HKIS Orientale 1969

“T H E ” D A Y —GRADUATION

For the Seniors, it was a day of anxiety,
anticipation and relief; for the teachers,
a chance to sit back and be pleasantly
surprised that all those "problem kids
and pseudo-intellectuals" weren't so bad
after all. It was "Commencement", the
most memorable day of the year!

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CHAPEL

ASSEMBLIES

SENIOR MIXED

The Senior Mixed Choir, under the leadership of Mr. von
Behren, sang successfully this year and in the Schools Music
Festival took third place in its class. The choir sang for the
American Women's Association at the Hilton over Christmas,
besides participating in the school Christmas Program, The
Odes of March, and the May Musicale.

HOIR

Janet Adcock David Christian Sandy Grimsley Francis Liddiard Sam Rankin
Chris Andersen Julia Locke Roberta Rath
D onna Bell Maria Clemente Etsuro Hayakawa
Anne Boehmke
Julie Brackmann N ancy Collins M itsu yo Ideta Mary Loh Paul Schmidt
Kris Brannigan
Sandra Brouwer Brenda Dingier Al Jimmerson Becky Luedlke Doreen Soong
Barbara Brown
Susan Bryant Trina Dingier Andy Jimmerson Debbie Luedtke Nobuko Sugim oto
Blair Carlson
Guy Cheney lvy Dobrenky Debbie Jones Lena Luk Kenneth Szeto
Ann Christian
Paul Dunn Neva Jones Joann Lunder John Tsang

Yvonne Eu Diane Keogh Hilda M alaihollo Elizabeth von Behren

Jeff Finkbeiner David Kung Steve Mason Roni Weinstein
Devon Parr W endy Wickersham
Sarah Jane Gmilland Velda Kwan

Debbie Greisen Barry Laubach M ary Jane Patterson Ernest W ong

Gregg Grimsley Terry Lewis Margaret Rankin

GIRL’

Janet Adcock Mary Loh
Donna Bell Becky Luedtke
Anne Boehmke Debbie Luedtke
Marty Borgman Lena Luk
Kris Brannigan Lisa Luk
Sandy Brouwer Joann Lunder
Barbara Brown Hilda Malaihollo
Brenda Dingier Mary Jane Patterson
Trina Dingier Devon Parr
Adeline Eu Margaret Rankin
Sarah Jane Gillilland Roberta Rath
Debbie Griesen Jody Saunders
Sandy Grimsley Sheryl Scarbrough
Mitsuyo Ideta
Debbie Jones Dianne Steele
Neva Jones Nobuko Sugimoto
Diane Keogh Elizabeth von Behren
Roni Weinstein
Wendy Wickersham

Under the direction of Mr. Werner von
Behren, the Senior Girl's choir sang
its way through a second successful
season. With many new and excellent
voices to replace the ones that left,
the choir participated in many of the
special presentations during the year,
including the Christmas program, the
Odes of March and the May Musicale,
and the fine music that it produced was
very welcome.

:h o ir MUSETTES

MEMBERS The Musettes, a singing group formed
by Mr. von Behren this year, provided
Brenda Dingier a chance for many girls who were
Sarah Jane Gillilland unable to fit choir into their schedule,
Beth Gore to sing.
Lynn Kasala Comprised of the best female voices
Nancy Lundeen in the school, they performed at many
Hilda Malaihollo of the musical presentations this year.
Janice McMillan
Joleen Mooney
Mary Jane Patterson
Roberta Rath
Marta Raubitschek

JR-HIGH CHOIR

Diane Adcock Marina Ho Kathy Miao
Marla Minich
Judy Bollback Steve Hoelscher Renee Mushett
Lorna Ottley
Beth Baptiste Stuart Jahn Jeanette Pinard
Raynah Salenius
Julie Bradshaw Sarah Johnson Barbara Stone
Gary Trinklein
Kurt Braegger Kathy Karner John von Behren
Sunny Washenka
Brenda Buckley Diane Kasala
Jennifer Weston
Becky Christian Loui Ketterer
Robert Wingfield
Carolyn Cole Jaja Kumpa Elaine Wong
Lynn Yamashita
Cynthia Cole Arthur Leadingham

Meg Dickinson Ted Leung

Debbie Dobrenky Vincent Li

Donna Fitzstevens Violette Li

Elizabeth Ginkle Rita Luk

Susan Ginkle Patricia McCammon

Brenda Grimsley Susan McCammon

ELEMENTARY

Some of the sweetest sounds this year came from the ELEMENTARY
choir under the hands of Mr. von Behren. Taking a very active
part in the Christmas Program, the Odes of March and the May
Musicale, the choir was greatly appreciated by all who heard them.
The members are:

