Halifax Grammar School - Grammarian Yearbook (Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada)

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mail he had overlooked. One letter in particular grabbed his attention, because of its Kings- ton, Jamaica, cancellation. He ripped it open and recognized Hal ' s handwriting. He hadn ' t heard from him in a coon ' s age, and started reading: Dear Bill: A year ago when Stan kicked the buckat, I figured I ' d better quit the game for a spell and sold the station to a Yankee outfit. She brought in ninety-five grand and I headed for the old place at Ocho Rios. Anyhow, I ' m still her3 and just lying around not doin ' too much of anything. Well, laying it on the line. Bill, I want to start a station in Kingston. Jamica has al- most two million people and our only competition would be five local stations — only one in Kingston — and all government run. I figure if we ran in there with a clean rock-pushing powerhouse, we ' d get away from the rat race and live a real good life. Bill — I ' m really happy here and think you ' d be too. I realize it wouldn ' t be easy for you to pack it all up and move down here and I figure you ' re quite happy at MCA. But if you want, give me a call and I ' ll fly up this weekend so we can talk things around. Just give me a call or cable, man, it ' s been a helluva long time, Billy, and this place is better than the backwater county — peaceful — 3xcept for Yankee tourists. Cordially, Hal Bill went over the letter a couple more times kicking the idea around. Hal was phoned and told to come on up. His arrival was late Friday afternoon: Bill saw a bronzed, smiling, healthy Hal. His fifty-three years didn ' t show. The argyle socks and green suits were gone. During the show he kept Bill company and at seven-thirty, the two left to eat dinner. At first Bill wasn ' t really used to having a friend again, but it wasn ' t long before the two were going over the venture in earnest. B3tween them was more than enough money to go through with the whole deal, and both of th?m agreed that it was a great idea. Hal flew back the next morning with the understanding that Bill would be down in a couple of weeks. It ' s like starting out all over again, but having something to fall back on. You ' re doin ' a world of good for me, Bill. And soon the Real Bill Webster had to close the curtains, turn off the tensor light, and figure it out all over again in his sleep. Phone rings. Bill grunts, turns over. Rings again, grabs it. Hello? No, I don wanna free dance lesson. And then it was nonstop sleep until the clock radio lured him back into consciousness. . . . . spring sale at Macy ' s starting today! DUBBLYEWEMSEEYAY, FIFFFTEEYATE Dale Dorman slippin ' the goodies to ya onna murky Monday morning baby goin ' hitbound with Chicago and make me SMYULLL!!! Children play, in the park, they don ' t know I ' m alone, in the dark, even though-ho. . . And then come the tribal customs he was so familiar with: Gillette Foamy, Lemon-Lime, Shower, orange juice, bacon and eggs, Listerin3, waiting, waiting, waiting for an elevator. Good Morning, Fine, thanks, smiling, summoning a cab, tipping, coming to office build- ing, waiting, waiting, waiting for an elevator Hello, Same to you pal, Gee, glad you liked it, No, it ' s a lot better now, Excuse me. The game was adeptly played: he knew all the rules and he knew all the nice things to say and he knew that today he would retire from the league. The Facade was kept intact until the dying minutes of the final quarter. I ' m sorry Mr. Webster, but Mr. Urbis is extremely busy at the moment. Can I give him a message for you? Yes please, would you let him know that I ' d like to see him before the day. . . The sound of a quick rap on the office door and a muffled dammit cut him short. The secretary made a pretense of reading the morning ' s mail. Bill knocked on the door and immediately entered to see Urbis, screwdriver in one hand and putter in the other, enjoying a simulated morning on the green. Pulse ratings were pompously pinned up on a bulletin board, and over a cabinet was hung Rousseau ' s Sleeping Gypsy, except that under her head was a transistor radio. Whady ' ll you have, Bill? 18

