Page Two
High Life
May 25, 1956
H”
ef and preserve the history of our
f school.
fold individuals together under
high standards.
S eparate the worthwhile from
the worthless and promote
the highest interest of stu
dents, teachers, and school.
the Senior Who Distributed the Most
Cards to Total Strangers.
Home room teachers are accred
ited with the first step in the an
nual procedure. They instigate a
few Select members to bear the
wagons of cards to their destina
tions. Each senior is entitled to his
own little red wagon, which comes
equipped with 1,000,000 darling
cards bearing his fuU name, (There
is also a purpose to this; if the
recipient happens to, know the don
or personally, when he reads the
cards later, he can’t possibly recog
nize the owner. This is part of the
Joy—^trying to decipher Melvin Von-
Hinkle Northwood down to Block
head South.)
As the first bell rings, the seniors
make the initial charge. Anyone who
does not accumulate enough cards
to fiU at least three closets is con
sidered a social outcast. The parent
al attitude to this addition to the
househO;ld is beyond description,
but the tirade begins, “Are you
off your . . . ?”
These cards acquire, as time
marches on, an intrinsic value
which makes them dear to each
alumnus. The customary procedure
is to allow them to age and ferment
properly for eight to ten years,
then shovel them from their dis
tillery to their final resting place;
the nearest incinerator. This last
rite is carried out in privacy, of
course, for no one knows when an
old schoolmate may come snooping
around to see if his cards have been
discarded.
Another point to the custom is
that by the time the senior is ready
to mail his graduation invitations,
he no longer has any of his cards,
and he is forced to substitute those
of other people. Tha may or may
not prove advantageous, since he
will be receiving ^ts from other
peoples’ friends.
What Js the moral? Beware from
whom you accept cards. Have each
person fill out a form stating the
annual income of his friends, and
then be discriminating in chosing
those with whom you will exchange.
It’s much more profitable that way.
Graduation—1956
A name is called; a hand, shaken; a diplo
ma, received. The finale of twelve years
of school is once more experienced in a
graduation ceremony. The treasured diplo
ma is grasped tightly, for it signifies a
high school education. It opens the way
to success; it unlocks the door to adulthood;
it carpets the road to social acceptance. But
consider these possible benefits again. Is
the diploma itself an assurance of future
success or an indication of past accomplish
ments?
The answer is an adamant and an arbitra
ry no! The diploma in itself is worthless;
it is but a symbol of the successes and fail
ures of twelve years. To a few it represents
admirable achievements in scholarship,
leadership, and service; but to others it
stands for years of “barely sliding by.”
Nevertheless, the diplomas) received by
these two converse types are physically
identical; however, the attitudes of the re
cipients are different. Those few students
who see beyond the formal whiteness and
glamor of a graduation certificate and gain
satisfaction from knowing they have at
tained both educational advancement and
character growth are far more mature in
their thinking than those pupils who feel
that receiving a diploma is receiving an
education.
The actual diploma is not important; rath
er what goes behind it. The value of a
high school education is measured by the
practice of good citizenship, mature think
ing, character development, and increased
knowledge, not by a square of linen paper.
Learning to live with other people and for
other people constitute the lessons that
can’t be recorded. No, the diploma isn’t
the reaped fruit of education; the prized
reward is the mental and character growth
that it represents. Each senior who reaches
for his coveted certificate is handed some
thing different, depending upon what he
has put behind it himself. These important
^ts are intangible; the diploma, purely a
material symbol.
T^OT niNEi-NOTfilN^ NOTTIINE), NOT.
HALL TALES
Do I Have Your Card Yet?
Is it a rocketship raffle? Free tickets to
the moon? Applications for the Miss Type
writer Ribbon of 1956 Contest? No, it is
something much more sensible. The seniors
you see flaunting scraps of paper in each
other’s faces are merely exercising another
senior privilege known as, “Will you ex
change cards with me?”
The originator of said custom is un
known, or surely he would be immortalized
in the portals of GHS history. Perhaps there
would even be a cup or rather a barrel for
mcH Tife
PubUsiMd SemFM^nthly hr the Stwlenti of
(^■eendw>ro Senior School
Greemboro, N. C.
Founded br the CioM
of 1921
Rerlved by the Rprlnjr
Jonrnn1if>m Clasu
of 1937
Entered as seeond-Oass matter March
1940, at the poet office at Greensboro, N.
under the Act of March 3, 1879.
Teenager to father: “I dented the fen
der a little bit. If you want to look at it,
it’s in the back seat.”
Overheard in hall, “He not only lied to
me about the make of his car, he made
me do the pedaling.”
Sophomore, Shloymey, learning to
drive, “Quick, Jim, take the wheel, here
comes a tree.”
Donna Oliver: I love lying on bed and
ringing for the maid with my bell.
Nanci Neese: Do you have a maid?
Donna: No, but I have a bell.
One advantage of poor writing is that
your spelling can’t be criticized.
Sue Levine: We’re only going to have
a half day of school this morning.
Linda Cashwell; We are? Why?
Sue: We’re going to have the other
half this afternoon.
Gary Snider: I had a rotten date last
nite.
Robert Hewett: What did you do
about it?
Gary: I spit it out.
