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

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The CAULDRON Nineteen Thirty-eight THE Y's TAG fNoIe: Tag is a beautiful cocker spaniel that is known to everyone who frequents the Y. W. C. AJ Peggy Moran, Eleventh Grade Somebody's coming. I'll put on my best Sunday manners. She will be sure to notice a nice dog like me, then. Hmmm-, that rattling of paper doesn't sound so good to me. It's that laundry man again. I guess I'l1 have to get down and bark. Bow-wow! Well, thank goodness he's gone and won't be back for another week. Will you look at those unruly children? Now, if I were actually resting, I just wouldn't stand for their boisterous talking. Humph, one of them is beckoning to me. Well, I just won't go. Now those ladies look as though they were going to do some business.-Well, anyway, you might call it a committee meeting, even if they did only buy some candy. Oh, oh, there's my Missus comin' up the walk. I'll wait by the door for her. Wonder if she remembered to get my supper? I'm about due to have raw egg beaten up in milk, 'cause she says that's good to keep my coat nice. But I don't like it very well, 'cause it doesn't till me up enough. I hope it's liver tonight, or else hamburger and carrots. Now, under which radiator did I leave my ball? I want her to throw it so that I can run after it. Of course, putting my nose down on the floor is rather dirty business some- times, but l'll just have to do it in order to find my ball. Whoops! Here it is. Oh, Mis- sus, please may I have my ball? Right here it is under this heater. That's it. Now, throw it. Oh, boy, I'm off! Apply the brakes. I'm near the fatal spot. Now to hold the ball in my mouth until I get back. Ah, perfect tim- ing. Missus, I'm worn out. Will it be all right if I take a little snooze? Say, Missus, are you going out again? What? I can't go with you? Oh, my! Once I jes' thought The world was great, But now I'm sure that 'tisn't, 'Cause you has gone To where I ain't And left me where you isn't. C les' Missin' You, by Gibson! WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS --- Irma Kymalainen, Twelfth Grade The road rambled on through the forest, and soon a log cabin sprang into view through the foliage of stately conifers and gentle birches. I greeted the sight with child- ish joy, and why shouldn't I? There on the threshold of the cabin sat my grandfather- and I had traveled five thousand miles to see him. Twinkling blue eyes in a well-worn face greeted me. He was as staunch as an old oak tree-and so obliging in a shy way. The rest of the household, including my aunt, my uncle, and their eleven children, ranging from two to seventeen years, re- garded mother and me with a thoroughly polished curiosity. People coming from America were rare, and wide-eyed interest grew rapidly in the adjacent villages and farms. That evening when my grandfather had his trustworthy pipe puffing away the cares of the world, neighbors began to come in to see the Ameriikalaisia fthe Americansll. The questions that were asked amazed me. Imagine! They wanted to know if we had 104 cheese and buttermilk in America! Did we have brown bread in America? Yes, indeed, Mother told them: we had brown and white bread. White! they gasped. All white? That passed over like a wave of doubt. Sweet Grandpa sat in silence for a long time and then decided to change the subject by saying, Are the waves on the ocean really as big as a man? Yes, came the answer from Mother. She hated to horrify him by saying that they were many times bigger than a man. This was greeted with heads that swayed in dismay and lips that whistled out exclamations of wonder. Finally, a man that had been sitting in the corner, unnoticed and listening to the ques- tions and answers most carefully, ventured forth with, Do you live way at the edge of the world, then? This was almost too much, but Mother an- swered, Yes. By the look in their eyes Mother thought, O, goodness, I guess they thing our feet hang over the edge! But she didn't bother to explain, for, Where ignor- ance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise!

