Siskiyou Union High School - White and Gold Yearbook (Weed, CA)

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AN ESSAY lSecond place essayl While day-dreaming in English class I was awakened by The sound oT chalk scrafching againsT The blackboard. There, Tor everyone To read, was The noTice, An essay will be expecTed once a week Trom each sTudenT. I was greaTIy depressed by This ThoughT-whaT could I wriTe abouT? In The TirsT place, whaT is an essay? Having been dreaming aT The Time The assignmenT was made, I missed The expIanaTion given in class. Upon reTerring To The dicTionary, I 'Found ThaT an essay may be a IiTerary composiTion, buT iT also may mean an aTTempT. JusT as I decided ThaT The IeasT I could do was To comply wiTh Mr. WebsTer's idea oT The word and make an aTTempT, I Tell asleep. Having been conTronTed wiTh This irksome Task Tor a 'Few days, I began To grow irriT- able and nervous, and The ThoughTs oT The assignmenT haunTed me, even in my sleep. In a dream, The nighT before my composiTion was due, I viewed a IiTerary parade, headed b color bearers: each one bore a suggesTed Topic Tor my essay. One Trilly Tlag suggesTedl MoonIiT Gardenug on anoTher Tlag, borne by a sTaunch knighT, The Days oT Chivalry was prinTed. Then a roboT squeaked along wiTh a banner over his shoulder, The ATomic Age. Following, came a band oT words which would add drama, spice, and Tlavor To my composiTion. WiTh each noTe in iTs place, The melody which The band played had greaT harmony: iusT as an essay could have rhyThm if each and every word were used To iTs besT advanTage. Leading The band were commas and semicolons Twirling baTons. Marching in The parade was an army oT ThoughTs joined TogeTher To make a compIeTe. well-balanced composiTion-correcT in every deTaiI. BuT dodging in and ouT among The ThoughTs and words, Two clowns were Throwing TragmenTs oT senTences and misspelled words around, Trying To desTroy The harmony oT This greaT pageanT. BUT iT was noT long unTiI The mischief-makers were banished by ProTessors CorrecTness and Precision, who were wearing neaT, Trim, morTarboards and black, Tlowing gowns. Then The shrill sound of TrumpeTs blaring in my head awoke me. The whole parade disappeared, and The beauTiTuI Theme vanished. Now I am in The same siTuaTion I was in beTore my mind was invaded by This exciTing parade oT ThoughTs. NAOMI MANLEY '50, McCloud High school. OLD SCARFACE lBesT SToryl They called him Scarfaced Joe, The old prospecTor who lived in The cabin above The Town where we lived. His cabin was siTuaTed abouT Two miles Trom where we lived and iT lay Towards The head oT The sTream which ran down The can on and ouT pasT The Town. The old man came inTo Town abouT Twice a monTh Tor supplies, and To bring his meager supply of gold To The assayer's oTTice. His Tace was hideously covered wiTh scars and pockmarks. IT was rumored ThaT he had killed eighT men. He. never seemed To boTher anybody, buT s+iII he had a very gruTT manner which alone was enough To make an one aTraid oT him. SomeTimes when he came inTo Town, The kids would hide behind Tiences and Throw pebbles aT him. He would slowly Turn around and pull a wicked-looking knife ouT oT iTs sheaTh and sTare aT Them wiTh Those horrible blood-shoT eyes. The kids would Then Turn and run Tor Their lives. ThaT, you see, is The kind oT repuTaTion Old ScarTace had. One sunny aTTernoon in OcTober. I had decided To go Tishing along The sTream above Old Joe's cabin. AbouT Tour olclock in The aTTernoon I sTarTed To amble on back To Town. ThaT Time of The year, The sun wenT down around six o'cIock, so I knew I would have pIenTy OT Time To geT back To Town before supper. My parenTs never worried, Though, if I was IaTe because someTimes I would sTop and spend The early parT of The evening wiTh one oT my Triends. Along The mounTainside which ran above The edge oT The creek, There was a large paTch oT shalerock. AT The Top oT The rock There appeared To be The mouTh oT a cave. I had always wanTed To explore The cave. and I ThoughT ThaT now was as good a Time

