The

MEGAPHONE

Elwood, Indiana                      Elwood High School(s)

Volume 6, No. 11                                                                       Tuesday, November 1, 2005

The Winds of Change

Contents

       [The page numbers are links!]

Page 1 . . . The Stalker -- Karen (Stine) Hollies

Page 2 . . . Panther Den Birthday & Anniversary Calendar -- Nancy Sumner (Our Calendar Girl)

                        Red Corner School -- Frank Jameson        

Page 3 . . . The Dining Room Suite -- Linda (Meltzer) Harris

Page 4 . . . The Journey -- Craig Toensing

                        Elwood Buses -- Dewey W. Smith   

Page 5 . . . The Old Push Mower -- Cindy (Benedict) Odom

                        Life Is A Garden -- Gurtha Cabbage        

                                Letter To The Editor -- Shelley (Runyan) Shoup        

                                        Weather Predictions -- Louise (Mountcastle) Romine        

Page 6 . . . Unexpected Thrill -- Julie (Stout) Crim

Page 7 . . . A Funny Thing Happened . . . -- Bob Hinshaw

                        Memories Of Mom -- Rebecca (Hahn) Capps

Page 8 . . . The Winds of Change -- Nancy Sumner

The Stalker

by Karen (Stine) Hollies

  I could hear the leaves moving behind me as I ambled down South A Street. I had walked home for lunch and was on my way back to school that autumn afternoon.
   

  I turned and saw that the sidewalk was empty except for scattered leaves in shades of yellow, rust, burgundy and brown. That wonderful aroma that was in the air in the fall in Elwood in the 1940's and ‘50's came from leaves being burned. None were presently afire or even smoldering, but you could still tell that somewhere near, it had happened recently.
  

  As I continued walking, I heard that distinct rustle again. And once more, I turned and surveyed the area. Nothing.
    

  I was approaching 11th Street when the curiosity inspired by the rustling became overwhelming. I walked over to the curb and looked down and back. There he was! Amid the piles of leaves gathered near the curb for burning, he looked up at me, silently pleading for an invitation to join me. Most of his body was camouflaged by his natural coloring . . . brown, black, rust, and a bit of white under his chin.
 

  "Pal! Go home! Go home now!" I ordered. And the stalker, part Doberman-part mutt, lowered his head as he rose from his crawling position in the leaves and stepped up onto the sidewalk. He glanced sadly back as he headed west on South A Street for home.
  

  Pal wasn't my dog. My brother had brought him home as he had other stray dogs during his childhood. But Pal was the roamer and would hide in the leaves, leaping out at cars and chasing them down the street, barking with such exuberance that one could not stay angry with him very long. It was soon evident that Pal had developed the habit of hiding in the leaves by the curbs and following us to school, creeping quietly behind us until discovered. Then he would hang his head pathetically when discovered and sadly head for home. He wasn't much of a dog, but he was loved by all of us.
  

Karen (Stine) Hollies '54
Virginia Beach, VA