Page Two
THE POINTER
Mav 16, 1950
Reflection
There was a dream . . . that someday there would
stand a high institution as guide for TRUTH, WIS
DOM, and KNOWLEDGE.
There was a hope . . . that somehow such an
institution would create and mold in the youthful
lives of its dwellers a lasting sensation of the true
basic principles of constructive living.
There was a prayer . . . that these youth would
forever look upward to ideals set forth as a part of
this institution ... go forward determined to attain
their ever-aspiring goals.
That dream .. . that hope . . . that prayer . . .
became HIGH POINT HIGH SCHOOL. ^ ^
Great strength, intelligent foresight, inspiring
instructors, and youth with enthusiastic interest
felSipSii
™.rS.»Uf ™ef..kion «ill
HIGH POINT HIGH.
Departure
over my past
so mich a part of me The principles on which the
c, ViM«s cit-ood the friendliness of all wno artenu,
the concern of°the faculty for the student’s success
and the various entertainirtents from which we
have found enjoyment—all seem to have got in o
mv blood” and changed my whole personality. No
douol many of you who are graduating feel as I
*^°Never again will those who have participated in
varsity sports feel the sense of ^een competition
or the joy of undying friendship created through
such sports in high school. Nor will those who have
found amusement in watching and supporting them
find this same amusement again.
Although we may never experience these enjoy
ments again, we find consolation in the fact that
we can remember them. For the coming years I
should like to wish everyone of our graduates all
the luck possible in whatever he or she may attempt.
—Fred armer
POINTER^
A PROFILES P
Arch McMullan
Class; Junior.
Color of eyes: Blue
Color of hair; Black
Height: B’ 4”
Favorite color: Blue
Pet peeves: None
Ambition: Crook (or smuggler)
Favorite hangout: Hayworth’s
(John’s, that is)
Favorite food: Mashed potatoes
Craziest notion: To go to see Tina
again
Talent: Hidden
Best subject: Study hall
Hobby: Pistols (Russian Roul
ette ?)
Likes: M-m-m-m!
Four Walls . . .
And A Memory
With pen in hand and solitude of mind, I sit with
in a room—a room that suddenly seems to beckon
my attention. As I gaze around, I see stacks of
forgotten POINTERS that line the sun-tan walls;
the All-American rating suspending from the hard
wood border; the picture of Marilyn peering down
on the oaken desk, where two Underwoods stand
majestically grasping the long white sheets of copy;
the wire basket that contains the treasured exchanp
papers mailed from a.11 parts of the country, the
brown make-up sheets all splattered with printers
ink; the non-supporting, but cheerful, paper cur
tains that cling to the high window sills—it is here
in this room that journalistic memories of each
year are thought up, recorded, and not forgotten.
But even this room, the POINTER office, would
not be a reality if its doors were not created by you
—the students and faculty of H.P.H.S. For it is you
who have made the news of the POINTER staffs,
past and present. Bowing to your praise, your
helpfulness, your criticism, your enthusiasm, we,
the POIN'TER staff and editor of ’49-50, bid you
adieu.
Bennie Lou Ridge
Class: Senior
Color of eyes; Green
Hair: Brunette
Pastime: Writing letters
Favorite Song; “Because”
Enjoys: Dancing
Ambition: Be an undertaker
(Really, Bennie? “Of corpse—
er, of course.”)
Always eats: French-fried pota
toes
Favorite subject: Choir
'Talent: Majorette
Favorite movie-star: Jane Powell
Desires: Trip to Sanford
Favorite sports-star: Charlie
Justice
Joy Knox
Class: Freshman
Color of eyes: Blue
Color of hair; Blond
Favorite color: Green
Pet peeve: Conceited people
Pastime: Dancing
Desires; A car—any variety
Favorite son^: “It Isn t Fair
Enjoys; Funny funny-books
Ambition: To become accomplished
at sports
Accomplinshed at: Swimming
Always eats: Sweets
Favorite subject: Math
Favorite movie-star; Alan Ladd
Pepper Tice
Class; Sophomore
Color of hair: Blond
Real name: Jon Keyser
Pet peeve: People who slam serves
in hand-ball
Favorite color: Maroon (’specially
on cars)
Accomplished at: Piano
Desires: Anything with four
wheels, motor, ^ steering wheel,
and exhaust pipe.
Favorite song: “Mam’selle”
Accomplished at: Talking— also
sneezing
Always eats: Food
Favorite subject: Chemistry—next
year
Enjoys: Good movies
Ambition: Be a psychiatrist or go
nuts!
The Graveyard
— BURYING —
What’s a graveyard besides a
place where dead people live? A
place to bury things and forget
them, or bury things and remem
ber ’em. The things I’ll bury foi
good are. . . hmm. . .