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MEMORIES jBesT essayj As I siT Trying To compose an essay, my mind is a compIeTe blank. IT seems impossible even To Try To wriTe someThing, buT suddenly in my memory I see moThers sTanding in Iine, holding The hands oT Their prides and joys. Childish Taces are scrubbed To a rosy- apple red, yeT why do They linger and hide behind Their moThers' skirTs? Soon we hear a Name please? and The usual quesTions are asked. This is The TirsT day oT school. Our moThers will be going home soon and will leave us To This sTranger. YeT as The days Turn To rnonThs she is no Ionger a sTranger, buT someone who is dear To our hearTs. Nine monThs IaTer we rush home wiTh The good news. I've passed! I've passed! Second graders. Oh, don'T we Think we're smarT! IT seems school is beTTer This year. Our Teacher pa+ien+Iy hears us read, and Teaches us To wriTe our names and our num- bers. As I sTiII remember, she was a sweeT Teacher. In The cold weaTher she would Iine every one up and puT on rubber shoes, zip up snow suiTs, and hug and kiss each one of us goodby. STiII Today I remember The lingering smell oT her perfume, which remained wiTh us unTiI we were home. As Third graders, in my memory remains The Indian play we gave beTore The P.-T.A. The Indians, oT course, needed braids so my DuTch bob was braided. No, my braids were noT Iong, buT The Thrill oT having pigTaiIs! I sTiII remember The Times I hid my papers under rocks because They weren'T good enough To Take home. The TourTh grade was The Turning poinT in our lives, so we seemed To Think. IT I remember correcTIy, ThaT was The grade in which I sTayed aTTer school every niqhT To learn my Time Tables. ThaT is also The grade in which The boy behind me puT my braids in The ink well. jWho said ThaT was only done in The days oT Iong ago?j I'm sure The TiTTh graders all remember aT leasT The Teacher. We sTiII swear she wore a wig, buT who can ever Tell? Every oTher week she would send To The oTFice Tor a new yardsTick. Oh, she used Them. buT noT To measure. Music appreciaTion heads The lisT oT my memories in The sixTh grade. We didn'T appreciaTe iT very much, buT everyone had To have iT. Our sevenTh grade Teacher was a moTher To all oT us. In The eighTh grade I worked as a Iibrarian and saw To iT ThaT my job occupied all oT my Tree Time. IT seems everyone awaiTs graduaTion a monTh or Two beTore Time, and iT is Truly a heavenly day when graduaTion comes! YeT in The corner oT my mind, now Tuzzy wiTh cobwebs, a new IighT shines. I see TrighTened Ii++Ie Treshmen walking inTo The building and inTo The TirsT year oT high school. IT seems as if They are holding Their breaTh, aTraid To breaThe less some mighTy senior will say BuTTon, Treshman. The sophomore year is The Time we welcomed The liTTIe Treshmen. Then comes The junior year, wiTh The ordering oT class rings and The mosT imporT- anT parT oT all-The Junior Prom. Seniors-mighTy, sTrong, and supjerior in everyThing, awaiTing The Time when They can graduaTe. High school IiTe is sTiII Tull oT sTrange new experiences, and I am sure everyone would like To go back and relive some incidenTsin high school days. Some will go To college, oThers will marry, and sTiII oThers will go To work earning Iivings. As my eyes grow heavy I can Think no more oT my school days, buT in my memory They shall remain Torever-my Triends and my Teachers, my hardships and my Trials. my pleasures and my joys. INEZ MATTIAZZI '50, Weed High School.

