Page Two
THE POINTER
March 14, 1950
Letting ‘George^ Do It
In H.P.II.S , as well as in other schools through
out the nation, conversations and accusations have
been overheard concerning the subject of cliques
which run the school.
It creates such a delicate subject that editors
are reluctant as to just what should be written as
a solution to this touchy problem. Yet, students
often state that the honors are not evenly spread
out, that time after time the same groups plan and
capture I'ecognition at assemblies, on committees,
and programs, and at socials. Thus we see the
urgent need for discussions of both sides of the
problem, in the hope that a better understanding
of the other fellow can be obtained, no matter
which side the reader may oppose.
It takes all kinds of people to make the world go
round, and perhaps some students are inclined to
want to do more than others. Whenever an organ
ization is responsible for a particular activity, the
job has to be done well. Why not seek students who
have proved themselves dependable in other things?
How else are they to know the many students who
would qualify well for the job, if they have not
rendered services in former activities?
Then, there is the other side, which includes the
majority of students.
How are they ever going to make themselves
known if the same people monopolize every activity ?
School can be a mighty dull place if you are not
given an opportunity to enjoy its privileges. Why
should the same names be mentioned for every
activity, and familiar faces appear at every as
sembly. Those who so often take a back seat
wonder how their talents can ever be discovered
if they are never asked to help out with various
things. .
There is no stirring answer to this problem.
Those students whose faces are familiar in all
organizations have not just had things handed to
them. They have shown an interest in “what’s going
on.” In many cases. som_n people are having to
carry more activities on their shouldex’s than they
wish or than they can do effectively.
If you happen to be one of the many who have
complained, why not take a look around. Activities
are open for everyone, so why let “George” do
everything? Create a little action and show^^that
you, too, are interested in “what’s going on.”
The celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day on March
17th, is celebrated in many parts of the world, but
always is it celebrated by an Irishman, wherever he
might be. More uncertainty exists about Saint Pat
rick than any other saint in the Catholic hagiology;
for it is not even known whether March 17th was
the date of his birth or death. Sometimes it is said
to be both. It is also thought the legend of Saint
Patrick is not about just one Saint Patrick, but
about the deeds of two or three men woven into one
story. —Curiosities of Popular Customs.
Spring Fever--
The one disease a poor doctor has no hope of cur
ing is about to emerge in the form of an epidemic.
It has been carried on the warm, light breeze, whis
pered about from crocus to daffodil, and lodged
firmly in our hearts, making us light-headed and
fancy-free. This is no childhood disease, but an at
tacker of every class. No barriers are harbored.
It lures the schoolboy’s thoughts to the wonders
of Mother Nature displayed in technicolor just out
side the window. It becomes stardust in the eyes
of a pretty young girl as she thinks of her Friday
night date. It hazes the teacher’s mind and causes
her to forget the homework she was going to assign.
It loosens the heart strings of a mean old miser,
and he loosens his purse strings to become a benev
olent gentleman who has a soft spot in his heart
after all. It softens the mother’s tongue as she is
about to scold Junior for idly toying with his food.
It twinkles in every star for every lover to discern
in his chosen’s eyes. It awakens the keyboard to
every touch of the pianist’s fingers, the canvas to
every stroke of the artist s brush. It puts^ the mis-
chief in a puppy’s eyes, the trill in a bluebird s mel
ody, the throbbing in the hum of the bee. Perhaps
yoii would have a different description . . . alter all.
Spring h’ever is unpredictable.
THE POINTER
Published by the Students of
High Point High School
^ ^ Member ■■i—,,,
National Scholastic
Press Association 11 n tj
'19211 -and- S E g f.
