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

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How To Lose Friends... And Alienate Relatives by Kathleen Rice and spit on the top to make it hard. The icicle shattered into the air and fell to the ground. There wa s a moon, a yellow moon, a hot moon. Jack cut dowrn the alley and ran the rest of the way home. As he en- tered the house, a blast of hot air hit him. “Just like walking fro m heaven to hell,” he said aloud. “Is that you, Jack?” His aunt’s shrill voice broke his thought. She walked into the hall where he stood. “Do you know what time it is? Ten o’clock. Just where have you been young man?” He tried to walk past her but she spread herself across the hall and grabbed him with a hot sticky hand. “Jack, you’re soaking wet.” “I know, Aunt Jane.” “You go up to bed right now; you’ll probably cat ch pneumonia.” Up stairs, he stripped off his wet clothes and threw them on the floor. As soon as he was in bed, his aunt came in and spread a large quilt over him. She left again and came back with a glass of water and two asprin. “Jack, I want you to take these.” “I will,” he said, and he shut his eyes to avoid her. She reached over him and pulled the covers tight to his legs. “Good night, Jack; I’ll leave the door o- pen.” The heat followed her out of the room and all was quiet. As soon as he heard the last stair creak, he got up and shut the door. The room was cold, he threw off the blankets and lay on his back, staring into the darkness. He reached over to the night stand and got the glass of water his aunt had left. Slowly he poured it over his bare chest and stomach, across his forehead so that it ran down his face and neck. It soaked into the sheet and travel- ed underneath him; when it reached the small of his back his whole body started to tremble. He had plans to make. Every one of Levitts light bulbs must be smashed and that Santa Claus would be torn to pieces. HE SHOOK harder now and could hardly breath. The empty glass smashed against the wall and he I would like to sing the praises of the unfortunate soul who takes pride in acting the role of door to door salesman. This industrious in- dividual organizes his plan of ac- tion much the same as any army gen- eral worth his salt would plan a strategic attack, lie begins with an all-purpose greeting: “Good even- ing ma’am' I have a lovely selec- tion of (variable). Would you like to see them?” Of course, he makes it clear by his position between the door and the customer that the latter question requires no answer. Once inside the door, our young lad has half his battle won. The next step is to find the nearest comfortable chair and maneuver his victim...er... I mean his customer into it. It’s only good business sense to know that the best customer is a comfortable customer. Now, with his prospect cornered, he proceeds to fire the ammunition. In this instance, the line of attack may vary with the dug his back into the wet sheets. His body trembled violently and just before he committed himself to thoughts of his mother he gasped through his chattering teeth, “Santa Claus can go to hell.” season of the year. For instance, in the fall, he might unfold a large sheet of paper, plant it firmly in the hands of the customer, and explain the value and necessity of obtaining the most expensive magazine avail- able. During the Christmas season, our merry crusader might display his wares across the floor, onto the coffee table and over the sofa. An attractive display is most enticing, you know! Of course, a little smooth talk will give that extra “oomph” to any sale. After receiving a suitable number of orders, our salesman makes time for small talk with the customer. A little flattery at this point never hurts the cause in the long run. But never let it be said that our man would bribe his way to a sale; he uses only, the tried and true methods of salesmanship—with a touch of originality for interest. With merchandise in hand, and or- ders in his pocket, our hero saunters off with a cheery: “So long, see you again, soon'” Sentinels of time and sea, trees kneel upon the rooted soil, and in a hushed soliloquy, they hold commun- ion uith their God. 9

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I don't care if I do freeze, I don't care if the whole world freezes. The doorslammedshut and Jack was alone on the front porch. He quickly repeated what he had said and tried to imagine the effect it had on his aunt. As soon as he was reasonably sure that his aunt wasn't going to follow him, he j umped down the three steps from the porch and ran across the street. By the time he had run a block, the cold night air had lost its sting. It was a proven fact that running would warm you up even on the coldest night. Jack had occasion to prove it many times himself. It was terrible to be bogged down by a heavy win- ter coat. His coat was heavy and it bogged him down; his aunt was heavy and she bogged him down. Jack laughed out loud at the strange comparison and started to run a- gain. It was eight o'clock and pitch dark. As his aunt would say much too late for a boy your age to be out. Icy blasts sliced at his grey sweater and tried to fray the tips of his ears. Every cold thrust made him run faster, and his pounding heart seemed to tear itself loose from the tangled network of muscle and bone that surrounded it and crawled up his throat to spill its cool dark li- quid into his mouth and nose. THE STREET TOOK a sudden turn and a glazed sidewalk replaced the hard packed snow. He stood on the toe of his shoe so the rubber heels wouldn’t slow down his slide. The ice ended as quickly as it had started, the heavy friction of the salted concrete threw him on his side into the soft powdery snow. The white stuff ran into his col- lar and down to the base of his spine. It filled his pant cuffs and socks and clung to the hairs on his head and eyebrows. At first he thought it would be nice to lie there and be covered by the snow. Like some forgotten toy left out in the first snow storm and not discovered again till spring. The abstractness of the thought scared him so much, he crawled up and walked to the street stamping his feet to get the snow off his legs. His back was to the wind now, and it blew in at the bottom of his shirt and out at the top of his neck. The billowing cloth made his shoulders look much broader than they really were. Far- ther down the street was Levitts. Although he was familiar with the street, this was the only house he knew. Levitts always put up their Christmas decorations a month a- head of time. It reminded him of the grand opening of a supermarket or gas station. There were hundreds of bulbs forming the border of the house and an eight foot Santa Claus nodded his head and rolled his eyes a little bit like a drunk he had seen one night. Just as he had done for the past two years he planned to sneak up to the house some night and smash out every one of the colored bulbs. Past years he had never found the time; this year he would make time. 1'11 tear down that fake Santa Claus too, Santa Claus can go to hell. As he fin- ished the sentence, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed by an eight-foot San- ta Claus with fangs. The wind was in his face again and he ran to make it blow harder in his eyes. As soon as the light bulbs disappeared around the corner, Jack stopped running. He took a deep breath, exhaled it, and was tracking the steam when he noticed the i- cicle • It was in the same place it had been last year. The moon was directly behind it and the clear ice filtered the beams and spread them across the street. The ice reminded him of his mother's eyes. HER EYES WERE the only thing that he could clearly remember a- bout her. They were clear and blue, and he sometimes thought he saw through them into her head. A whole world existed in her head, a world clear, fragile, that would shatter to pieces if they were ever touched. HE COULD IMAGINE the rest of her. Her body was slim and graceful and her face, like carved marble. Her hands would have to be cool and dry, not hot and dry like his aunt's hands. It slowed his heart when he thought of his mother, but he would always—no matter how hard he tried not to—compare her with his aunt. They compared so beautifully; she was everything his aunt was not— an angel and a devil, one all per- fect, the other all wrong. WITH ONE QUICK motion, he reached down and scooped up a hand ful of snow, packed it into a ball,

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by Daniel Goodman 90CUS: We’re The Venango Vikings have finally emerged from a two year losing streak. Much of the credit must be given to the players, but nothing could have been accomp- lished without the coaching of Mr. Stanley Zagorski. Aside from coaching the foot- ball team and a gym class, Mr. Zagorski teaches biology. He attended South High School in Pittsburgh and graduated in 1950. He went on to study at Slippery Rock and Rutgers University. In college he majored in biology, health and physical education. His love for football goes back to his high school days when he played four years for South High and three years at Slippery Rock. a Winner; So Is the Coach Teaching the sophomore class... It takes more than muscle. 10 Testing the senior class... Here, Coach is teaching football theory to the team.