North Bay Teachers College - Polaris Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

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North Bay Teachers' College aiu n nl nu nn nn lu In nu un lu nu nu nn un :sian un In un--nu lu :min nu un nu nn nu nn nu nu un un un nu u nu nn ull LUCKY STRIKE You haven't lived long in the North before it hits you. People show chunks of rock to you. or ask what stocks you like, or talk about a forty dollar geiger making you a millionaire. Phrases such as The Mile of Gold and the Golden Stairway fire your imagination. You know that under the very ground whereon you walk run long tunnels where men spend their days and nights digging for gold, in some places a mile down into the most ancient of the continent's rock. XYhether you go picking blueberries. hunting, or merely strolling in the woods, you feel the urge tu strip the rocks, moss, and over-burdemng soil from the land, and expose the twisted, complex rock formations below. Possibly there may be a fortune in gold, uranium, or some hitherto unheard-of metal that will one day prove useful to a machine-lumgry world. A short distance ahead you may find an abandoned mine shaft, prospector's hut or ancient glory hole - evidence that someone before you has seen the end of a dream. You are not discouraged, remembering that in 1910 Reuben Deigle sank a small shaft near the Hollinger and missed a two hundred million dollar mine by a few feet. You reflect that you are not a geologist or assayer, but then Lady Luck, the Queen of the North, has never reserved her favours for the mineralogist or the savant. XVhimsicaIly she has showered her greatest treasures on wandering pan and shovel men like Bennie Hollinger and Sandy Mclntyre. Even now she may be smiling enigmatically, waiting for a potential Uranium King of the North to shout Bingo! Hastily you adjust the geiger counter, standard equipment of all woodsmen, and listen feverishly for its click. You are uncertain whether it is your heart or the machine that is producing the noise. Not quite sure what the sound would be like anyway, you decide that the effort is justified and dig up as many pieces of rock as you can reasonably carry home. Forgotten are the blueberries. the partridge, the trailing arbutus or whatever vagary of fancy led you to the woods. Your thoughts, your senses, your dreams are concentrated on the pile of rocks which you carry on your back and which, with the geiger counter, you sheepishly try to hide from a fellow wanderer whom you meet in the woods. Dreams gradually lose their efficacy to lighten the weight of the rocks during the last mile. You are wondering about the specific gravity of uran- ium as you stumble up the front steps of your cottage. Examining the rocks in the glow of the electric light after supper, you sleepily decide that it is too late to see an assayer to-night, and at any rate there is not that much of a rush. As you sit nodding in your chair, it seems that the small sounds of the night about you are suspiciously like the sounds which you thought came from the geiger counter. In the dim gray light of your room next morning you stub your toe and remark, I must remember to throw out those darn rocks! g -GWEN LEEDER LITTLE JOE Once there was an Indian boy who roamed the forests of the north country. Early in the morning he would come out of his wigwam, pick up his bow and arrow, and start off down the narrow winding trail. Little ,Ioe was a good hunter, one of the finest in his tribe. Because he was only a little boy. this skill was looked upon as a gift from the great Manitou. It was a familiar sight to see Joe come home with his deer, surrounded by children who had gone to meet him. His tribe had never been hungry since joe had learned to hunt. .Xt last the time came when Little ,Ioe was allowed to go along with the older men to trap furs in the winter. The nights were long, and many moons passed before word came from the men. News arrived at last, but it was an unhapppy day for the tribe. Little ,Ioe would not be back: he had been lost. That night ,Ioe's mother climbed the high mountain at the back of the encampment. She knew where her small son had gone. The great Manitou had taken lmn back to the happy hunting ground. Through the dark, still night came the voice of the great Spirit to her. Your tribe shall never go hungry. and you shall be blest with good fortune. The wind blew softly, Io-ee-eel jo-ee-ee! .Xlways when the wind blows in the north country, whether it tosses the clouds or lulls the pines, you can hear in the breeze the name of the little boy Joe. whose sad fate brought good hunting to his tribe forever after. -THERESA STUMP A WISH I wish I were a teacher. l'd teach them how to master, Ilut not the kind you know: The necessary skills - l'fl ljkf. U, gf, my teaching' Gelandesprung and christie Un skis in powfler snow. Vpon the steepest hills. vw! lwrlr. il, ,.1,.:,,, gm,-r,,um1i,,g,' I w0u.l.dn't need to motivate. - Or fill the class with dread. XYith skis all pointing downwards They'd surely get ahead! -BRUCE BUCKLEY I fl make my pupils learn, 'I It flu with NIIIHHIII precision, 'x pwlwt le1npif' turn, I-GE 46

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North Bay Teacliers' College Lfgilfl lay l Ll! THE COLLEGE SONG l. l.et's sing about the happy days We spend at Teachers' College, The fauntainhead at all North Bay's Pedagogic knowledge! Refrain: l-lappy teachers we shall be, Future at the nation we.: Hit. Then we shall remember thee. . . Tempo Our dear old Teachers' College! 2. We gladly mind our P's and Q's And study mativationg We are disciples at the Muse Of Primary Education. lRetrainl 3. With phonics, films and fancies free Bewildering our classes, We try our teaching artistry On little lads and lasses. lliefrainl.