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

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WATER FOUNTAINS WITH PERSONALITY BY ALICE SHAD Have you ever watched an unsuspecting schoolmate sidle up to one of Southwest's drinking fountains for a refreshing quaff of H20 only to be splattered in the face with a spray of cold water? That's an every-day occurrence around these parts and good for a laugh every time. Of course, the person on the receiving end doesn't appreciate the humor of it, but that's life. You just can't please everybody. The fountains at Southwest aren't just every-day faucets. These foun- tains have personality. At first I thought a few veteran gremlins, home from the wars, had set up housekeeping around. here and were making the faucets squirt high when they should squirt low, or perhaps Kilroy was making a sneaky comeback through the water pipes, but I finally decided that these fountains had minds of their own and were going to let people know it. I believe the reason they act up is that they don't feel well. Perhaps their pipes were cold the other night and they caught rheumatism in their joints. Or maybe their insides are all upset and they've got rust on their washers. The only way the poor things can show their feelings is to rebel against those crazy people who keep turning their handles and trying to make them give water all the time. I know if I were a water faucet I wouldn't like to be forced to supply with water strange people for whom I had no feelings whateverg and just think how monotonous to be continu- ally turned on and off. Why, it's enough to drive a faucet. crazy. Not that I'm for these temperamental little mechanisms acting up all the time. It's just that I can see their side of it. You've no doubt received a free eye wash at one time or another and therefore don't appreciate our fountains acting like miniature Old Faith- fuls, but, after all, it's not every fountain that gives you a drink and washes your face at the same time. I believe this drinking fountain dilemma could be easily solved if at each fountain were placed an umbrella with a wee hole in the top, a towel, a face cloth, and soap. When you wanted a drink all you'd have to do would be to put the umbrella over the fountain and allow the water to come through the hole. If some water did sprinkle through, however, you might go whole hog and apply the face rag and soap. Those temperamental fountains aren't so bad as they're made out to beg and though they may not be human, deep down in their sewer pipes they must have warm water running through their interiors. You know, when you think of it, it's quite an amusing affair. Just remember how hilarious the girl victims look with their pancake makeup dripping down their noses. Ha, ha, big jokeg but wait till it happens to you. Well, happy swimming and here's water in your eye! Q gi? E Aww' ,LQ ik Qi .. ,, 5 xv 7 .1 -I .x by -. ' . I sf' k -,-.--. Liqig u Twenty-nine

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Well, uh, he ain't a-feelin' so good, Joef' Oh, that's too bad. Joe helped himself again to the blueberries. His bluish tongue grew bluer as spoonful after spoonful made its way to his mouth. Sate busied herself cleaning the chicken for the big dinner at noon after the program. Now run on upstairs and put on thet clean shirtg don't fergit yer shoes, after blackenin, 'em so good. I darned a pair 0' yer pa's socks fer ya. They're inside yer shoes. A few minutes later, coming down the steps three at a time, he paused in front of Sate for final inspection. 'Tell Pa that I'll be watchin' fer him 'n you. An' by the way, you'd better start pretty soon. Uh, Joe . . . I got somethin' tuh tell ya. Yeah, Ma? What is it ? Yer pa kainit come tuh the program, J oey. At last the heartbreaking news was out. Mal Pap kain't come ? Little Joey stared at her, limp, incredulous. Well, ya see, Son, Chad Olliver made some corn-likker, an' o' course . . . Oh l said Joe in a small, strained voice, turning, he walked out of the cabin and down the road toward the schoolhouse. Dismayed, disappointed, his world was in ruins. Sate, turning on her heel, strode rapidly into the room where Jed, still sound asleep, lay sprawled on the bed, seizing his shoulder roughly, she shook him awake. Oh, it's you! Why don't 'cha le' me sleep it off, Sate? Now stop botherin' me. Sate shouted, Jed, Jed Crocker! Git up this here minute! Today's Joey's program. He's goin' tuh say his piece. He wants ya tuh be there, Jed. But Pa had gone back to sleep. She marched out of the room and into the kitchen, where she appeased her anger somewhat by throwing the pans onto their hooks and nails. The clatter and din was deafening, but Jed didn't wake up. Throwing on her hat, she marched down the road to the schoolhouse, without a backward glance at Jed, still sprawled on the bed. After almost fifteen minutes of complete silence, Jed awoke. He sat up on the bed and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. He glanced at the disorder around him and gradually his thoughts cleared. Joe was going to say a piece and he wanted his pa to be there. He staggered to his feet and, grabbing his coat, started down the road. The program was almost over. Joe Crocker, being the oldest, was the last performer. His teacher nodded for him to get up. He walked to the front of the stage. Suddenly the door creaked and shuddered, and Jed tip-toed in and sat down. Joe straightened up, and his eyes shone. He began his poem confidently. He knew it perfectly and while he said it, his eyes never left his pa's face, he didn't falter once. When he had fin- ished, he turned and walked almost mechanically to his seat. The applause was gratifying, but he heard none of it. He could only see Jed sitting there, misty-eyed, calm, his arms folded. Sate hurried home to prepare the big dinner in celebration of Joe's big day. But Jed and Joey walked slowly home, chatting companionably. At last, reaching a particularly beautiful spot, Jed stopped, and laying his hand heavily on Joeis shoulder, he said, Joe, I hear there's a new settle- ment-school down in the valley. A lot o' boys and girls yore age go there fer a couple o' months in thuh winter. Ya seem tuh have a cravin' fer books. Howid ya like tuh go down there this winter an' git some more book-larnin' ? Joe looked off over his beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains for a moment and then, grinning winsomely as he impulsively grasped his pa's hand, he said, Gee whilikers, Pap! Then we'd be quality folksli' 1 Twenly-sigh!