Gee! I can’t remember a thing
I wanta forget!
Wliat I’ll Miss Most
THE POINTER
Published by the Students of
High Point High School
Member
National Scholastic
Press Association
North Carolina
Scholastic
Press Institute
As members of the senior class,
we think this is what we’ll miss
most. . .
Nancy Jean Monroe; “The lunch
periods (not the food, either.)”^
C. L. Corn: “I guess I’ll miss
Juniors most.” (Could there be a
certain one ? )
Gordie Maxwell; “Those Masaue
and Gavel meetings.”
Anne Hall “Everything.”
Jack Petty; “Figures.”
Iris Scearce: “You can’t put that
in the POINTER.”
Pat Hackney: “I’d better not
say.”
Harvey Tillis: “I haven’t been
here long enough to miss any
thing.”
Bob Carrigan: “Nothin’!”
1 Ray Green: “Seeing ’Netia at
lunchi.”
Tommie Lentz: “Everybody.”
Bill Garner: “That hour’s sleep
in study hall.”
Charlie Martin: “Failing English
and playing football.”
Tom Beaver: “Women.”
Jack Kay: “A Cappella Chior.”
Jean Armfield; “Johnsie and
Mrs. Teague.”
And Good Luck!
Editor-In-Chief CAROLYN ANDREWS
Associate Editor MARTY BURTON
News Editors
Sally Trepke Teasa Bloom
“Lib” Martin Gladys Hall _
Feature Editor Blair
Assistants: Anne Garst, Kent Hubbard
Typists
Mary Ann Britt Betty Dean
Sports Editor Ronnie Current
Assistants: Bob Bundy, Barry Ruth,
Anne Shipwash
Headliner Tom Beaver
Photographer Andy Pickens
Business Manager Nancy Perryman
Assistant Business Manager Gaynell Ingle
Circulation Manager Manha Neal
Assistant Circulation Manager Barbara Lam
Bookkeeper Wanda Kmley
Assistant Bookkeeper Ann Rrafrow
Salesman gavid Driver
Salesman Sob Ladehoff
Editorial Adviser — Miss Eleanor Young
Business Adviser Mrs. Vera Waujen
To those who have worked and
made this year at High Point High
one which will never be forgotten,
here are many “merci’s” for. . .
Doris Craven and Jerry Paschal,
hard working leaders of the stu
dent council. . . the cheerleaders
and majorettes for keeping every
body’s moral up . . . Coach
Tony Simeon and the state cham
pionship basketball team. . . Suz
anne Slate, “Peppy” Stamey, Betty
Jo Snider, and all the PEMICAN
staff. . . Sergeant Shields and his
work with driver training . . .
the music department and Mr.
Cronstedt for such memorable
performances as the MESSIAH. . .
Fred Farmer, capable senior class
president. . .Bob Fountain, Tommie
Lentz, and Pat Johnson— presi
dents of the Beta Club, National
Honor Society, and Masque and
Gavel, respectively. . . and to that
ever-busy Key Club and its able
leader. Bill McGuinn. . . Gordie
Maxwell, who has faithfully kept
the National Honor Society scrap
book. . . Miss Amy Franklin and
Miss Ruth Goodman, for the direc
tion of the junior and senior plays
. . .Mr. Walter, who so ably as
sisted with the production of the
talent show. . . and the whole fac
ulty for their heart warming per
formance of “Here Comes the
Bride.”
— DIGGING UP —
Justaminit. . . lemme stop and
wait for my breath to catch up
wdth me. . . uh—whew! I’ve been
making like a track team. Don’t
you know I grabbed that sheepskin
and lit outa there the second my
name was called! No, siree, I
wasn’t taking any chances on their
changing their minds. I’m an h. s.
degree holder and owner. Can you
imagine? Twelve years of playing
and studying and playing, and
now I’ve got my diploma to show
for all that work. Gosh, I thought
my sheepskin looked more like a
lamb—a little undersized; or may
be I got perspiration on it and it
shrunk—shrank—minimized. (This
synthetic stuff they use these
days!)
Well, let us not quibble over
such minute problems—I’ve grad
uated. Love that word! ’S funny
how it used to irritate me in spell
ing when I was a mere scholar.
Scholar. . . sniff. . . scholar—no
more speeches to make in Miss
Goodman’s English class—no more
cutting class to meet my equally
elusive pals at the school store—
no more hiding my gum behind
my molar while I spit out a frothy
“Je ne sais pas” to Madame Rogers
—no more streaking down the
stairs barely making the corners
and missing that inevitable teacher
on my way to lunch—no more
jumping the bell when my study
hall’s over—no more loitering in
the halls with “the apple of my
eye”—no more “apple of my eye”
(a Junior)—no more writing these
corny features—boo-hoo—I wanta
get demoted!
Fashion Fads ...