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onora on RECENT ACQUISITION Paul Talbot— U3 Seven-O-Nine heavy wheels time on the big fifty-eight as we kick off another great solid gold weekend with the Doors! In a singls motion, the whirling dervish cut off the mike switch and loaded up a spotmaster for the next jingle. He always did at least two things at a time and never made a noticeable mistake. Radio broadcasting has been his passion for thir- teen years, and he saw no end in sight to his career. Pulse ratings had forty- two thousand listeners turning him on, and the station ' s management was quite pleased with him as they always had been since dragging him away from Denver ' s KLIR back in sixty-six. Bill Webster was America ' s number on3 disc-jockey and he worked for it. Jim Morrison and the Doors on WMCA — Hey boys and girls, you know that clinical research indicates that over sixty per-cent of you thrill seekers are troubled by scummy old acne — and baby that ' s where Pimgo comes in handy Bill had a way with those teen-directed ads, as his voice was frantic enough to demand attention, yet at the same time, mellow enough to be trusted. Last month he had recorded a series for Pssssss Hairspray and his voice was h?ard in every state. He commanded respect from other jocks in the trade, and was a national celebrity whom everyone had heard but no one knew. But the only person Bill had any respect for was S. Hal Woodley. Hal was the Station Manager who started him off in radio thirteen years ago in Back- water, Georgia, spinning Jim Reeves ' s records and reading ads for the Bijou. Bill never quite forgot Hal, although he was slipping further and further back into fogginess. Hal had always told him to be careful with his earnings, and Bill had never squandered it away. He lived simply but adequately in a small apartment and invested most of a hundred thousand a year income which provided him with a tidy sum to fall back on should his mysti- que ever vanish. His only luxury was a professional sound system which kept him occupied at home when he should have been in a tavern. He was always quick to catch on to new releases and once thought of putting out a tipsheet, bu t rejected the idea. Four years had gone by in New York, and he had still not succumbed to the joys of urban living he had dreamed of back in Donaldsville. He didn ' t exactly miss feeding the hogs, but he felt that life went by too quickly, and the rigid pressure of his job had to be contended with. He was deter- mined to keep himself from falling into a rut, for his light, whimsical style was his living. And Bill was not only an adept jock but a top-notch consultant. His recommendations were rarely adhered to but when they were, ratings usually soared. When Bill took a new idea to Station Manager, Peter Urbis, he was suavely dealt with to avoid any ruffling of his feathers. Urbis saw Webster ' s proposals as idiotic and either too old-fashioned or too re- volutionary. After all, with forty thousand listeners, we can ' t take any drastic measures now can we, kid? I don ' t see how you can stand stand hare and tell me we ' ve got a worn-out formula when more kids turn us on every day. But my series of jingles would cut down on wasted time by all these oratorios and needless repetition. After all, Peter, we ' re a radio station, not an opera house. Sure, sure, Billy, I know what you mean. I ' ll give it another thought: now get outta here; I ' ve got work to do you know. And again. Bill left. Last week he wanted more soul on the playlists; the week before, it was too many live ads; before that some promotion ideas, but he had been getting the same treatment for four years now. Bill had an hour to kill before airtime, and the show was all prepared. When he was mad at something or just had nothing else to do, he usually had a coke and read BILLBOARD. Today, a CASHBOX was grabbed and he savagely thumbed through it, pretending to read, but actually just going through the motions. It was soon discarded in favor of some recent 17

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Nothing thanks, just a nice talk. I know you ' re extremely busy, but this shouldn ' t waste too much of your valuable time. Shoot. I ' m doing my last show for you this afternoon, Urbis. If you want a raise kid, just let me know. I ' ll think about it and let you know to- morrow. You don ' t listen too well, do you? What ' s that? I heard you say you ' re quitting — oh excuse me, retiring, that sounds nicer, doesn ' t it? Now you didn ' t hear me very well either. We ' ll give you another ten a year. No Urbis, I ' m leaving. Yeah, leaving. After all I ' ve done for you and you ' re not even grateful. What am I going to do? First thing you might try is one of your memos. And then an ad in BILLBOARD. You ' re not that stupid, Urbis. I ' m not, but you are! Leaving a number-one station without thinking it over. Think about it for a few days, Kid, and then we ' ll talk it over, okay? Goodbye, Urbis. Yeah, yeah. See you in a few days. Kid. And the ritual continued. Calling movers, throwing a lease-breaking party, selling the furniture, closing the bank account, and all the rest of those petty little things that mattered so much. He had his plane ticket and was ready to take off. Two days later, a taxi took him by the exit ramps and billboards he hated. Past the housing projects where thousands of pimple-faced radio fans turned him on every day, and over the gray deserts on the way to the airport. Bill landed in Kingston a few hours later and, after being cleared through customs, met Hal at the airport bar. Soon the cement turned to dirt, skyscrapers were transformed into small buildings, but most important he was working with Hal again, and Hal was the same, even though the argyle socks were gone. Contrary to the false illusion of today ' s young people, maturing is not a process of the body. It does not come automatically in teen-hood, and can not be perceived through phys- ical appearance. Growing sideburns or mustaches, smoking, getting a car, standing with the crowd on street corners, telling anecdotes of what we two did last night — these are all tricks which teenagers employ to pronounce themselves mature — with negative results. The process of maturing takes place inside an individual. It is an introspection, a self- criticism, and a determination to overcome one ' s many shortcomings. Growing mature is, therefore, a different process for different people. To some it is the assertion of indepen- dence — not from the establishment with revolt and irresponsibility, not from Dad with contempt and disrespect — but from the crutches of conformity, of prefabricated opin- ions, petty prejudices, and passivity, which society provides for those who are unable to stand up by themselves. To others, being mature means being responsible — responsible stu- dents, able to work for themselves, responsible people, willing to accept duties and see them Leah Edelstein — U3 ON BECOMING MATURE 19