North Carolina Newspapers

HIGH LIFE Novemher 20,1S31 HIGH LIFE Published Bi-mouthly, Except Holidays, by the Students of Greensboro High School, Greensboro, N. C. Founded by the Class of ’21 Chaeteb Membeb Makch 1925 Entered as Second-Class Matter at the Post Office, Greensboro, N. C. STAFF Aciing-EHitor-in-Chicf Carl Jeffress Editor Fillmore Wilson Bu$in€ns Manager lA^ah Louise Baach As.Histant limsinexs Manayers David Flake, Louis Ginsburg SI’ECIAL EDITORS Spurts Editors Edwin Gambrel), Paige Holder Typing Editors Cynthia Pipkin, Margaret Knight Art Editor Howell Overton Exchange Editor Kathryn Ginsberg ASSISTANT EDITORS Elizabeth Whaley Lane Barksdale Quentin Dixon Beverly Burgess TYPISTS Powell Banner Carolyiie Ilay Barbara Witherspoon REPORTERS Marguerite Lefort Constance Blackwood Herbert Montgomery Ruth Harris Evelyn Strader Eiyn Fowler Elizabeth Craven Edward Cone .Tack Nowlin Robert Saunders PliyUis Hagedorn Helen Crutchfield Joyce Heritage ' Miriam Robinson Edith I^tham FACULTY ADVISER Mrs. Alma G. Coltrane Member of the American Boy Magazine Feature Sem'ce Hollo world—aint life been grand since the last issue? Cues Patronize Our Advertisers When the merchants oi' Greensboro put an ad in High Life, they are not paying for the ads as gifts to the school, but they expect a return on their money in the way of business from high school students. These men are backing High Life, so let us hack them. When making purchases, give preference to High Life advertisers and tell them before you leave that you saw their ad in High Life. That re mark will make our advertisers feel that their money has been put to some good use. You will also be doing High Life a favor. Make Some One Thankful During the holidays when our thoughts are centered on what we are going to have for Thanksgiving dinner, we should remember those who will not have a feast and those who are less fortunate and will not have enough food to keep off hunger. Will we shirk our responsibility, and trust the other fellow to make these unfortunates thankful? Are you one of those who think Thanksgiving is a time for pleas ure? Or, are you one who will see that some one is happy and has an unexpected reason to be thankful? The fact that this year finds America in an unfortunate condition does not mean that we should be any the less thankful. So let’s stop complaining about what we haven’t and be thankful for what we do have. Finishing the Second Lap It’s great to start with a bang and end the same way. We would all, however, rather see a runner make a poor start and slowly get ahead until he is leading, than to see the man who has made such a splendid beginning lay behind until he is out of the race entirely. Many pupils have started this year with the determination to win. We hope these pupils will not forget that the second month is harder than the first and the third is the hardest of all. If you make unsatisfactory grades, you know what to do about it. It Can Be Done There are few tasks, however hard, which cannot be accomplished by a willing, cheerful, co-operative group. Success is always possible, but it takes co-operation to make it assured. This is illustrated by the success of the fifth semester students in raising funds for the junior-senior by selling tickets for “The Spirit of Notre Dame.” In spite of the fact that the student body in general is “hard up,” and are spending what money is available on activity cards, etc., the project went over with a “bang.” It took real sales manship and hard work to do this. If we have the right attitude, no matter how difficult the job is, “it can be done.” Compulsory Activity Fee Wanted Every student has to pay for the use of his books each year. A suggestion comes that the pupils would prefer to add another dollar and a half td this book fee and obtain an activity card with the books. This card would bring a saving to the students and a guarantee to the extra curricula school activities for the money and support that they need. The success or failure of our publication depends on ads and sub scriptions, and compulsory cards would insure the required funds for the paper and the magazine. It would mean a good attendance at all the football and basketball games and also at all dramatic and music productions. I jest got a letter from Ed Cone. It’s one of the two thousand letters which I have received during re cent years. My Dear Mr. Writit: I am a Zileh—a bona (fide) zilch. Now all Zilches are a member of the Ancient, Amalgamated, and Alloptropic form of Zilehes of the American Association of Agnettes. Commonly we are called the A, A. A. A. A. A. A. A. In behalf of this great organization, I