OCR Text |
Show Tuesday, June 1, 1943 Page 4 SOUTH HIGH SCRIBE South&ribe Founded, 1931 Published by the students of South high school, 1575 South State Street, Salt Lake City, Utah. EDITOR Milton Hollstein News Editor. A. T. Challls Feature Editor ...Bob Jackson Social Editor..... Bev Egbert Co-Spor- ts Editors Frank Allan, Frank James Art Editor , Bob Linde Alumni Editor k Phyllis Clayton Photographers..- - Stan Gold, Bill Rose Assistant News Editor Edna Price Assistant Social Editor Susan McCarrel BUSINESS Business Manager Dot Parkinson Ad Manager... Lorraine Johnson Circulation Paul Pusey Exchanges,...- - -- ...Camilla Smith Bookkeeper Joyce Daughters FACULTY SPONSOR - V. F. VICTOR AWARDS 1939- - 40 Best in Utah, Weber College Signpost. 1940-- 41 First Class Honor Rating NSPA. 1941- -42 Best in Utah, Weber College Signpost. 1942 (first semester) First Class Honor Rating NSPA. (Member f H Est. 1 921 ) We've Had Everything! Next September, South will be a year older. There will probably be another crack in the ceiling; another chip in the tile. How-ever, it is hoped that as she ages, she will gain in wisdom. Through her eleven years of existence, South has unfurled many ideals. She accept-ed the student for what he was, and not for what he owned. You couldn't buy your way into her society; South sought out only those who were worthy in leadership and character. The remaining were like sheep following the fold. Many students have commented on the spirit of South this year. "It seemed," they said, "that something was missing. We thought it was vitality." However, when we were called upon to raise a definite amount of money for war bonds and stamps, the student body came through with flying colors. South is in the war. She couldn't have been as gay and carefree as she was last year. Many of her students have only come to school half a day. Many of her leaders have switch-ed to the university, where they were trained in military tactics. Take a second look at South this year. Hasn't she had her football, basketball, and baseball games? Hasn't she had a track and tennis team? She's had assemblies, dances, parties, a year book, the school paper, and the best instructors, considering wartime.' She's had practically everything. On Graduation 1 943 Memories Haunt Sentimental Cub Writers By Joy Wiest, Violet Ruga "Memories, Memories, Dreams of days gone by " Over the sea of memories, we float like a bar of Ivory. Come float with us. "Hello hello hello, everybody, Hello, and how are you, today ? We hope that you enjoy your stay " (in this column, too). It's "Hello Day," at South High. Do we remember the exact date: No but in our mind, that day will linger forever as the beginning of a wonderful year. (On reliable verification, the exact date of the afore-state- d event was September 11, 1942:) On that day, everyone signed the other fellow's paper, and everybody was meeting every-body and nobody was remembering everybody, and one couldn't dis-tinguish a somebody from an any-body, but just as Abe Lincoln said, "You can fool some of the peo-ple some of the time, You can fool all of the people some of the time, You can fool some of the peo-ple all of the time, But you can't fool all of the people all of the time." There was a matinee dance after school that day which was a huge success at least everybody huge was there Dottie Brown, for ex-ample. Sherman Garrett towered above her minute chassis. Little did he know that soon some sailor would have anchored a diamond ring on her third finger, left hand. Little did either of them know that Pat Brandley would be elected president of Social Ars. Little did Pat know that but that is another story. Soon September 18 showed its face. The election of school offi-cers was held. Dee Lowder was voted, acclaimed, pronounced, chos-en, selected, and declared president. Don Giacoma lived in sublime ig-norance of the fact that soon this mi,ghty task would fall upon his shoulders. October 7 was a fateful and happy day for Dick North, for he was elected SAM president. Re-member the last basketball game he played? Never was a game more exciting. October was a month of surprises. The "B" foot-ball team won its first game. On Friday, the 13th of Novem-ber, Julie Spitz, Donna Carlson, Carole Taylor, and Jean Furner, those sweet, considerate, adorable, home-lovin- g, law-abidi- ng S.HA.G. officers dressed up like black cats, but such honest, simple, truthful, sincere, devoted, faithful, generous girls did not have the souls of cats. (The occasion was the "Girls' Masquerade.") Then came the school play. There was Royal Neilsen, display-ing his talent; there was Marj Wallin, looking irresistable as us-ual, this time in a light pink wool dress; there wTas Beulah Lattimer. With the arrival of December, half of South's population migrated to Woolworth's, Kress, Sears, Auer-bach'- s, Paris, ZCMI, Scott Hard-ware, Montgomery Wards, Penneys, and the Post Office. They worked; they slaved; for what? As if we don't know. There was Lyle Ert-ma- n, wrapping up tablecloths; there was Joyce Morrison, selling toys; there was Ernest Poulsen. (Chances are that he did know her at that time). Happy New Year! So ends Jan-uary. Then came February the month of Fur Values at Dupler's, Hudson Bay, American Fur Company, Panek's, and all other little de-partment stores that sell furs. This was a sad month, as South lost the basketball championship. East's victory was not complete, how-ever, for our team took the last game. On February 10, our de-voted, helpful, understanding, un-selfish parents and teachers had a P-T- A meeting. As came March, so came the Cadet Hop. It was a dance that we will never forget. April showers drenched the fools (who left their umbrellas at home) and flowers. All the little people had some happy hours. For ex-- ( Continued on Page 5) Slap-Happ- y Cubs Give Nutty Views Of Three South Years By Nate Fullmer and Howard Green Remember . . . remember the first time we entered South in all it's glory and splendor, and spent all our time getting lost? Ah, yes, and judging from the reports we get from Mr. Gerrish on Keith Brown's tardiness, he is still wandering around in a fog. Yes, that was when we had nothing to trouble our minds but chemistry, physics, shorthand, biology, trig, English, Latin, solid