AN ILLITERATE'S DIARY. November 7. I don't no what this world's got against me. It wasn't enough for my dad not to let me skip scoll to go feasant huntin', but my mother had to come to skool today and i'm all tired out trying to steer her away from my latin teecher. It's not that i don't enjoy havin' the parents come up an' visit—oh, no!—but i think it's askin' to much of 'em to spend a hole day just talkin' to teeehers and stuff. I was going down the steps when herd a lady saying to young sun who had mist the last for steps and landed at the bottom, "Be careful, Edgar, or they'll think you're a stoodent hear." I still don't no if it was a compliment or not. LULLABY. Whee, I am glad I have this whole period before a class really begins! Fifty-five minutes—just long enough for a restful nap after which I shall be fresh and eager to tackle a day of knowledge-glean- ing. Thank heavens my name starts with W; it is rather awkward sleep¬ing on a front seat. Ah! this is real comfort—Gosh—I'm sleepy. What in the world! Machine guns in a school? Ah, only the band practicing in the gym. Doggone, I can't sleep now. Blessed quiet, I'll bet those would-be musicians fright¬ened themselves to death. I believe every person in the room is talking. Sounds the same as a beehive, but it's like a lullaby really. There goes the bugle. Now the boys start getting their books; lock¬ers can certainly "take it" and keep standing. Well, the period is about over and I have had no sleep nor have I my lessons. Maybe if I sleep all this week end. I can do something in my next study. Think so? --Cecile Wheeler MY LIFE AS BUZZ-SAW. All was confusion. At last the long awaited Forum play, "Call It What You May," was to be presented to the critical eyes of the students of our beloved school. In the dressing room behind the stage the members of the cast were put¬ting on their antique costumes, while I, with a few others, was fin¬ishing up the stage setting behind the shelter of the screens which were serving in lieu of a curtain. After long hours of labor the scenery had finally been finished, and in a few minutes this "noblest melodrama of them all" would be presented. As I dashed to the music room to get the bass drum, I envied the boys who, being full-fledged mem-bers of the Forum, had speaking parts. How excited they looked as they finished the task of making up their faces, and prepared to "be fed to the lions." But I was only a buzz-saw, scene shifter, paper hanger, cleaner-upper. At last we remove the screens, and a hush falls over the audience. Gales of laughter echo from the surprised walls, disturbed in their contemplation of the follies of mice and men, as the first act comes to a close. At the end of the second act, Wae screens are hastily placed on the platform and the tad: of changing an anteroom to a moun¬tain cabin is hastily performed. Out front, the chorus goes through an intricate dance routine. And then, everything is ready, and I hastily clamber under the saw- table. The screens are. removed, and Squire Squint-eye begins to threat¬en Clarabelle. Horrors! There is a yawning gap between the folds of canvas which shelter me from curious eyes. Can those giggling girls down front see my face? Sure¬ly something amuses them greatly. The squire kicks me. Now, I must, like the NRA, "do my part." Has¬tily I begin to turn the saw. Above me, Clarabelle screams, the squire laughs in his foul way, and, out¬side, Horace beats upon the door. Crash! My "saw-turner" misses its mark and the saw slows down. In desperation, I reach out again and succeed in starting it whirling once more, even though it may mean poor Clarabell's doom. Now, I must throw a handful of saw-ust. During this intricate opera- _.on the saw nearly stops, thus "mporarily saving Clarabelle, and r a few seconds I am as busy as duck with a brood of henlets' hen, Horace breaks through the oor, and my saw-turning job is one. However, during the fight hat follows, I have to give the quire a black eye with my make-up pencil as he lies behind the table. At last the play ends. It has been a huge success, the students have laughed almost continually, and it is over. All that remains is to tear down the scenery, and to make up the lessons which have been lost during the last few days of feverish preparation—Wayne Bundy. EDUCATION WEEK. To further education, our govern¬ment has set aside one week of every school year as "National Education week." Ogden High school is observing this national movement, November 5 to 10. The idea is to acquaint our par¬ents with the basic purpose of edu¬cation—namely, that America must render illiteracy extinct, and that school children must receive stim¬ulus through home influence to gain an education that will make them desirable citizens in any com¬munity. More emphasis is placed on this week than any other, because a nation is judged by its standards of education.—Marie Manning. 6. COUNCIL VOTE PLACES FOUR IN POSITIONS Assistant Editors Named For Notes and Year¬book Duty OGDEN HIGH SCHOOL NEWS Emily Merrill, Editor; Blaine Larsen, Associate Editor. Last Tuesday in council, Wayne Bundy and Elzada Carlson were elected assistant editors for the Ogden High notes. These students gained their posi¬tions through their excellent literary ability and through well-spent efforts to strengthen the column by writing numerous commendable contributions. Helen Abbott and Beverly Betts were selected as assistant editors on the yearbook staff. These stu-dents also gained recognition be¬cause of superior talent in the literary field. Everyone is certain that the work which the assistant editors must accomplish this year will be most capably performed.—Editors. "A CRACK COMPANY" It was an inspiring sight, as in¬spiring as one could wish to witness. There, marching as straight and tall as Athenian soldiers, was the Ogden High Cadet unit. As each platoon passed, people applauded, applauded not only for the display of remark¬able military ability, but also for the snap, zeal, and delight that these young men, these future lead¬ers, seemed to express as they strutted by. It was very noticeable that the leading company seemed to hold its pivot lines and intervals much better than the others. Why was it that the men in the other companies seemed to admire this leading company? Why was it that for the R. O. T. C. to have the best attendance, completeness, and dis¬cipline that it had ever had before? The reason for all these improve¬ments was simple enough. Our com¬manding officers had organized a crack company that was composed mainly of seniors—a company of men who had labored to gain better training, grade, and attendance; men who deserved something better than a rear-rank position; men who would have lost interest in R. O. T. C. had it not been for the ad¬vancement, as each man understood that to remain in this almost per¬fect company, he must do his very best. He must not shirk; he must not lose his pep and interest, for several hundred admiring eyes were fixed in his direction. Each indi¬vidual realized his responsibilities and happily lived up to them. The eagerness to advance, to create, and to be recognized as an outstanding fellow man was radiated from each healthy, youthful face. Truly the crack company had relieved the monotony and instilled within each soul a new sense of pride and loyalty. Now, why can't something of this sort be worked out? I, as well as several hundred others, would like such a "Crack Company." — Luxo R. C.