Renee Bevirt Mary Jo Luedtke

Jonathan Bollback John Macmillan

Connie Carle Julie Martin

Chris Culver Virginia McCammon

Amy Dickenson David Moss

Stephan Dingier Christi Myers

Martha Dunn Marion Parr

Connie Ekdahl Frances Patterson

Scott Fluegal Marguerite Pinard

Rick Gettings Chris Reaves

Anne Gore Gregg Saunders

Alison Green David Schmidt

Jonathan Greenway Linda Shock

Monique de Groot Linda Schwartzendrube

Amy Grove David Schwerdtmann

Melissa Grove Cathy Smiley

Susan Hoelscher Betsy Templeton

Debbie Hugel Jennifer Trinklein

Scott Jimmerson Christina Whitson

Keri Karner William Whitson

Danielle Keogh Phillip Wingfield

Edward Ketterer Mark Winkler

Anne Lazenby Stephen Winkler

David Lee Mark Young

Glenna Locke Kathy Zimmerman

BAND

Lindy Andersen Rita Jones
Diane Anderson Kim Karner
John Ashley Diane Kasala
Jill Case Susan Israel
Cynthia Cole Margaret Ryan
Ivy Dobrenky Mark Schmidt
Kurt Eschbach John Steele
Jeff Finkbeiner Elizabeth von Behren
Leslie Finkbeiner Jon von Behren
Susan Ginkel Bill Whitehurst
Steve Greisen
David Hicks Priscilla Winkler
David James Chris Winnie
Burke Wong

With a harp and high hopes, Mrs. Parr conducted the band through another year of
music. The band supplied the orchestral support for the choirs as well as giving many solo
performances at the Christmas Show, the Odes of March and the May Musicale. The fine
sound that the band produced at all the musical presentations was worth all the hard
practice and frustration that the band went through during the year.

JUNTO

GRIMSLEY IS APPOINTED EDITOR MR. MAHLKE IS \ mM

Editor Grimsley NEW ADVISOR.

"Syndicated columnist" Steve Adcock, M r. W i l l i a m
who writes Ju nto 's regular column, Mahlke, Instructor
'Antishenes', had much to comment in English II and
on during this school years and not III, is this year's
much missed his eyes. Adcock's staff advisor, re­
barbed w it and satirical eye made his placing Mrs. Bar­
column popular and controversial. bara Christopher-
son, Mr. Mahlke
brings to Junto
many years of
practical journalis­
tic experience.
Under this spon­
sorship,,yt//ifo has
evolved into a first-
rate high school
paper.

Sept. 1968 Mr. Mahlke

Senior Gregg Grimsley was ap­ Mr. Adcock THE JUNTO STAFF— A DEDICATED
pointed this year's editor for the FEW
school paper, J u n to . JUNTO IS
Under the editorship of Grimsley, INTERNATIONAL A small but vital group of people
there have been vast improve­ Junto is now a paper with meet in room 605. Although their
ments in both quality and con­ a small, but international numbers are few and they work
tent. circulation. It is sent over­ inconspicuously, we wouldn't have
seas to all of HKIS's alumni. a paper w ithout them.
JUNTO GETS A NEW LOOK Every time the paper comes Staff: Steve Adcock, Marty Borgman,
FOR 1968-69 out, some patient and de­ Julie Bradshaw, Blair Carlson, Phil
termined person folds the Cheney, Kurt Eschbach, Yvonne Eu,
From the beginning of the new papers and mails them to Susan Ginkel, Gregg Grimsley, Kurt
school year, Junto got a new, various colleges and cities Hymoff, Rick Hum, Lynn Kasala, Terry
more professional look— a face­ throughout the United States. Lewis, Mary Jean Loh, Nancy Lun-
lift, so to speak. Instead of the Let's hope Al's efforts have deen, Alfie Raubitschek, Mike Swaine,
familiar mimeographed sheets not gone unappreciated. Gary Trinklein, and Lynn Eu.
held together with a flimsy staple,
Junto is now printed by
The Standard-Sing Tao Printers.
The new look is definitely more
"newsy" and if rumors are any
guide, we may soon be seeing a
fatter paper.

Orm anHHHHMi

"Orientale" this year was determined to be a top-grade "O o h ! That's
yearbook. Under the advisorship of English Instructor the fourth time
Miss Mariellen Lense, and w ith She.yl Scarbrough as I made that
editor-in-chief, the yearbook staff set its jaw to produce a same, stupid
book that delivered its message concretely, specifically mistake!"
and well. You can judge for yourself whether or not
they succeeded. Although the staff started out with the
good intention of having the book ready for the printer in
April w ith time to spare, they ended up w ith frantic morning
to midnight sessions in 602-603 in order to turn the yearbook
out on schedule. All the late hours and hard work were
worth it, however, just to see the "O rientale'in its entirity,
although 602-603, last seen drowning in a growing mound
of cropped pictures w ill probably never be the same again.

DEBATE

The Debate Club, the club for those people w ho enjoy a good verbal scrap,
went into its second year. Under the sponsorship of Mr. Rupprecht the
club participated in inter-school debates w ith the local schools.

Members: Guy Cheney, Paul Dunn, Steve Greisen, Barbara Israel, Nancy
Israel, Andy Jimmerson, Gretchen Mohr, Eddie Obayashi,
Mary Parr, Carol Roessing, Leslie Tang.

Students interested in the more international
side of life had a chance to further this interest,
compliments of the French Department. The
French Club, sponsored by the French De­
partment, presented films, slide shows on foreign
places of interest, and a French play on Open
House Day.
Members: Lindy Andersen, Diane Anderson
Karen Cheney, Kurt Hymoff, John Kanze, Cathy
Kasala, Tony Krouk, M uffet McGarry, Andrew
Ostroumoff, Micky Pendraat, Alan Wyatt, Susan
Wyatt, Joe Yen.

