Warren G Harding High School - Echoes Yearbook (Warren, OH)

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The CAULDRON Nineteen Thirty-eight HOW I CAME TO BE ' Gwendolyn Donovan, Eleventh Grade One warm morning in the month of Sep- tember, a queer duck was carrying me through the sky. Had I been visible, anyone could have seen me swinging back and forth in my three-cornered carriage. I had just come from the stork's workshop, which is on that soft cloud with the most sunshine around it. I was sent by the head stork of this great organization to bring some cheer to two per- sons. The nurses over us angel babies washed and polished my skin. They scented me with love and dusted me with joy pow- der. Then I was sent to the head stork for that final inspection. All my chums were peeping over the sides of the cloud, watching me sail through the sky. Every arm was waving a long last fare- well, and now at last I was being carried through the heavens. I felt like an explorer going out to an unknown land and claiming it for my country in the sky. Over cities and towns we sailed until we came to the most beautiful spot of them all. My driver slowed down, for even storks have to obey the traffic laws of Warren. Pulling up to the City Hospital, l realized my journey was at an end. From here I must go on the rest of the way alone. I was taken to a room where a lovely lady was lying. She took me into her arms and smiled into my face with all her love shining there. A young man was standing by her side, holding her hand and looking down at me. To bring joy to these two was my duty from then until I shall meet my chums again. As both were looking down at me, I thought this was the time to begin. With a twinkle in my eye, I gave them my version of what the well-groomed baby would say. Wahhh Boo Wahhh Booh! TI-IE NARCISSUS Betty Biddlestone, Twelfth Grade 'j I think its beauty unsurpassed, Q Its fragrance, everlastingly lovely. elf, The deep-brown bulbs, the color of rich earth Wet from summer rains, Peep from under colored stones- Bright blues and greens and pinks Against the somber brownness. Tall green stems reach upward Till at the top you find the flower. White as the first snow And pure as a maiden's heart. Ah, don't you think its beauty unsurpassed, Its fragrance everlastingly lovely? LILACS Virginia Whitehouse, Tenth Grade Dear lilac bush With purple robes of splendor- Each morning as I pass you by. My school books Weight against my arm. Majestic heights- Each branch with blossoms loaded- I long to stay and look at you, But I must travel on to school. A memory- But that sustains, until At evening when I pass again, I view once more eternal charm. CROCUS Robert VanFossan, Tenth Grade The crocus grows in any spot, And multiplies an awful lot. It doesn't pout and fail to bloom, Because of soil or lack of room. No books are written on the crocus- lt grows without such hocus-pocus. THIS MORNING lean S. Iones, Eleventh Grade The earth was dull and dark and gray, When I arose this morning: Then suddenly the sun looked out from be- hind the clouds, As if smiling and greeting the new-born day. j Oh, that I could smile through darkness that way! WAR Iohn Stanitz, Twelfth Grade A man And then a shell, And then-instead of man or shell - A hole. 99 i

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The CAULDRON Nineteen Thirty-eight SCHOOL PATRIOTISM fllddress given to student body at Student Council Installation in November! Dale Bartholomew, Twelfth Grade -' - l , x . .. Patriotism is so xw 3 important be- l 1? p- ' cause it is a form ' . of loyalty-it is a X ' - K kind of natural S - Ly A f affection: a n d Z1 . H ' one who is lack- s .lab a l, ing in it seems to it gl , - i ,' S us to be like one ' 71 A ' T ' who is lacking in proper love or re- spect for his parents and the members of his family. This same sense of loyalty should be felt toward the school we attend, to the class in which we belong, or to the club of which we are members. This, however, does not mean that we should hate people of another school, class, race, or religion: we can have for them the warmest feeling, even though closer as- sociates remain a little dearer to our hearts. To despise anyone because he is a mem- ber of a different school, or because he is of different religion, or has skin of another color than our own shows a low and narrow mind. Very few people understand proper- ly how to be thoroughly patriotic to their own folks or to their own school, and not be hos- tile to other folks or schools. Those who are easily prejudiced do not understand this. One of the main causes of prejudice can be traced to early training-ideas which people are not born with, but simply grow up with. There are other contributing causes, such as, ignorance of the culture of other people and the actual race differences, with the conse- quent strangeness that people feel about others with whom they are not accustomed to associate. Propaganda by way of mov- ing pictures and other forms has been rec- ognized as a powerful pressure upon the people, malforming their opinions and caus- ing them to assume attitudes, which, on so- ber reflection, they would surely deny. Stu- dents who have many petty prejudices find out, in the course of time, that they cannot cooperate with the organization to which they belong and finally are forced to drop out and stand alone. Patriotism in the school may be shown in many ways-by supporting the various ath- letic teams: by joining the band or orchestra, if you are gifted in that direction: by enter- ing into school activities: by respecting the teachers and obeying the rules set down by the Student Council: by good conduct inside 98 the school and out: and, most of all, by at- taining a high scholastic average. True pa- triotism may also be shown by the utmost courtesy and respect for other schools, com- bined with an honest effort to make our own school one that we can be proud of-a school that will stand first in scholastic honors, first in athletics, and first in the loyalty of its students to their Alma Mater. THAT SPARK of DIVINITY Donald Conners, Twelfth Grade I cannot write in poet's stilted ink To make my words all rhyme, nor what I think CBeyond a hazy, misty, shadowed wayl Keep tune with what my heart has wish to say. They say it is preciseness rules the man- But they do not account that things of beauty can: And they do not account for gifted arts, And they cannot explain poetic hearts. And when they try to measure, and when they try to weigh The ecstasy of Shelley and the loveliness of Gray, They'll find there is no graphing, no sharply curving line, To measure what is measured in the hearts of all mankind. Washington Monument Eli Goldston, Twelfth Grade A slender stream of silvery stone Which flows from sky to earth alone With background blue and frame of fleece- You are the nation's masterpiece. By day one's eye can just descry The point at which the peak stabs sky, Binding the azure to the sod- You are the nation's trust in God. By night with incandescent glow Ascending from the black below, A ray of light of monstrous size- You are the nation's rapid rise. A fusion both of strength and grace Which can be found no other place, Some sundry stones made one through fate- You are the nation state by state.

