Southwest High School - Roundup Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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C Accepted for SPRING f Prize Winning Poem Q By JOSEPH BANTE When spring treads softly across the wakening earth, We trace her steps in uioletfs gentle birth, In winds that carry the lilac's sweet perfume And urge the hyacinth to an early bloom. And in our hearts the same tremendous urge Of wakening hopes-arises, and seems to purge Our souls of all uncleanliness and greed, And fills a universal need Shared alike by commoner and king, The renaissance of faith that comes with spring. publication and given HONORABLE MENTION by the National High School Poetry ' Association.J fRead at the College Club Evening of Poetry., PICTURE OF PRIZE WINNERS From left: Pa in the 194 t Walker, whose short story, entitled Goober Jim, won her first place 5 Roundup contest, Joe Bante, Whose poem, Spring, won in the poetry division, and Gloria Simon, who came in first with her essay, entitled On Essays Twenty-six

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ON ESSAYS I Prize Winning Essay Q By GLORIA SIMON Essays! to me they are nightmares. I hate them. I have dreamed about them and waked thinking about them. What is my trouble? I can- not think of a suitable subject. Do not misunderstand me. I have many ideas but cannot develop them to my satisfaction. I spend many study periods gazing into space trying to get a good start. I have reread some of the essays in our book, Old and New Essays, by Chamberlain, and have pored over the chapter entitled Organizing Experience in Essay Form in Developing Language Power. In my desperation I 'have asked my mother, father, brother, and even schoolmates for suggestions, but their ideas make me more confused. First I thought about the baseball game I had witnessed Saturday. An idea came to me that I could write on the disadvantages of the bleachers. I thought all my worries were over, I made an outline and began to write. I told about the fans of all ages Waiting in line for many hours to sit in the bleachers to see the ball game, their long wait, the discomfort of the hard seats, and the hot sun. Then through some trick of my mind these discomforts disappeared and in their place I could see only what a Wonder- ful opportunity it was to be able to see a World Series game from any seat at all. In disgust I put the Bleacher essay aside. I had lost my point of view. By this time I was tired, and my thoughts wandered to sleep. Then it occurred to me that I might write about dreams. I really thought I had something. I started to Write another outline. Dreams are the guardians of sleep, I began and then stopped. An essay should have a snappy begin- ning, I have learned. This beginning clearly was not snappy, but never- theless I went on with my train of thought, writing, All dreams have origins. There are dreams that occur from the day's happenings, from one's desires, and from outside interferences. No matter how fantastic or amusing they may be, they perform a useful service, they are the most fascinating experiences of our lives. They have nothing to do with the future, but are products of the past and present. Sleep, I continued, is as necessary to the health of the human body as food and drink. While one sleeps, the body cells work at storing up energy to take one through another day. This process of storing up energy would be impossible were not one's conscious mind, while asleep, full of hopes and worries. But consciousness is only part of the human mind. The rest is the unconscious mind. This is the storing of forgotten expe- riences and hidden memories. These hidden memories stimulate reactions to the unconscious mind. If they were allowed free access to the mind, one would Waken frequently. So nature provides a safeguard, a dream mechan- ism that makes the dream contents as undisturbing as possible. As this was much too deep for me, I was forced to give this idea up, so I laid the essay aside and went to bed. What did I dream about that night? You guessed it-essays. The next day I was in a daze, the time was growing short. I just had to think of something to write about. At everything my eyes gazed upon I stopped and wondered if I could write an essay about it. Again I mulled over the chapter on writing essays. An essay, I read again and again, is one's own point of View expressed in one's own words. One difference between an essay and a story is that an essay is more like one's everyday thoughts. The chief value of writing an essay lies in its stimulation to clear thinking. One's experience is good material. Then, like a stroke of lightning, came an inspiration. These efforts at essay writing were my only experience during the past weeks. I decided to weave them together as my essay. Essays to me are still nightmares! Twenty-seven