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

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have an obstacle to overcome whether it be the loss of a leg or something not easily seen by others. I know now that it isn't the obstacle that matters-it's the way we overcome it that counts. l've been so busy with self-pity I haven't given myself nor anyone else a chance. Look at her- she didn't have to, but now she's bringing hap- piness to others with her playing. There's a way for me too, and the first thing to do about it is go see Linda . . . to tell her I'm still hers, if she wants me. Now I feel like the same person at heart. And if she doesn't want me, well, there are a lot of other things to do, He put the program, which had become so precious to him, in his pocket and got up and walked out. He had a smile on his face and the people he passed smiled with him. As he walked on in the brisk air he no longer felt afraid or sorry. The way to Linda's house was lust as he remembered. I'Il tell her about tonight, he thought. She'll understand. She always has. He was so eager he didn't feel the program as it slipped from his pocket. The old man painfully stooped over to pick up the piece of paper. Hey, young feller, you dropped something! Hey, you! But the young man didn't hear and continued his fast, yet lop- sided pace. Heh, wonder what it is, the old man pondered. Mebe it has his name on it. Disappointedly he looked a g a i n. Ah, it's nothing but a concert program. Probably doesn't mean nothin' to him so I iest won't bother to track him. He threw down the program. Slowly the mud oozed over the words, Piano Concert, by Miss Jean Rockwell, blind artist. BEVERLY PETERSON McCloud High School T H E 0 C E A N CFirst Place Poeml The ocean wave With icy blue fingers Reaches out to clutch A lone piece of driftwood Floating out to sea. An undercurrent Rushes toward the wave Like the north and south winds Meeting head on In a duel to the finish. It charges the wave With renewed spirit, White foam flies up Filling the air with the Brilliance of newly fallen snow. Now, all is calm on the sea. A sea gull glides gracefully Over the water, Looking for its dinner. He eats his fill and rests. The tide rolls in, It grows dark and the air cools. The moon shines brightly Over the horizon And everything is quiet. SUSAN SKIDMORE, '56 Tulelake High School

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' T H E P R O G R A M fFirst Place Storyl He was sitting alone in the shadowy room. The silence was like a living thing urging him to think on before it swallowed him up. So this it it! I'm home at last, the thoughts ran through his head. After all those months of dreaming-I'm here. Now, I haven't e v e n dreams left. They were all washed out by the sweat, the blood, and the tears. Why didn't they leave me there with the rest of them? Why was I the one to be spared? It isn't fair. It just isn't fair! Sure, leave college, leave your girl, put on your handsome uniform and go over and fight for your country. Then come back- with this! I'm not a man any longer, iust some- thing to be pitied and stared at. So I'm lucky, they said. Lucky, huh! They don't know what it's like not to have a leg-to have part of your- self gone and lust a piece of man-made iunk in its place. I wonder what Linda would do if she could see me now? Would she cry and say she's sorry but she wants to live a normal life? Or, would she say that she's found someone else, that it isn't my leg that makes her feel this way? Well, she doesn't have to worry, I won't em- barrass her by going over now. Suddenly and awkwardly he stood up. The thud of a book as it dropped from the table shattered the silence. He looked around him, but his eyes saw nothing. Kind'a wish I hadn't asked my folks to leave me alone tonight. They try. They try not to notice it too much. He limped across the room, his artificial leg dragging, not quite in step with the other one. I can't stand this. l've gotta get out and do something. I can't keep myself locked up here any longer. I don't care, let 'em stare at me. The door banged as he closed it and the cool night air swept over him. He kept walking even though he felt a stab of pain with each step. Finally he was on main street. There seemed to be people he knew everywhere. The bright neon lights turned into a huge spotlight centered on him. Step right up, folks. Every- one look at the poor boy ..., his thoughts seemed to come to life. l've got to get out'a here. l'll go into a show or something. Here! Here's a concert hall. Maybe I need some music. At least I can still listen. He bought a ticket and walked in iust as the curtain was opening. The usher handed him a program which he stuffed into his pocket as he sat down near the front. The girl at the piano was young and beauti- ful. Smilingly, she nodded towards the crowd. As her fingers raced over the keyboard, the music she produced held everyone spellbound. Everyone-except one person. Funny, he thought, people stare at us both. I guess it's just human nature. When they look at her they see everything they want to be-young and talented with everything to live for. When they see me, they feel thankful that they are what they are-not a piece of over- used goods stumbling around. The bitterness in his heart swelled until he felt like kicking down the piano and stopping the music that tormented him. The applause of the crowd put a stop to his wild cascade of thoughts. Unthinkingly he pulled the program out of his pocket and gazed down at it. At first he saw nothing and then the words registered. He sat there, staring straight ahead as if realizing something for the first time. What a fool l've been. What a selfish, conceited fool! I thought the world was against me, but I'm the one who's against the world. If she can do it, I can do it too. This program proves how wrong my thoughts were. We all

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THE SCHOOLS OF TODAY CSecond Place Essayh Suppose a modern Rip Van Winkle were to awaken today? What do you think his reac- tions would be to live in our Twentieth Century? What would he think of the great ocean liners and airplanes, of television and telephones, of our highly developed government and of high powered atomic bombs? What about automo- biles, motion pictures, and the million other things that we take for granted but which were never even dreamed of in his day and age? Surely he would be amazed, to say the least, and believe that he had awakened in a truly wonderful age. Yet, much as he would be surprised with all these inventions, it would probably be no greater than his astonishment if he visited a really modern school. In Rip Van Winkle's age, the subiects were literally, Reading, 'Riting, and 'Rithmetic. And would it surprise you to know that very often they were taught by the aid of a hickory stick? It was a school that was not liked by the maiority, but only by a few, and usually only a few benefited by it. One thing that has greatly improved our schools is the discovery that children's minds are different, that all boys and girls do not think the same. When Rip Van Winkle went to school, his teachers believed that children, gen- erally, had the same reasoning and intelligence, and what was good enough for one was good enough for all. Consequently they all received the same lessons. And if one pupil was slow in algebra, or could not spell too well, instead of receiving special aid from the teacher, he was usually iust thought of as dumb and put at the bottom of the class or made to stand in the corner while the others recited. The discovery that the minds of individuals are different is so commonly accepted now that it takes something out of the ordinary to remind us of its values. But think, sometime, how with special care, the dumb have been taught to speak, the deaf to understand with their eyes, the blind to have learned to read and the poor student can lead his class where the material suits his ability. These accomplishments, when you stop to think of them, are much more valuable than powerful airplanes, telephones, or television. Another great discovery that happened while Rip Van Winkle slept was the finding out that as well as different kinds of boys and girls there are also different kinds of education. In Mr. Van Winkle's little red schoolhouse the same studies a boy's grandfather had learned were taught to him by very much the same method. A boy's mind would be a thousand miles away, while the teacher lectured drearily on. Wouldn't you be amazed if you were Rip Van Winkle to see the varied program on a normal schooI's curriculum? There are different courses that prepare you for a useful later life in whichever field you want, besides the many clubs and other activities you can participate in. And wouldn't you like to see Rip Van Winkle when he discovered the modern shops, gyms, band buildings, or the home-economics room, where girls may prepare for a future home of their own? You can bet by this time old Rip would be speechless with surprise and no doubt completely sold on modern education. We have reviewed two great discoveries, but the third, I imagine, would have astounded Rip Van Winkle most of all. For he would find LITERARY SECTION