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as any fo have a look af if. I cached my fishing equipmenf, and was soon on my way up fhe mounfain fo explore fhe cave. Affer a long walk I reached fhe moufh of fhe cave. lfs fremendous size impressed me. lfs huge oval moufh was black, very black. As I sfepped inside, fhe empfy darkness senf chills up and down my spine. I had iusf faken abouf fwo sfeps inside when I heard a noise fhaf froze fhe blood in my veins. I held my breafh and sfood as sfill as my shaking knees would permif. I could hear fhe noise a Iiffle clearer now-a sorf of fhumping or pounding noise. I worked my way around fhe bend in fhe cave and was mildly surprised fo find fhe lighf a liffle brighfer. I could now smell fhe fumes of a kerosene lanfern. I began fo wonder now: whaf should I do? My firsf fhoughf was fo gef ouf of fhaf cave and nof be all day abouf doing if. I finally resolved, fhough, fo see who was in fhe cave. As I worked my way on farfher fhrough fhe cave, I soon saw a dropped- off place, or, if you prefer, a sorf of hole in fhe ground. The rays of lanfern lighf were coming from fhis hole. I gof down on my hands and knees now and was soon fo fhe edge of fhe hole. I could now see fhe shadow of a man drilling in fhe rock. From where I was lying I could nof possibly see who fhe man was, so I decided fo lean as far as possible over fhe precipice fo idenfify him if I could. My hand fell' somefhing cold and slippery and I insfincfively drew back. The nexf fhing I knew I was falling, fhen everyfhing wenf black. When I regained consciousness, I reasoned fhaf fhere musf have been some ice below where I was lying, and fhaf I musf have slip ed off if info fhis pif. The man who had been drilling info fhe rock was gone now, andpso was his Ianfern. I kepf hearing a spuffering sorf of noise coming from fhe wall, so I walked over and looked fo see whaf if was. There were abouf six or eighf holes in fhe wall and in each was a sfick of dyna- mife wifh a Iighfed fuse. Thaf explained fhe spuffering noise. I af once sfarfed loo ing for a way ouf of fhere fasf. I found fwo or fhree mafches in my pockef and sfarfed looking for an exif. Finally, affer I had lif my lasf mafch, I saw some sfeps hewn ouf of one corner of fhe pif. If was nof long unfil I found my way up fhe sfeps and was running foward fhe enfrance of fhe cave. As I rounded fhe lasf furn, I came face fo face wifh Old Scarface Joe. Whaf are you doing here, kid? he asked. Never mind whaf l'm doing here, I said. This place is going fo blow up and I s-sure d-don r infend fo be in here when if doesl Old Scarface was surprised. I-low did you know abouf fhis, boy? I didn'f fhink anyone knew of fhe gold hid in fhaf rock. You needn I' worry abouf fhe blasf: if can l' hurl' us here. Gold in fhaf rock, I fhoughf. So fhaf's why fhe old buzzard has always fried fo scare everyone away. Jusf fhen fhe blasf wenf off. The ground, fhe walls, everyfhing shook wifh fhe fremendous explosion. I heard a scream and looked around fo see Old Scarface Joe wrifhing on fhe floor. A sfalacfife which had probably been hanging from fhe cave's roof for ages, had been iarred loose by fhe explosion. If had fallen and ifs razor- like poinf had pierced old Joe's back. I saw fhaf fhe old man could nof Iasf long, so I made him as comforfable as pos- silole. I asked him why he had leff me fhere in fhaf pif fo die wifh fhe explosion, affer I had fallen. l never saw you fall, he said. I have looked for fhaf mofher lode for so long. The ofher day I found if and made ready fo blow if ouf. Each day I have come up here and drilled holes fo blasf wifh. There was enough gold in fhere for a king. You could see fhe sfreaks of if in fhe rock. If I could have known you were in fhere, l'd have broughf you ouf wifh me. Joe, I said, why have you always fried fo scare people fhe way you did? You could have had many friends if you had fried. Boy, l'll fell you wh , he said. I haven'f much longer fo live, anyway. When I was a young man, I was sfudying fo be a geologisf: af fhe school I was affending fhere was anofher young man who worked wifh me in fhe laborafory. One day, while working wifh him in fhe Lab, he accidenfally slipped and spilled acid all over my face. I was in fhe hospifal for monfhs wifh my face bandaged. My face has since been disfigured, as you can see. For awhile, I fried fo face sociefy, buf if was no use. Everyone drew back in ferror af fhe sighf of my face. Finally, I decided fo seffle down here. Wifh my geological knowledge, I have found enough gold fo live. I could nof help being gruff, fhe way people would sfare af my face. I have looked