Gowanda Central School - Valley Bugle Yearbook (Gowanda, NY)

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THE VALLEY BUGLE ANNUAL ' 9 Senior Prize Essays The Art of Being A Conformist The easiest way to live a comfortable and successful life is to conform. By conform- ing, I mean subscribing, or at least appearing to subscribe to the. ways of the majority. It does not matter if the conformist is a scoundrel. It he regularly attends the church in power and joins the largest organization, he will have no trouble in getting ahead. In almost every small town there is an organization fusually .a churchj that controls the school, and the whole town in general. If there be any unenlightened individual who is so indiscreet as to disagree with any of their policies, he is immediately ostracized and branded as immoral, irreligious and unpatriotic. Many men have been ruined simply because they preferred to conduct their own bus-iness themselves. I know of a teacher who lost his job simply because some old ladies objected to a perfectly legitimate use of the word damned Once upon a time golf was regarded as a rather idiotic occupation. People could not see any sense in batting a little white ball around half the time and cursing the other half. Now a person who does not play golf is regarded as slightly warped, or at least extremely Hdifferentf' Why is it that men take great pleasure in chopping up the turf with inadequate instruments, yet have a collossal aversion to doing the same thing to the garden with instru- ments especially designed for the purpose? It also appears rather strange to the casual ob- server to s-ee men walk for miles for exercise .and yet refuse to cross the street for some groceries. Many mail order houses guarantee your money back if you are not satisfied, but try to get it. The Constitution of the United States is much like them. It guarantees freedom of speech, press and several other things, but try to speak when and where you wish and write what you want to. Boston furnishes a good example. If anyone who is suspected of radicals beliefs is caught addressing an audience on the Boston Common he is immediately rushed off to jail. In London the Hobbies stand around and listen to the soap-box ora- tion. A Constitution is not an unmitigated blessing after all. But why be disturbed about it? The earth will keep turning and the sun shining re- gardless of what we infinitesimal specks of humanity think about it. Why drown ourselves in bitter tears, over something that makes no difference anyway? As numberless learned men have said The more we know, the more we know that we know nothing. RAYMoND BALDWIN - c. H. s. if Fantastique The sky was lovely last night. It spread majestically into space like a great strip of soft velvet. The moon, hidden deep in the heart of a cloud, emerged bashfully and shone among the branches of a budding tree. Everything became embellished with a mist of sheerest silver. I looked straight upward and the vastness terrified me. I felt uncomfort- ably insignificant. Yet it fascinated my very soul and a strange desire over-powered me to take a trip to the moon. What could I do but mount my chariot Adventure, drawn by faith- ful Imagination and start off ? ' Oh, how high We went! Up, up, and ever up, with cool, kissing winds brushing on one side and dew descending for the dawn on the other. The first 'star was very pale, for it could see Dawn in the distance and already the little star folk were putting out their twinkling candles. g

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. ' i'!ifLQ2 f ,x. it . N ,S C1-.K 9 A ew B THE VALLEY BUGLE ANNUAL Everyone has or should have two worlds as it is and 'Kas it might be . The former is a world of reality, material and progressive with some joy, some sorrow and a great deal of hard struggle. In it one may easily fall by the wayside, so wearied that he is bereft of the desire to climb higher. Here facts are facts and so cold and unalterable that one cannot pass around them. One must Fight through to mould character. The other world is a creation ofthe imagination. It is ethereal- something lovely and rare, cool and soothing like Hinnocent sleep, balm of hurt minds . It is a corner of refuge to those who fall in the real world, giving strength and the will to go on. Have you two worlds or are you anchored to life-long reality? LOUISE PL1ss --b- G. H. s. -- g Chit-Char . Those who have not yet returned their report cards must do so by Monday or bring a quarter. These familiar words come to the student body once every five weeks from the ever- pursuing Mr. Wilbur. Long ago when we were freshmen we thought that this announcement was in the na- ture of a severe lecture. But now, after four years of donating dimes and quarters for failure to return the tell-tale reports, we have come to the conclusion that the announce- ment is an appeal to charity. Last year Mr. Baldwin took a trip to Europe and Mr. Wilbur traversed the United States on our liberal donations. Inasmuch as the revenue from the missing report cards is not enough to compensate both men, Mr. Wilbur makes a few extra dollars each year by charging for breakage in the laboratory. Walter Krebs recently stated that he was going to bring his card back this quarter and fool Mr. Wilbur. Louis Bentley and Walter Chmiel have been taking extra precautions lately and are breaking about two test tubes daily. We hope Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Wilbur will have an enjoyable vacation this year but it is generally known that our charity donations will not be as much this year due to the stock market crash this winter. Mrs. Chojnaki was forced to hand over her duties to Mrs. Bailey for a week because of illness. It is common report that she was a victim of this same market crash because she failed to sell her Public Utilities at 68. Perhaps this explains her malady. Lloyd Sherman has been working hard getting .ads for the paper. He has been faith- fully hounding Mrs. Bury for a full page ad. Thus far no success has been reported but perhaps he would have better luck if he went in the daytime instead of eight o'clock at night. But then his line goes over better at night. The only person on the school payroll who does not give low marks and make lazy students remain after schoolg the only person who does not care if you sit in the wrong rooms or whisper during school hours, in fact, he is a most obliging chap, if you should hap- pen to drop a piece of paper he will come around and pick it up for you, if you lose an article of worth he takes extra pains to see that it is returned to you. Everyone knows this remarkable man. His name is Cap Howard, our Janitor. Beware! Freshmen! Do not try to put anything over on Cap for he is a truant officer and a good one, too. Helen Franklin says it takes a clever girl who can appe-ar sufficiently hesitant with her kisses and still give them expertly enough to warrant another. Everyone knows that Helen is a clever girl. BY HOWARD Ross

