The Stranger (Continued from page 15) "Her sister yet, and she don't know her name." With a sarcastic smirk, she went on, "Then perhaps you can tell us what she looks like." Sue was becoming more flustered by the moment. "I haven't seen her for years. You see, I live with another family." The nurse still didn't seem to understand her plight. "I believe she is dark and quite pretty and she's young." The words came mechanically to Sue. A sympathetic woman in a white uniform stepped up to her. "Last night there were some people named Lane who came to see a girl here. I'm quite sure she is the one you are looking for. She is in Room 310. Could I show you to her room?" "No thank you. I'll find it 310?" "Yes." As Sue turned away she could hear the blond still puzzling, "Her sister yet, and she don't even know her name." As she walked down the corridor, an unaccustomed wrinkle furrowed her brow. Room 310 was on her right just a few paces down from the desk. A large red sign read, "Danger, oxygen used in this room no smoking." Sue's hand had grasped the handle to the door. The black letters on the sign faded into the red background as Sue remembered the last time she had seen her sister. It was years ago. Four-year-old Sue had been taken from the poverty stricken family by the childless Rogers couple. Since then, luxury had been hers. Now, after all these years she would see Vivian again, not as the almost forgotten child, but as a young woman, a sick woman. Those first four years were faded in her memory. Her sister? A sister yes, but by blood only. How could she be a sister when she didn't know what she looked like, she didn't know her name? Sue tried to gather her thoughts as she stood outside the door. Just as she lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, the door opened and a solemn-faced nurse brushed past her. Sue walked through the door. A tent covered the upper part of the bed. A blond, boyish-looking fellow was sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. "Vivian?" Sue asked. The fellow looked up. His young face was stained with tears, and his forehead was red with the impression from his moist hand. "Are you Sue?" "Yes. Are you her husband?" "Ya, she ain't very good. They've gone for the doc." His voice cracked, and he looked down again. Sue walked to the bed. She was shocked by the gaunt face she saw through the window in the tent. Under the sheets Sue could see the outline of warped limbs starved for proper nourishment. Could this be a sister? A stranger, a thin, pale, dying stranger? Just then the doctor hurried into the room. He seemed unaware of the occupants other than the figure in the bed. He began to work over the girl who was gasping for breath even with the extra oxygen. Sue turned her back on the scene; the boy sat with his head in his hands. Why couldn't she cry? Her sister was just a few steps away and was dying. Why didn't she cry? The room became silent. The gasps had stopped. The doctor was standing erect by the side of the bed as a nurse covered the still form with a sheet. Sue turned when the silence broke her meditation. Vivian's husband just sat there as before, but now his body vibrated from the sobs that came from within him. "Let him stay here," the doctor told the nurse as the body was wheeled out; "he needs to be alone." For the first time Sue felt the tragedy of the situation as she saw them wheel the body out. Vivian was dead. She felt inadequate in giving this strange tattered boy any condolence. She walked out into the corrider as she still wondered what she could do. "There's nothing I can do here. I'll go to the funeral, and I'll send flowers. She passed the desk and stepped into the waiting elevator. She didn't notice the nurses' gaze this time. The air was fresh, the hospital was so stuffy. Sue started her car and drove into the setting sun. "Yes, I'll go to the funeral and send lots of flowers. A few miles out of town she stopped at a florist's. "I want the biggest funeral piece you can make," she said with a generous feeling. Sue reached for her swelled billfold. "Yes, mam, what is the deceased's name?" "It's for it's for I'll phone the order in." As Sue sped into the growing darkness, she was puzzled. "What was her sister's name; what was the stranger's name?" The Fire by Clarence Socwell The fiery match plunged into the mouldy leaves; A sliver of smoke convolved into the air; The leafage smouldered, ebon vapor hov'ring, Continuous, buoyant, ascending with little care. A gust burst upon the smoking heap! A blaze leaped up! a flash! a conflagration! A volcanic, roaring inferno, blazing, glowing! A lambent flame striving for its culmination! Then as quickly as it cropped up, it faded; A sweltering pile of ashes still remained; Ebon vapor meandered toward the sky, Nothing was left, and not a thing was gained. So a fight, a war, takes rise and has conclusion With nothing accomplished but destruction and confusion. 20 Hold That Line, Boys Watch me crash through! Co-captain Ray Rhead makes an end sweep against Southern Idaho. Several evenings of flashy football were brought to Affleck park this season by the Wildcats. This is the response both students and townsfolk had about such games as those with the mammoth California organizations, Compton and Glendale. Other games showed steady upgrading of the colorful fall sport among intermountain junior colleges. "As the season progressed," said the head coach for the Wildcats, Milton (Milt) Mecham, "we got better and produced our finest team play with use of the double-platoon system near the close." Play qualities listed as a will to win and to play good, clean, hard football brought five out of nine victories to the home college, the coach said. Aim of the 1949 pattern of play, he pointed out, was directed toward becoming a four-year college and to be ready for it by playing the best junior colleges. Bands, beauteous majorettes and drill teams, which came near to being stage performances for pageantry, caught the eyes and ears of stand-up crowds jamming the park. Delmar H. Dickson, band director, and his units contributed to this satisfying impression and were rewarded with educational trips outside the state, described as being beneficial both to the students and to Weber College. Starters for the Wildcats were usually: Ray Rhead and Sterling Gardner, ends; Robert Stenquist and Henry Gramberg, tackles; Walter Ziemer and Marvin Peterson, guards; Walter Gabbert, center; James (Jimmy) Miyasato, quarterback; Merrill Shupe, left halfback; Rod Pollard, right halfback; Charles Kalani and Claude Mills, interchangeable starters at fullback. No hesitancy was shown by the head football mentor when he named Rhead, Miyasato, Pollard, Kalani and Gramberg as being distinctly in the star class. Pollard is from Weber high school, Rhead from Morgan high, and the other three luminaries from Honolulu. Boise Junior College is champion of the Intermountain Athletic Conference, and Weber is second place winner. Compton reportedly could have beaten any senior college or university on the Pacific coast in 1948 and was national junior college football champion in that year. Santa Ana is favored for the Little Rose Bowl win in 1949. Final good word came to the much-feted Wildcats when the coaches, including Dr. James Foulger, back-field coach, and Clair Anderson, line coach, and each individual player received a message from Dr. Henry Aldous Dixon, college president. He wrote: "You not only have a brilliant record, but you have done much to endear Weber College to the hearts of the people of the Ogden area and to make them feel that the college actually deserves all that it is asking from the state in order to become one of the great four-year institutions of the West." These make Weber sparkle. Football queen Joanne Milnar and attendants Gwen Fronk and Janis Page were chosen to reign over the football season. 21