Grant High School - Memoirs Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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 Plagiarism MEMOIRS Page 5 PLAGIARISM, as defined by Webster, is “the act of stealing and ■ftVmganothers ideas, words, etc.; literary theft; the writing or other matter that is stolen and used.” It’s a new word, isn’t it? I had not heard of it until occasion called on ne to find the right word, and “plagiarism” suited the conditions. Plagiarism isn't the act of copying other students’ work for our own. There is another word for that. This particular word is applied to literary matter that is copied. Still, sometimes we read and read and re-read a thing until we become so impressed with it, that we forget where we first found it, and so we think it’s our own work and hand it in to be published over our name; we don't think of what the originator might think if he read his words over our name. It seems that the practice of copying another’s words required the services of the copyright of America, not always to keep people from stealing ideas but sometimes to remind a person that somebody, before him, had had the same idea. Even the laws of America forbid a person to steal, not only articles of substance, but also articles of writing. Above all, where is the honor of a person who uses plagiarism? We think we’re honest. We may not think that copying is dishonest, but it is. Let us keep our honor, above everything, and not practice plagiarism. —John Deifell. WHATE this place! Hate the stillness, the endless yellow of the J| fields, the maddening crickets—Oh, Dad, why did we have to fail?” sobbed Gloria Winthrop despairingly. A wistful smile spread over his weary, careworn face as he quietly said, “I guess, Glory, that your old daddie wasn’t made for a business man.” “Never mind. Father, we should be thankful that we have this old farm left,” comforted Mrs. Winthrop. “I know that it is especially hard for you, Gloria, to give up all your old friends and pleasures; but we must all make the best of things. Perhaps you may learn to like it here in time.” “Like it here! Why—why I’d die if I had to live here always without any pleasures or friends,” declared Gloria fiercely. “But surely some of the boys and girls that you used to go around with at the Club will motor out here to see you,” Mrs. Winthrop suggested. “Oh, Mother, be natural! Just as if they’d waste their time coming out here in the sticks and boring themselves to death when they could be dancing,” bitterly answered Gloria as she flounced out of the room. Gloria was especially caustic towards everything that afternoon. She sat on the low steps thinking how she, Gloria Winthrop, a popular member of their exclusive set had been so cruelly deprived of the necessities of life: now that she was exiled, yes, that was the word, ex- Jerry Cracked A Nut

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Page J, MEMOIRS V. 8. Grant BLitprarp Staff John J. Deifell.......................Editor Josephine Olsson.........Associate Editor Beatrice Desilets.........Literary Editor Janet Young...............Literary Editor Harriet Medernach.... Organization Editor Donald Guild..................Joke Editor Harold Frauendorf............Sport Editor Bernice Henry..................Art Editor Stedman Shaw............Business Manager William McClung. .Asst. Business Manager Rodney Lloyd......Asst. Business Manager Maxine Stein.......................Typist Advisors Miss Burns........................Literary Miss Von...........Jokes and Organizations Miss Whittlesey.....................Sports Miss Croxall...........................Art Miss Houck .......................Business March Ah, March! We know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April’s violets! —Helen Hunt. School Spirit WN discussing the spirit of Grant High School, as a newcomer, I can judge it by the cordial reception given not only to myself but to all others who have just entered this term. There is an unusually friendly feeling manifested in the classrooms, in the halls, in the cafeteria, and also in the crowded buses in the morning. All the students are enthusiastic in the forming of new clubs, and the school seems like one large family. Even our principal radiates cordiality and friendliness and this attitude is necessarily reflected in the students. In my opinion, the student body should strive to further develop this spirit to the highest degree that it may prove beneficial both on track and field. There is nothing so helpful in the winning of interscholastic contests as the unity of spirit and the desire on the part of all to win. So, let’s turn out and yell for our teams, join the student body, and take a part in the school activities! This spirit, so marked now at the beginning of this school, if carried on by the coming students, not only will make Grant High one of the finest schools in the city, but also will give to us, her first students, an inspiration for our future lives. —Dokotiiy Davis.

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Page 6 MEMOIRS V. P. Grant ........ iled on this impossible old farm without any decent clothes and dim chances of ever getting any more. And they expected her ro learn to like this life—to become a country milkmaid! “I won’t like it! I won’t!” she angrily declared as she kicked viciously at an unoffending rock. Gloria raised her eyes and saw a tall, curly-haired boy with a disturbing smile looking at her. How could anyone smile in this miserable place? One of the natives she supposed. “I beg your pardon, I am David Taylor, your nearest neighbor. I came over to see if there was anything that I could do to help you folks get settled.” “Well, your neighborly interest is not wanted,” she snapped. “I’m sorry if I have offended you, but you see I was talking to your father yesterday about his business failure, and I thought that perhaps I could do something to make you a little happier,” he tactfully explained. Gloria’s eyes smouldered. “You needn’t discuss my father’s affairs as they are none of your business. And I shall never be happy here! I hate it, I tell you. Hate it, and you, too, you—you farmer!” she screamed as she fled into the house. David was bewildered. He had never been rebuffed like that before. But he wasn’t to be daunted. “I’ll bring Jerry over tomorrow and perhaps he can help me win her friendship,” he mused thoughtfully to himself as he slowly wandered down the path between the farms. The next day David came over to the Winthrop’s determined to secure a measure of Gloria’s confidence, no matter how small. He found her lying in the hammock apparently unconscious of his coming. He tip-toed softly over to her and with his most winning smile whispered, “Jerry and I have come to see you.” “Are you here again?” exclaimed Gloria, exasperatingly. “I thought I told you that I didn’t want you to bother me.” “If you’ll only let us stay we’ll promise not to bother you,” David pleaded earnestly. “Oh, I suppose you’ll have to stay. But don’t look to me for entertainment for you and your friend—whoever he is.” “Pardon me. Miss Winthrop. Allow me to present my best pal, Jerry Taylor,” he announced. Gloria looked around disdainfully, expecting to see another boy. A delighted smile spread over her face as Dave drew from his pocket a little brown chipmunk. “Oh, isn’t he darling? Do let me see the furry little thing,” cried Gloria who was interested and pleased in spite of herself. When Dave left that evening he had secured a half promise from Gloria to go with him to the little woods back of the two farms and visit some of his and Jerry’s favorite haunts. He intended to make her keep that promise, too. He chuckled happily to himself as he said, “Say, Jerry, did you hear her call me ‘Dave’?” It was a lovely spring morning when Dave, Gloria and Jerry started towards the woods. Along the way Dave pointed out many interesting things that Gloria's less observant eyes would have missed. They reached their destination before they knew it.