request that you change the npne of this col- rnn to that of “The Egrits Nest.” Thank you Very Much: EDGAR B. ZILCH, D. H. (Doctor of Heronolgy.) My Dear Edgar: I am sure that if the readers of this paper knew who you were, they would exterminate you. These horrid Burdi- cal terms, is enough to drive a body mad. What’s more, you shall be tried for Plegarism for you have coppied words, which I myself have seen in one of Daniel Webster’s Books. The name of this column is perfectly suitable for the perpose, and I don’t need any of your Heronology to make it better. Still more, I ain’t takin’ orders from airy ono of you dratted Zilches. If this let ter is an application for the “Bug House” in disguise, I may as well toll you that I’ll pay the way of any Zilch to any bug house in any town if any of them will promise never to return. Tales of the Kohinur May I announce that this is a silly column, and not a'plaee for things of serious consideration. So people please don’t send in any more letter like this one. I admit that it is silly, but the nature of the silliness is in the simplic ity of its writer, and if there is any thing I abhore—it is to have to corres pond with myself. Well folks Lulu Allan has sent in some more parts from her flabbergast. ing code Shoot? Ohhhhhhhh Kay— how you surprise me. Eht Sehcliz evoh dellorne a rebum fo wen srebmen ohw era sa swollof: De Webneb—Driallih Neile—ena Niteuq—these are al Yllabooh clopp. Here is another poem by Huth Bill— she just discovered that there was a poetry contest. Although this is rather late for the contest—I am going to en ter it since there have been no other entries of any importance. The merry Giraffe has a long, long neck, And it stretches wherever he pleases, He has long legs, too, and spots on hie And his tail gently waves in the breezes. He likes to run with hU long, long legs. And he blinks whenever he sneezes; He wiggles his ears if you tickle him much, And he eats bananas from treeses. Well, folks, I have a new idea. There shall be a new contest on counting pea nuts in the bags in the cafeteria. The one sending in the largest number of peanuts in a sealed bag will get a bag free. I counted 27 in a bag last Thurs day. Imean yesterday. Good bye, I WRITIT. Book Reviews Frankness and Tact Free expression of opinion, unhindered by fears of what others will think, is a quality that few people have. Frankness is always admired in a person, but many people fear to say what they believe for fear that someone else will not approve of their opinion. An excess of frankness, however, is bad just as is an excess of anything. In putting our thoughts into words, there is always a limit beyond which we should not go in order not to liurt the pride or vanity of some of our hearers. It is well to say what we believe up to a certain point, but we should say it in such a way as to avoid offending others. Perhaps you yourself have known what it means to be embarrassed by a careless remark of one of your friends or acquaintances. If so, you know wnai a strain such an incident is to even the strongest friendships. The obvious thing to do is to combine frankness with tact, thus avoiding injury to our friends. Stagnation? We all know that when water is still—is without any movement for any great length of time, it is termed stagnant. The filth of disease’ embodies it and makes it useless and lifeless. The same applies to school. Whep the students in an institution of learning are inactive, are without spirit, are without ambition and a goal, they become dead and afford little inspiration to their fellow students. Have any of us reached the point of stagnation ? The Lively Lady,” by Kenneth Rob- 3, i3 one of the past summer's best fiction publications. ' Like most of Mr. Roberts’ books, this story is based on hstory. Just before the beginning of the War of 1812, Rich ard Nason, a resident of Arundel, Me., fails in love with an Englishwoman, Lady Ransom. He quarrels , with her husband. Sir Arthur, and during the the ship of which he is captain cap tures an English vessel. Sir Arthur Ransom and Lady Ransom are passen gers on this boat. Shortly afterwards Captain Nason is forced to surrender, id is seat to Dartmoor prison. He finally escapes, and discovers that Sr Arthur is dead. He outfits another ship, and is getting ready to sail when Lady Ransom comes aboard. The whole book gives a strong pression of the gallantry, courage, skill of the warriors, American pri vates, captains, and of the crews who manned them. Although this novel is first of all romance, its historic value is consider able. It gives an accurate account of the war in which American won “the free dom of the seas.” (Story Two) Now this “mountain of light” had illuminated six decades and was hands of the mighty ruler, Saludin. Sa- ludin was a man of great wealth, so great that the walls of his palace glowed witli rubies of Burma inlaid the marble whiteness. He drank from cups carved of amethyst and ate sweet meats from boxes of turquoise, nothing so pleased him as to gaze upon his precious inheritance. Visiting kings came from Calcutta, Tibet, and even from far-off Mongolia to look amazement and admiration at this glis tening gem. Ilis court was a lively place where maidens dressed in luxurious silks and wore strings of opals about their necks and yellow beaten anklets of burnished gold upon their legs; on their fingers rings of glistening silver, and from their ears dangled little shining bits of jade. In their hands they car ried fans of rare plumes, exquisite color and magnificent to look at. ow amid all this splendor there s court magician, a wicked plotter, whose name was Ramayzna. His face yellowish and waxen, as though slick, crackled old parchment had been stretched over a prominent : bones. No desire so filled him with wickedness as that of his wish for the Sultan’s prized gem. One night while the rain-drops added their monotony to the stillness of the dark, Ramayzna lay planning a way to gain possession of the diamond. The dawn arrived, casting away tlie rain-drops from marring the beauty of the day; and sun added its sultriness to all about. As midday arrived, Saludin and all his guests sat down in the cool hall of the palace to dine. Each talked of the wonders of his country; some of Bag dad’s magic, others of China’s beauty, but none knew of a jewel of such ex cellence as the Sultan’s. As Saludin sat drinking in all these wonders upon which he had never peered, his face be came pallid and his eyes bulged out; his stare became fixed, and his body stiffened as though from opiate poppy juices he had drunk, which numbed him unto death. All gazed in amazement; so sudden, so unusual was his death. The Nautch girls and the servants came running to see what the matter was, but, alas! none knew. Only the scheming Ramayana, only he who had planted the poison in the wine; only ho knew. All was well, he thought, and he gloated over the success of his wicked deed. After the burial services of the Sul tan in a marble mausoleum designed for its occupant, the visitors began to question one another as to the where abouts of the diamond. As none knew, they decided to go into a conference, which lasted for three days. At last they decided that no human being could die so quickly unless some evil-doer liad practiced black art upon him. Therefore, they went in search of Ramayana, who was the only magician in the land. Now Kenjuba, the wicked one’s wife, had listened in tense silence during the whole meeting; and when she heard this, she ran to inform her husband. Ramayana attempted to flee, but the court mob fade haste, pursued him to the lake side, and would have torn his body into a thousand bits had he not, with the glittering diamond in his hand, rushed headlong into the lake. Now Ramayana would not have plunged into the lake had ho not thought him self able to turn into a fish, but soon he remembered that he had left his magic ring in his room. Thus in cow ardly terror he was drowned. Soon his evil body came back up, cutting into the beauty of the blue-greenish sur face; but the diamond was destined to remain in the lake’s oozy depths for centuries. Romance of Books One of the most interesting and ex citing books of adventure based on mod- life is “Pig Boots,” by Lieutenant Commander Ellesberg, of the IT. S. navy. The hero. Lieutenant Knowlton, through accident and the malice of a German sailor, is forced to leave the navy and conceal his identity. During the World war, he rejoins the navy, and wins fame and honor by his skill and leadership as commander of submarine, or “pig boot,” as it is called by the sailors. The author gives a very vivid and interesting account of the dangers and hardships which the submarine crews have to put up with, and he leaves a good impression of the fortitude of the American sailor. The Four Horsemen of Apocalypse t in “The Scats of the Mighty,” “Rosy O'More” was the “Talesman,” “Candi- gaii” was “The Trumpeter of Kradow” ; Belshazzar “was a New England Nun”; and “Downright Dencey” was “St. liics” in disguise. “By Reason of Strength” they all won the Four' Feather. Bean Sabreur” diallenged: them to u fight but “The Singing Gold’ and the thouglit of the “Turquoise Cup’ made them the “Gate Ajar,” “Splendid Spur,” took them fo the “Gold of Chiokaret*,” and “Mother Carey’s Chickens” brought them “The Buck of Roaring Camp.” They found “Joy Work” and made “Hobo, Rag. and Vixen,” the “Not Quite Puritans,” their true friends. “Rosy O'More” found the “Big Mo gul" and they all went to “Happy Mountain.” Here they built a “Cathe dral” and changed their name to “Em ma MoChesney and Co.” Then “Emma McChesney and Co.” became thi Change.” After this “Rosy O’More’ “Power and the Glory” “On Forsythe from that time on had a “Manifest Des- fel! in love with “May Sinclair” and tiny.” “Caiidigan” showed “The Des cent of Man” when he fell for “The Lady .Jean." “Belshazzar” broke his faith as he married tlie “Woman of Andros” but “Ills Children’s Children” found “The Host Gosiiel." “Downright Dencey” just dropped for “Anna Ha- renina” and his “Son" became a “Re porter for Lincoln.” They all showed “The Need of a Change” so when the professor doesn't I ail answer don't say “Professor How Could You?” Hear Ye Dear Editor: The city fathers should see to it that sidewalks are constructed leading to school to safeguard the lives of stu dents who attend. Westover Terrace, especially, makes the situation very dangerous. Students having their cars parked out in front of the school are hurry to get home and the stu dents who have to walk in the streets are endangered. JAMES GREGORY. Dear Editor; During the past month we have had the privilege of listening to radio pro grams. Some of the students enjoy this privilege and listen to the speakers. Others think this is a time to sleep, some read books, and others talk to those sitting near them. Students should at least be courteous. LELAH NELL MASTERS. Dear Editor: Our assemblies, as everyone knows, lack a spirit of unity and student par ticipation. Mr. Miller, I am sure, would gladly lead some songs and help to make our chapel programs better at the Wednesday morning periods. There is a certain feeling of good fellowship, friendliness, co-operation, and wholobeartedness that is lacking, sing a few songs, Mr. Miller. A STUDENT. IS IT WORTH IT? 1 dime Down in the Cellar Now that the floor In the library is beginning to get slightly wavy, some of the idealistic students of G. H. S. are being bitterly disalllusioned. The library hasn’t a tile floor! The way in which G. II. S. students force themselves to get up early (?) these mornings shows the power of mind (?) over matter. If the science one class has to draw many more cells, a large number of Its members will have to be placed In cells. (Padded cells). 'Tests, tests, tests, more tests, and still more tests, is whnt G. H. S. seems to be having most of these days. IIow about a little let-up? Between the ner vous prostration caused by worry (?), and the mental overtax, some students are about ready for a wooden night shirt. THE PUZZLE Detroit, Mich., (ABS)—Now that mid term exams are on—and i weather unpleasant?—high school stu dents must comfort themselves with the thought that things might be much, much worse. For instance, they might find on some list of questions such puzzle as this, recently asked a •ui versity class. Here it is: It appears that three men of the epew of the Continental Limited are named Jones, Robinson, ah.d Smith. One engineer, one trainman, and the other a conductor, but not respectively. On the train also are three passengers: Mr. J., Mr. S., and Mr. R. Now got these facts: Mr. R. lives in Ottawa. The conductor lives halfway between Ottawa and Montreal. Mr. J. earns $2,500 a year. The conductor’s nearest neighbor, a passenger, earns exactly three times as much as the conductor. The conductor’s namesake lives in Montreal. Smith beats the train at billiards. Question: What is the engineer’s name? This puzzle is workable. Can you do it? Next week High Life will pub lish the solution as worked out by Mar tin A. Kkver, assistant editor of the American Boy Magazine. I picked up three nickles and And looked at them— What queer things— What a queer thing—money. And what a big part it plays in lives— We sell our bodies for it— Then pay with our souls— We give up homes and friends and Love for it— And never count the cost. We die for just the one moment of bliss, When the coins slip through our fingers. And drop on the table with a cold, life- Ie» sound. We hold it in onr hands—and gaze at it. And then our eyes light up with the Anticipation of spending it— And, oh—the wonderful things we will Purchase— But always, in our minds’ eyes we see Greater wealth,—so we keep saving- Day by day, night by night we see the Little pile grow higher— Our eyes take on a glitter of madness— And soon—al! else is forgotten- And we bow down in reverence to the Great God, Money— But