She Was For Me I ordered and received a malted milk with two straws. By Rulon Garfield She sat behind me in Penmanship and in front of me in Geography. I liked Geography much better, because I could look at her without turning around. She was slim and firm. Her hair was long and tempting. I say tempting, because it seemed just the right color and type to dip into ink wells. Her face was white with rosy red lips and cheeks free from any artificial beauty. I believe her eyes were a deep brown. I was never quite sure, for I found it hard to look into them. Her voice was soft and wistful. When she spoke to me the first time, it sounded like the music of a thousand violins. About her, all the time, she had a pleasant, well-scrubbed odor. My stomach seemed to rotate when I glanced at her. Once she accidentally touched my hand. My heart acted like a triphammer. She was for me .... And she had a name befitting a Grecian goddess Avon. After much serious thought, I decided to win her affection by asking her for a date. One day, with seven futile attempts behind me and much rehearsing in preparation, I cornered her in the hall. "Avon," I cracked, hurrying my speech. "Yes, Frankie," she replied. That was too much, for the "ie" on the end nettled me. I collected my thoughts and composure and stammered, "How about a malted milk?" "When?" "Right now." "Okay." We walked across the street to the drug store. I ordered and received a malted milk with two straws. We went back to the loneliest booth in the place and sat down. As I sat there sipping on the malt, I looked into her eyes. They were fascinating. In the close proximity of our faces I could smell her clean fresh skin. She reached across the table, took my hand and placed it in hers. She smiled and sighed. My heart jumped to my throat and a thought to my mind .... This is my girl forever! Yesterday, I was walking down Washington boulevard, and I saw Avon. On her left arm was her husband. In her right arm was her child. I looked at her and smiled wryly. She smiled back just as she had when we had two straws and one malt between us. Soundlessly I repeated the words she had not heard, and now would never hear: "This is my girl forever." Iron Lunger by Norma Fletcher He lives in an iron lung. On Friday, September 13, Gerald Keogh, who graduated from Weber College with the class of '46, contracted poliomyelitis. Now he spends his days looking at the ceiling from an iron lung in Salt Lake General Hospital. Gerald had his first ride in a 1946 Buick on his way to the hospital. He said, "It was pretty smooth." Not much fun to lie in the same place day after day, seeing the same walls, especially the ceiling, week after week. Maybe you think he has an easy time of it just lying still, never having to do anything. But don't fool yourselves. He would much rather be doing hard work than just nothing. He cannot even scratch his nose if it itches. A patient is placed in a "lung" because the muscles which control respiration cannot function properly. The patient's body, with only the head protruding, is inclosed in the metal tank. Every few seconds a pump draws some air from the tank. This raises the chest and air enters the mouth and nose as it would naturally. Then the air flows back into the tank so that the patient can exhale without the use of the paralyzed muscles. Some paralysis victims have been able to leave the tank for short times and at least one young fellow was married and now has three children. Another victim, this time a young mother, recently was taken by air force plane from a point in the East to the west coast, stopping briefly at Hill Field en route. Her lung had to go along, of course, and she remained in it for the trip. With her was her baby. The two were being taken to the coast so that they could be near the husband and father, who is a service man. Some recover sufficiently to leave the huge mechanical life saver permanently, but there are others over the country here and there who seem permanently confined except for comparatively brief moments of freedom. Gerald feels that he is improving. Last year he won the prize for the most miscroscopic beard in the college beard growing contest. Yesterday he said that in the next contest he will come to Weber and win the prize for the longest beard. Page Twenty West Nancy Page Twenty-one