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is I0 THE. VALLEY BUCLE ANNUAL Q Suddenly a soft purring sound seemed to descend from somewhere in the space. It was like a chanting brookor a gentle wind. Something flashed and I knew we had reached the moon. I gasped in astonishment and pleasure. VVhat a quaint little place! There were thousands of tiny moon-folk scampering busily about toiling, singing, talking. Of course I was unable to understand them, nevertheless I ventured to speak, having to bend very low to do so. At first they were surprised and frightened at my size and strange appearance, but hospitality and amiability seeming to predominate in their characters they motioned for me to follow them. A workshop! There was a steady hum from the multitude of workers, who seemed to take a fiendish interest in their work. A huge, shiny, new machine gleamed from the center of the shop. lt was shaped like a submarine, with wings and a propeller. The workman- ship was complicated and intricate. There were thousands of tiny seats inside and many richly furnished rooms. Everything was painted silver. No, not painted, but rather stained from the moon itself. How hard and pitifully serious the people were in trying to explain to me its purpose. They jabbered in the queerest jargon, gesticulated and finally gave up in despair. Suddenly it occurred to me that they were contemplating a trip to the earth. I nodded trying to show them I understood. But in my heart I understood more than they, that their appearance on earth would certainly mean destruction. Earthly scientists would gluttonously seize them, experiment with them and finally destroy them. I must save these good little people. Hut how could I tell them? We had neither word nor code in common. I thought furiously-ah l' would destroy their machine myself and save them from my brothers below. So when all the workers had left the shop, I stole quietly to the machine and fulfilled my purpose. lt was not an easy task for I knew this had taken hundreds of years and a vast amount of wealth. I also knew that I must leave the moon and these people forever. The downward trip was sad indeed. Dawn too was descending and I wept as I thought of the grief my deed would cause. Once more on earth l gazed up. All was serene and calm, but I was the only one on earth who knew that all was not calm. The great velvet strip still sparkled, butit had lost its power over me and I walked home feeling that now I could never be a friend of the sky folk. LOUISE Puss 1 c.H.s. 1 History . History is a great gallery of pictures, painted by the hand of Time. The pictures are ever increasing, for each day, Time takes his brush and paints a picture. Time does not discriminate between his subjects. One day he protrays a great and bitter struggle. The next, he paints the picture of a simple homely man, uttering a simple message. Each event, be it one of simplicity or one of grandeur, he paints on his historical canvas. How small we feel when we enter and behold the immensity of this gallery. But there is no time to be lost in astonishment and bewilderment. There are so many pictures that it will take a whole year to look at them all. At first we study the colonial panorama. There is Magellan and Columbus, those jolly old tars. But they do not appear so jolly when we are required to remember the date of their stunts. Then, there is the great epic of American history, the American Revolution. It is one of the most colorful pictures that we find, but we wonder why Patrick Henry wasn't spanked by the King. Such a mischievous but by no means lovable country that this was! We must not forget that ever impartial hand of Time. His picture of peace and prosf perity is just as vividly colorful. We can hear the beat of the soldiers' feet as they march to Washington in answer to l.incoln's call, but we can also hear the ring of the pioneer's axe. We can see the fire of adventure in the eyes of the westward bound. We can see the glow from Friendship's altar as nations find that peace is more desirous than war. VVe come to that most glorious and most gruesome picture, the World War, that pic- ture which taught the world the value of peace. It is a picture that thrills and awes, a picture that must not be painted again. What pictures have fired the blood of youth? Is it WVar, whose Commander-in-Chiei is Death? Is it Peace with its real and mellow beauty? The future may depend on it. We leave the gallery, wondering whether we can make a sketch-copy of these pictures on our Regents paper. ARLENE DOXTATOR