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The CAULDRON Nineteen Thirty-eight MY LIFE Alben Shine, In the aftermath of the thundering seige of guns of the World War could be heard a wailing cry. That was I. The greatest war this world had ever known had been over only four months when I got my first peep of day. ' Eighteen years ago, on February 12, 1919, to be exact, I was born in a beautiful valley, in what is now northeastern part of Italy, but which rightfully belonged to Austria before the World War. The village of Fontana Del Conte, or Kne- zak, containing two thousand souls, is situ- ated in a valley of the lower Alps, and at the present time is only ten miles from the unruly Iugoslavian border. Ruins of ancient cas- tles still remain on the low mountains not yet touched the village at that time. It is only today that modern improve- ments are being made. When I was six years old, I started to school. Slovenian was still the language there. The whole population was Slo- venian, and so am I. I attended the town's only school. It had six grades, but every- body was permitted to go until he was fourteen. If you did not fail, you re- surrounding the town. Modern things had pc 3 if 12 W Eleventh Grade The students' supplies were entirely differ- ent from those we have in America. The teacher used old-fashioned methods of pun- ishment. Every year the upper classes in school went to plant evergreen trees on the surrounding mountains. At the end of the school year, the town's Mayor conducted the examinations, which were oral. He asked us a few questions, and either passed or failed us, whichever he chose. My afternoons were spent as a herdsman on the mountain tops, grazing cattle. There I passed the happiest days of my life. With other shepherds I roasted stolen apples and played Koza, a native game. We climbed through tunnels in the mountain-side. These tunnels were remembrances of the World War. They, with some trenches, had been built to protect Knezak, but they had never been used. KKnezak is only a short distance from Gorizia, where much of the fighting on the Italian front had been donel. During the winter we took our girls CI had one. She came to America this year.J sledding on the mountain-side. The sleds were home-made, but could they go! During this time the new Italian regime Nl gf . Y bfxf J A fl! llx N ,fe Elin r mained in the sixth grade for three years. You went to school only from eight o'clock in the morning until twelve o'clock noon. After I had been enrolled for six months, I was stricken with pneumonia. For three months I lay at death's door, all hope being given up for me at one time: even new clothes were made in which I was to be buried. I did not have a doctor, for it was rarely that anybody ever called a doctor, no matter how sick he was. There was no doctor in the town. I finally got well, as you notice. Next year all Slovenian teachers were driven out: they had to flee to Iugoslavia. No language but Italian was to be taught in school from then on. For three more years I attended the school, and, in time, I came to write and speak Italian fairly well. The teaching there is vastly different from that of my present school, Warren G. Hard- ing Senior High. I can clearly remember my fourth grade. The room consisted of two rows of benches, one on each side of the room. Each bench could hold five pupils. The girls sat on one side of the room, while the boys sat on the other. The teacher's desk was on a raised platform in front of the room. There was one blackboard on stilts in front. Q2 had grown stronger. Daily, more and more boys and girls, friends of mine, were forced to become Fascists. They were given their colorful uniforms, and food was furnished them, if they were poor. I, myself, was nearly forced to become a Fascist, but because of my mother's strong refusal, I did not become one. I was now ten years old. Happily for me and our family, my father, who was in the United States for the third time, decided to bring us here. If we hadn't come, I would now be a trooper in the huge army of Black Shirts, or I would be in Iugoslavia, escaping across the Italian border, or I would be dead. shot while crossing the border as our neigh- bor boy was. In May, 1929, we were ready to depart. I had only a slight conception of where Ameri- ca was and what it was. I clearly remember thinking that America, The Land of Milk and Honey , was located in the sky. There was a sad parting from hundreds of friends and relatives. We rode in a wagon to St. Peter, twelve miles away, where we boarded a train for Trieste. A few days later, we boarded the new Italian liner, Vulcania. We sailed down the Adriatic Sea and entered the beautiful Mediterranean. Two days from 100 KContinued to Page 1012