Shimer College - Acropolis Yearbook (Mount Carroll, IL)

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THE RECORD 'fWant another cup of coffee, kid? ' Nope. What's the matter? Nothing, She got up and handed him the bill. ifganw cltiange this, he said. xeep 1 . You can have the coffee and a hamburger if you stick around. She stuck around. It was time for the two ten express. They walked out of the station together and stood on the platform. The sky was beautiful. Nice night, she said quietly. Yup he agreed. Nice night for a murder? she asked. He didn't answer, but swung the lantern in his right hand and walked down the platform alone. She stood and watched him. Not bad, she thought to herself, 'tif he'd take off that apronf She followedliim slowly, the click of her heels beating loudly on the platform in the still night. He didnit turn until he reached the end of the platform. Then he looked at her. She wasn't very big coming along in the darlg She walked up to him and smiled. The two-ten t1'ain passe through the station. No-one wanted to get off and she didn't want to get on, so there wasnlt any use stopping the train. They went ,back into the station. Now there would be no trains until five. They started coming often, then. Suburban people have to leave early to get to the city by eight. She drank another cup of coffee. Smoke? he said. Thanks Not many customers are there? i4NOpe.:n When do you close? I don't close when I have customers. Meaning me? Meaning you. She made no effort to leave. The sky outside the window was getting grey. She looked at the big clock on the wall. Four-thirty. Guess I'd better take the next train to the city, she said. Long ride to the city. I know, I've been there. AiYou liye in the city? ' Nope. ' Where do you live? Noplace. You could live here,'f he proposed. What for? 'fNice place, he offered. Hell U she said. Well, kid, you just stick around. She stuck around. People began coming into the station. She looked awful. There were circles underhher eyes and sliie had patencpff her lipstick. What difference did it make? You can was your ace in t iere, ie sai . 'tThanks. She got up wearily and trudged across the Hoor. God, her feet hurt. The five dclocgiltirain dang in and gie station LFG3.l'Bd. She drank anotliei' cup of coffee. Change this i now'. on't nee so much, owe you more. s ie sai . f'Skip it he answered. No, thanks, never run into debt. She placed the bill on the counter. Philip Morris. gre ignored the inorrgey aid handed her the cigarettes. e sun was re in ie s 'y now. Nice morning, he said. K l 'Yup-ll Tired? HNOPQF . . . - . People were coming into the station for the next train now. It was going to be a hot day 3 her clothes were already beginning to stick to her. Better' get into the city.. Five fifteen, the train arrived. The station cleared again. The man behind the counter picked up the ten spot and put it in his pocket. He took off his dirty apron. Hi, Jo, he said to the heavy man in the Seersucker suit who was to take his place behind the counter. Hi. Busy night? Nope S'long, he said as he put on his suit-coat and walked out the door. ANN Rocnn

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THE RECORD REVOLT I want to live 5 and I donyt mean existing in a pretty little world. I don't 4-are particu- larly whether I'm happy or sad, I just want to live. Maybe if I say that over enough times, maybe if I wish hard enough, it will come true. But there's a lot of opposition. Why is everyone so bent on building narrow, sheltering walls around me? I go to church and the minister sends me away with the message, Kept by the power of God . Well now that's very nice, I believe in having a faith. But I don't want to be Kept by it! It's all right to have it deep underneath to stabilize and strengthen one but-I don't want to be buried by it. Can't I do anything with the exhilaration of not knowing whether I'll come out on the top or the bottom, whether it will make me or break me? Must I always think, Whatever happens, I'm protected, I'm sheltered by God? And my parents . . . they mean well. I suppose it's because they love me. But they buy me the right clothes, they teach me the right manners, they send me to the right schools so I'll get to know the right people. Maybe I don't want to know the right people. Maybe I'd like to know a woman who isn't just nice, a man who gambles or drinks, someone who isn't just nice, a man who gambles or drinks, someone who isn't educated! They spend a lot of money on my entertainment. They send me to good camps and on ehaperoned tours. But perhaps I'd like to hitch-hike some place, land in a strange town with no money and only myself to depend on. My teachers set for themselves the noble goal of educating me and giving me culture so that I'll never know poverty and will get a good job. Well personally I'm sick of good jobs, they sound so dull. I'd like to work in an all-night restaurant, or be a maid on a boat, or own a huckster's wagon. The law does its share too. I ean't run away, our very competent police would soon find me and send me home. I can't hitch-hike or wander from place to place, they put girls like that in the proper institutions. But now that I've got my revolt down on paper, I can see who's really to blame. It's myself. The preacher, my parents, the law, my teachers have won. I'm so steeped in their theories and ideals that I haven't enough spirit or daring to do any more than just talk. I'll go right on living my calm proper life. MARJOHIE DUNKEL A PEDESTRIAN The late November winds were just beginning to sting and bite their victims, forcing them to seek protection in some warm shelter, when up the lane trudged an old man, un- mistakably a forlorn predstrian. The pitiable tramp plodded slowly toward the barn, his rags waving wildly about him. A cap nearly three sizes too large for his head was pulled down over his ears, and his tattered outside jacket was pinned together in the front in a futile attemt to keep out the cold, damp air. Worn trousers, heavy from the black muck, were about to drop. Bare threads of cloth tied loosely about cold, numb ankles served as stockings. A pair of filthy feet sought protection in nearly soleless shoes of light canvas. His withered blue claws firmly grasped a small dilapidated box which was f1'equently opened, but in such a fashion that the contents were visible to no one save the owner. FRANCES BONE TEN SPOT With a. deliberate, rhythmic chug the train pulled out of the small station. Faster and faster the wheels turned until finally the girl in the station could no longer count the rhythm with her fingers. She was sitting on a stool at the counter. With a final wail the train rounded the bend, and nothing but a fiat buzz could be heard. The girl sighed. She opened her purse and took out the ten dollar bill. Ten, dollars, and what to do with it. The last money she had in the world. Ten dollars and a ticket to the city. The man behind the counter, wearing a tall white hat and a dirty apron that looked like a butcher's, eyed the bill apprehensively. There was no-one else in the station, and it was nearly midnight. The next train wasn't due for two hours. Nice night, he said engagingly. Yeah, she replied without looking at him. Good night for a murder, he said jokingly. She looked up quickly, but didn't answer. Five minutes passed.