The guy decided to reform. The first
week he cut out smoking. The second
week he cut out drinking. The third
week he cut out women. The fourth week
he cut out paper dolls.
Roger Frost: Mom, I just saw a man
who makes horses.
Mother: Are you sure?
Roger: Yes, he had a horse nearly
finished when I saw him. He was just
nailing on the back feet.
Philosophy: A theory is a hunch with.
a college education.
Mr. Luttrell.of unknown fame (pun-
ny): The laughed when I juggled three
sticks of dynamite. When I dropped one,
they exploded!
Sergeant to new bunch of nuts: This
type of bullet will peoetrate six inches
of solid oak, so remember to keep your
heads down.
Script T ease
What Is A Teacher? Beach Sccne At High Noon
A Message In the Sky
Editor-in-CMef
Atsistont Editorg
Managing Editor
Btmness Manager —
AdvertisiRg Manager .
Copy Editor
Feature Editor
Boys’ Sport Editor
Sports Reporter
Girls' Sports Editor ..
Exchatnge Editor
Circulation Editor
Photographers
Cartoonist
Proofreaders
Reporters
Jim Martin
Donna Oliver
Diane Schwartz
Dick Robinson
. Mary Lou Hutton
Ginger Bass
Mary Wheeler
Betty Adams
Add Penfield, Jr.
Max Snodderly
Mary Jane Seawell
Nancy 'Tuttle
Ann Greeson
Dan McConnell
Claiborne Cordle
Diana Horman
Paula Tuttle
Linda Harrison, Sue Spence and
Lou Spence
Judy Shallant
Jane Parkins, Bonnie Adelstein
Frances McCormick, and
Elwood Hartman
Adviser - Miss Peggy Ann Joyner
Financial Adviser Mr. A. P. Routh
She is the short lady with graying hair
who kissed you daily in the first grade
and made you feel omniscient when you
finally mastered the alphabet. She is
the slave-driver who seemed to contrive
dark plots and darker reasons for your
learning fractions and percentages. She
is the one who made you cry because
you couldn’t spell Connecticut, but too
she is the mother hen who carefully
tucked you under her wing when the
fifth grade boys pulled your pigtails and
took your crayons.
She is the yard-stick dictator from
whom you cringed in fear when you
changed schools. She was the awesome
mistress of your mind for a year, but
how you cried when you realized you
were leaving her. You ran away without
a word of thanks or farewell, so ashamed
were you of those tears trickling down
your cheek.
She is the tall, sharp, demanding
woman whose every glance petrified you
until one day she complimented a line
of your first theme. From then on pleas
ing her was the goal of your literary
life. Too old for tears when you left her,
you merely bit your lip, hoped she
wouldn’t notice, and wished her a pleas
ant summer; but she saw, smiled under-
standingly, and wished you luck in the
next grade.
She is to you the ideal of adulthood.
She is Interest with chalk dust in her
hair, Advice with extra pencils for every
one, Patience with thirty pairs of galosh
es to tug off and on, and Wisdom with
Kleenex for so many running noses. She
is a tree with arms and roots, stretching
forth to all to come and seek her, dwell
From behind the counter I can look
out on the never ending Atlantic and
see billowy white caps breaking far out
on the horizon, while down on the beach
I can hear loud splashing noises made
by powerful waves breaking upon sun
baked sands. Circling high above,
screeching sounds are heard from sea
gulls, and below on the beach comes a
shrill whistele from the life-guard as he
warns a swimmer that he is out to far.
A sudden gust of wind from the
north-east ocean front, brings into my
mouth an unexpected taste of the beach’s
gritty sand, accompanied by a fine ocean
spray hitting me in the face. Down on
the towel and umbrella dotted beach,
two little boys are building a sand
castle, while their playmate is very
much unconcerned and is playing tag
with the waves that break and glide
smoothly up the shell littered beach. As
a sporty dressed fisherman passes by me,
he leaves the scent of shrimp and fish,
which immediately is chased away by
the presence or two shapely beauty
queens walking hastily along the burn
ing board walk, jumping from the walk,
and racing toward the warm blue waters.
As I sit gazing out into the blue, there
comes a sharp rap behind me there’s
a customer to be waited on.
a year in the protection of her boughs,
pluck her leaves of wisdom, and depart
enriched until the next season’s learn
ers replace you under her sheltering
care.
The storm raged on.
Across the sky in torrents
Flashed the fiery lightning.
The thunder shook the earth with fear;
The trees bent forth and shed their
clothing;
The world was total darkness
Save the lightning that on and off
Across the sky
Painted the lines of despair and failure.
The clouds hung low, a veil of gloom.
To drop upon the earth and smother
That last flame of hope that lingered on.
And as I sat and watched the scene
And felt the end had come for me.
The rains suddenly ceased to be;
The winds died in the trees;
And around those clouds
Was a silver lining.
My heart leaped up in ecstasy
As I saw the message written for me.
Barbara Monnett
Reminiscence
When all the world looks bleak to me.
My life is an eternity
Of darkness and loneliness.
My soul knows not another way
To leave this world this dreary day
Than dreaming of the hallowed past.
Ah yes, the past, the days before,
The times my heart has longed for morv
Of love and understanding.
My friends have left the memories thero
For me in reverie to share
With them in their sad ^adows.
Jerry Mann