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

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BLAZING Tl-IE. TRAIL BY BARBARA GENUIT During the spring of 1849 some 50,000 people streamed forth from the carnival-spirited town of Independence, Missouri, not realizing the diflicult obstacles each new hour would bring before they reached their goal- gold. Youth was in the saddle, hope blossomed like the wild flowers of the prairie, green with spring. Each close of day saw the long marching army of wagons change into an unbroken line of flickering campfires from the Missouri River to the Sierra N evadas. Each party soon learned that a successful journey depended upon experienced and competent leadership with the authority to enforce j ustice. The Indian was a constant menace, even though generally the object of his attack was merely the theft of horses. The imminent danger of a genuine massacre, more than any other one thing, helped to unify the trains. As grass became more scarce and precious grain supplies lower, dread cholera broke out, creeping up the valley from the stricken city of New Orleans. Its story was much the same each time: a few hours of violent illness and a hasty mound at the side of the trail, a grave often dug up by wolves after the party had hurried on. Deaths by aggravating scurvy and raging fever, added to those by cholera, brought the total to 5000 in the year '49. But the terrible part of the journey began with the entrance into the great deserts, like those of the Humbolt or Carson Sinks. Cattle weakened and horses failed. Heat and sand tortured dry bodies as maddening mirages of lakes and streams, leading men many miles off the path, tortured minds. When the desert had so sapped their strength, then came the Sinks themselves where rivers withered and vanished into burning sand. In the long white fields of alkali with drifts of ashes across them, so soft, the cattle sank halfway to their bellies, the dust rose chokingly, and the sun was strong and fierce. At every stop some animal fell in the traces and had to be cut out of the yoke. If a wagon came to a complete halt, it was abandoned. When at last they reached the rivers, they found them almost impossible to ford. In the distance the high, forbidding ramparts of the Sierra Nevadas reared themselves. But beyond lay the green valley of the Sacramento and their gold. Today, modern forty-niners continue to retrace proved trails and to blaze new ones. Many are the goals of these ever-increasing caravans and, as in all history, along these trails the best, as well as the worst, is revealed under the pressure of hardship: heroism, faithfulness, Godliness, tenacity, knowledge, love-truly all golden. Youth will continue to lead the procession. What obstacles along the great adventure of life and learning dare to deter them? What path beckons toward a more worthy gold than that of these Trail Blazers? For with Christopher Marlowe truly we may exclaim: Oh, what a world of profit and delight, Of power, of honor, and omnipotence, Is promis'd the studious artisan! Sixteen

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FINAL CURTAIN BY SHARON SACK Applause broke the web of intensity which had hung over the theater almost from the opening lines. Even hardened critics were engrossed as Gregory Lawrence added still another triumph to his credit. It was true that the plot might have been a bit more original, however, the Idol of Broadway had again thrilled first-nighters with his performance. Wistful women gazed pityingly-some even resentfully--at their bald pudgy husbands and sighed resignedly. Oh, to change places with Myra, his wife. She must be proud indeed to have such a husband. Many such romantic thoughts were hurriedly concluded as the theater-goers sauntered casually into the massive lobby, pausing only long enough to be viewed in their new attire. Backstage, the star of Intrigue was duly congratulated, photo- graphed, and discussed. After the audience had departed, a young ingenue from the cast approached him and confided, Mr, Lawrence, you Were- well, just superb. I hope that when I reach your age, I'm as good. It must be wonderful to be a star and visit all the famous cities, choose your own plays, and just do whatever you please. What? Oh, yes, of course, he absently replied. Thank you. Upon reaching his dressing room, Gregory studied his face intently before a mirror. My age! Why, I'm only 42. He chuckled. Yes, for the seventh straight year. I wonder how long this can continue. Soon a youngster will come along, and I'll be out of the public eye. He sighed then, recalling his younger days spent in a tiny town in Indiana, whose population could easily fit in the spacious Regency The- ater , where he had appeared tonight. Why on earth did I become an actor! Diets, directors, scripts, pub- licity-absolutely no freedom. And Myra! Even Job would have lost his temper had he married her! Is my career worth all this? I'm beginning to wonder. While thus meditating, he was interrupted by the explosive entrance of Max Reardon, his agent. Greg, you were magnificent. The play itself is lousy, but you put it across. I figure it'll clo-se in about two months. You can't guess what will happen then. Richard W. Brookfield Wants you in Lady's Gentle- man. That guy's as Iinicky as Shaw. Imagine! You're gonna be in a Brookfield play. It's a comedy, too. You said you were tired of these heavy roles. Myra's out there already, gushing over 'deah Mr. Brookf1eld'. Myra's manner was equally disturbing to Max. He had arranged the marriage to further Greg's career, as Myra had backed their first show. Max was still apologizing. At that time, Greg's name had been Potter. Myra bestowed his present one upon him. She thought Potter too crude for words . Not that Greg minded. Lawrence did look better in lights and Myra had wanted it. Myra had wanted quite a bit in the twenty-five years of their married life. He was not a little tired of giving in to her whims. Well, broke in Max, when can you read the script ? Max, I'm afraid I won't be reading any more scripts. I hate to do this to you, but you can get another job. Sheila Patterson has been at sixes and sevens with Jeffries for over a year now. If you catch her in the right mood, you're all set. Greg, are you serious? Max exclaimed, an expression of disbelief registered on his face. Myra will throw a fit. Eighteen