stayed at home, and Dorothy tried her utmost to help him. But how could she possibly help him when she received no co-operation from her husband? Fred ' s love for his son had grown to disgust. He no longer played with Donny; he completely ignored the child. Donny was entirely bewildered by all this. How was he to know that his life would be one endless childhood? Donny grew in stature. Nothing else. He had reached the peak of his mentality and could go no further. He had learned, through the patience of his mother, to make his hands do what his mind wanted them to do. But there was always someone to make fun of him. The neighbours ' children taunted him. And if their parents saw the children around Donny, they would say, Come away from there. It ' s not safe! How utterly ridiculous! But the boy could only turn his back and retreat to the house. Childhood should be a happy time. Childhood should be remembered for years to come. Donny would not have to remember his childhood. He would always be in it. Never would he grow out of childhood. Is this the happiest part of one ' s life? No! It is Donny ' s childhood. Can we help these children? Can we make their childhood the happiest part of their lives? —Judie Hickson, 1 2A. ONE CAME BACK They were young and full of the vitality of youth. They laughed and joked as they strode lightly over the ancient, snow-covered trail that led to the unconquered Dead Man ' s Mountain in the Himalayas. They clambered easily over the peaceful foot of the giant that had foiled the attempts of the greatest professionals. As they went higher a frosty hint of the giant ' s icy breath blew over them, and they suddenly realized that what had once been just a daring adventure to four young men just out of college, had now become a menacing reality. The dazzling white pinnacle had looked so easily attain¬ able when the old guide had told them of the dangers involved in climbing this mountain. They had assured him that they had the finest and newest equipment that money could buy, but he still refused to accompany them. They had laughed when he told them of the curse placed on the mountain by Baron Von Hessman, the renowned German mountaineer, just before he died as a result of his fall from one of the icy slopes of this mountain. They had not dared to show the twinge of fear that each felt as the old man said this, but they decided to set out alone to conquer the invincible. They remembered the curse as they edged around a narrow ledge at dusk. The oncoming darkness and the snow caused the ledge to be more dangerous than usual. The last man in the party hesitated as he stepped onto the ledge, then he slipped. He seemed to hang suspended on the edge of the precipice, until, with a piercing scream, he plummeted downward. Horror was mirrored in the eyes of the three remaining. The new rope, part of the finest equipment money could buy, had snapped. Perhaps the curse had caused it; but that was just a superstition. The following night seemed to last an eternity as the three men huddled in their tent awaiting the dreaded dawn. Suddenly one spoke. Jack and I have decided to go back. This was all good adventure until Tom fell, but it ' s no joke now. The last man of the party looked at the two of them. A fire of scorn kindled in his eyes and then went out. I understand, he said with a sigh, but it ' s a matter of pride with me, I can ' t go back now. Wait for me here Continued on Page 66