Page 11
fflGH LIFE
A Senior's Memories of Grimsiey
We Come, I Go, Moving On
by Ogden SprnlU ’78
The year was 1975. It was
summer. We had just left junior
high school .What a borel All the
juvenile little kiddie matinees,
slumber parties, bedtime stories
- how remote! We who remem
ber those “forgettable” years left
with more pride than the
shoes we wore, the chip we
carried, the Timex watch we got
for Christmas.
The year was 1976. We were
sophomores. We had finally ad
justed to larger rooms, longer
classes, more homework. Our
skills now included driving, da
ting, hanging out, maybe study
ing a little bit. Our consciousness
broadened, and with it, a new
pride; pride in our appearance,
pride in our lockers, pride in our
fifth period lunch. Over our
shoulder and ever so present
stood a Senior - a quite strange
character actually. Prior to
spring, the taunts of the Senior
hastened our immaturity, wea
kened our confide, 'e, tried our
patience. Now, in May, the once
bright, glowing eyes of the Senior
turned to dull, glazed looks of one
no longer sure of himself. How
immature! We must move on.
The year is 1977. It is spring.
We are the juniors. We are by no
means the kiddies anymore; our
rings proclaim our superiority.
The new moustaches, beards, and
make up show our maturity and
wisdom. We go to our first
homecoming; , we learn about
Page Piracy, PSAT’s, Mrs. Pe-
thal. Pride is fast cars, AP
courses, steady dates, class rings,
and fake ID’s. That cry baby of a
senior is gone. In his place, a new
senior appears. Oh no! His once
bright eyes now too fall to the
“Raindrops keep falling” syn
drome. Well, this is so childish.
WE MUST BE STRONG JU
NIORS! We must move on.
It is spring, 1978. Thank God,
we are getting out. No longer are
we conditioned to the sounds of
“Registration,” “Go to Home
room,” “11 Absences,” “cafete
ria food,” “SAT’S,” “You must
see Mr. Jones or else,” and the
like. The time to depart is here.
Oh no. . . Is it raining? It must
be! Oh no! That’s not rain! What
shall I do? Shall I be ashamed?
No, we must stand alone, each
unto his own life now.
Contrary to all the rest of my
classmates, my tears flow freely.
Each of us are now alone. We
have become separate entities,
new beings. We have pride, but
not in cars, not in dates, not in
clothes. We take pride in school,
in beating Page, in saying, “I am
from Girmsley, so I am somebo
dy.” The school which we' so
apathetically attended for three
years is now home away from
home. Soon the friends who we so
carelessly took for granted are to
be gone; some only for a short
time; some forever. No longer will
there be the constant “Let’s go to
class, son,” or the “three tardies
868 IS THE PLACE
by Cindy Caveness
Last year, during the same time
of turmoil, one of my fellow
classmates wrote an article about
the newspaper staff. So I am
writing a follow-up on the 1977
-1978 staff.
As you remember, or do not,
868 is the cell in which my fellow
animals are kept. We are put in
the very corner of the school so
not to bother the normal students.
Well, let me get on with my
description of the staff.
Our group of editors make up
a strange group of people? They
are supposed to be leaders and
have bright ideas. The editors are
nice, do not get me wrong, but
they are just a little strange. Hank
Howard, our editor in chief, jogs
every day showing off his less
than sexy legs. This usually
results with the girls scrambling
to the bathroom to relieve them
selves.
Our sports editor is a totally
different story. Lisa McDowell
sits in the comer of the room
singing Willie Nelson’s favorite
songs. Her eyes carry a ‘1 am not
quite here’ look.
Sara Gramley and Cindy Ward
are the two timid editors. Yet
when they want to be mean you
better watch out!!
Now for the commoners known
as reporters. The bejt looking
man on the staff is Wayne Early.
This guy’s bod could excite just
about anything.
Our cute little Girl Scout, Gerri
Ratliff, deserves the good behavi
or award. Even though she is
tardy everyday, she convinces
Ms. Sroog that she was only
talking to Mr. Smith.
Now if you ever need a sum
mary of the parties held the
weekend before, you should talk
to Manuel Campano. He constan
tly talks about every party there
was and was not.
We are privileged to have our
very own talking Barbie Doll. Jill
Utter is so cute that you want to
go out and buy all the hair spray
in the world for her.
Anthony Beard is a very suave
sort of guy. He is so tall, (How tall
is he?), he is so tall his head is
always in the ciouds.
Ellen Mitchell is our Pizza
expert. She sits in class everyday
begging Scroog to let her go get
ads. We know what she really
wants to get. . .