g. Those were the good old days when men were men and women would fall for a good line. Now it's the women that feed the line, isn't it, Gloria Clausen? And we can almost remember the time that Eugene Bennett was afraid of women! (the elephant that remembered this just died!) War has changed things a great deal at South high. We can remember the time that the student body president went to South In-stead of the University of Utah. And then classes have been greatly speeded up. Take for instance1 the case of when Aud-rey Ostler stepped out of Mr. Crook's History class for a drink (of water) and missed the Civil War! The importance of our great students at South is at last being recognized. They are getting greeting cards from the President. Aren't you, Jack Wharton and Tom Challis? The draft situation grows worse and the manpower shortage more acute. This means there will be extra girls. Now even Dick Cederholm can get a date. There are many things that remain the same, however. The library is still a placid, quiet, and serene place to study. If you don't believe us, drop in any night after dark. Miss Dyer still has those friendly chats with students who don't fully appreciate the out-standing educational facilities at South. Bill Rose, more commonly known as P Osie, will testify that the drop from Mr. Bird's window still is six feet. (He ought to know, he made it twice head first!) And yearbook day. That is when your friends pay you a nice tribute, such as "Boy, are you a neat kid! I wish you lotsa success and happiness. I surely hope you get ahead you need one." There are still after school and weekend trips to the canyons and the beach; but who likes to ride a bicycle that far? Another thing that South is noted for is its beautiful women! Ah, me, would that it were that these columnists could meet a few (more) of them. Then there are still guys like Delbert At-woo- d, although he's the only ROTC officer we know who paints his spots on lump sugar and rolls 'em instead of putting them in his Postum. It was more fun at South when we had three lunches. Now the extra twenty minutes gives you too much time to get caught sluf-fin- g. The war stimulates! We mean it . . . Rumor has it that Hartwell Sessions is work-ing on an invention that will teach typewriters how to spell. If and when he finishes this invention, he can easily sell it in Miss Fin-ster- 's first period type class. The war brings creative instincts. Who ever thought of nick-namin- g Miss Hair "Fuzzy?" We can remember Lagoon day last year. The swim was so refreshing. Refreshing. . . that's French for "Seven Guys Froze to Death." And in conclusion, let us remind you that you don't have to be crazy to write stuff like this. BUT IT SURE HELPS! Editor's Note: One of the greatest changes of South is its humor. It used to be funny! (Nate and Howard, please note). Response: We will be glad to take a job this summer for room, board, $10 bucks a month and a new pair of shoes ! NATE MAKES GOOD ms 3 ESCAPE Sv JUST A BOY IN KHAKI By Ruth Hamilton Just a boy in khaki, Another soldier lad, Going back across the waves To friends and folks he had. Sitting alone on the deck With only his memories. Wistful, hoping, yet so sad, As in his mind the past he sees. That day they left from home, Not one, or two, or three. Joining up with Uncle Sam, And soon they sailed across the sea. The excitement on the ship, The first days on the shore, The training at the stationed camps, Then the tragedies of war. Thousands upon thousands of fellows Protecting the red, white, and blue. Giving their loved ones, their friends, and lives, But the ones to return were few. The dreary dark nights spent lying awake Wondering who would next go, Praying to God in the heavens above To show pity to the poor souls below. Then came the terrible bomb-ing And the camp burst up in a flame. The dawn came showing the ruins, The dead, the wounded, and lame. The fires blazed on for hours. The terror and excitement soon went, And in its place came sadness and hate, When they found what it all really meant. It was then that they really fought back. For their country, their flag, and their dead The safety and joy of those who still lived Meant a victory of bitter cold lead. Onward and onward they bit-terly fought Driving the enemy back. Showering on them a deadly blow, Leaving only conquered land to retrack. Twas a new day dawned that fateful morn The armistice was signed. The white clouds moved across the sky, The golden sun shone from behind. The war was over, the terror gone, The peace had finally come. The sun shone down upon the field, Where the victory had been won. The cannons stood forlornly, Their deeds of death unfurled. The angry roar, the hateful wrath, The trace of blood throughout the world. But o'er the silent battlefield The victory's price was paid. Rows of poppies marked the graves Where the heroic dead were laid. (Continued on Page 5) Wishes It is doubtful if one could ever be happy if his every whim were realized. Never does a day pass that each man does not make a score of wishes. Wishes for little things and big things, possible things and impossible things some of which never come true, or live in the heart and mind until they become realities. Some wish for fame, clothes, wealth, and things of a material nature, while others wish for things of a more worth-whil- e nature, such as peace or health. What would happen if all dreams were really to come true? If everyone had clothes and money and all their other wishes, would they really be happy? It is doubtful that they would, because there would be nothing to look forward to. If they all had everything that they wanted, no one would work. The world would become a place of lazy, dull people with no purpose in life because their purposes would already be fulfilled. So if wishes came true, the world would truly be a sorry place. No one would work for anything or anyone else, no one would have any purpose in life, and there would be noth-ing to look forward to. It is much better as it is with everyone working and pregressing. The goal should be set high and then worked for, there is no contentment in just wishing for it. The real happiness in life comes not in the final achievement, but in the working for it. |