Sir Adam Beck Secondary School - Lacedaemon Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

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It seemed like a normal night. There had been a light sprink[e of rain, and a glossy sheen covered the downtown thoroughfare. In it were reflected the bright neon signs that flashed above. There was a bit of a chill in the air, but a substantial number of shoppers still straggled in the streets. An occasional pair of headlights sparkled in the clear night air. Over the entire scene lay a veil of serenity . Suddenly, four young members of the motorcycle set split the quiet temporarily as they raced through the downtown section. Irresponsible young punks, thought one storekeeper. Most shoppers didn ' t waste time thinking about it. There were so many other, more important things to worry about . In a short time the motorcyclists were back, but this time they stopped halfway down the street. With nothing more exciting to do, a nearby policeman became the target of their taunts and jibes. Suddenly their mood changed. With a snake-like smoothness they surrounded him. A few muffled thuds, an unheeded cry for help, and it was over. The motorcycles were remounted, and off they sped. Irresponsible young punks, thought one storekeeper. Most of the shoppers didn ' t waste time thinking about it. There were so many other, more important things to worry about . Overhead the neon lights flashed, and the rain started again. Rob MacMillan -Grade 10- Wei I , I ' ve been through almost two years of school , and very soon , (I hope), I ' ll become a member of that elite club known as the senior school . After long and hard years of apprent- iceship | am finally ready to start looking distinguished, aloof, and acquire in general the mark that sets the senior out from a junior. I will be required to change my whole line of thinking, for juniors (the downtrodden masses) will soon exist only to be despised and stepped on. Actually, before becoming sophisticate, debonair, and otherwise stamping myself in the mold of the senior, I wish to make it clear that there were advantages to being a junior. Firstly, you find that seniors expect juniors to act stupidly, because they are stupid, The senior is easily noticeable by his quiet and unruffled manner. A junior, on the other hand, is noisy, loud, and unclean. When first arriving at Beck, a junior is subtly informed of this fact, but are also told that if they work hard and keep their noses clean, they too might one day be- come a senior. But even if you try hard to imitate your superiors, being expected to be dumb can create interesting problems. After all, constantly being told that you are inferior and stupid leads some people to start thinking they are inferior and stupid . The real ization of this fact leaves a junior free to do stupid things. Such activities are severely frowned upon by seniors and the pre- fects are very deligent in rooting out the malfacters(new word recently picked up in French class) and making them confess their sins . Above it all, however, there exist an attitude of tolerance and resignation . After all they are only juniors, and what e Ise can you expect? . So, as I near the most dramatic experience in my life, and as I ready myself so that I, too, will be an example of good to the children of darkness, I reflect that, in spite of it all, being a junior wasn ' tall that bad . Rob MacMil Ian -Grade 10-

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Yes, Moses, let him go on, I said. Frommes surveyed the room, looking carefully at each of us, until his gaze fell upon Mr. Todal who was in a slight trance caused from gazing at the reflection of the fire in the window. Fred Todal was an odd little man with frizzy, grey hair and a thick, droopy moustache. I had often seen him, toddling down the street on winter mornings, placing his cane in front of him and taking a step, then, with a snappy hop-skip-and-jump he would gain a few yards until he had reached h is destination . I noticed Frommes staring at him and gave Fred a nudge with my elbow . Erherm, yes, an anachronism, well I see, he said quickly. It is not an anachronism, Mr. Todal, said Frommes. In fact, it is something far more fantastic than that. Mr. Gleener formed a strange look on his face and stumbled out of the room holding his enormous stomach. Startling news, or for that matter, any news, always affected him in an odd way. Go on Wendel, he may be gone for hours, I chortled. Very well, but first allow me to fetch something from my room, said Wendel, wisking down the dark hallway. Mr. Squab looked at us. I wonder what he ' s got? A new sculpture no doubt, grumbled Mr. Smith, a little disappointed. Wendel was always turning out little artistic creations in his spare time but I doubted if he had called the meeting for that sole purpose . Mr . Todal began telling us of a sculpture he had once seen in a museum which actually glowed in the dark without the aid of electricity, but his anecdote was cut short when Frommes re-entered the room, carrying a small wooden box, del- icately carved with a hinged top. This he placed on a small antique table in the centre of the room. He took a shaded lamp from another table and placed it beside the box. I drew up a large padded stool and sat down . Tomal nervously fidgeted in his chair as we all awaited Frommes ' next words . With a smile, he reached out and gently pulled back the lid. Mr. Smith looked in and raised his eyebrows. I told you it would be a statue. Tomal was right; it seemed only to be a very small statue, pinkish-orange in colour. Then, the more I stared, the more it appeared to be a moving little man . It moved! I saw it move! I cried. So did I , added Mr . Todal . That little man is a I ive ! With that, the fat little man, quite alive indeed, hopped over the edge of the box and stood on the table looking at us. His pear-shaped body, short little legs, and broad, beaming smile appeared so amusing that we all broke into uncontrolable fits of jubilant laughter. Mr. Gleener, who had just walked into the room, viewed this awesome spectacle with his eyes and mouth wide open, and within seconds, was bustling out again, his great belly bouncing with each step . The little man jumped up and down and fell backwards into the box. The lid dropped shut and it was late in the evening before any of us fully recovered from this extraordinary experience. Mr. Smith groaned and said that it had certainly looked exactly like a small statue. Robert Fones 12C

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OPPORTUNITY I get discouraged now and then. When there are clouds of grey . . .Until I think about the things . . .That happened yesterday . . . I do not mean the day before ... Or those of months ago . . . But all the yesterdays in which.. I had the chance to grow . . . I think of opportunities . . .That I allowed to die . . .And those I took advantage of . . . Before They passed me by . . . And I Remember that the past . . . Presented quite a plight. . . But somehow I endured it and . . . The future seemed a 1 1 right . . . And I remind myself that I . . . Am capable and free . . . And my success and happiness. . . Are real ly up to me . MEDITATION May it be said of us that having come to an open door, we c losed it; having stood at the stair of learning, we refused to ascend it; having come to a lighted candle, we quenched it; having heard a brother begging bread, we denied h im . 67