The loudest group of animals in
the class is the Space Cadet Club.
The HEAD of the club is the one
and only Bryan Smith. He franti
cally searches the room everyday
for a bottle of clear Eyes. You
know how sophomores are. . .
ah, the wise fools. Bryan’s part
ner is Joe Morris. He helps Bryan
with anything he can not handle,
(girls, copy, driving his car. . . )
Ken Bicknell and Kathy (apple
cheeks) McEachern will some
times let the two sophs go to a
Tennis match cf a track meet if
they are good. I deny having to be
any part of that.
Cheryl Luteman and Ann
Strange are our printer runners.
They are the first to go to the
printer and the last of us to come
back. I think it has to do with a
certain Jeep driver.
Carole Dolin and Anna Poulos
are the quiet ones of the class. I
have heard that you have to be
careful with those kind. Kirk Rice
fits this group on the surface but
on the inside he is one of the
biggest Space Cadets in the class.
Now the rumor around the
school is that there is an ugly sea
monster lurking in the back room
of 868. Well that is wrong. It is
only Ms. Sroog!!
If you have noticed I have
overlooked Martin Miller, Well,
what can I say Martin, I over
looked myself too. Only because I
am a senior and 1 have privileges.
1 must leave now because my
keeper has to put me in my
padded cell. Chow.”
constitutes one absence” lingo,
but my decisions will be “mine.”
Yet, there is no turning back.
Unhappily, I alone now, move on.
Quickly, I ^ab my last news
paper and yearbook. Forty years
from now, they shall serve as my
only link to the past I so quickly
wasted. I turn and follow my
fellow mates into the auditorium.
Quietly, I receive my last congra
tulations from my teachers. Even
Mr. Saunders, my arch enemy,
watched with intense feeling as I
said goodbyes, shook hands, re
minisced and reflected. The new
character, called sophomore as I
might remember, watched laugh
ingly as 1 cried, but I could not
stop; I moved on.
It is June 12, 1978. Slowly, I
make my way through all the
coliseum doors, through all the
faces, the tears, the memories. I
take my place for the last time
behind a fellow senior who I never
really took the time to know and
nudged her to make sure 1 was
looking as happy as possible for
such a solemn occasion. Sadly,
she says yes. We march in, hand
in hand. As that familiar tune is
played, our eyes become swollen,
filled with the memories of foot
ball rivalrys, late term papers,
lost books. The throat, once used
to yell out familiar cheers, now
seemed full of fond wishes,
although none ever made it out.
Impatiently, we listened as
final words were said. For an
instant, we recall friends and
mates who did not make it here
tonight, and pray for them. 1 hear
a name called. It is mine. Slowly,
I clutch that sheet of paper I
worked twelve years for. Proudly,
yet meekly, I move on.
And so, I have graudated. With
my friends and enemies alike, I
offer a few thoughts, a kind word,
a kiss, a prayer. In return, I
receive a hug, a tear, a simple
touch, each expressing more than
is said in three years, or six years,
or a lifetime.
Later, 1 sit back and reflect, cry
a while, remembering the good,
the bad, the little things that were
so trivial.
I dry my tears and move on -
down a new road; the music that
we danced to at one time now
plays a different melody - one
that you, nor I, nor 547 other
people can hear. One that can be
heard by number 548, or 549. We
each her a different beat now, and
we each move on.
CLOTHING FOR GENTLEMEN AND THEIR SONS
FRIENDLY SHOPPING CENTER
GREENSBORO. NORTH CAROLINA
COf^e. SEE
fORHALS
FROn.. .
112 WEST SYCAnORC umoMM hHL
ar-
5r\tLlecjf, 'w-ic' A''
School Kid’s
Recor/ds
the DRNNON vogurt store
invft^ you to a quick salad
and afterschool snacki
garter
^■..L ; MUSIC STUDIO
I
H
551S. Mendenhall SL
275-1226
Moa.-Sat. 11:00-7:60
Sunday 1:00-6:00
AU t.W LP’s only 3.99
AU 7.98 LP’l only 4.99
AU 10 * 11.98 LP’t only 6.99
2514 Cornwall^ Onve
288-4ero
I
I
Ourter - Teacher^ of Any
- /Musical /nstrumetti
yraduatf of:
Philadelphia coNSERVATORy
of MUStC*«JULlAROECHOOLef MUSIC
I
AH 798 list tapes
ONLY 5-75
tApd-Z hr your recorder
Good Selections Of Cutouts.
tislen For Less
s •