Venango Christian High School - Saga Yearbook (Oil City, PA)

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ED. NOTE: Somewhere in the wide, illogical world there may be another Student Council president whose first, last, and major obligation to his fellow classmates is flagpole duty. But we rather doubt it. So, when we saw Dan Callahan, our senior diplomat, dutifully tending to the wants of Old Glory, we knew we had a journalistic first. Below follows a unique, firsthand report of the perils and plights of a student senate president. It was with great pride and lofty ambition that I accepted the office of Student Council president last May for the school year of 1962-63. It was, likewise, with fervent an- ticipation that I passed the lengthy summer, contemplating the dignity, the respect, the loyalty that I would command as the supreme in- termediary between attentive faculty and fawning, adoring students. It was with an air of condescending humility that I reported to the office the first day of school to receive the greetings of the administration and, in addition, I felt sure, my first major official duty. As I entered, the headmaster im- mediately pushed aside the mountain of paperwork which had accumulated as part of the general headache of opening day. (I, of course quite familiar with these weighty nui- sances, sympathized completely with Father and informed him that it would offend me none if he wished to continue working throughout our discussion.) He affixed me with a certain faraway glance for the first of many times during our talk, but at the time I attributed it to the in- evitable weariness which is bound to be noticeable on the counten- ances of us supervisory personnel. We chatted for a few moments, as would a premier with his most trusted charge d'affairs, and then, feeling as I do that the welfare of one’s constituents should never be secondary, I asked in my most diplomatic manner, Exactly what will my duties toward my fellow students be, Father? This was the fatal query, the innocent, well- meant, straightforward question that set the stage for the most insidious affront to an elected official’s dig- nity since the horror of women’s suffrage. The Blow To be brief, I was told by the head of state that it would be my daily duty to raise the American flag each morning and lower and fold it each night. I sincerely hope that my face did not reveal the misgivings of my mind, because I really did not intend to openly con- vey the feeling that this duty was below my exalted dignity; this I meant to conceal as one of my pri- vate subjects of brooding. The actual reason for my concern was the fact that I have never been blessed by the Almighty with an exceedingly acute memory. It is with sorrowful recollection that I picture the scores of times that I have left the house bright and cheery without my lunch, or on other occasions without my ammunition during hunting season. I ruefully remember the gloomy day I walked six blocks to the spot where I was to receive some 90 newspapers to deliver, only to return to the house to get the bag I was to carry them in. I have traveled to away games, fully prepared to play except for an article of apparel as minor as hip pads or a helmet. But enough of this self-beration; you must realize the dilemma which con- fronted me. I smiled as I futilely fought the waves of nausea and fainting that threatened me. Unfair Alarm As I look back on the first week of my adventure, I find no reason significant enough for the adminis- tration to be dissatisfied with me. The only error which glares at my record is the Friday that I missed taking down Old Glory, and arrived at school Monday to find an epistle from a certain member of the local church Hierarchy who, while in- specting the grounds, found the flag up on the pole after sundown, a grievous breach of procedure. He himself removed it, and instructed me to take my privilege a little more to heart and exercise a little more caution in its care. Since that incident, I truly have been more observant in my duty, and I have been encouraged by the presence of several students each morning and each evening who cheer and salute martially as I pass with the Red, White, and Blue. My mind is now thoroughly accus- tomed to the ritual, and I never miss a day, thank the Lord, but I do pray that soon I may take my position by the horns and assert my rights, namely forming a Council committee to care for the flag—that the Council President is so obviously unequip- ped to handle. SOCIAL SECURITY Any time of the year is a good time for a party and any excuse is a good one. If you’ve never given a party because you’re afraid it will be a sensational flop, the real problem is that you've only given one; give four a night! Give a Pro- gressive Party. It’s a simple, inexpensive way to have fun. The object is for you and four or five of your friends to collaborate on one party. Each furnishes a major item toward the project—refreshments, games, record hop, and prizes— and all of you invite a different set of friends. It’s a way to make new friends and have fun with your old ones. Make a list of the food and games you are planning, and then divide it. For instance you can furnish the place to have the party, records, and hi-fi. One girl makes pizza, another brings coke and ice cream. Be sure someone donates potato chips and pretzels. Have one of the girls furnish games and a door prize. 6 Continued on page 15

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TOM TRIES He missed it MISS TOUCHDOWN 1962 A little limelight here Up and Over The seniors are the crew to watch. They have no posted basketball records, but now hold most track records. Although all the results are not posted, the seniors are holding a commanding lead with wins in the 50, 100, 220, and %- mile runs. The underclassmen aren’t expected to increase the times set in each of these events. Yet, despite the fact that the oldest students hold the sprinting records, the field events are domi- nated by the slower but maybe stronger younger set. Freshman Joe Fitzpatrick holds the medicine ball throw record with a toss of 33 feet. Sophomores hold the standing broad jump and the stand and reach events. Tony Schill jumped an amazing 8 feet and 10 inches to top all comers thus far, and Sam Leta, recovering from an ailing knee, reached 26% inches over his natural reach. More events will take place be- fore the year ends. Insurance poli- cies better be paid up. Crapp soccer and wrestling are still to be. LONG LIVE THE QUEEN Venango Christian High School stood in hushed expectation. It was Saturday, September 29, and half- time ceremonies were about to begin on the Mitchell Avenue Field. Kanty Prep held a slight edge over the local eleven, but the football game was momentarily forgotten in the excitement of the crowning of the girl who would reign as Venango’s first, last, and only Kickoff Queen. The music began, and the pro- cession inched across the field. It was led by Her Majesty’s honor guard, the high tag-day salesmen and the cheerleaders. Members of the guard were: Mary Larkin, Suz- anne Marshall, Virginia Hynes, Judith Balcerek, Judith Oliver, De- Anna Demmer, Susan Callahan, Joan Bajorek, Janice Schiffer, Anne McCallum, Barbara Zawislak, Gene- vieve Smutek, Judith Campagna, JoAnne Szabat, Anne Witcomb, Karen Alsbaugh, and Judith Fitz- gerald. The homeroom representatives preceded the queen. They included: Freshman—Miss Deborah Lee, Sophomore—Miss Suzanne Duda, and Junior—Miss Marjorie Rogers. The senior princesses and runners- up for the throne were Miss Cathy Manion and Miss Mary Jo Masson. Thomas Owens placed the pearl and rhinestone studded tiara on her head, and Her Majesty, Queen Mary Lou Fleckenstein began her reign as Miss Kickoff, 1962. Richard Conrad presented the queen-elect with a bouquet of yellow tea-roses complemented by a black satin bow. THOSE ARE THE BREAKS The long arm of coincidence struck a sour note in the lives of two Venango Christian sophomores. Bob Faunce and Sam Leta, who have spent the greater part of ten years as neighbors, classmates, and in- timate friends (,fwhen one’s in trouble, two are blamed”), happily spent the greater part of the 1962 football season convalescing to- gether also. In fact, they just missed sharing the same hospital bed. While Bob was recovering from a broken toe, Sam did him one better and broke his knee. Best wishes for a continuing friendship. MQ ■ft f “ I FOE FLIES He caught It 5