how morbid I have become. From looking at three nickels and dime— What queer things— What a queer thing—money. —Phyllis Morrah. FLICKERINGS Heaven afiame with blue— Lovely, ethereal, maddening. Drawing heart from the body; Carrying thought too high To be expressed. • Earth unfolding herself to her lover, the Sun; Earth yielding up her harvest of color to man— Earth frank with gaiety. Women in kitchens standing on weary feet That autumn may not be missed When winter comes. While all the world reflects God’s grace. —Helen Crutchfield. THE BUILDERS A builder of dreams is never there, To build his castles firm and real. A builder of thoughts who has no care, Will build but though^ of evil deeds. A builder of hope who is not strong. In will, in love, and in faith. For honor and fame he need not long. They are the fruits of honest toil. A builder of thu a man must be. If he would reap a just reward— So here are his structures to use and Faith, Hope, and Charity. —Beverly Burgess. AUTUMN Autumn— A flame of golden red, Leaping high in defiance^ of winter’s breath. Autumn— Blazing a trail of loved colors. Across the emerald-hued meadows of summer. Autumn— A spectacle of breath-taking beauty. Beneath the sparkling azure skies. Autumn— With satiric laughter high and gay. Autumn flings wide her mantle. And laughs at death. —Joyce Heritage. Mephistophelian Macaroni THE DREAM Now for your regular dose of my ego tism : I dreamed that the tree that I woke up under was whirling madly above my head, for all the world like a merry-go- round. The sun was staring down at me so hard that I dared not look back at him, and all the grasshoppers chuck led hoarsely when I arose' to my feet. The birds just winked, looked solemn, and said nothing. The only thing that looked pleasant was a quaint little flower perched in a cool, shady, little nook. The shade felt just fine, but the sun snorted, ran around the skies until he found rae, and then resumed the roasting process. This didn’t daunt my desire for that fragrant little flower, and so I started to pull it; it held on to the ground and growled. It admit that I felt a bit light-headed then. When I came to my senses, I was perched on the topmost limb of a -'tree which waa growing alarmingly fast. The ground kept draw ing farther and farther away, and a lop-eared dog at the foot of the tree kept growing smaller and smaller. I started to climb down, but I got hung upon a great, billowy-white cloud. There was nothing to do but wait for the tree. In about ten yeara I saw it coming; I jumped, I missed, and fell. 1 looked around for the clothes-line upon which I fancied I was caught, but the nearest thing to a clothespin was a queer thing emerging from an adjacent clump of seaweed. It had a rather cute, pudgy nose, curly hair, and tiny red ears. It minced within a few steps of my perch and sweetly inquired, “Yes, what is it?” I disclosed my desires to a tiny bump 23 degrees from the tip of his nose. • “Oh, you’re in the land of the Dooky Bird,” he sneezed. “My name is Bane Barksdale, but Pm afraid you can’t get down.” ‘How come?” I queried. 'Shhhhh,” he hissed, “did you not know that Sheba and Jezabel have is sued a decree,” here he bowed low and sucked a lollypop three sucks with much precision and reverence. “Do you not know the Dooky Bird has flowed away?” This greatly upset me, but I wanted to know all about it, so I said, “How come?” ‘Dear me!” he exclaimed, “’Tis the Barksdalian theory. All snakes are soda crackers and strawberry preserves are '•mnipotent cucumbers.” “How interesting,” I quoth, “but this doesn’t bestow my congregated bulks of effervescent matter upon the con fines of terra firma.” you bet your life it won’t,” sneered the ground, “I don’t want you.” “Well, you needn’t think I’m going on holding him,” rang back the air. “Oh, say, now, fellows!” I pleaded, Pm not so bad as all that. Why, where I come from—” At this point that queer Larksdale Jrson jumped into the air and screeched, “Hoochy-pooehy, wow-wow!” I’ll be candid. It’s a crime to be con- ventional and allow a dream to end as all dreams must. Did I die during my dream or am I still dreaming? To a Pebble Immortal part Of the Rock of Ages, Tomb of heroes and cowards, Roamer of the World, And missile of woe, I salute you. Ode to the Eternal Nothing The moon was hanging in the sky Exactly like an apple pie; The park bench held two lovers fair Who breathed sweet words into the air. Of course, they kissed, and she said “Yes,” ' He knelt and whimpered on her dress. And thus the same old story showed The same old way, the same old road: And what’s Of “time 0 the use of love or hate space or will or fate?”