DRAMA

"The Matchmaker", "Headline" and "Trifles" kept the Drama
Club on its toes throughout the year. Under the advisorship
of Mr. Fred Eschbach, the major production of the year, "The
Matchmaker" and the tw o one-act plays, "Headline"
and "Trifles", were very well presented and well
received.
Members: Steve Adcock, (Pres.), Janet Adcock,
Kris Brannigan, Blair Carlson, Vicki Clark, Karl
Eschbach, Kurt Eschbach, Tiz Hum, Al Jimmerson,
Cathy Kasala, M uffet McGarry, Julie Newport,
Devon Parr, Paul Schmidt.

xozm aj-ri

JUDO

With many thumps and bumps, the "club of hard knocks"
— the Judo Club — was even a greater success this year,
w ith upward of thirty members from all levels of the school.
The youngest was in 3rd grade and the oldest in 12th grade.
The members steadily improved in skill throughout the year
and the club made a good showing during the Taiwan trip and
stood up well to opponents in size, strength, and experience.
62

PHOTOGRAPHY
CLUB

Members: Edward Fook
Hamilton Ho
Robert Ho
Rick Hum (Pres.)
David James
Kang Chung Won
Jeff Loh
John Malaihollo
Peter Wang

Ken Szeto (Sec.— Treas.)
Robert Wong

The Photography Club, though small, was cert&inly
one of the busiest in the school. At times, one
thought they held events at school just to give the
photographers something to "sh o ot!" Improvements
in the school dark room during the year added for
new techniques.

63

N a tio n a l H o n o r Ji>oaetp

MEMBERSHIP CARD

Issued to: Gregg Grimsley Sharon Martin
Richard Hum Dennis Minich
Elizabeth von Behren David James Eugene Myers
Anne Boehmke Theresa Lewis Sheryl Scarbrough
Margo Bordwell Yvonne Li Judy Schock
Ann Christian Nancy Lundeen Doreen Soong
David Christian Michael Swaine
Elizabeth Gore

Principal Adviser
v.

CADET TEACHERS

Unmarked papers, puzzled faces, relay races— these are
things cadet teachers face in their work w ith elementary
children. About a dozen "brave" and patient high school
students have spent their study halls helping busy teachers,
and working and playing with eager children.
Meanwhile . . .
Endless lists of names and numbers, locker combination
and towels, ditto sheets and purple ink, face the high school
students who give up some of their free time to help in the
P.E. office and in the main office on the 4th floor. While
being "helpers", they are also gaining experience in working
with others.
Bookworms, too have found a place to work . . . .
Replacing books, reading to younger children in the li­
brary, and keeping files straight, have been the duties of
those who help Mrs. von Behren several times a week.

SERVICE
SQUADS

blank sheets,
wandering minds, empty hands,

searching.
Yesterday.

Today,
i am me.

this
is a part of me.

take it
and live
in our likenesses,
and our differences,
and our understanding
of ONE another.

personality,
interaction,
communication,
achievement . . .
. . . Tomorrow . . .

FINE ART



Wi pK®rth, Mi

11 Pieces o f Tho ughts

The winds of Time
Blow across my grave
To beyond the point
Where love can save
The soul from turning into dust
And salvage some part
Of life and trust.

But I have passed that point
And now I lay,
In the mildew of death.
Among the pieces of a day
Long past the broken heart,
And the other broken things in life
That look for the return of the matching part.

Debra Jones

— Blair Carlson

By The S o ft Dim Light
By the soft dim light I can see your shadow,
Your black hair waves in the summer breeze;
Rosy is your chin illuminated by the shop's window,
Beauty is the word belongs to thee.

— Robert Ho

— Rick Hum

LIKE A CURTAIN VIELS THE LIGHT FROM A WINDOW
SO MY WIND CLOSES TO THOUGHTS OF YOU

Walking along the seashore
I saw the sun fall into the ocean —
I closed my eyes so full of grief
And played a game of make believe.
The soft breeze became your kiss,
Pressing gentle on my lips.
The twisted branches of a tree
Became your hands caressing me.
And in the whispered sound of the water's roar
I heard you call my name once more.

LIFE IS JUST AN ALIBY FOR WHY WE'RE BORN AND WHY
WE DIE

-— Madeleine Myers

— Rick Hum

69

The Mission

"Pedro! Come here, pronto!" Jameson squinted his eyes against the
hard Mexican sun, and beckoned to the smal! brown lad whose khaki pants
flapped loosely in the scorching afternoon breeze.

"Si, senor?" Pedro was a bold young lad, and though he heard the
men in the plaza talk about Jameson and his suspicious business,he could
find nothing really wrong w ith the man. He was big, and he looked strong.
And he had white skin, th ou gh he was burned red anyone could see he
had white skin. And Pedro was fascinated by white skin. “ One day,"
Pedro thought, "I'm going to be big, like him."

"Look, boy, you look strong." He paused when he saw the boy's
forehead crease in puzzlement, f said, " T u --tu eras muy fuerte," he repeated
in his feeble Spanish, but the boy understood, and he expanded his chest
proudly.

"Si, senor," he said again.
"Tu eras muy fuerte, and te quiero. I like you."
"Si, senor."

"W hy doesn't he say anything else?" Jameson was getting irritable.
W hat was he doing out here anyway, gabbling in a language he barely knew
with a dirty brown boy? If he hadn't an important mission to carry out
he wouldn't be doing anything like this. He'd be out in Florida instead,
sunning himself under a gentler sun, not as scorching as this one.