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HONEST DADDY vi? By Judy Balcerek THE WORD GETS AROUND Communications is my bit. As a novice class amateur ham radio operator, I have conducted two-way conversation on the 40-meter short- wave amateur band with other hams in most of the states. My most distant contact was WV6UZK, West Covina, California. How do you become a ham? Easy! First, master the International Morse Code. Second, study the amateur material such as that published in the American Radio Relay League’s booklet, The Radio Amateur Li- cense Manual.” Then, upon a re- quest to the Federal Communica- tions Commission, a test is issued that must be taken in the presence of a qualified procter. The test consists of a code exam and a sec- tion on radio theory and amateur regulations. After that, there’s nothing to do but purchase your equipment, set up your station, and you’re on the air.” Over and Out Expensive? You know it, but it’s well worth it. Some operators defray the cost of equipment by assembling their own. Why even now you would be able to construct a radio of your own. Most of the electronic dealers offer quality amateur equipment and assorted electronic units in kit form which can be assembled by anyone who can read. The feeling that you are a part of a worldwide organization, the sense of power you get every time you speak over the mike, create a word out of dots and dashes, or tap out a message on the teletype, the adventure of communicating with a new state or country, the secure knowledge that you can be of aid to your community, and just the en- joyment of getting to know people in different spots on the globe make ham operating a real adventure. I can never say there isn’t anything to do” because there are always a few million people to talk to. At what age should you become a ham? Well, the oldest amateur I know is W4AD, an 87-year-old operator from Georgia; and the youngest is WN8DCH, a 9-year-old ham from Ohio. I recommend amateur radio for anyone under 90. Silent snow descended like white curtains as Professor Paul Peterson hurried under the archway and into the parking lot of Smith College campus. He had been summoned by a call from his mother. As he en- tered the front door he was met by a terse, Hurry, Paul, she’s upstairs in her room. Here’s the key.” Paul’s mother took his coat and hat and handed him the key. The fifty spiral stairs never took so long. He reached the hall in about a minute and was panting heavily as he called, Sarah Jane, may I come in?” The little girl sat on her bed in a calm stillness with her doll on her lap. Daddy, did Granma call you? I’m sorry to be so much trouble.” That’s all right, dear. Tell Daddy what happened.” Professor Peterson fought to hold back the tears. Quiet in here, isn’t it?” began the girl. Granma locked me in my room and won’t let me out. I guess I was bad. But it was only a dress. Momma’s dress I mean. She is gone away forever isn’t she, Daddy? Granma says my Momma is in Heaven. I don’t know how. Can she go to Heaven if she is dead, Daddy? Where’s Granma? Is she in Momma’s room? She must be putting Momma’s dress away. Why does she always put it in the box and lock it in the chest? I wish she didn’t; it’s such a pretty dress; it smells sweet. I love to touch it but I guess I can’t. I guess that is why Gran- ma’s mad at me. But I ain't sure.” You are not sure, dear,” cor- rected her father. Yes, Daddy, I’m not. Mary Jane came over today. Granma said, ’Play with your doll and don’t go inside your mother’s room. But it's nice in Momma’s room, Daddy. When it rains I go there. Or when Granma is taking her nap I go in. I don’t make any noise, I just sit on the white cover and make believe Momma is dressing and I am allowed in. I smell her white silk dress; her going out for night dress. I hear it moving if I listen hard and I make believe I see her at the dressing table. I see her big brown eyes. Remember, Daddy? I love her even if she has gone away. I guess that’s what made me bad. Mary Jane came over today and we played dolls. Granma said, 'Don’t go in your mother’s room,’ and I said yes. I meant it Daddy, honest, but when we were playing Mary Jane said, 1 bet you don’t even have a mother; I bet you made it all up.’ This made me mad, so I went to see if Granma was sleeping. She said that I was a liar, Dad- dy; I mean about the bed and the dress and everything. I said, 'Well I'll show you smarty,’ and so we went after that. She giggled like she always does when we went down the hall to Momma’s room. She even made a scaredy noise when she hit into the table in the hall. I said, 'You’re a scaredy cat,’ but she said, 'Well, my house isn't dark like this.' I didn’t like that at all. We went into Momma’s room. It was dark in her room, very dark. I said, 'This is my Momma's room; see, I didn’t make it up.' She was by the door and she wasn’t acting very smart. She didn’t 7