James Whitcomb Riley High School - Hoosier Poet Yearbook (South Bend, IN)

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Y OVELY piece of linen!-small, finely woven. exquisitely patterned. slightly yellow with age. I held it reverently in my hands and once again summoned to my mind the image of a tiny wrinkled old lady, with snow-white hair and the mer- riest of twinkling blue eyes, who had tended the flax in the early summer. strip- ped the fiber from the stalk. bleached, woven, and embroidered that lovely piece of linen. Great-grandmother Elizabeth. ninety years young, who still sewed busily on innumerable quilt blocks and who en- joyed nothing so much as to recall glor- ious stories of her girlhood for anyone who would take the trouble to ask a few questions. And such stories as they were --tales of pioneer life breathing of the ex- ultant joy of freedom. of the small amus- ing events of every-day life, of the un- speakable hardship and privation. all borne with undaunted courage and a smiling heart. Her great-grandfather had come from Germany to settle with William Penn in the eastern forests of our country. Penn- sylvania Dutch they were called-and the name still clings-a staunch, hardy, prac- tical race, who worked untiringly turning a desolate wilderness into thrifty farm lands. The turn of the century saw their canvas-covered wagons drawn by heavy teams of oxen wearily plodding their way into Ohio, and thence to Indiana. Great-grandmother remembered little of the trip but she did remember her first home in Indiana-a square cabin made of small. round logs, notched, and roofed with clapboards. The door was a hole cut in the side and closed by a skin. At the end stood a mud and stick chimney open- ing into a huge fireplace decorated with a semicircle of three-legged stools. At the opposite end was a straw and shuck bed: underneath a trundle bed for the babies was hidden away during the daytime. Ev- ery night the covers were turned back to be sure no snakes had crawled inside. In another corner of the room was a table with its quaint table-ware of pewter, gourd. and wood. Here little Elizabeth was very happy. She was naturally lovable, kind and gen- tle, as befits a little girl brought up in the VISTA- old Dunkard faith. Many joyous hours she spent learning the household tasks from her patient mother-how to care for the animals, the chickens and the geese, how to spin and weave, how to prepare delicious meals for the hungry men-folks from the barest of provisions. But the days were not all work. The little girl liked to play house down by the spring with her twin brothers, to act out plays with frogs for an audience, to build houses from moss, tiny twigs and stones. But best of all she enjoyed the times when Mother would dress her in her Sunday homespun, put on her bonnet with the crisp bow beneath her chin, take her hand and start down the trail to the Taylor's homestead. Mrs. Taylor was the kindest twinkliest lady imaginable. She always had hot Johnny cake and foamy milk waiting for hungry little girls-and the grandest, most shadowy spring house where the moss grew thick and cool and the water gurgled and chuckled as if telling itself amusing stories. It was just the place to dabble hot dusty feet in cool water. and to imagine all sorts of tales about Indians and pioneer weddings and house-warming picnics, One sweet spring afternoon Elizabeth sat on a stone watching her mother pick- ing the geese for a new feather bed. The breeze ruffled her soft brown hair and the sun shown warmly on her back. She could faintly hear the men's voices shouting as they grubbed out stumps in the Held be- hind the cabin. At the edge of the clear- ing the tips of the trees danced merrily, as if beckoning her to come to see them. She simply could not resist the desire to steal down the path, bare feet padding in the dust. and to crouch down behind a big boulder at the turn. Mother's back had been turned when she saw Father ap- proaching for his daily jug of cool butter- milk and she hadn't seen. What fun to be freel She would go see Mrs. Taylor. Um- m-m. she could just smell the hot corn- bread! The tall trees made cool shade and every stone invited her to sit down and rest. It was great fun to explore behind every clump of elderberry bushes, and to hunt for wild strawberries hiding in the deep grass. She wandered wherever she chose-here chasing a white butterfly and 20 HOOSIER POET

