Griffith High School - Reflector Yearbook (Griffith, IN)

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The bus. To some the bus is regarded as a four-wheeled vehicle with many seats. To these students the bus is the only way of getting to and from school. While some travel to school in buses or cars, other such as junior Tom Schmidt and sophomore Ken Gilbert resort to the oldest transportation known — walking. 9

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I can ' t believe These wheels 5 ome hike it, some bike it, some slide it; but we all do it. Somehow, someway, we all travel from home to school and back and forth, and back and forth . . . For many, the daily gauntlet begins with an angry alarm clock, a slurped bowl of sogged Wheaties and the overzealous massage of the school bus galloping over railroad crossings in 1-2-3 easy jolts. Ah, the school bus: possessing all the simple grace of a two-legged rhino, the light touch of Hulking Hilda the muscled masseuse and the quiet purring of a choking cat. Yet in spite of their shortcomings, buses have been adopted by many as a second home. Many choose these sputtering behemoths to study, eat and sleep in. Buses. Bless them, they need, it. Yet, as some ride in the bellies of these big yellow dragons, others are forced to brave the weather alone. Oh, the joys of walking in the cold: the fun of enduring. That cold blue smile on a friend ' s lips, that stinging bleakness, fondly reminiscent of Jack London ' s “To Build A Fire, that sheepish look of embarrassment as one realizes just how easy it is to slip on the ice. But in spite of adversity, most people make it to school and thaw out, just in time to leave. While some ride in the bellies of big yellow dragons and others brave the weather, there is still another group, a very select group: those who drive a car to school. Motorcycle mania. While walking and hitching a ride are the usual ways of getting to school, motorcycles are getting popular with those lucky enough to afford them. These people rise in the morning, eat an unhastened bowl of Cheerios, and climb nonchalantly into their stately Pintos. They blare their radios as they pass the school bus; they laugh coldly as they pass puffing pedestrians. But suddenly they are thrown into a frenzy as the Pinto chokes and coughs and breaths its last, and the silent beast is pulled to the side of the road. The heaving school bus rocks by dangerously close with arms and heads flailing out like the limbs of a centipede, and soon the puffing pedestrians pass, drooling with glee to see another condemned. Beat the hike, ride your bike. The rise in gas prices has affected many people and riding his bike is Mr. Charles Harkin ' s wa y of solving the problem. ■M • •mm ' .TJP r “rn ■ T f 1 --

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10 I can ' t believe It ' s Monday The 8 a.m. bell echoed through the empty halls. She scurried to her first hour class wondering how she would make it through the day. She had been awake only two hours , and already had missed her bus, done battle with a jammed locker and slipped on a twinkie wrapper on the back stairs. She braced herself at the thought of what else could happen on such a day. The teacher entered the room. Hola class! he exclaimed, Como estan? She burrowed deeper into her seat, remembering how she detested foreign languages. Her next class was algebra. 2x + 3=47 said the teacher. 22 she confidently said, recalling that math was her favorite subject. She left behind her problems of logarithms to pick up the study of Rembrandt and Picasso. She anticipated art class, because drawing and painting were her specialties. Lunch time had finally arrived. With only 30 minutes to spare, she jumped into her car and zoomed down the street. She sat in McDonalds dining room inhaling a Big Mac with cheese, while simultaneously doing her homework. As she gobbled down her last french fry she realized she had only three minutes to whiz back down Cline, run the 4-way stops at Raymond and Pine and find a spot in the school parking lot. But despite her best efforts, she arrived 10 minutes late for class, therefore receiving her first tardy. Hearing a lecture and watching a movie weren ' t the most exciting things as fourth and fifth hour crawled by slowly. Then it was sixth hour and time for english. She zipped to class, hoping it would pass by quickly, but to her dismay it didn ' t. She scribbled five pages of notes and discovered that she had to write a 10-page term paper by next week. The first Monday had ended, as she left the building with thoughts of the year ahead. Monday mixup. Needing advice, junior Kip Eley consults the right person, as he asks counselor, Mrs. Janeet Howell, for assistance in correcting his schedule. Seeing is not always believing. Junior Suzanne Morgan is unable to grasp the fact that school has begun as she dreams of other things she could be doing.