Viscount Bennett Junior High School - Terminal Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

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THE TERMINAL SHORT STORY - 2 nd Prize MYSTERY IN A LAB. This is the laboratory. Viscount Bennett High School. I work here. I ' m a test-tube. This week ' s story began when one of my .over-sized friends, Florence, came scream¬ ing into my office. Sergeant Testy! she cried, Woollie ' s been murdered! Calm down, I said, you ' ll boil all .your water off. (I ' m an amateur comedian). Together we went to the lab. Sure enough . only a few threads remained of our dear friend. Suddenly, H2SO4, a slippery ; character, appeared, and behind him was his mortal enemy, H2O. (Those two never quit i fighting, and it ' s a terrible scene when they ' re together). Both were evil liquids and I knew one of them was the murderer. All right! I said, I ' ll catch the ; villain who committed the dastardly deed. (I also read a lot). Now who could you mean? snarled H2SO4. : I didn ' t do it. Look at my demoniac friend here if you want the murderer. Not on your life! cried H2O. Why, : Woollie was my friend, I used to shrink her : when she got too big and, anyway, I saw you slithering down here last night. I was at home in bed at ten o ' clock, roared his opponent. Ah, hah! I cried. You ' re the murderer. No one mentioned the time of the murder. . You ' ve squealed on yourself. You ' ll not get me, the murderer shouted and he whipped out his gun. I ' ll kill you first. While he was talking, H2O crept around . behind him. H2SO4 started to back away. Stop! I screamed, Stop, you fool. But H2SO4 merely laughed and backed still ; further. Horrified,we watched. All of a i sudden, he slipped and fell into H2O. AGGHHHH! You ' ve diluted me. As H2O was : much much bigger, H0SO4 was completely I diluted. PAGE 90 Well, that ends the story for this week. One thing can be said for H2SO4 though, he made a dramatic ending. Dum de dum dum. DARLENE DAFOE (12 - 29 ) 3 rd Prize. THE POWER TO SWITCH OPINION What this country needs is more engin- ; eers! With this resounding statement, Fred uttered a feeble sort of laugh. You ' d think he was an authority on the i subject, he said, turning down the volume of the T.V.Set. Oh, no! he doesn ' t know anything about; anything Ron concluded. But since he owns; almost every business in the country, I think I ' ll listen to him! You mean that little runt talking to us is a millionaire? Wouldn ' t know it by looking at him, would you? With these remarks Ron restored the volume to its original tone. I still don ' t think that makes him an authority. exclaimed Fred bluntly. Suddenly they stopped their conversation: and the little man on the television could finally be heard. There are dams to be built, rivers to be bridged; everywhere the demand for that highly-skilled product of our modern Univ- : ersities! Fred ' s voice rose above the somewhat reluc t:.? •+: applause of the audience on T.V. An 63 .::%; shattering manifestation no doubt: based on a tremendous knowledge of today ' s troubled times. Be quiet, Fred! He ' s coming to the most important part, continued Ron. Again the voice from the television set : could be heard clearly as both boys were now silent. - - - - And as for wages earned by engineers today: Mechanical engineers now earn as much as twenty thousand per year; electrical engineers possibly five thousand more, and civil engineers as much as fifty- thousand a year! Fred stared incomprehensively for a few ; seconds, then turned to Ron. You know, Ron? What this country needs, is more engineers! LARRY GAMMON (12 - 29 ) LITERARY SECTION

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THE TERMINAL LITERARY SECTION PAGE 89 ;THE ST. LAWRENCE (Continued) On the Great Lakes ' , to the mighty Atlantic. iNow, men are changing my face; They have built dams, canals, locks, power lines. I don ' t mind. :Now I provide more electricity, And larger boats can sail through my waters. I am watching man ' s progress and Canada ' s progress. ‘I am the St. Lawrence River. People say I am proud, serene and majestic. ABIE OKAZAKI (11 - 2?) SHORT STORY - TERMINAL CONTEST 1st Prize. FEAR DOES STRANGE THINGS I honestly didn ' t do it, I didn ' t. You believe me, don ' t you, Father? The solemn figure in the drab black suit looked up from his prayers at the young man of nineteen, who so earnestly sought an ; answer. It is not for me to judge whether you did it or not, my son, I ' m only here to ;witness your last words before God. Yeah, I guess so, said Tom Standish, returning from the barred window to his cot :to sit facing the priest. I guess every¬ one is too busy with his own affairs to bother with me. Father Dix went back to his Bible but was somehow unable to concentrate on the text in front of him. Finally his eyes :again sought those of the condemned man. Is there anything I can do to ease your mind? Perhaps you ' d like a confession or maybe ;you ' d like to know what it feels like to iknow that in a few hours you ' ll be in the ‘gas chamber! Father, I didn ' t kill that little girl. I love kids. I couldn ' t kill ' anyone, let alone a defenceless baby. Unable to continue, because of the sobs that choked him, Tom lay face-down on the cot and ;cried like the baby the court said he had murdered. You probably think I ' m nuts - - crying and choking, said Tom as he sat up again ;and faced the window, speaking as if no ; one were there to hear him. Well, there ' s : two things can make a man cry - - fear and death. I ' ve got both reasons; I ' m scared - real scared and I will face death very soon.: § After another hour with the condemned, Father Dix left the cell, passing the warden and attendants who would escort the prisoner to the fatal chamber, as he made his way to the exit through the visitor ' s room. Father. He turned as he opened the door to face the mother of the little girl, whose murder was even now about to be avenged. Yes, my dear? he asked. I done a terrible thing, Father, and I wanna confess to you and to my God. What did you do? gasped Father Dix, closing the door and staring at her in¬ credulously. I-I-I killed my baby, she blurted suddenly and the release of that heavy burden allowed her to break into sobs as she fell at the old priest ' s feet. I let that young boy take the- blame b-because I was so afraid, she continued, gaging into the stony face of the man- of God, pleading for forgiveness with her eyes. It was an accident - - I didn ' t mean it. Suddenly regaining his senses, the priest tore himself from her grasp and ran back into the prison, hearing her cries of - Come back Father - - Help me, as he raced : at top speed to the gas chamber. The guards at first refused him entry but seeing his white-collar and hearing his panted New Evidence , they hastily opened ' the heavy door. Stumbling blindly past the five rows of astonished witnesses he reached the window which allowed people to view the death scene and clutched the warden ' s sleeve. Seeing things in focus for the first time; in the last few hurried minutes he beheld with horror the agony on Tom ' s face as the Deadly clouds of gaseous vapour rose lazily from beneath his chair and slowly, invisibly, envelopped his imprisoned body. PHILIP EADIE (11 - 27)