North Carolina g XiiMn ^
Scholastic ^ rJuU'' R
-tSSll'' Press Institute
idit^In-Ch"ieT CAROLYN ANDREWS
Associate Editor MARTY BURTON
News Editors
Sally Trepke Teasa Bloom
“Lib” Martin Gladys Hall
Feature Editor Janet Blair
Assistants: Anne Garst, Kent Hubbard
Sports Editor Ronnie Current
Assistants: Bob Bundy, Barry Ruth,
Anne Shipwash
Photographers: Andy Pickens, Lester Zimmerman
Head'iner Tom Beaver
Typists
Mary Ann Britt Betty Dean
Business Manager Nancy Perryman
Assistant Business Manager Gaynell Ingle
Circulation Manager Martha Neal
Assistant Circulation Manager Barbara Lam
Bookkeeper ^“dey
Assistant Bookkeeper Ann Rrafrow
Salesman Ladehofi
EditoHal Adviser Miss Eleanor Young
Business Adviser Mrs. Vera Walden
Pointer Pin-Vps For March
PEGGY SMITHDEAL BILL LINTHICUM
Here is Peggy Smithdeal, cur
rent heart-throb of Bill Linthicum.
Peggy is a slim little freshman
with brown hair and brown eyes.
When asked what her favorite
food is, she loses no time in re
plying, “Cherry pie.” Maybe it’s
because Peggy leans toward the
brighter side of life that red and
yellow are her favorite colors.
Believe it or not, kids, Latin is
the subject she finds most enjoy
able. It’s a wonder Peggy’s nerves
aren’t shattered, as her radio dial
is most frequently tuned r,o “Sus
pense.”
When summertime rolls around,
Peggy will be seen in swimming
’bout every day. Right now,
though, she is most often spied
chatting with Bill in Tower HI
during- fifth period.
After school hours, one of her
pastimes is looking at television.
Peggy hopes to become a house
wife and plans to fill her spare
time by painting pictures.
Meet Bill Linthicum, the guy
Peggy Smithdeal has “hooked.”
Bill is a tall junior, with dark hair
and brown eyes.
When he is hungry, creamed
potatoes are what he craves most.
Though seldom in a blue mood,
blue is his favorite color.
Football is the sport that at
tracts most of Bill’s attention. In
his free moments, he likes to settle
down with a stack of records to
listen to. In the field of movie
stars, Bill thinks June Allyson is
mighty cute. As for radio pro
grams, he prefers the talent show
variety.
If you hear the words “What
say?” rest assured it’s Bill, using
his favorite expression.
Geometry is the subject Bill
likes best. It will prove useful to
him, no doubt, if he fulfills his
ambition to become a civil en
gineer.
’Tis Spring
For lo, ’tis spring.
How do I know ?
My eyes do sting
And tears there flow.
Yet do not fall.
Melancholy
Seeps in my brain.
Stirs my folly
Once more again
To foolish things.
I seek Job’s Face,
Knowing full well
‘Twill sap my grace
And make me ill;
Yet still I seek.
And on the stars
I gaze at night.
Venus and Mars
Pause in their flight.
For lo, ’tis spring.
—Jean Armfield
ook-Ends ...
There are three types of books
in the H.P.H.S. library: the old
tattered fiction books which every
one reads, the slightly “dirtyish”
non-fictions which got that way
because one has to make a non
fiction book report occasionally,
and the shiny new books which
are that way because nobody has
summed up enough nerve to read
them. It is this last category upon
which I shall write.
There is one new book by the
name of “Cheaper by the Dozen”
about a man who had twelve kids
(poor man). Only he liked it; said
they made life interesting.
Who is 'r. C. Mits ? He is a
strange little man with a bewild
ered look! He is introduced in a
book entitled “The Education of
T. G. Mits” as:
C.
M
a
T S
h t
e r
e
e
t
T.
h e
e 1
e
b
r
a
t
e
d
“The Education of T. C. Mits,’’
written by Lillian R. Lieber, is a
quaint little book which tells how
important math is in today’s
world.
This book is written like
this, as the author claims
it takes less time to read;
but then I wouldn’t know
since I have never read
a book written like this
before.