"Pedro, hablo espanol pero poco? Comprendes tu ingles?"
"Si senor, yo comprendo, pero hablo muy poco tambien." Pedro was
growing prouder every minute. This man admired him. A big man!
W ait till Juanito and Manuel hear about this.
"Never mind that." Jameson was relieved. "Just listen very carefully
to w hat I shall say, do you understand? Okay, see this little package here?
I w ant you to take this little package to Senorita Rosita, but don't say my
name. Do you understand ?"
Pedro nodded his head vigorously. An errand for the big American I
Everything is going better and better!
"After she takes the package, tell her this: tomorrow, at seven. Don't
forget."
The man handed the boy tw o pesos before hurrying back to his cottage.
"Tw o pesos! See how lucky one can get. It is not late yet. Maybe
I go and show Juanito and Manuel my good fortune. They will be jealous.
I'm sure. H a -ha!"
"Look, tw o pesos!" Pedro watched his breathless playmates as they
examined his wealth. "El americano gave me this, the big americano."
"El americano ?" j
"Si!"
"Pero el americano es malo. He is bad. M y Papa said so. You
are working for a bad man, you are working for a bad man!" The tw o boys
started to jeer at him. Soon Pedro was all alone.

"They are only jealous," he thought. He sat down in the sand and
started to chew a blade of grass. "Maybe he is a bad man, and maybe he
isn't. But he gave me tw o pesos, and no he has given me that much money
before. No, I think they were only jealous. With this money I can buy
anything! Even a big sombrero. Yes, that's it. I will buy the biggest
sombrero I can find and I don't have to hide under a tree when it is raining,
or when the sun is hot. I think I shall buy the hat now. Then they will
be sorry they laughed at me."

Jameson paced his small room. He kept his eyes on the big wall
clock, his mind in a whirl. "Will the boy do everything I told him to? I
hope he wasn't seen talking to me, or my whole plan might fall through.
By this time Rosita should have the package, and the message, if! If the
boy made no mistakes. Let's hope out, for his sake, and mine."

"That one, si, the biggest one." Pedro pointed to the big round hat
with the red bordering at the edges.

"This one?"
"Si, that one. Please hurry. I have something very important to do.”
"But, it is too big for you."
"It is good. When I grow as big as el americano itwill be bigenough
for me, see ? Then I donot have to buy a new one."
"N o w to find Juanito and Manuel. What will they say when they see
my beautiful new sombrero? Dios mio! The package! I did not take the

package to the senorita yet. Senor will be angry. I must take it to her.
Now ! At once! Juanito and Manuel can wait."

Pedro grasped his hat tightly over his head, making sure it did not fall
off as he ran as fast as his thin legs could manage.

Juanito and Manuel were drawing stickmen in the sand when they
saw a gloomy Pedro pass by.

"Pedro! Pedro!" they called out to him. Pedro looked up and saw
them. "Come here, w e have something to say to you. Pedro, your friend,
el americano, the police have got him. You see, he is bad, and now the
police w ill put him in the prison house."

"El americano? In the prison house?"

"So you see, senor, you had better save us the trouble. M y men will
find those diamonds soon enough. W hy don't you tell us where they are,
eh? I'm sure it would do you no harm, not now anyway. What use have
you for diamonds in prison, eh ?"

"I told you, I don't know w hat you're talking about. If you ask me,
you’re talking gibberish! If you w ant to lock me up, lock me up. Whose
stopping you ?"

"All right, if that is w hat you want. Take him away."
"Senor, senor, my friends say they will put you in prison." He spoke
in Spanish, but Jameson understood w hat he was trying to say.
"Pedro!" He wanted to stop the boy. " He might give me away,"
he thought.
"W ho are you? W hat do you w an t? "
Pedro looked startled. W ho was this fat man talking to him in his
own language? They do not look like policemen. He looked at the strange
men more closely. They were, like him, Mexicans. But he'd better be
careful. "M aybe this man is a policeman even if he is not wearing the
uniform," Pedro thought. El americano must not get into trouble."
He looked questioningly at Jameson. Jameson was the biggest
man in the room, but he seemed afraid. He was sweating, even as the over­
head fan stirred his brown hair. "W as he afraid? The big American,
afraid ?"
"W hat do you know about this man, boy?" the small man asked him
in Spanish. " If you know something about him, tell us about it. You'll
be a hero. Your Mama will be proud to have a son like you. Do you
know anything ?"
Pedro looked at Jameson.
"Even if the kid tells you anything, you— "
"Will I have a reward?"
"Yes. Ten pesos. H ow do you like that, Pedro?"
" 'Pedro, tu eras muy fuerte,' he said that to me this afternoon," Pedro
thought. "I will not give our secret away. I am strong."

Jameson was getting desparate. He should have known. This
boy will do anything for money, anything!

"Ten pesos. I like to have ten pesos," Pedro said. "All right, I will
tell you."

By the policeman's triumphant smile Jameson could tell w hat the
boy had said. Hie wanted to scream, but was much to shaken to even utter
anything.

"Senor, this man gave me this afternoon," once again Pedro looked
at the big man, "tw o pesos to buy myself a beautiful new hat."

