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Show We'll Miss . . . the long, hard pull of making the third floor by ramp at 8:00. that bus driver on the 7:50 that calls "House of Knowledge" when he stops at South (funny man). the noise the ROTC band makes second period. the quiet of the library (if you can hear it under all the mumbling). the mad dash for the cafeteria second lunch. the way fads sweep over the school one day and are gone the next the fights when one wants the windows closed and everyone else wants them, open. the hoarseness the day after a game, all the junk falling on heads if lockers can be opened. the Navy men wandering around the old Alma Mater. the struggle for yearbook snaps in a jammed book-' book-' store. the swell assemblies and pep rallies, the miniature wings on all the gals, the cool showers after a hot, fast game of basketball. basket-ball. that clammy feeling before semester exams, the important looks on the faces of the members of the B of C when they leave the Community Room Miss Dyer's warnings and praise. Mr. Woolf's beaming smile. the little click the clocks give as they move to the next minute. the crispness of the items in the morning bulletin, the view of the eastern mountains from the bleachers. bleach-ers. the little Whittier kids trotting around the cafeteria cafe-teria with trays larger than they are. seeing shorthand books under the arms of co-eds. the traditional feud between South and the "little house on the hill." the enthusiasm when the yearbook comes out. the anxious waiting while a teacher marks report cards. hanging around the SHAG office. the Friday night student body dances. blue slips, yellow slips, pink slips, tardy slips and on and on and on. running to the windows when a fire engine goes by. lumbering around! the empty halls after school, pictures on locker doors, seeing kids holding hands in the hall, the "big boys." the mobs around the Scribe room when the paper comes out. the kids. the work honest! the buses. running to the bookstore for a new shorthand book, .the "little Juniors." the mixed sounds of marching rookies, girls' ball games, lawnmowers and traffic that disturb classes. We can always live on less when we have more to live for. Religion is what the individual does with his own solitude. If you are never solitary you are never religious. A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else. In the war against Reality, man has but one weapon Immagination. |