Humboldt County High School - Winnada Yearbook (Winnemucca, NV)

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FOR 1935 Nothing Ever Happens By Bettye Herline Can I do something for you today? asked the young service station attendant. Fill up the tank, and check the oil. I've come a long way today and I imagine that most of the oil is gone. The attendant busied himself, while the man in the car lit a large cigar. The attendant thought to himself, I work day after day here in this station and what do I get out of it? Nothing but twenty eight dollars a week. I'd probably earn more digging ditches. This person seems to be a worthless sort. He drives a big car, smokes expensive cigars, and travels from town to town with no thought of the less fortunate people of the country. I rtai nly envy him all his luxury. The car will take about two quarts of oil. Shall I put it in? Yes, and you'd better check the battery water, too. When the attendant had finished he asked, Is there anything else? No thank you, was the response, Where can I get something to eat? Two blocks straight ahead, on the right hand side of the street. When the car was out of the driveway, the young man lit a cigarette and watched the glowing end of it, thinking. What a worthless life I lead. I'm here, every day of the year and what does it get me? There's not even any excitement. Nothing ever happens here. Hello, Lee, a young voice called to him. Hello, youngster. How are things? Swell, Lee. Listen, mother wants you to bring home a loaf of bread when you come. O K, Marge, I will. Lee grinned at his sister, Like to buy an ice cream cone, kid? Um.fium, she murmured as she licked her lips. Well, try and get it. Lee laughed at »her. With this the sister started running after him. After a scuffle, he finally gave her a nickel and away she ran calling back over her shoulder, Don't forget the bread, Funny Face. As he reentered the station, he was thinking what a fine sister she was. It was more fun to scuffle with Marge than take Clarice Hemingway to a dance, even though Clarice was the best looking girl in town. With these thoughts running through his mind, he did not notice a short man standing by the oil drums. The man behind the oil drums spoke in a harsh whisper. Come on, brother, step to one side, and no funny business either, get me, or I'll riddle you so full of holes you'll look like a sieve. Lee turned a chalky color and gasped. He'd heard of hold-ups, but he never expected to be in one. He watched the man open the register, take out all the money which amounted to about one hundred dollars, and then the man turned to him and spoke, Now brother, you lay down on thet floor and don't let a cheep out a' ye or move for five minutes. Do you get what I mean? Sure, sure, I'll stay here. I won't move, Lee stuttered. O K, see that you don't, the man said, as he pointed his gun threateningly at Lee. Lying on the floor too frightened to move, Lee suddenly heard footsteps in the driveway. He was certain that the man was coming back, (fearing that Lee would report him) and was going to get rid of him. Cold prespiration broke out on Lee's hands and forehead, ana his head felt rather dizzy. It seemed hours that he lay there listening, but finally he looked up. A woman was standing in the doorway. Well Lee, are you playing a new game? Lee was terribly embarrassed as he realized that he did look ridiculous. He felt that any explanation would be inadequate. Oh—Clarice------1-----Well-----, he stammered. You don't need to explain a thing, Clarice snapped, I can see that you didn't want to talk to me and tried to hide yourself. Well don’t think I'll bother with you any longer. Lee tried to explain again but failed. As Clarice walked out of the station, he sank down in his chair. A few minutes later the man who was on night duty came to relieve him. As he entered the station he asked, Say, Lee, what's the matter? You look as if you'd seen a ghost. Lee told him in detail all that had happened and when he had finished, they decided that the best thing to do was notify the authorities. After this was reported, Lee left for home. As he walked along he wondered if Marge would go to the movies with him. She was a good sport and lots of fun. He then thought over all that had hap- pened and with a smile he said to himself, Nothing ever happens at a service station.

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WINNADA The Legend of the Willow By Louis Peraldo I One day a golden-haired child, who lived where no trees or flowers grew, was gazing wistfully through the open gate of a beautiful park, when the gardener chanced to throw out an armful of dry cuttings. Among them the little girl discovered a tiny bud » just starting. Perhaps it will grow! she whispered to herself; and dreaming of wide, cool boughs and fluttering leaves, she carried the little bud home and planted it. Day after day she watched and tended it, and when, by-and-by, another bud had started, she knew that the slip had taken root. Years passed. Her lovely home gave place to a pleasant man- sion, with 3 spacious garden where many a green tree threw its shadow. But for the golden-haired child, now grown into a lovely girl, the fairest and dearest of them all was the one she had so tenderly nourished. No other tree, she thought, cast such a cool, soft shade; in no other boughs did the birds sing so sweetly. But while the tree lived and flourished, the young girl drooped and faded. Sweeter and sadder grew the light in her blue eyes, till by-and-by God's angel closed them to sights of earth. Loving hands crowned the white brow with myrtle, and under the branches she had loved, laid her tenderly to rest. But from that hour, as if in sorrow for the one who had tended it, the stately tree began to droop. Lower and lower bent the branches, until they caressed the daisied mound that covered her. See, said her young com- panions, the tree weeps for one who loved it; and they called it the Weeping Willow.

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WINNADA Poets' Corner DAWN First streaks of dawn are weird and grey And touched with silver light; While stars still twinkle through that grey, Exhausted, by the night. The pale moon's face looks tired and wan, As if no hope she sees; The sad moon swiftly glides along And drops behind the trees. Now light creeps quivering o’er the land, Not resting on the way— Then rushes forth and waves its hand And changes night to day. —Evodia Hadden, '35 THE TINY BUD As I walked down the road one day I saw a little flower, The bud had just released its fold To receive the April shower. It seemed to cry, Oh stop! Oh stay! And have a chat with me. Don't go unheeding on your way, You'll miss the things I see: The lady bug, the cricketts, too, The ants and busy bees, The tiny beads of clinging dew, Small buds on Aspen trees. The shiny specks of glittering sand, Young blades of .soft green grass, Insects marching hand in hand, Oh, see these as you pass! —Theodora Pultz, '37 DANGEROUS THINKING It doesn't do to think While studying in school About a hunting trip, Or the catfish in the pool. Altho' I do know better, I keep seein' on the page A blue lake, and ducks flyin', As I grip my old twelve gauge. It doesn't do to think— This has been told to me By teachers and by all the rest, But I'm hopeless as can be. —Robert Gorham, '37- AUTUMN IN NEVADA On the creek's edge the columbines bloom, Their bright red flowers giving off a fragrant odor; Motionless, they lift their chubby faces to the light, More beautiful still, their sisters hide in the crevices of rock. Down in the valley twilight has come; A veil of purple shadows the mountains; A faint, cool breeze hustles over the earth; The columbines still lift their sweet fair faces to the twilight. —Dora Gibbons, '35 MEMORY Memory is a little guest Who comes to visit me; Some days he makes me Feel so happy and other days He hurts--- Until, then, I think memory IsVa little snake that comes To torment me. —Frank Pedroli, '34