George Rogers Clark High School - Powder Horn Yearbook (Whiting, IN)

Page 7 text:

Ill I ...surrounds only me- There are four walls to every room and more than several rooms to every building. Each day i leave my home—a protective box aiding my personal needs. I walk to school upon a sidewalk of concrete blocks, crossing an asphalt slab once and awhile. My feet long to feel the sponginess of the tiny blades of grass. I notice a seedling fighting its way up through an unending crack in the pavement. I plod on to my destination and wonder why slabs grow faster than grass, flowers, and trees within our environment. Farther along i am confronted by a technological monster . . . boxes on wheels. Several cars pass me by emitting noxious fumes into the air i breathe, as i wait for the traffic light to give me permission to move. Looking around the picturesque area broken by clouds of billowing grey smog i wonder why factories composed of more walls are allowed to pollute in order to produce their packages. Streams and lakes are along my path, but the trash and oil make them look more like garbage pits. I notice rows of cliche buildings, united by a purpose, rather than a reason, as i drift through town. Shop windows carry disposable signs with notices of sales on items bottled, bagged, and boxed. I realize that our small inhibited town strives to move forward. As i near the completion of a routine trip i pause to notice the parallel houses differing only because of individual prestige. Near my destination i stop to talk with friends about the night ' s activities. One friend confronts me and exclaims, Jack and Jill broke up! I realize it might as well be on the boob tube since everyone will know by the end of the day. I reconsider and conclude that some people live beyond the exterior of four sided objects. As i go on down the block i pass a pole mounted in a cement square with the flag of my country waving proudly in the wind, wondering if the energy crisis, the fighting, the money, Nixon, . . . are all worth it. I have my pride! My walk is interrupted by steps. I stop and as i look up, i come upon a huge building with an air of uncertainty lingering about the area. As i skim the tattered and wooden paned windowed walls of the institution, i happen upon a label—George Rogers Clark High School . . . this is my destination.

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Since i find it much easier to walk around those steps i cut through a man-destroyed trample-made path. While pondering whether the steps are paralleled to life i arrive at the north end of the building only to be confused and shocked by the proclamation of two numerals, ' 75 ' gratified on the doors. I stumble up nine worn slabs to the doors, only to discover that they are mysteriously closed by several silver links. I turn to walk unnecessarily to the south end of the school. I can ' t figure out why i’m being held out and question what damage to expect if i get in. I struggle through an obstacle of little people and realize the lack of concern toward them. I wonder why two generations of peers are allowed to be taught in the same building. I plod on past the gym. Our rival’s green paint strewn on the corner of the structure breaks the monotony of its architectural beauty. I pause at the door and enter the building, dropping a wall between me and the outside. Rust, aqua, and tan ceramic bricks startle me, but i stride on through the corridor of the newborn one-year-old structure. I pass the g lass trophy cases contemplating the pride and activities of past years. Wondering if history repeats itself, i almost sense the vibrations of apathy from within the four walls. Doors marked men and women, and doors marked for certain classes remind me of the inner boundaries one is confined to. As i struggle through the air current which separates the atmospheres of the two buildings i realize that the wind might be sucking and pulling me into its clutches, trying by some strange force, to keep me confined within its walls—perhaps a memory! Yet, i know i will be let go. The separate forces of the two buildings compliment the differences and similarities of the newer and older walls. Entering the main hall, walls suddenly change their smooth shiny finish reflecting ones move to the future, to reveal the gloominess of the chipped fortifications. The air seems dampened as the smell of tradition wafts its way down dank corridors. As i arrive i am aroused by the distinctions between different personalities of different backgrounds, different religions, different opinions—these are our people!