Northwest High School - Vanguard Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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on ' ' The culture of high school life in- volved many modes of expressions, the most permanent of these ex- pressions are graphic-writing and art. With the cooperation of Mrs. Doris Bradford, Northwest Pas- sages adviser, and Joe Reynolds, art department chairman, this col- lection of original student com- positions and artwork is presented , I 1. 'vt' .M ' ' ' as representing the scope of creati- vity of Northwest students. Progress l remember when my grandfather used to go out and plow for hours and - hours so he could plant his crops. W' s When he came home he would be iiett tired and disgusted because his crops g would never grow. It took him awhile, it but after ten years of babying that g yyor l ff., is soil, he finally started getting some re- 1-: g f f t sults. And then progress came along U A 4, and took his farm away from him. Be- ff' r:.-:. 'tr'r2 cause he never learned how to use the gg tr- f great mass of machinery that replaced ,,, t so his old horse and plow, he was forced ., r to quit doing what he loved to do - most. Now he is a lonely and forgot- ten man with nothing to do but dream g yy ' A an of the farm he had years ago before l f g ' progress took over. 1' f Q A s l . of . .l Pam Alexander, junior ' Q g jf i if x , ,Rs be l 'H .. X, .. ',, V --i ' V slsi,fQseees r e '-.--'t ,:f. ,jfs W i asf . VKKVL Q V-r 0 .f- I n V , .1 s 'X 4 I I K K itl r .3 ,. 4 t Q ii 5 t mix M W g P I cg g ,, s I Ez. x. Q li Q ' ix V X My ffm' .xx , Q-.fix i Ka fp- r Kathy Viles, senior 31. e le L l fe 'fe H-l l so . O O' CD sta: rcase S .C X . H m. sand c I I m b I ts vt Q fu S m u s t vw as 3 H2 Gail Wald ron , sophomore

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'T , i I My Pal Budgie While Budgie didn't live during my childhood, he didn't quite live dur- ing my adulthood either. Budgie was an additon to my life during sixth grade-I966. It had been about five years since a parakeet had lived at the Van Sant house, and both my mother and I decided to get another one. I We drove one evening to the old Kresge's store lnow Golf-O-Matl in Eagledale Plaza and walked back ,to the bird section. We selected a Igreen parakeet with dark aqua-blue tail. When the saleslady tried to y bring him out, however, the bird be- lgan to flutter about. We lost track of that one so she pulled out an- other one-Budgie. It was the best mistake she ever made. Once we took him home and got him in his cage, he became a skilled acrobat. On his perch, he would turn sommersaults. When we let him out, he would fly wildly back and forth in the kitchen. As Budgie became familiar with our house, he would fly almost anywhere we'd be, using our shoulders as a perch. He would spend hours with me in my room chirping. Soon I learned to mimic him, and he would chirp back. This pleased him and soon we would have regular conversations in para- keetese. I began to actually under- stand his tone of voice and would mimic back in like manner. When he chirped like that, he would bob his head up and down. I started to do it, too, and soon every time I shook my head, Budgie would shake his, too. Though I was his mas- ter, he trained me how to be a bird. We became so accustomed to each other, he would fly down to my plate and eat my food. His favorite treat was to nibble at my bacon in the morning. He once even sipped my cola, perched on my glass. There was no food he wouldn't try. His bathtime was also something to behold. I would turn the water on sprinkle, cup my hands beneath it, and Budgie would fly down. He waded through my water-filled hands like a pond duck. There was so much he did that there is no room to tell it. He was as close to a human being as a bird could be. I mention him now because last I I night ISundayI at about 6:55 Budgie died. I lost the best pal I ever had-a parakeet. Charles Van Sant, senior ,'5.,N ' 1 2. 'lf' .Qi -X. As the blossom opens up to the morn, I feel a warm, awakening breeze upon my heart. As the day slowly disappears, silently, magically, Irecall . . . As the sun's warm rays shine gallantly upon the petals, And as the flower reaches out to the sky, I reach out also But . . . As a shadow falls over the flower, And its petals begin to close, Hiding from the dark emptiness of the night, I realize Pain, happiness, sorrow, ioy, Love Is it worth it? Cathy Kiefer, junior 113