"Go ahead, do not be afraid."
"But that is all. He is a good man, senor, see, I bought a beautiful
sombrero with his money. New, ten pesos, senor, my ten pesos."
Even in the dark Pedro could see the paleness on the man's face. He
could see relief all over Jameson's face, too.
"Pedro, gracias, gracias, hijo."
"N o w is the time," Pedro thought. "Senor, I - I . . . "
"You are a nice boy, Pedro. Te quiero, te quiero. The package,
did you deliver the package? Did you do everything I told you to?"
"Senor, please forgive. I - I lost the package, senor. You know,
I lost . .
Jameson stared at the boy. W hat was he doing out here, anyway!

— Cristina del Rosario

— Jolee Carroll

f r * ? ft & f t
***£ » «

i&Hi* $ * * £ £ •
i dET■f
£ $. f ^ ^
w

Ginny Hum

The Soul Man

"Hey baby, let's tighten up!"
I wasn't sure if the voice was directed at me. so I looked up, and sure enough, I saw the white uniform and the
smiling face.
"Sure, w hy not," I replied.
The music playing was one of my favorite songs — a fast number by Wilson Pickett. As I danced, I eyed
the sailor appraisingly. He was definitely a soul man. I tried to copy his style as I danced, and I was doing
pretty well.
"N o baby, no. Hang loose, relax."
He was right. I was too tight. I tried to relax but a strange feeling of uneasiness had taken hold of me:
a feeling which was tightening its grip on me as the dance progressed. The music seemed to be louder than
usual tonight. The dance floor was filling quite rapidly, and wild dancers were bumping me all over. The
smoke, that had never really bothered me before, was now bringing tears to my eyes. It wasn't until now that
I realized his friends had gathered round and were yelling things like, "You can do it!". "You got it now, baby!"
Someone from the back of the group yelled, "Keep tryin' baby, but you ain't got what it takes! That's one
thing that only w e got!"
His message got through to me; I'd never have their soul. As the song came to an end, I thanked my partner
and then limply walked off the dance floor.
Feeling hot, tired, and completely sacked out, I started for the restroom. Upon entering, I asked the matron
for some toilet paper. I knew right well that she understood me, but all she said was, "No, no! Money, m oney!"
Having left my purse at the table, I decided to get it and leave. As I made my way through the drunken crowds.
I felt a clammy hand on my wrist. I spun around and was confronted by the soul man.
"Dance again?"
"No thanks," I replied curtly.
A slow number Was now playing.
"Come on baby!"
"N o thanks," I repeated, slightly irritated. "I d o n 't know how."
"I'll show you, suga."
With that, he put his muscular arms around me. I quickly pulled away with a stunned and embarrassed
look on my face. Once again, his friends were there. All of a sudden he shot a hateful glance at me.
"W hat's the matter with you girl ?" he snarled. "You can dance fast with me. but not slow. What's wrong ?
1$ it'euz I'm black ?"
As I hurried out, they all began heckling me.
The soul man screamed out angrily, "You white trash think you're better than us don't ya ? Well baby, you're
wrong — so, so W RO NG I"

73

1967-68 — Derek Frost
— Rick Hum
With a smile that has no meaning,
I give them all a shallow greeting.
One great stage, one great play, each act con­

sisting of a day,
No intermission, no half way point,

we keep on going . . . the theme is
"hope."
He stands in the doorway, a gun in his hand.
Thinking when he pulls the trigger it’ll make
him a man.
Running up to meet you, hands outstretched,
she begs you for money
the miserable wretch.
You push her aside, not having a dime as you've
never had use for her kind.
Then as you're pushing past her,
round her neck you see a sign,
tw o words written, "I'm blind."
A psychedelic age, drugs and free sex proclaiming
that the world is such a great mess—-hidden
away in a dark room — they'd search
For an answer, hoping to find it soon . . . .
but is there truth in a smoke filled room
Comes a new year bright w ith mankind's
laughter and cheer
But it's just a number turned from seven to eight
And people are coming home far too late.

— Madeleine Myers

74

501 M e la n c h o ly S tre e t
The sun burns brightly in the summer afternoon
As I sit here by the w indow in my narrow little room.
A in 't no one on the street 'cause it's too hot t'be out there.
An' th' only sounds come from m'neighbors livin' next t'me.
There's Mr. Johnson across the hall playin' his trumpet.
The tune is unfamiliar but it sounds so very sad.
He's been livin' there alone ever since I can remember.
A n' that's a pretty long time, now that I think about it.
W idow Bailey upstairs is talkin' to her husband again.
She's been doin' that now since he died five years ago.
People say she's crazy, stay away from th' old woman.
But now she never comes out'f her tiny world anymore.
Mr. Smith next door is arguin' w ith his wife, Camille.
He claims she's been flirtin' w ith another man all along.
Truth of the matter is, she has been goin' w ith another man.
But w ith a drunk for a husband, what else could she do?
I hear th' street-door slam an' someone run up th ’ stairs, cryin'.
That must be Lucy. She can’t get a man again.
My mother keeps tellin' me t'take her out sometime,
But what do I care? I got m 'own life t ’live
The sun burns brightly in the summer afternoon
As I sit here by the w in d ow in my narrow little room.
A in 't no one on the street 'cause it's too hot t'be out there.
A n' the' only sounds come from m'neighbors livin' next t'me.

Joseph Gohier Jr.

4

75

— David James

Thrown Away

It was Spring, and John Boylan was in his second year at Randolph High School. Even though John was only fifteen, he
was already as big as a college senior. He was tall, thin, big shouldered, and a big-boned left hander. He played as a substitute
on the school baseball team. It was twilight, and John was on his way home from practice: he turned left into Glover Street;
he came off the street onto the sidewalk; he passed the empty lot and the ruined building with the broken windows; then, he turned
into the walk which ran the length of his house.

