Old Town High School - Ye Olde Towne Crier Yearbook (Winston Salem, NC)

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THE GASESOPAT HE. Light Vee POU LER “Be careful in going over the things in the chest Gramp left you. Some of them might be valu- able. You never know.” These words from the letter my brother Jack had written me, stuck in my mind as I sat there in front of the old walnut chest. This chest had stood in my room during the ten years I had lived with my grandfather, and at his death it had been sent to me by the aunt who had inherited the rest of his property. In it, she had left the things which had been stored there. It was of these things that my brother spoke. I had to inspect the miscellaneous assortment hurriedly, because Jack would arrive within an hour. He could stay only a short time, so I could show him only the things which appeared to me to be valuable. As I unpacked the chest, my only thought was that, perhaps, from the sale of these things I could get the additional five hundred dollars I needed for my long-awaited ardently-desired trip to Europe. First, I took from the chest, a bundle of letters, yellow with age and tied with a faded lavender ribbon. I hadn’t time to read the letters but the stamps looked valuable. Perhaps Jack would be in- terested in these, so I put them aside to be saved. Next, I pulled out some handwoven woolen and linen coverlets. They might be worth keeping, so I put them with the letters. In a box among these coverlets, I found some odd pieces of jewelry. I didn’t know whether they were valuable or not, but I added them, anyway, to the pile of letters and coverlets. Then, at the bottom of the chest was a collection of small hand-carved figures. I knew they were worthless. My great-grandfather had been a ceaseless whittler and his carvings had littered my grand- father’s house. I had come to, hate them during the years I had been obliged to dust them. I don’t know why they were sent to me, except, that my aunt wanted, perhaps, to get rid of them. At ran- dom, I selected one, — a pointer, artfully carved with clear-cut lines, almost lifelike, and not more than three inches, in height, The other figures were as tiny and as well carved. In all there must have been about twenty-five or thirty of them, all over a hundred years old. I put the pointer aside as a keepsake. Then gathering up the rest of the figures, I carried them to the open fireplace in the den and threw them on the blazing fire.. The old wood kindled easily, and soon the figures. were completely burned. As I was returning from. the den, I heard the dcorbell ring. I opened the door and found Jack, busily brushing the light snow from his hat and coa t. After embracing me warmly, he asked about the chest and its contents. Taking his hand, I led him up the steps to my room. “T’ve just finished sorting the things,” I said. “I don’t know whether they are valuable or not, but there are some handwoven coverlets and some jewelry, besides some old letters with. stamps that might be valuable.” As he knelt on the floor looking at the things I had selected, I stood by waiting eagerly. At last he shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Sis. It doesn’t look too good. The coverlets are handwoven, but not in a very elaborate pattern. The jewelry is cheap. As for the stamps on the letters — they are old, but not very rare. I'd say everything in the chest would be worth not more than a hundred dollars.” Then he picked up the miniature I had kept as a remembrance. “It’s too bad you don’t have any more of these,” he said. “I bet Gramp would be surprised to know antique dealers are paying twenty- five dollars and more for pieces like this!” Ln a PROBLEM, DAUGHTER My mother says I cannot go Out with the gang to see the show. Somehow I think she’s strict with me, But she says, “Just you wait and see!” “Some day you'll have a daughter, too, Who'll be a problem then to you, Who'll want to waste her precious days Instead of learning lady-ways.” Then I say, “But I’m getting old, Fifteen years [ve lived all told; Scon for me will youth be fled Motker sighs and shakes her head. 33 ! I guess there’s really nothing new In mine and Mother’s points of view. Two roads run north and never meet; Two roads for mother-daughter feet. Jane Fulk.

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In one of those lush night clubs that border the beach I found Mary Dull selling cigarettes. The genie nodded again and we were whisked in a cloud of vapor to the Pacific Coast where I saw Joan Beroth drowsing in the sun. Her lunch room business must have been successful! In a nearby gym crowded with wide-eyed pupils I saw Barbara Doub giving swimming lessons. Who wouldn’t be eager to receive instructions from the Olympic Champion? Jn the same gym I saw All-Americans Wilma Deal and Ruby Jean Shore on the basketball court, passing the ball as smoothly as they used to at Old Town. We left California and were swiftly sped to the nation’s capital, ritht in the middle of the White House. There was Nancy Petree, the first woman president, busily vetoing bills sent in by Congress. I was growing tired and no spot I had seen seemed so beautiful or desirable to me as the green hills of home to which the genie and I were returning. Swiftly I sped past identical white cottages overlooking a rolling farm, I knew at a glance that was Betty Lou Cline and India Penland hanging out clothes on identical lines in identical back yards! And there close by stood the small white church where Jane Fulk and her preacher husband served a devoted congre- gation. I saw Jane standing on the church steps looking younver znd prettier than ever. Her husband stood in the arched doorway, but unfortunately his back was turned and I could not see his face. How I wish I could have iden- tified him! A loud bang returned me suddenly to earth and reality. Could I have been dreaming? Wow, what a supercharged, atomic dill pickle that was I ate last night! “FRIZ” LAWSON, Prophet. MOON MAGIC She rambled on in friendly wise, “We're having lovely weather, And if you look beneath that tree You'll find a red bird’s feather.” When everything was dark and still I slipped outside last night To see how sweet my flowers bloomed By the new moon’s light. I thought I heard, as I turned away, A pleasant-sounding chuckle, And there a cricket sat and laughed Upon the honeysuckle. Beside the brook there nestled sweet, A wee, pink lady-slipper And down upon it spilled the dew From Heaven’s lovely Dipper. Since moonlight and magic are fickle and fleeting, And stardust and perfume are rare, I gathered everything I saw, Yet left it growing there. A marigold then called to me And whispered in my ear, “Be very careful where you tread, A baby bird sleeps near.” Jean Belton. FAITH Palely Shine the stars Through the springtime gloaming, But bright and clear they pierce the winter’s Darkness. Hunter Lee James: SUNSET The sun, A dying ember On Heaven’s majestic hearth, Burns the day, slowly and sadly, To ashes. Buddy Belton.

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MODERN MISS Fair Romeo and Juliet, No truer loves have ever met; They weren’t like young folk of today Who never fool their time away As such a very simple thing As having one beau on the string. Instead of one, three swains or more A pretty girl finds at her door. My ma an’ pa thought it was right To fall in love at very first sight, But ere I land what grabs my hook, I plan to take a second look. While I am young I want my fling, With dates and clothes and everything. I want to pluck flowers and dance with the wind, And dream that such joys can never end. I have no wish to settle down; The thought of marriage makes me frown. Since wedded life is not all roses, Pll wait, at least, till a man proposes. Mary Lou Blevins. INTROVERT Oh, why must I always dissemble Why must I shiver, shake, and tremble If I my “self” could just unbind I’m sure I'd find Within my mind An egotistical “me” confined. A ‘me’ that leads me on a trail, Up a mountain, down a yale, That makes me blush when I’d grow pale, Then makes me too blue, And too glad, too, A “me” I simply can’t subdue. If my own faults I did not cherish, If I could only let them- perish, I’m sure at last I'd get my wish, Subdue this “T’ Whom I decry, And the raucous rascal, ‘‘me,”’ deny. Pat Dockery. TRANSITION Par out On old blue ocean A pirate ship at sea By raging storm and blowing wind Is doomed. And soon The ship will lie Upon the ocean floor It’s gold, it’s men will be henceforth —Fish food. Herman Shamel.