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I-IUBBA, I-IUBBA fPrize Winning Essayj BY JIM WEST Hubba, hubba! Ah, word of beauty, magic! How numerous and spicy are its interpretations. It is heard from the classroom to the bur- lesque showg from the fireside to the poolhall. Who knows? Perhaps it will become a standard part of the King's English. And yet it is the strangest of all expressions to come from that unique form of American speech known as slang . Let us try to discover the meaning of this hubba, hubba . Can you define it? I doubt that I could. I certainly could use it at the most oppor- tune moment, but to attempt a definition, I'd rather not try. Sometimes it is used to describe a most attractive young lady, or to gain the attention of an individual of either sex. Sometimes it is said passionately, and at other times flirtatiously, or admiringly. Truly, it is a versatile phrase. Where did it come from? Some say it was first used by a sergeant to accelerate the activities of his G.I.'s. On the other hand, a usually reliable source states that it is, or was, the battle cry of a certain New York college football team. I find it hard, however, to picture a mountainous football player charging at me with murder in his eye and Hubba, hubba ! l on his lips. Then, again, it may have been one of the first words grunted by one of our cave-dwelling ancestors as he dragged the apple of his eye by her hair through the forest. As for the question of how it got its present usage, no one seems to know. It differs greatly from other slang expressions. I suppose it is really a part of the chatter which seems to center about a juke box and is appro- priately called jive talk . It runs something like this: Well, whadaya say, Cats? What's cookin' ? C'mon, let's get groovy V' And sooner or later you will surely hear someone say: Hubba, hubba! No one pays particular attention to the words or the person who says them, but the person to whom they are directed, usually a girl, will be gazed upon with mingled glances of desire, admiration, and envy. Soon, however, the spell will pass, and the conversation will drift back to normal channels. No one seems to realize the power that the expression possesses. It can catch someone's attention, draw out a girlish blush, or even promote dis- trust between a girl and her boy-friend, should he casually toss a hubba in the wrong direction. If said at the right moment, it brands its speaker as a definite authority on the opposite sex. Many a spirit has been made or broken by this magic phrase. Perhaps it shouldn't be called a word, but more of an exclamation, as when you are stuck with a pin or you smash your thumb with a hammer and say, Ouch V' In the same way, when you see an attractive girl, you say, very naturally, Hubba, hubba! fThere are two ways of spelling it, with a single or double b. I prefer the double.J But no matter how you spell it, how you say it, or how you define it, you cannot fail to recognize it. It is as much a part of the younger genera- tion as are ice-cream sodas, swing music, and juke boxes. Is it just another of the passing parade of fads? Will it pass on as did high-button shoes and ankle-length skirts? I don't believe that it will. I think hubba is here to stay. Observing the way it has grown in popularity, I don't see how it can miss. Men of learning may scoff and the practical and conven- tional-minded brand it as ridiculous, but I say the future of hubba, hubba looks promising. The possibilities of this most mystifying of phrases are boundless. Per- haps, generations from now, humans will have dispensed with their elabo- Thirty