When John came into the kitchen, Mrs. Boylan turned from the stove, and John smelled the fried potatoes with onions that nobody
made like Ma, and she smiled at him. She put her hands on his elbows and looked at him. Her face was full of love; her eyes were
gentle. She welcomed John as though he had come back from a long trip. She was also tall with large hands. Her hair was
untidy and beginning to turn grey. She held John by the arm and said, "Hello my little son. Will you eat supper?"-— she was
joking with him as always.

John put his cheek to hers. He saw again the redness of her chapped hands and frowned. "She could try to take better
care of her hands," he thought. He thought about the mothers of his teammates. They'lived on Livingston Drive, Whitman Avenue,
and in Morris Heights. They were mothers who had their nails and hands done at the beauty shops.

John went to the sink to wash. As he turned, he saw that the table was set for three. For a quick moment he thought that
maybe his dad was home. Perhaps Peter Boylan had not yet left for his job as a night watchman in the office building downtown.
But Dad's cap and coat were not on the door.

"Frankie Thomas here for dinner," Mrs. Boylan whispered, looking at John. "He sitting in living room. His mother not home again.
Always she goes away, she leaves Frankie cold cuts. Cold cuts no good for grow boy like Frankie, He need hot meat and gooder
vegetables," she said, "You call Frankie now. Tell he dinner ready."

"Why ca n t she learn to speak English?" John asked himself angrily. "She's been in America long enough!"
John walked through the short hall that led to the living room. He saw the thin, black-haired boy with whom he had grown
up. Frankie was sitting in the chair under the lamp. "Hey, Frankie, come on and eat," he yelled.

Whistling, John sat down at the kitchen table, and as he pulled his chair out, suddenly his fingers tightened on his chair.
There, next to his plate, was a white, square envelope. On top of the envelope was the invitation. John looked at his mom who
was busy at the stove, and then he heard Frankie coming through the hall into the kitchen. Then he realized how the invitation
got there. "This must be Frankie's doing," he thought. John sat down and read the invitation. It was from school — f "from all the

76

teachers and the principal of Randolph High School." They were holding a sort of P.T.A. but only for the mothers,so that the teachers
and mothers could get to know each other. The party was tomorrow. John knew that, all right. He had known it for ten days
and had kept it a secret. He looked up from the white square of paper just as Frankie sat down across the table.

John’s mother sat down between the tw o boys and passed the roast to her son. Then she said, "I asked Frankie maybe he had
this invitation, John. I heard by Mr. Smith, the grocerman,about this party at school. Must be party for junior, senior mothers only."
(Frankie had gained a year on John and was now in his junior year.)

John was busy with his roast but said, "The party is for all mothers. Didn't you get your invitation, Ma ?” he asked, avoiding
Mrs. Boylan’s eyes. "They mailed them out quite a while ago.” As he spoke, he thought back to the morning when he had waited
on the corner for the postman — and had taken their mail from him. Before going back up to the house, John had opened his
mother's invitation, read it, torn it up and thrown the pieces away.

"M aybe the school made a mistake,” Mrs. Boylan said, "M aybe they send the invitation to wrong address."
She reached for a thick slice of the rye bread which she had baked herself. She buttered it all over, then lifted it to her mouth,
and took a large bite. Watching her do this, John’s face turned red. He wished he could leave this table and house forever.
He thought of his friends' houses in Morris Heights where he had been a guest many times. There the evening meal was served on a
fancy lace tablecloth and there were usually candles on the table, "Those people," he thought, "have real manners. Take George
Sidly’s mother, for example: she broke her bread one piece at a time, buttered it lightly, and then ate it slowly."

Frankie had left, and Mrs. Boylan was bent over the sink washing the dishes when John asked, "I w on’t be finished at the base­
ball game tomorrow til after six."

Mrs. Boylan nodded.
"D o you w ant me to miss it, M a?"
There was no reply; she just kept her back to him.
He tired to blame Frankie but he couldn't. He tried to blame his mother, but he just couldn't. He was seldom a liar, but
he just didn’t w ant her with George Sidly's mother and the others. He knew perfectly well that there was no game tomorrow,
but he just didn't want her to go to school. As he was getting ready for bed, he heard the water running downstairs.

At breakfast the next morning she handed him a clean, freshly dried sweatshirt, shorts, and tw o pairs of his wool socks. He knew
now w hy the water had been running the night before. "For your game today, John," she said as she handed it to him. "You
bring me your dirty stuff tonight."

As she wrapped them up in a bundle, he suddenly wanted to kiss her. He wanted to put his arms around her and hold her
tight but he just took the package and said "Thanks," and left. All the way to school he promised he'd make it up to her. He'd
start tonight. No club meeting tonight, he promised. He'd take his books and sit in the kitchen with his mother. She liked to
see him studying while she worked. He'd take her for a walk if she wanted to. He made up his mind that he would stay home all
day Saturday and Sunday, too.

