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

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RE WA RD He was not a tall man, but in our eyes, his height was exceeded only by his rank. Bespectacled and grave, he stood before us. His hair was greying at the temples and growing thin, even then. His outward appearance was stern and sober, strictly in keeping with his conservative manner and dress. And he ruled his kingdom with an iron hand! For five long years, this was to be the severe exterior that would greet us as students. But, as day after day rolled by, we came to know the friendly smile that often replaced that cold exterior. A latin declension often became- Nightibus, darkibus, no lightorem, climibus, fencibus, pantibus totem. Under the iron hand, we soon found a guiding hand, always stretched out to help. We found a heart of warmth and understanding, when problems weighed heavily upon us. He knew each of us, as one knows pages of a book. Beneath the sombre fagade, we found a man who challenged our best with even better. He spurred us on to achievement when we were ready to abandon ship. When memorizing Latin declensions became boring and uninteresting, he would bolster our flagging spirits reciting from memory Horatius at the Bridge . Never once did he lose the reins, and we worked, knowing, above all, that he was master. Understanding full well that he was a very godly and reverent man, we, as students, plotted to bait him on the question of evolution. Should he deny the theory of evolution, we would pass it on to the science teacher. Our interpretation of his approval of the theory of evolution would be that he did not believe in God. Recognizing our intentions as they were, he stood at the front of the class, scratched his upturned nose, lifted his spectacles, and made a reply which promptly brought us back to ground, and which I shall never forget. As you people go out into the world, you will one day reach a point of no return. You will be alone. You will not be able to go back. You must go on, and at that point in life you will need an anchor. And the only wise and sensible anchor is God! Days became years and graduation came and went. Years later, I returned to that school not as a student but as a guest. The same man was still master and he was unchanged by the passing of the years. He was still guiding students to answers in right, morality, loyalty and truth. As granite withstands the tortures of the elements, so had his wisdom kept its sheen through the years. I passed through the halls and examined mementos of my school days. Here, a painting donated by a grad- uating class, and there, an oleander still green and thriving under his care. I was intrigued, at last, by a dog-eared sheet of foolscap tacked to the wall of his office. On it was a list of names, and I was immediately attracted to that of my brother. There was no heading and nothing to indicate the proper significance of these names, except the college or destination of the student. My curiosity became uncontrollable and I asked what the sheet represented. Oh, he answered in a very sober vein, Sometimes as a teacher I feel ----- well, you know how sometimes you feel ----- perhaps depressed? As if you are not getting across to the students ------ and this list is my incentive. You see, it is a list of all my old students who have gone on to higher educations and better lives. A I feel that I have played a part in their success and I am renewed in vigour and in inspiration. Can one find a greater purpose or value in teaching than his? Surely all his students should stand as a memorial to this man, so unselfish, so loyal, so dedicated and so human! F. Paskins Form Nine. 93

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WITH YOU I know not how it is, But this is true- What I have never said, I say to you. I am myself, and yet Somehow am more Stand at my door. Thoughts I had never thought Glow as some sparkg From your rich flame ignites What else were dark. I know not how it is, But this is trueg In light that floods when you More than I was or am, I am, with you. THE FIRST CROCUS Brown and sere, Waiting and stoic, The hard cracked earth Exposes itself to the early spring chill. Tender and shy, Timid yet eager, Wanting the sun's benediction The slender growth unfolds its arms. Together they give A touch of strength, A renewal of life, Beverley Robitaille Form Four. Something of hope and will To carry tucked inside when despair is near. LOVE Ioan Smith Form Ten. In the darkness of night Reaching out to stop The passing of time Happiness invaded our hearts. One to the other united By eternal bonds Stronger than the passing of time. A lice Allard Form Two .

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THE REBELS You've seen him, on the streets, Or in the classroom, occasionally, or at the corner store, And some of you see him daily in your homes, His hair too long, his clothes unkept, Chanting, Make love, not war, You shake your head in disgustg If he's your son, you tell your friends I don't know what happened to him, And if you haven't a son like him, you're gladg ll WHEN? When will my ship come in? When you man it my son. When will I be a man? When you apply yourself my son. When will I know love? You'll know when you feel it my son. Brian A. Vezina Form Four. You tell everyone that this waste is pitiful, This wasted generation, today's youth, What is going to happen to this world? But what's even more pitiful is, That your scorn has caused it all, And your understanding could have changed it. Barbara Gravelle Form Six. A POEM OF BEAUTIFUL WORDS Lupine, peace, soft, treasure Tinsel, love, early, pleasure Twinkle, life, gentle, palm Flower, spring, heaven, calm Pond, trillium, dawn, swirl Blue, whip-poor-will, whiff, pearl Glow, demure, lazy, kiss Faith, cradle, dreamy, bliss Heather Iohnsto n Form Three . LET THERE NEVER BE A HARRY Once again, the first day of school has come and here I sit alone at my desk watching thirty new faces filing into my classroom. I am about to meet the many little people with whom I will spend the greater part of the next ten months and I find myself wondering what that delicate girl who just sidled in the door will be like or that vivacious young man who bounded in so eagerly. Down in the back corner I see one face that looks vaguely familiar. It's little Harry. Oh, how could I ever forget Harry ? I had met this child almost four years ago. I was at Teachers' College at that time, and it was the practice then for the students to spend a week in certain classrooms in the area to observe and teach an occasional lesson during the orientation period. This particular class was a Grade One, taught by a very efficient lady by the name of Mrs. S-. She was a lovely person I recallg neat grey hair, warm blue eyes, a friendly smile and a charming motherly nature, but it was not long before I realized that there was something very wrong in the relationship between Mrs. S- and poor Harry. Ten minutes never seemed to pass when Mrs. S-did not reprimand Harry for some trivial thing. Harry, sit up straight! Harry, take your pencil out of your mouth! Harry, be quiet! Harry, get busy! Poor sweet Harry with his sad little eyes would squint nervously and cower in his desk. But it was not these words that made the deepest impression on me. It was when she marched down to his desk, placed her heavy hand on the top of his head, and turned it. Somehow it seemed so degrading. In my chair at the back, I would shiver for poor Harry and watch him flinch under the steady grip. 94