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

Page 24 text:

VOICES By FLORENE STRUCK There are voices around us Not everyone hears, Voices with laughter And voices with tears: Some telling secrets- W'hispering low 5 Others speaking of Things we all know. The rumbling of thunder Low in the sky Tells that it's angry But won't say whyg The patter of rain As it falls on the leaves Playing with people As 'round them it weavesg The voice of a bird Proud of its nest Must tell the other Why his is the best: The ever-bubbling laughter Of countryside brooksg Voices of rabbits Hidden in nooksg Rustling of branches Of tall splendrous trees, As one tells another All that it seesg Sun-tinted flowers Drink morning dew And in fragile beauty Reflect the sky's blueg The weak frightened voice Of some playful fawn As it discovers An enemy looks on. Mother Nature gave voices For work and for play, To each of her creatures To use his own way. SUNRISE BY .FAHY ANNETTE BAKER Purple mist, Sunbeams mellow, Gray mist, Sunbeams yellow, Sun rises, Sunbeams follow, 'Till they crown the sun above the hollow 1Accepted for publication and given HONORABLE MENTION by the Nat onal H1 h School Poetry Twenty Associationj

Page 23 text:

I know, smiled Greg. That's partly why I'm doing this. My life has been the 'Taming of the Shrew' in reverse. Now, I'm assuming control of this family. Suddenly, his face took on an enigmatic expression, one that Max could not decipher. Max, I've changed my mind. I will read Brookfield's script. I think I know just how to cast it, too. Six months later came another opening night, but this time Greg was in the audience. An announcement had been made to the effect that he was too ill to appear. His understudy, considerably younger and quite unknown to anyone present, was capably filling in. No one seemed to disapprove of the substitution. During the intermission, Greg wandered through the crowd. It was nice to be on the outside for a change. He heard snatches of conversation praising the new actor, and highly pleased, he returned to his seat in the box. Then, the final act. Greg sat with his fingers crossed, thinking, They must like him, they must. As the curtain fell, resounding applause brought tears to Greg's eyes. He overheard two of the newspapermen commending his understudy. Ya know, Bill, it's really a shame about tonight. That guy was just a little too good for Lawrence to be able to take. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he disappeared soon. He isn't a kid anymore. Yes, I think tonight marks a historic event. Let's go celebrate. I was just thinking that myself. Come on. As he walked toward Max, Greg's shoulders straightened just a wee bit, and a smile settled on his face. In addition to himself only Max and Myra knew that his understudy had been-his own son. He turned, and with a final glance at the theater said, Farewell, Broadway. I'm leaving you in good hands. Then, with a glance toward the stage door, Good luck, Junior. Pat Henn...l'1er Helping Pop was judged best in the essay division. Slcaron Sack . . . her short lilorcncc Struck . . . she is the story Final CUFIU1.U, rated first author of Voices, thc prizcwm in the 1949 yearbook contest. ning poem. Ninclecrv

Page 25 text:

HELPING POP BY PAT HENN Ah, it was a day made for a painter's brush. The week end had brought forth an idler's dream of a Saturday. To sprawl lazily on the grass in the back yard while munching a salted apple, still green from the tree, is not an original pastime. Nevertheless, this was my intention, but inten- tions may changeg mine did. The back door's usual cr-e-e-e-k-SLAM! gave an ominous warning to all loafers as Pop emerged from the house and clumped down the base- ment steps. What's he going to do today ? I thought, Doctor a crippled chair, mix and pour that nail-splitting cement for the garage floor, or is he planning to string up an electrical extension so as to have light by which to work later in the garden at night ? Unexplainably and suddenly I became interested in something, anything, that would divert my atten- tion from the figure of Mr. Henn in his old and somewhat tattered unionalls, prepared for work. I chanced a sideward glance to find a perplexed hesi- tancy dominating his facial expression. It was apparent that he was debat- ing whether or not to ask if I was busy. From that look on I was trapped. What'cha go'na do? Need any help ? I asked. No, you go on with what you're doing. I can manage. Gee, that made me feel cheap! Up I sprang and again I asked, tripping behind him, What'cha go'na do ? Even through the general vagueness of his mumbled words I got the idea that the making of garage doors would soon be in progress. Gazing thoughtfully with chin in hand, my pop was no doubt mentally selecting boards from those left over from our new garage, boards for this project and those that would be needed for things to come. I wanted to help him, but it was just a plain waste of time for me to stand by and watch him do all the thinking. What good could I possibly be? After things got under way, I found myself picking up stray nails which might later spell fatality for the tires of the new car, or running to the basement for the big toothed saw with a broken handle . Those few moments on the walk through the sunshine brightened my so down- troddened soul. Returning, I found Pop more than Ucussing mad . He was quickly restored to better nature by this implement so much better than the warp-toothed one he had been struggling with. He said, Sit on the end 3 keep it from moving. Yes, he would say it as if I should know that oak presented an obstinate resistance to the separation of any two molecules by the toothed intruder. How about nailing? It was the same thing, only instead of a little jerk to and fro it was a bouncing up and down. Wham! goes the hammer Up goes I, In goes the nail As I fall with a cry! I'm not a sissy, no but how many other girls lend themselves out as would-be carpenters? Measure this, Measure that. Put the tape away, But don't bend it back! The hang of it all came to me, after a while. I found myself learning not only practical skills but moral lessons as well. Pop always has a story to tell or retellg stories that never lack interest, whether a personal experi- ence or one of a friend living in Kansas. With the passing of words also passed time and work. The doors were all sawed, nailed, and ready to put up before I realized that my physical output was comparatively small, yet-why was I there? What was it that made Pop seemingly grateful of my presence? It could have been, it must have been the same thing I've felt when working a tough physics problem. I'll get the answer okay, but Pop's being on hand gives me a kind of support, morally. That's it! Working ability was of little conse- quence, but moral support, well, moral support constituted my helping Pop . Twenly-one