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The CAULDRON Nineteen Thirty-eight WELL-MATCHED Dennis Madden, Eleventh Grade The hot August sun beat down mercilessly on the bronzed backs of the two boys. They were engaged in a hard-fought tennis match, and as usual, their well-matched games kept the score very even. In the far court, Iohnny Watson prepared to serve. Using his pet stroke, which he had affectionately named the Cannonball twist , he finally took the point and the game. Bill Thompson, his opponent and friendly com- petitor for many years, picked up two balls, and together the boys walked from the sun- baked court. Nice match, commented Bill, as he pulled on his shirt. Another of those close sets that X are hard to lose, came the reply. the Lakeview Country Club that Iohn- ny and Bill were perhaps as evenly matched in tennis and in everything else as two boys could be. ger score takes her to the dance, see? I feel pretty good today. That date's as good as sewed up. Better arrange to let me have the big car that night, will yuh, dad? I guess that can be fixed if you win the date, replied his father. Gee, that's swell! concluded Iohnny, as he grabbed his racket and balls and started for the Country Club. When lohnny arrived at the courts, he found Madge there talking very earnestly with Skinny Holloway. Bill had just arrived. Bill won the toss, and elected to play Madge last, figuring that she would be tired after the first match L A and would fall easy prey to his siz- What happened that afternoon is now Country Club history. Iohnny came hcme after the match and stayed in his room until it was tt , Qi .ij It was almost a tradition around V .- za zling drives. V -fx I guess I pay for the cokes this time, Iohnny. That's right. I sure enjoy a hard game of tennis, but the part I like is coming back into this cool clubhouse. Over their tinkling glasses the two youths chatted boyishly about topics of the day. Their conversation drifted quite naturally to a dance to be held the following week. Are you dated up yet, Bill? inquired Iohnny, sipping the last bit from his glass. No, I've been sorta waiting around to ask that new girl, Madge Pearson. Say, I know her, replied the other. In fact, I was thinking about asking her my- se1f. I tell yuh what we'll do, proposed Bill. We'll each play her a set of tennis, and the one who beats her worse can take her. Oh, boy! You're on, enthusiastically answered Iohnny. We'll go see her now and arrange the day. The two boys suited their actions to their Words and arranged to play the next day. We'll flip a coin to see who plays her first, explained Bill, as they struggled home in Maggie , the old Chevy, which the boys owned mutually. The next morning at the breakfast table, Iohnny was just finishing his description of the set-up to the family. -And the one who beats her by the big- time for lunch. He walked dejectedly into the dining room, and seated him- self at the table next to his father, who was regarding him with a humorous twinkle in his eye. Well, son, he asked, how did you make out with your match? Did you get the date? lohnny continued toying with his salad and didn't answer for a long moment: then he explained in a low, shame-filled voice, No, I didn't get the date. So Bill won the bet and got the date, did he? Nah, he didn't get the date either. You see, Madge beat both of us 6-0, and she's going to the dance with Skinny Holloway. TO A PEN Iohn Martin, Tenth Grade You write the words declaring war On nations you've disclaimed. You send men far away to fight- For these you should be blamed. You sign a truce to end a war, Bring peace Where war was blazed. An arbitration pact you sign- For these you should be praised. When I have just a little time To waste, that I'll not miss, You help me write a verse or two- Should you be blamed for this? 103

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The CAULDRON Nineteen Thirty-eight THE TRIALS OF THE CHILD IN THE MIDDLE Wilda Garman, Tenth Grade There have been countless stories, poems, and all kinds of articles written about the disadvantages of being the oldest or the youngest child. Now let a person who's had experience give a few pointers on that most unfortunate predicament of being the child in the middle. Every time you turn around, it's either, You're too old for this, or You're too young for that. It is especially uncomfortable when you are about fourteen or fifteen years old. At this age a young girl's thoughts invariably turn to enhancing her feminine charms, es- pecially to beguile that perfectly adorable boy in English class. But Mother can't seem to understand that make-up is positively necessary to bring this about. She says a generous smear of lip-stick looks cheap, and she laughs at your worry over whether green or blue eye-shadow would suit your type better. And then, there's the problem of high heels. After all, HE is nearly six feet tall, while you are a scant five feet three. Mother just doesn't seem to realize how important this is. It wasn't so long ago that she, too, was confronted with the same problem. But the biggest worry of all is dates. She can't understand why you can't have just as much fun with the girls. She frowns disap- provingly every time Iohnny, Ted, or Bill telephones and asks for you, insisting that she never dreamed of going out with the male of the species until she was eighteen. Then, after you have been told you're too young for all these things and you try to come down to your own level, as Mother terms it, you are told to act your age and not be so childish, merely because you had an exciting game of hide-and-seek with the neighborhood gang. You can't slump around in comfortable positions, and you must con- stantly watch that your dress isn't above your knees. You are too old to go down the street, nibbling a chocolate bar or eating good old peanut-butter and bread. By this time, you don't know what you are supposed to do: too young to keep up with big sister Mary, and too old to follow little sister Peggy's example. So, you oldest or youngest child, cease bemoaning your fate, and you might put in an extra prayer for the poor child in the mid- dle. WINTER FAIRYLAND Mary Ann Smith, Tenth Grade Gaunt, bare trees transformed by the snow into fairy things: A scarlet cardinal poised for the moment on a dark evergreen covered with snow: A cheerful little black-capped Chickadee calling gaily to its bird friends: A gust of wind blowing snowflakes violently hither and thither: The blue shadows on snowy ground: The snow itself, piled high in fantastic drifts: Snowflakes sparkling and twinkling in the sunlight like millions of precious jewels: Long, slender icicles hanging in icy majesty from the roof: All these are seen in winter. LOVE Ruth Price, Twelfth Grade Love is not blind: It sees with keener eye Endearing things None else can quite espy. Love's glance is kind: It finds in smile or sigh The fragile wings On which a dream may fly. HARDING COED Ulpologies to Henry W. Longfellow! lean Bogan, Twelfth Grade On the steps of Harding High School Stood a coed tsweet enchantresslg Spoke she coyly to a stalwart Hero of the Harding gridiron. Bend your head, she softly murmured. In your ear I wish to whisper, Wish to whisper something secret. Blushingly his head he lowered, On his face a look of rapture, Ear to ear a blush suffusing. Shucks, he stammered- Sure, I'll do it. Sure, I'll do your economics. AN IMAGE Gene Grant, Eleventh Grade When I need someone to listen to me. Who won't say a word, but still will see. I take your picture down from the shelf And make-believe you're here yourself. Your eyes have an understanding way, And your lips so tender seern to say. In tones so sweet to a lonely ear, You're doing your best: that's well, my dear. 105