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! i ' ilL TERMINAL .LITERARY ESSAY - 1st Prize. HISTORY LESSON In the past few years, I have had the pleasure,of personally meeting most of the emperors of Rome. My conversations with them have been interesting; and, as one might suppose, very informative. I have become acquainted with human ogres, saints, and with men of all degrees of morality between these extremes. I have learned how a fifteen-year-old reacts to a gift of a golden throne, and how it feels to rule the world for three days. I have been told some of the darkest secrets of Nero and ; Constantine. It all started about eighteen hundred‘ years ago, when a Roman citizen was frantic¬ ally grubbing in the earth. An invasion was forcing him to dispose of his worldly goods before the barbarians disposed of him. Having no vault in which to place his money, he poured the coins into his wife ' s strongest pot, and buried it in the : earth. The enemies of the state might take his life, but not his money. He had inher¬ ited all of his ancestor ' s practicality. Many centuries after this event, a farmer : ploughed his fields deeper than usual. As ; he turned his last furrow, his plowshare : grated in the earth. Stopping to see what had created the disturbance, he saw a pile of corroded metal discs, surrounded by fragments of the unfortunate Roman ' s pot. | Since many such hoards had been discovered :in his district,there was a man who had been commissioned by a large firm to buy any old coins at a few cents apiece. After cleaning : them and raising their price suitably, the : company sold them to me. This was how I met the Roman emperors, : for each coin bears a rather artistic ; portrait of the reigning sovereign. As my eyes met those stamped in the cold metal, passion bloomed. I must discover the secrets i lying behind those faces! So out of the : library came the books on Roman history and ;culture. I will tell you some of the more ;interesting facts which I learned. The first emperor of Rome was Augustus. :One of the most brilliant men in history, |he defeated Antony, Cleopatra, and the rest of his enemies by clever plots. He turned 1 the Roman conquests from a strife-torn con¬ glomeration to a precisely organised empire. | His well-worn coins picture him as a rather fragile man, with a Roman nose, and cold eyes. Caligula, who ruled from 37 A.D. to 4l i A.D. had been thoroughly slandered by ! historians who hated him. He is reputed to SECTION PAGE 91 have nominated his horse for the consulship,{ bathed in hot and cold perfumes, served golden food at banquets, and ordered mount¬ ains to be raised from plains. Many of his i coins have been slashed across his image, ’ perhaps by the same historians. Nero has suffered the same historical . fate as Caligula. Suetonius and Tacitus picture him as an artistic monster, killing rival poets and musicians. He is accused of having murdered his mother, his half- brother, two wives and his old tutor,Seneca. It is hard to verify these accusations, but he appears extremely mean and flabby on his i money. Rome did have a few good emperors. Marcus Aurelius was beset with a cruel, half-wit of. a son; an unfaithful wife, an incompetent colleague and continual wars. Despite these burdens, he remained a philosopher to the end of his life, loved by all for his kind-4 no cc ocf Tr IT-ic i morfo To oo oVn’ nrp ness and modesty. His image is as shining and pure as the silver on which it is struck. The decline of Rome is well mirrored by A her coins. Their weight and purity steadil declined with her collapsing finances. We can see on these debased issues the tender faces of Elagabalus and Gordian 111, both emperors in their teens, and murdered before their twentieth birthdays. We can note with pity the hopeless expressions on the faces Balbinus, Gordian 1 and Marius; rulers for ninety nine, thirty six and three days resp¬ ectively. No less than forty-eight emperor have left us coins from the third century. As a final sketch, I would like to debunk Constantine the Great . Even his adoption of Christianity could not atone for the fl murder of his little nephew and his son in a fit of jealousy, or for the slaughter with which he won his bloody throne. Most of hi coins do not even bear Christian symbols, b pictures of the soldiers by whom he ruled. These are only a few of the fascinating men whom I have met on my numismatic journey through Rome. It is a wonderful experience to hold a portrait of a ruler in one ' s hand, and have his history unfolded n 4 Vi f nnr»Vi ■p n r -f r» i I nvi o-i onf ol the touch of a piece of cold, ancient metal. More people should try this painless method of learning their history lessons. JOHN OWER (12 - 29)