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RILEY SENICDR DRCHESTRA HE Orchestra, under the direction of Mr, P, H. Riggs, started the school year by entering some of its members in the North Central High School orchestra. All of the stu- dents who were candidates for this selected group gained high places in competition for positions. At the beginning of the 'f year it was decided to make an effort to secure more instru- ' ,jf ments for the orchestra so that ultimately the group would F DQ4' -Q '- I have all of the instruments required of a full symphony or- if chestra, Two new violas and a string bass were purchased ii and with the addition of these instruments the orchestra could now be called a little symphony since it now contains all ,. of the instruments that are used in symphony orchestras. pb H- RIGGS The members of the orchestra have decided that they will play one symphony each year in addition to a great many smaller programs. At the Orchestra concert in the spring the Second Symphony of Haydn will be played. Within the orchestra are several small groups-the string trio, the violin quartet, the mixed woodwind quartet, a newly-formed string quartet, and the string ensemble. Verla Hilliard is president. Elmer Blondell, vice president: Dorothy Nall, secretary and treasurer: Margaret McGaughan, social chairman: John Nyka, business manager, and the librarian is Edward Modlin. The members are: Eirst row-Donabelle Hively. Harry Paige, Ruth Dauner. Mary Walz, Inga Magnuson, Helen Dean. Second row-Betty Walz, Dorothy Nall, Elmer Blondell, Ann Manders, Barbara McCaughan. Verla Hilliard. Virginia Fitch, Gerald Hosier, Eloyd Van Meter, Jean Wolfram, John Nyka. Margaret Schantz. Third row- Virginia Stevens, Marjorie Rothkopf. Noble Heidrick, Marjorie Norris, Donald Hosier, Dorothy Mossholder. Gertrude YVolfe. Betty Vklolfram, Peggy Yockey. George Rodibaugh, Robert Eelkins. Robert Bullock. Donald Garcola. Edward Modlin. Standing-Betty Mageau, Edna Butz. Dean Detweiler. I-IOOSIER POET 19

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there watching tiny red ants busily dig- ging sand from their new home. The sha- dows grew longer and longer. but little Elizabeth was too busy to notice. Evening slipped over the forest to the lone cabin in the clearing, The sun was just setting beyond the low hills in the west when the men came home from the Held. hungry, dirty, tired-but no little girl came with them. The mother was frantic when she learned Elizabeth had not been with her Eather all afternoon. The men plunged out into the cool evening once more. and ran down the trail calling and searching. but to no avail. The for- ests. so friendly in warm daylight. glow- ered and threatened as night approached. Finally the father started to the Tay- lors for help. They would form systems of searching parties and hunt th: sur- rounding timber lands from end to end. With growing apprehension in his heart he rounded a bend in the trail and there in Taylor's outlying field on a big log stood little Elizabeth. surrounded by fluffy white lambs. preaching to the sheep! Elizabeth grew to be a lovely fair girl. strong in body and in mind. She married a quiet. upstanding pioneer boy, and they went further into the wilderness of Indi- ana to build their new home together. Through the Ere of sickness and pain. starvation and hardship. the character of the girl was molded into that of a fine woman, clear-browed. Ciod-fearing. pa- tient in the face of adversity. Out of her family of five, three are still living fine lives, carrying on in her footsteps, a living monument to one of the most courageous of pioneer spirits. -Georgia Lou Palmer. Koch: What made you walk out of my class this morning? Joe Domnonovich: I was moved by your lecture. ft 351 Ilf He: I'll bet I know what you're think- ing about. She: Well, you don't act like it. 1 it :li A stout woman said to a little boy: Can you tell me if I can get through this gate to the park? Little Boy: I guess so. A load of hay just went through. I fm +- MONOTONY DISTURBED A shadow Hits in the blackness: The forest watches Ominously. A Zephyr stirs the branches: The leaves moan Silently. A sibilant whisper as the dagger glides on its path- With the icy steel in his hrart the shadow crumples. relaxed. A shadow lies in the blackness: The forest smirks Coldly. No Zephyr clutches the leaves: Yet they groan Hauntingly. -Chester Feldman. IZB. THE DOWNFALL OF A HOBO Oh, but he was a proud old fellow. proud of his slow. shuffling walk, and proud of his slovenly ways. In his tat- tered brown pants, floppy old coat. and red handkerchief. along with the tradi- tional stick and bandana he covered the country from one side to the other. He always wore a flower in his button hole, for he loved their bright colors and it adds so much to one's appearance. His personality was a winning one, en- tirely contradicting his appearance. Wher- ever he went he made people want to do things for him: they never refused. He was known as The Count. Looking into The Count's half- closed, dreamy eyes. one found a deep con- tentment there. This was the life he wanted, the wide-open spaces, a pipe, and a campfire. and he was entirely satisfied. Then came the amazing and fatal step! The Count bought a horse and wagon! He thought he could see the world so much easier with a horse. and the few ex- tra cents for junk-collecting would buy much better tobacco. But his friends mis- understood: they thought he wanted to work. This was the downfall of the The Count : he was rejected, never again to be taken back into the fraternal brother- hood. He had broken the faith-. -Dorothy Jane Kettring. HOOSIER POET 21