I Remember
Tall and proud
I remember you were.
Towering above the others
As if
They were not there.
Seldom did a smile break through
That massive countenp.ee.
But when you did smile.
The rareness was dazzling;
So that all who saw you
Felt the goodness of another day . . .
I stood beside you and was proud. ^
How they must have envied my devotion.
The days were stormy and the winds were caul.
I found a port from the storms
When I moored within you,
And the chill, blowing winds were futile
In their attempts to claim my soul.
Sometimes there were days
When you scowled darkly.
And I trembled in your company.
Yet did understanding win,
For the sun broke through
And I was glad to greet you . . .
Companions were we—
You and I—
Sharing the hours each day.
You, being the Elder,
Shared knowledge;
I, being the Younger,
Shared eagerness.
Together we sowed a bounteous field.
And watched each planting grow.
Wisdom knew a harvest within us.
Only together could others see
What we were.
Apart, I knew loneliness, sorrow.
An aching heart;
Apart, you lost the one who understood.
I loved you still.
And the loss grew heavy
As the darkness of night
Cloaked your still, silent form . . .
Together, you and I,
Our happiness knew no bonds.
What was pain? We lost sight of all
Earthly sense
And lived among the saints of words.
Beloved poets of the life we shared.
Yes,
Friends we were—
You and I.
Laughing, grieving, passive.
All has been placed
On the musty shelves of wisdom
In the dim halls of Time.
Tall and proud,
I remember all that you were.
And once again
I am content
Just being near you . . .
And as I walk through
Your dim re-echoing halls,
Gazing through doors marked
“English,” “Music,” “History,”
Well I remember the days
When I was student here.
And the memory brings tears
Which I quickly brush away . . .
Then as I leave you standing there.
Proud, erect
Above the blowing trees.
Glancing back
I see you smile.
And the flag above your towers
Waves a fond farewell . . .
—Betty Clarke Dillon
A Farewell From
‘The Pointer^ Staff!
Now that sunshiny days have
rolled around, winter clothes have
been pushed into far corners of
closets to make way for new spring
and summer wardrobes.
Attractive cotton dresses are
adding bright splashes of color in
the halls and on the campus.
Gals have literally been “blos
soming out.” Yes, dainty artificial
flowers are the rage to pin at the
neck or to have peeping from the
pocket.
Full, gaily figured skirts, worn
with frilly blouses, are quite pop
ular for school wear, as well as
for hayrides and square dances.
As loafers and socks are being
abandoned, more and more, fem
inine feet are being seen padding
around school in sandals and ballet
shoes.
Fella’s and gals alike are cutting
their crowning glory, and the good
old peroxide bottle is being emp
tied on the hair that is left.
For sports, new knee-length
sliorts are in style, along with the
ever-popular pedal pushers.
Here I shall leave you with this
fashionable idea; take two ban
dannas, do a little sewing, and
presto! You have a new sports
shirt.
Farewell.
Sadly we exit, leaving behind us approximately
ten POINTERS for posterity. Zounds! What is
that sailing through the air? Oh, posterity just
threw them back . . .
We glance around at the POINTER office for
one last look. The delicate paper curtains flap
whimsically in the ocean gale. Never again will we
hear the pittgr patter of Beaver’s tiny feet or the
secret sounds of Bundy’s voice as he torments Betty
Martin . . . And Carolyn is leaving too. That sweet
little lass who always assigned us “those” stories.
(Put in your own adjectives for emphasis.)
But who are we to complain? We’re leaving.
Goodbye, Sally Trepke.
As we gently and sadly slam the door of the
POINTER office, amid the tinkle of falling glass,
we think of Miss Young and her scholarly talent of
knife throwing. She was always ready to help us,
to explain the facts of life (those concerning Eng
lish and American authors, that is).
Adieu, etc.
Why are they making us go? We shall miss the
happy task of editing the POINTER. Those breath
less moments when we searched through other
school papers looking for something to fill up the
empty spaces and finally coming up with a thing
like: “A flea and a fly in a flue were imprisoned.
Said the flea, ‘Let us fly.’ Said the fly, ‘Let us flee.’
So they flew thru a flaw in the flue.”
As it was stated above, we spent breathless mo
ments hunting such things. We shouldn’t even have
breathed to begin with.
And remember those days when the feature staff
congregated. We were supposedly planning- the fea
ture page; but somehow, a bull session was alymys
the result.
“Did you hear about ... ?”
“Yea, I heard.”
Believe us, the POINTER staff did more than
tell jokes this year. Mary Ann Britt and Betty
Dean, the typists, typed.
You know, this thing is becoming a trifle un-
controllable; and anyhow it’s almost 3:30, and today
IS May 14. Tomorrow the paper comes out. So
without further ado about nothing
Be seeing you.