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

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calf Of we uw T was Saturday morning about six o'clock and the rain beat down. It splashed onto the roof, onto the windows, as it ran down to form puddles on the ground. Men waking, ready to leave for Work, were grumbling about the weather. Other men peeped from beneath the bed covers and then pulled their heads in and went back to sleep. But out in the swamp sat two happy duck hunters. As the rain ran down their hats and onto their necks, they turned and smiled at each other. Then they had a wee nip from the bottle one of them carried. Far out on the water they spied a flight of ducks, and now through the swamp rang the calls and guacks of the duck hunters sending out their duck calls. Soon the flight of ducks started to swing around the little cove in the swamp and as the lead drake descended to land among the decoys, he saw the two hunters. With a frightened quack, he Warned the rest of the flight and started to take off, when all of a sudden there were two shots and soon the two hunters were sitting in the blind awaiting more ducks. And while the rain came down they smiled and had another wee nip from the bottle. KENNETH WERNER 'k 'k sl' 'k 'k USED to live in Texas when I was a little girl about nine years old. I owned a big ranch with six horses. Everyday I would ride a different horse, and on Sunday I would walk. One day, While I was riding my horse named Wednesday, there loomed before me a big black puddle that I had never noticed before. I jumped oft Wednesday and examined the puddle. It was oil. Quickly I rode back to the house and got a shovel. Once again at the puddle, I started digging. Down and down I went. Suddenly my shovel hit something soft and liquid. It was an oil deposit. Climbing out ot the cavity, I ran home for a pail. For thirty-six hours I dipped the pail into the oil and brought it up brimiul of the oozey goo. Almost a million dollars came with the oil, so I took a trip around the world. Someday I might even go back to my ranch and see if the oil is still there, it's pouring here, I know. ELEANOR BAISDEN Nineteen

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yrano rover! Maui? .95 Onfg SLM. leap :wid .96 .14 olllefg .gferg H BELIEVE in originality, therefore I shall start my story thusly: Once upon a time there was a young miss with a large problem, her ears. Since it was not directly a love problem, she could not turn to Mr. Anthony, so what could she do? She could think of nothing, and since her self-consciousness made her shy, she took to reading literature. In her books she could imagine herself a fairy princess, beautiful and graceful as Cinderella, with ears like tiny shells, a villainessg a heroine: a great poetess, and even a wild horse running freely over mountains and valleys. ,When she read she forgot how her ears stuck out through her thin hair, that her teeth protruded slightly, and that her neck looked similar to a giraffe's. Then one fateful day, she picked up a book called Cyrano De Bergerac and realized that beauty is only skin-deep. This man With his Wit, courage, and bravado, made her cry, laugh, or grieve with him, just through his Words and deeds, even though he had a large problem also, his NOSE. Now, she no longer sits in the side-lines: she has made friends. When people ask her how she happens to look the way she does, she simply says: Many years ago when l Was very young, my mother dropped me on my head. My head shattered into a hundred pieces. Since there was nothing else in the house, they stuck my head together with airplane glue. When I was four I thought to myself, if my head is put together with airplane glue then I can fly. So I merely Wiggled my ears fthey're rather large you seel, and started to fly. So if you should think you hear people call me dumb, you're really Wrong. They named me Dumbo, the flying girl, for short. And with these sharp retorts, she anticipates other's trite comments on her big ears, and they must laugh with her rather than at her. So I will end my story of this clever miss, in all originality, by telling you that unlike her model, Cyrano, she did not die with a secret love unfulfilled and still secret, but captured a man of her choice With her nimble good- natured jokes about herself, a man who felt he'd prefer a wife with big ears to one with a big mouth-and they lived happily ever after. PATRICIA LIKELY Eighteen

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move Uuf, mr. mio NE bright sunny day there appeared in the roaring circus a new and strange act. From a deserted part of India came Ohzian with his knife- throwing troop. From behind the curtain appeared his two assistants who were tied to a revolving board. Suddenly a strange, fantastic thing occurred. What? A moving figure was lurking in the shadows behind the screen, keeping close watch on the whirling board. My eyes were carried away from the center of attraction momentarily when the shadow made a motion of throw- ing an object. Ohzian, the Great, left the stage to great applause but only one of his two assistants seemed to leave with him, for the dressing room. It was strange that only one should leave when two had been there. I thought I'd investigate my hunch. Walking toward the stage I saw a stream of blood leading to the revolv- ing looard which had been used in the act. I looked behind the board and to my horror saw one of the nicest dead women I had ever come across, with a knife in her stomach. In my estimate the best thing to do was to remove the knife and check the finger prints. Ohzian came out of his room, moving across the stage, and I called to him. Seeing one of his actors dead seemed to be a shock to him. I thought it was about time to let the police in on this murder. The only suspect I had was Ohzian and the strange shadow I had seen earlier that evening. That was all I had to go on, until I received the report on the finger prints. Reports showed that the finger prints were from nobody in the troop. Later I had a talk with the dead woman's sister and I found out something of interest in the case. She said, The night before, her husband had a fight with her over a divorce. I-Ie wouldn't grant it because he was still in love with her. So now I thought I had my man. I-Ie lived in the Astor Arms under the name of Wil- liam Iohnson. I watched the house and found out from the clerk that he had left an hour ago. So I used my key and entered his apartment. I took a look around. Everything seemed in perfect condition. I was just going to leave when I thought of taking a set of finger prints from the coffee table. When they were returned, they matched the prints that were on the knife. Needing only this information, the police arrested Mr. Iohnson for the murder of his wife. While in jail to await his trial he broke down and pleaded guilty. He was given twenty years. I felt like a detective when I saw my picture in the paper. On the first page of all was a column explaining how I had caught the murderer. In big black type it said, UBYSTANDER SOLVES MURDER. From that day on I can't keep my nose out of trouble. ANDREW BRENSEKE Twenty