At school everyone was dressed-up. Not a single girl wore saddle shoes, blue jeans, or a boy's shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
They were in Sunday dresses and suits and high heels. When second class started.John w ent to study hall. On his way there,

he waved to George Sidly, who played third base, and to Bernie Crane, their right-fielder. They were both wearing sport jackets and
regular shirts, and they wore ties. John looked down at his sweater worn over a T-shirt and his pants, which were clean,
but old. Most of the other boys in the study hall were dressed up, too. There was only one lunch period that day, and John ate in a

far corner so as not to see George and the others. He left by the rear door. Classes were finally over, and John rushed to his locker.
He saw the cafeteria being made ready for the party. He saw the huge coffeepots steaming like engines. Then he got his bundle of

clean clothes out of his locker and threw his books in his locker, slamming the door.
John went to practice only to find no one there. There was a notice hanging on the locker room entrance: "EVERYONE EX­

CUSED TODAY NO PRACTICE.” John knew that, all right, but he just wanted to make sure for something to kill time.

“ It's not too late," he thought "No, it's not."
He tore off to school, thinking how it would be when his mother answered the phone. He reached the principal's office and called
home — no answer. Maybe its the wrong number; try again. Still no answer. John was worried. He felt an ache in his chest

now, and his hands were wet.
"M aybe Ma is sick or som ethin! " he thought, and he knew he was to blame. He dialed the operator and asked her to check the

number to see if maybe it was out of order. But, all the time, he knew it wasn't. He suddenly remembered how he had left Ma and
Dad out of everything ever since he could remember. Graduation, sports, plays — everything he could think of,he had left them out.

He suddenly felt sick.
On his way home he had to pass the cafeteria. The gaiety, the music. "H o w could they be so happy?” he thought, and as

he was thinking he glanced into the cafeteria and his eyes bugged out — "M a's there!"
He ran to her, and in a moment he was next to her. He couldn't get his fingers free of sweat.The French teacher was talking

to Mrs. Boylan, telling her how fine John was in French class.
''. . . and you're acting as Frankie's mother today, also,” she was saying. "They are both my best students.'

She excused herself, and moved away. Her smile cut John's heart.
"M a," John said. He had to tell her how he felt; he couldn't w ait any longer.
She had her hand on Frankie's, and she was smiling. Her hair and hands were neat.

"M a, I tore the invitation," he said, and looked right into her eyes.
"I know," she said. "But Frankie has an invitation. W e are tw o orphans, Frank and I — a motherwithout a sonand a son

without a mother." She put her arm around him,and hecouldn't move.

"I'm your son, M a," John said.
At this Frankie tried to slip away but she just held on to him.

"M a," he repeated, "I'm our son. Listen Ma, to me, please." I'myour son. Please M a ...............
She looked straight at John, and he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life.
"M a." He put his hand on her elbow>and he didn't drop his eyes. He said, "Please, Ma.

let's get something to eat. There's my coach there. I w ant to introduce you to my coach.”
"Yes," she said, and she smiled at him then. "Yes," she said.as she put her hand through his arm and the other through Frankie s.

"Introduce me please, to this coach, my son."

— Jody Saunders
Spring, 1968

77

Un Rendezvous Plusieurs Sem aines — David James

Apres Une P artie D 'un A u tre Am i

Hello there!
Do I know you ? Let me think . . .
Oh yeah, now I know. Hi.

Watcha been doin'?
Oh, nothing much, just puttin' around.

Had any new experiences lately?
Nope.

Learn anything different?
Nope.

Read any books?
Nope.

Sung any songs?
Nope.

Prayed to your God ?
No-oo-ooI

Done any thinking ?
Nope.

Well, see you around . . .
Hey, w a it! Where are you going?
Give me a chance! I've never done anything to you,
I don't smoke, drink, or gamble. I've never broken the law,
I don't curse, I've never hurt anyone . . .

You never.

— Sarah Jane Gillilland

David James

Aftermath

Deep in the country, surrended by forest, lies a pool, calm and blue, in the silence o f midsummer. Save for a cool
breeze rustling the water from time to time, all is quiet.

Two butterflies fluttered over, nestling in every flower bordering the banks, their multicolored wings reflecting
on the mirror-like surface of the pool.

To the surprise of the tw o delicate creatures a sudden storm blew up and caught them unexpectedly. The
sky turned a terrifying grey and darkness replaced the sunlight, casting its shadows all around. A wind developed
into a raging tempest and the rain came down in torrents forming a curtain vertically across the pool, now wind tossed
and turbulent. Like souls in torment the trees wavered and screeched in the storm, casting their leaves and twigs
into the water. The flowers were decimated. The lightning struck w ith fury and ruthlessness at everything in
its path. Thunder boomed like 10,000 canons in the distance, the vibrations reaching the pool which shivered
in fright.

As quickly as it had appeared the storm ended, leaving, as war does, death and destruction in its wake. The

picture now was very different. The pool's shape had changed in size, its banks having caved in producing

ragged borders. Dead branches and twigs floated on the murky water and amid them lay, lifeless, a wingless butterfly,

its comrade gone.

— Caroline Reid

Adeline Eu

79

SPORTS

the steady trudge of jogging feet,
the coach's voice blasting encouragement,

sore muscles, work-outs, hot showers,
training.

Yesterday.

the track, an unmarred ring of clay,
people everywhere,

humming with the excitement of competition,
loud speakers at the government stadium,
a number, an event, a name.
Today. Personality.

an announcement to clear the track,
six runners crouching side by side,

thinking,
'will i win?'
every muscle and nerve alive, tense, eager,
the gun, sudden oneness, the desire to win.

