Wilson Vocational High School - Columns Yearbook (Jamaica, NY)

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Coming in low, and skimming over the herd as close as they dared, the pilots hoped to frighten the animals into movement, and run them off the field. Unfortunately, the steers had become used to the thunder of roaring aeroplane engines and they moved not an inch. Finally when almost every means had been exhausted to remove the blanket of horns from the field, an enterprising mechanic came up with an idea that should have been tried first. An urgent message was sent to the nearest cattle ranch five miles away, for help. Within twenty minutes, riding like madmen and yelling to beat the band, came the hands from the ranch. ln no time the cowboys encircled the herd and in typical Wild West fash- ion, had the steers moving off the field and out to the plains. What had taken the field hands one hour and a half to do nothing in, took them fifteen minutes. Then the planes began to come in and go out. Officials sat back and relaxed, mechanics settled back to work, pilots landed their planes, passen- gers came and went, and just as three hours before, everybody settled back into his own little everyday rutp but the excitement had been too much and everyone was content to resume his everyday chores. FRANK COUGHLAN i' 'k 'k i' it 'k goovlgye, mr. Chiu HE days are quickly fleeting, and soon, very soon indeed, We shall go to sleep one night as seniors and awake the next morning to walk down that endless aisle to receive our long awaited diplomas, and emerge, alumni. After that, we shall no longer be students of Wilson, but young men and women seeking a career and looking forward to the future. And about this time we look back over the years we spent in Wilson. Whew! But we got into a lot of trouble at times, l'm afraid too many times! We had our ups and down, disappointments and surprises, and our joys and sorrows. We see our teachers now in an entirely different light, as human beings and pretty wonderful people. How many times did they go out of their way to help us, to teach us the right thing and right way? Why if it weren't for our teachers, half of us wouldn't be here today. Yes, we are leaving soon, but for most of us, the memories of our years in Wilson will never die. MARIE SCHAEFER Eleven

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ianfd on we garfk A gun! .SQBEP T started out to be just another ordinary work day at the Houston Airport. Mechanics Were readying the planes for their flights, the dispatchers were preparing the orders for the pilots, and people were rushing to and from planes. Up in the control tower Mac was at his usual place directing the planes in his easy nonchalant manner. ' Stretching out around the field were flat lands over which you could see a good distance. To the right of the tower you could see towering oil wells, producing the much needed oil for the industries of the country. To the left and just discernible was a cattle ranch, one of the many that one associates with Texas. Up in the tower, Mac went about his work, with methodical precision, born of years of experience. The day Wore on and the heat mounted. Planes droned in and out of the field steadily and everybody was happy. But in two minutes all the employees of the field were thrown out of their everyday rut of confidence, into chaotic individualism. Things began to hap- pen swiftly to Mac in the tower, that he couldn't comprehend. A plane coming in from the south had run into difficulty in landing, and the south being at the extreme end of the field it was not possible to see the predicament the pilot was in. His voice boomed over the intercom at Mac, Hey Mac, what the heck is going on here? There's a whole herd of steer on the runway. I can't land. Do something, quick. Calling down to the loading platform, Mac commandeered a crew of bull- dozers and dispatched them instantly to the cause of the trouble. Meanwhile the plane, still circling, was running low on gas and all other runways Ctwo in alll were being overrun by the huge herd. Traffic was at a standstill. Planes could neither come in nor go out. The bosses were having heart attacks and the C.A.A. was raising the roof. The bulldozers tried violent- ly to clear the field, but to no avail. There were too many to handle. The more they pushed the steers, the more the steers pushed them back. Ten

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.740 gddge of Cmlfage HE bell rang and a second later a flood of school kids stormed out through the doors and into the streets. He was among them, only he didn't run. There was no hurry. He looked around him, peered at the sky, then at the ex- pensive wristwatch he had gotten for his birthday. Without hesitation he headed toward the park. Things hadn't gone too Well that day. He had known the answer to the question, but the caustic manner of Mr. Harding always rattled him. That was his big problem. These last few weeks everything made him nervous and edgy. Spring, he thought. As he walked he could still hear the remark that had been directed at him in section that morning. Isn't it funny that those who can play, hardly ever do so for their school? What's the matter?? Chicken, boy? He had no interest in basketball. lt was something he did to waste time, and he wasn't afraidg he just wasn't interested. He sat down on a park bench and read the copy of Main Street he had with him. The letters swam before his eyes. They stood out as individuals, refusing, no matter how hard he tried, to form sentences. He put the book down. He had three hours to Waste. Where would he eat? Where did he eat every night? Every day the same four dollars on the dresser and the same note, Darling, I have a bridge game tonight, so l won't be home. If it wasn't the Bridge it was the Ladies Auxiliary or the Red Cross Committee. He wondered if his father had developed those ulcers eating at 'Wall Street restaurants. He got up, walked out of the park and took the bus down to 42nd Street. Since he had seen almost all of the pictures he stood undecided for a moment. Behind him was a booth pasted with smiling soldiers and zooming jets. Suddenly he knew what to do. He strode toward the booth. What the heck? He was eighteen, wasn't he? They wouldn't care either way anyhow. By now he was in front of the booth. He stood and waited. The soldier inside put down the comic book. Yeah? He took a breath. Oh, I wonder if you could tell me the time? Sure, Sonny, it's a quarter to four. ,. IOAN SHAVER Twelve