This strange little book is found
in the High Point High School
library, and anyone who reads
this little book will find
that he will enjoy it very
much.
There are many other new books
in the H.P.H.S. library; why not
go in and take a look at them;
better still—read one.
Giants Like
Radios Too
As I cautiously approached the
control room of Station WHPS
and inquired, “Where’s the head
technician?”, a six-foot-three-and-
a-quarter, two hundred and fifty-
two pound senior glared back at
me from behind the controls and
said, “Here I am.”
After he had informed me that
his name was John Leslie Andrews
and all the formalities were over,
this lil’ fella found out just what
I had come to see him about; which
was, of course, himself. So, he
started talking, and this is what
I learned.
John Leslie has been interested
in radio for quite some time, and
at the present he is a licensed
operator and has his own amateur
radio station in his basement. The
station has three transmitters and
also six receivers for every fre
quency. With this set-up, he is able
to talk w'ith other operators of
amateur stations all over the
world.
When asked how he gets in con
tact with other stations, he said,
“Well, you just throw it on the
air and call somebody; then you
wait five minutes or five hours till
they call you, and then talk about
the weather or something.”
John^ Leslie plans to continue
his radio work next year at N. C.
State College, where he will major
in physics. His hopes are to be
come an expert acoustical engin
eer, and then maybe marry Henri
etta. So you want to know who
Henrietta is? Well, just ask her
radio man; and he’ll probably say
something about a little Eskimo.
Le Cliat Copie
Mother to daughter’s beau: “It’s
past 1:00 a.m., young man. Do you
think you can stay all night?’’
Young Romeo: “Just a minute:
I’ll call my mother.”
—The Ashmorian
A freshman wandered into the
library and asked the librarian to
help him find a book to report or.
The librarian asked, “What
have you already reported on?”
“Biography and friction,” came
the prompt reply.
—The Full Moon
One woman golfer to another:
“You’re improving, Muriel. You’re
missing the ball much closer than
you used to.”
—The Lexhipep
Johnny: “Ever been pinched for
going too fast?”
Sam: “No, but I’ve been
slapped!”
—The Lexhipep
Sl Patrick's Day
Shenanigans
The following scene takes place in the Ye Olde
Dramshoppe somewhere in bonnie Ireland. As we
enter this prosperous establishment, owned and op
erated by Patty O’Flatherty himself, we find two
of Patty’s more faithful customers in heated dis
cussion. Robbie McHoolahan is noisily pounding his
fist on the table while Mike O’Feeny looks on in
solemn indignation.
“’Twas na’!”’ shouts McHoolahan. ‘Could na’
have been!”
“ ’Twas!”
“May the good Saint Patrick forgive ye fer sayin”
such a thing! Of course it ’twas na’!”
“ ’Twas.”
This, dear reader, could have gone on forever
had it not been for O’Flatherty.
“Here, here!” interrupts Patty who is busy shin
ing mugs with his apron. “Are you two at it again?
I thought ye decided yesterday who threw th’ over
alls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder.”
“Oh,” cries McHoolahan, “O’Feeny swears he saw
a garden snake curled up on Widow McDoolin’s
front step early this mornin’. Why any Irishman
knows that th’ good Saint Patrick chased all the
snakes from the shores o’ Ireland years ago!”
“Well, if that be th’ case,” chuckles O’Flatherty,
“what be you and O’Feeny doin’ around here then?”'
“Maybe he left this little snake ’cause it was
green,’’ commented O’Feeny, ignoring the pun.
“Now that could be; but if you two don’t calm
down, I might be fer slippin’ a Michael O’Finn
into yer mugs th’ next round.
“(Seriously, though, boys, it was more than fate
tha’ flung Saint Patrick into the hands o’ pirates
when he was only sixteen, and it was more than
fate that brought him to Ireland where he was
sold into slavery. Six years later he escaped, but
a vision from Heaven brought him back to the
Emerald Isle, determined to convert the heathen
Irish to Christianity. And as ya’ can see, Ireland’s
patron Saint was more than successful wi’ his task.
