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

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QUALITY Forks fPrize Winning Short Storyj BY CAROLYN RUSH Clover Lick is a quiet, lazy, little hamlet nestled comfortably in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia-population . . . twenty-three. The chief attractions of Main Street are Abner Jennings' Garage, Jess Trumbell's Good Place for Good Eats, and Walt Ethan's sawmill toward the edge of town. The objects of interest at Abner's Garage are the gasoline pump and a rather strange collection of furniture. This includes two wicker chairs, barely capable of self-support, an old green bench, weathered and worn, a three-legged stool, one squeaky rocker, and a straight-backed chair badly in need of new caning. All the men from miles around gravitate to this sundry assortment on weekly trips to town . With jaws moving together in rapt delight, they form the perfect picture of utter content. There are only slight pauses breaking the rhythm as the wad is shifted thoughtfully to the other cheek and a brown jet of tobacco juice is spat sizzlingly on the mud street in front of them. One mild March evening just a few weeks before the county school let out, the men-folk of Clover Lick had gathered at Abner's in the cus- tomary fashion. Culpepper County School always lets out early in the spring so that the youngsters can help their pas with some of the planting. Jed Crocker had just joined the group in front of the garage. Lo, Jed, said Abner. Howdy, Abner, he replied. The chewing was resumed and the talk drifted on to other matters. Crops-weather-the Trumbells' feud-the sheriH's yearly hunt for the Skeet Rock Gang, it was merely a discussion of everyday happenings. Suddenly talk sprang up about the new school-marm . I hear she's right purty an' smart as a whip. Good looks an' brains don't usually go together in a woman! ventured Joshua Lance. Woman! Huh! She's only a snip of a girl! retorted Chad Olliver. He was the most ineligible bachelor of those parts. All the youngsters feared him, and he wasn't much liked by the men. He was a frail little man of approximately seventy years of age, unaccomplished except for one trade-that of making excellent corn whisky. About once a month he went up the mountain to Cripple Creek, where he hid his still. But purty as pie, by cracky! cackled Old Sam, exposing his toothless grin. Joe says she's goin' tuh have closin' day exercises, announced Jed. What's them ? asked Chad. Oh, they git up an' speak a piece er two er maybe sing a song, 'n then thuh teacher says good-bye to 'em, an, school's let out, explained Jed, and then in an otfhand way, but with pride shining in his eyes, he added quietly, Joey's goin' tuh speak a piece there. Joe was Jed Crockeris fourteen-year-old son. The Crocker cabin was up the mountain quite a piece, and there Sate Crocker, Joe's mother, kept house and reared a family. Well, as I always say, it 'ud be a heap better tuh have a man fer a teacher. Somebody who'd not be skeered tuh wear out a willer on iemf' stated Chad with scorn and disgust. Well, I think she's got some purty good ideas! This closin' day sounds nice, said Joshua amiably. Idears be hanged I Chad snorted. What she ought tuh have is com- mon horse sense an' a strong arm instead of so many newfangled folderolsf' Speakin' o' thuh closin' day exercises, Joey's goin' tuh speak a piece, Jed volunteered. An' anyhowf' continued Chad, she's probably already got her eye on some young whippersnapperf' Er some young whippersnapper has got his eye on her, chuckled Ol' Sam. Twenty-Hue

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lAccepted f Ji f e r ci f u r e NATURES IVIEIVIORIAM fPrize Winning Poemj BY GEORGE E. JOSLNIN, JR. Far on some distant lonely shore A youthful warrior lies, Lulled by the ocean's constant roar, Mourned by the gulls' loud cries, or publication by the National High School Poetry UN GRATEF UL BY PATRICIA ZOOK The farmer slays the mighty tree, And all his land goes rushing free. The tyrant slays the goodly heart, And all his joys are cast apart. The loafer slays his precious time, Anal all life's worth flees in its prime. Associationj lAcce1oteml for publication and given HONORABLE MENTION by the National High School Poetry Associationj CAROLYN RUSH lShort Story Winnerb JIM WEST GEORGE JOSLIN fESS2Y WiY1H91'l fPoet1y Wmnerj Twenty-four

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The men laughed and guffawed, and then there was a lull in the con- versation. Jed opened his mouth hopefully, but Josh interrupted him again. Say, Abner, I thought you was aimin' tuh plant a couple o' hickory- nut trees out here in front. I was, Josh, but Jennie likes walnuts better. Jed slumped back in his chair and stared moodily at the sky. What was it you was a-sayin', Jed? asked Ol' Sam. Was you a-sayin' somethin', Jed ? asked Chad innocently. Well, hang 't all! I didn't say a dad-dratted thing, Jed angrily an- swered, his temperature nearing the boiling point. The men waited quietly for the explosion to come. There was a tense silence-until from the depths of the wicker chair a rather sheepish voice added, I didn't say nothin' 'cept that Joey is goin' tuh speak a piece at thuh closin' day exer- C1S6S.,, Well, why didn'tcha tell us before, Jed? exclaimed Chad. Jed sighed, completely exasperated. What's thuh name of it, Jed ? asked Joshua. Well, said Jed hesitantly, it's a real long one called 'Under thuh Spreadin' Chestnut Tree'. Joe says it's got eight verses, an' he already knows two. Well, what'd ya' know? Li'l Joey turnin' poet, chided Abner. I guess that's purty good fer a boy o' fourteen, admitted Ethan Allen. Purty good! Yer dern-tootin' it's good, Jed answered, a little less offended. Well, Sate told me I had tuh do thuh milkin' tonight, so I'd best be gittin' ho-me, and, chewing consolingly on a stalk of timothy thrust between his teeth, he ambled up the road toward home. From the lean-to at the rear of the cabin, Jed, rinsing out the milk- pail, heard a low, droning singsong, punctuated now and then with ejacu- lations. Drying his hands hastily on his rough wool shirt, he entered the warm kitchen. Now try it once more, Joey, commanded a patient voice. Aw rats, Ma! I know it all, 'cept thuh last couple o' verses, Joe com- plained, his face all screwed up in his eiort to convince. I said try it again, Joe! The patient voice had grown sterner. But, Mal Do as yore ma says, Joe, snapped Jed, kicking his boots into the corner. Running his hand impatiently through the wisps of hair straggling over his eyes, Joe whispered cautiously under his breath, Nuts! After one more coveted glance at the fast-fading daylight, he sighed plaintively and started again. Under thuh spreadin' chestnut tree Thuh village smithy stands: Thuh smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands 3 Joe's hands were thrust deep in his pockets, and his bare toe searched furtively between the cracks of the log floor. Jed listened attentively with a sort of half-smile on his face. He sighed contentedly and pulled a chair up to the table, now set with black-eyed peas and corn pone. Early the next morning, as Jed was coming in for breakfast after hav- ing done the milking, he heard a cheerful whistle and, turning around, saw Chad Olliver beckoning to him impatiently from the rail fence along the road. Mornin', Chad. How be ya ? Jed pounded him good-naturedly on the back, and the old man nearly collapsed beneath the warmth of his greeting. I jist thought I'd let ya know thet I'm goin' up the mountain a piece today. Maybe all thuh way tuh Cripple Creek, Chad told him. Up to thuh mill, huh? Jed asked hopefully. Twenty-six