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THE RECORD THE RETURN The pawn fell from her hand. It careened across the board, but neither of the two players tried to stop it. It didn't matterg the game was forgotten. A nervous tension ran through both of them. Two strands of hair loosened and fell over her weather-beaten face. She pushed them back. More hair came. It wasn't import- ant. They were sixty and felt it. Why shouldn't they look it? He leaned back, tipped his chair. Several times he pinched his taut lips. His strikingly high forehead protruded over drawn, bushy brows and the gray, deep-set eyes of a thinker. Suddenly he let his chair down. Both leaned over the table intent on something not the game. It was this seeing the same run-down chicken farm day after day and every night until the sound of chickens-even sleeping chickens-was maddening. lt was this kitchen smelling strong of kerosene smoke and the sound of .lune bugs banging against the window, but, more than that, it was themselves-each other-people whoid had ambitions. They hadnlt wanted money and had scorned those who wasted their days in its pursuit. Their marriage was to be the joining of two ivory towers to make each more splendid. It was successful at first. Schopenhauer and Goethe were more important than the people around them . They made no attempt to make friends. Their own talk had been stimulat- ing and had seemed never ending. But the silence came. Silence can come quickly. At first they didn't need to say anything. Then they could think of nothing important enough to break the silence. Quiet can miike it harder to talk than torrents. The quiet had grown louder the last few years until the sound of one's own voice was frightening. Bugs were piled high on the sill. The storm broke. A sudden commotion in the chicken house startled them both, and she heard him get up to find the cause. The door banged behind him. She was watching the bugs' futile struggle to reach the light. He was back. Fire over therein She was beside him at the door. Then they hurried up the stairs to see the flames from the better position. It was a big fire. He decided from the shape of the flames that it must be a barn. There was a new burst of Haines. Raindrops rolling down the window reflected red from the light. VVhose barn? lf it was the Sherman's, they needed their horses. They wondered, were the animals safe? It might be the Tuckers', the new family with the children, or the Whitehills' beyond the main road, but it must be the .lohnson's from the shape of the straw stack. No one else built them up that way. She thought he was clever to think of that. The kitchen no longer confined their thoughts. They were free of it. They were remembering names and discussing the people. They interrupted each other. This talking was good. All her hair was down now. His gestures were excited and vigorous. They both looked younger. A car from the fire skidded up the clay road. They watched its headlights come around the corner. Talking fast and loudly all the while he broke away and hurried downstairs and went out by the mailbox. He hailed the driver. t'Wl1e1'els the fire?', Barn at Ike .lohnson's. She was leaning out the window. They laughed and laughed. They could figure it out! LORNA D1sNsMo1m THE GIRLIE HAD IDEAS An old man sat on the front porch of the house. His chairwas tilted up against the wall and his feet rested on an up-side-down bushel basket. The house was partway up a hill with corn fields on the right, as you faced it, and swampy land with low trees on the left. Pretty soon a girl came and stood in the doorway. She looked all right, but she wasn't pretty. She had straw colored hair done in one braid down her back. Her mouth was too big. It was a hot, sunny day and she stood sniffling the air and rubbing her hands on the skirt of her cotton dress. See them two fellas comin' down the road? the old man asked. Yeah, I see them fellasf, The two men coming down the road turned up the hill toward the house. One was middle-aged and the other one was young. The young man was thin and his teeth were yellow. One was missing at the side of his mouth. Both men wore overalls and looked like they had been on the road a long time. When they reached the house, they stood and looked at the man and the girl. You ain't wanted here, the old man said, you better get out.