“Yes,” beams O’Feeny, “and St. Patrick used the
shamrock to symbolize th’ Holy Trinity, and that’s
why we wear the green shamrock come every March
17, which was th’ date o’ St. Patrick’s death.”
At this point McHoolahan stands and carefully
adjusts his derby over his fiery red hair.
“Well,” he says, “I must be fer goin’ now, fer
I promised th’ Widow Doolin I’d hoe around her
Irish potatoes this afternoon. —Cornin’ O’Feeny?”
And O’Flatherty, smiling, watches as the two,
arm in ai-m, solemnly depart, and the doors swing
shut behind.
Classified Ads
Wanted: A girl to help me with my homework.
No knowledge of any subjects required. ,See H. T.
Hartley.
Lost: Somewhere around Tower 2 a cigarette
belonging to Tom Beaver. Bundy and Charping
suspected.
Wanted: Small arsenal; must be in good condi
tion. Contact any member of the Brady Gang.
Found: One wad of much-used gum on the sole
of my shoe. Owner please call for it at POINTER
office. No identification needed.
Wanted; A man. Phone 35409.
For Trade: My lame brain for Tommie Strother’s.
With hope—Gwen Reddick.
Lost: A chord. If found, please return to the
choir classes.
Wanted: Food. Please see the Hungry Five.
Lost or Wasted: Seven hours at school. .Jack
Powell.
Wanted: A pair of stilts. See Yates Adams.
Found: A bald eagle lingering around the halls
of H. P. H. S. Oops—mistake. It was just Mr. Ishee.
Escaped: About 1,300 inmates from the Jones
Street prison camp about 3:30 yesterday .Be on the
lookout for such notorious criminals as “Two-gun”
Weatherford and Fred “Shoot-em-Dead” Bean.
Wanted: One accredited ballet teacher to in
struct talented group. References required. See
the wrestling team.
Wanted: A ride to town every afternoon. 3'Iust
be prompt. Tommy Potts.
For Sale: Car insurance to all parents of children
who are taking driver’s training. Also death in
surance for the children. Call Acme Insurance
Company.
Pound: Mrs. Donnie Andrews.
Wanted: A wig chock full of hair for a very needy
person. Contact Rosa Hudson.
All Rights Louie^
Drop The Knife
I’m beginning to think you can learn as much
history from a desk as you can from a book. This
one has so much on it, it’s almost impossbile to read
it all. Some Eager IBeaver carved Black Bison in
beautiful letters. Another work of art before me
is an H.P. At least the lads were loyal. Are they
all lads ? Such words as Bob, Bill, Duke, and Dav
idson lead me to believe that some of the butchers
are girls! There’s a big Tuesday near the bottom.
Maybe that’s to remind the artist that he (or she)
is supposed to cut class on that day? Someone
with the initials of E. H. H. camped here in 1942
and 1943. Can’t help wondering who Joe and Janie
are. Fireball . . . I’ll bet that’s Kimball! Whose
phone number is 8228? Here’s a picture of some
thing that looks like a rabbit, with an arrow from
the word monkey pointing to it. The person who
engraved Dot all over this desk probably never
dulled a pencil on homework. Oh, these people who
cheat on tests! Somebody just couldn’t remember
how to spell Mississippi. This guy says he’s a BTO
. . . big time operator. Most likely a Mortimer Snerd
honoring his “hidden self.” 'Who, or what, is
Scrunch?., That’s what the word looks like, be
lieve me. Could B. R. be Bill Ring? Could be. The
dates are ’43-’44. Some glad guy went college-
cpzy. Here’s U.N.C., U,C,L,A., State, and Duke.
I’ll bet that fellow ended up out at High Point
College.
Well, drat! I just picked up a little moniento of
another who has gone before. Does anyone have
a special formula for removing chewing gum?