Interaction.

teamwork,
tw o dressed in white, score: love all,

five dressed in blue,
the shooters, the dribblers, the team,

signals, glances, together to win.
Communication.

poolside,
the crack of a gun,
bodies stretched long over the water, flying for a moment,
a winner, a looser,
both eager to congratulate,
both eager to catch their breath and say, 'nice swim, there.'

Achievement.

the victory of life.
Tomorrow.

80



INTERSCHOOL

SPORTS The sports program at HKIS is divided into tw o sections
— intramural and interschool. In interschool sports, we
work as a team w ith other HKIS students against other
teams of different ages and nationalities. We learn the
meaning of defeat as well as victory. Most important,
after weeks of practice and training, we experience the
satisfaction and exhilaration of playing a good game with
other people.

'■■ H E S S
m

I t ill
jp®

BASKETBALL

Basketball was the biggest team sport of the year, and
it aroused the most school spirit, enthusiasm, and support.
This year's basketball program involved five teams and
tw o cheerleading squads who brought the gym to life
w ith their clapping, screaming, jumping, and stamping.
Two of the teams had perfect records: the varsity had 9
wins and 0 losses for their Hong Kong games, and the
junior varsity had 0 wins and 7 losses!

Left to right: Mr. Brackmann, Edward Fook, Scott Dotterer, Mark Schmidt, Dave Christian, Rick Brackmann, Dick
Logan, Gregg Grimsley, Dennis Minich, Ken Szeto, Mike Swaine.

VARSITY

HKIS 36 — KGV 24
HKIS 50 — Kung Lee 34
HKIS 53 — LMS 21
HKIS 68 — St. Stephen's 44
HKIS 62 — Kung Lee 46
HKIS 39 — CLS (K) 28
HKIS 55 — St. Stephen’s 44
HKIS 62 — KGV 39
HKIS 39 — LMS 26
HKIS 44 — TAS 75
HKIS 43 — W ainwright 49

9 wins — 2 loses



JR. VARSITY

HKIS 29 — St. Stephen's 36
HKIS 30 — Concordia 40
HKIS 25 — LMS 35
HKIS 34 — Kung Lee 50
HKIS 30 — St. Stephen's 49
HKIS 39 — LMS 52
HKIS 33 — Concordia 45

0 wins — 7 loses

Left to Right: Jeff Finkbeiner, Peter Wang, Ford Dotterer, Larry Friel, Alan Young, Sam Rankin, Paul Dunn, Peter
Mok, Eugene Myers, Frank Jent, Paul Schmidt, Mr. Brackmann(Kneeling) coach.

Left to right: Arthur Leadingham, Bill Ashley, Derek Frost, Mark Brackmann, Steve Hoelscher, Burke Wong,
Bill Whitehurst, Bob Wingfield, Jay Johnson, John Steele, Jerry Waddle, John Ashley. Mr. Brackmann( back) coach.

JUNIOR HIGH

HKIS 21 — St. Stephen's 17
HKIS 22 — I.S. 25
HKIS 28 — St. Stephen's 27
HKIS 30 — Concordia (K) 27
HKIS 28 — Concordia (K) 25
HKIS 20 — I.S. 24

GIRLS

HKIS 24 — Kung Lee 30
HKIS 17 — LMS 15
HKIS 37 — SS 26
HKIS 26 — Kung Lee 13
HKIS 20 — Queen Elizabeth
HKIS 18 — SS 20
HKIS 13 — Queen Elizabeth
HKIS 5 — Ying Wa 16
HKIS 20 — Maryknoll 19
HKIS 22 — LMS 12
HKIS 12 — Morrison 18
HKIS 13 — TAS 39

HKIS 38 — SS 33
HKIS 13 — Ying Wa 8

Back: Mary Parr, Ann Christian, Julie Brackmann, Elizabeth von Behren, Julie Newport,
Debbie Mushett, Dee Dee Murphy, M uffet McGarry, Miss Arnett, Sheryl Scarbrough,
Valerie Leadingham.

HKIS 17 League HKIS 22 Tourney
HKIS 47 HKIS 30
HKIS 16 Salesian 18 HKIS 17 Sir Ellis Kadoorie 13
HKIS 17 St. Joseph's 4 New Method (K) 6
New Method (HK) 4 Che Yan 47
Sir Ellis Kadoorie 16

PRIMARY
BOYS

Left to right: Mike Weinstein, Mike Pray, Kerry Prielipp, Roger Stone, Brad Pray, Lyle Wickersham, Mike McCoy,
David Schmidt, Tony Hioe, Kervin Braegger, Phil Wingfield, Stuart Roberts.



CHEERLEADERS

Amy Grove

Susan Monique deGroot
Hoelscher
Jackie Yang
Ann Lazenby

flelissa Grove

Christi Myers

your lanes Runners, take your marks

Back: Miss Arnett, Jeff Loh, Jon von Behren, Alex Koperberg, Rick Brackmann, Dennis Minich, Barry Laubach,
Gregg Grimsley, Dave Christian, Andrew Ostroumoff, Scott Lazenby, Etsuro Hayakawa, Al Raubitschek
Middle: Kurt Braeggar, Steve Hoelscher, Ginny Hum, Becky Luedtke, Jody Saunders, Trina Dingier. Julie Brackmann,
Becky Christian, Lynn Yamashita, Marina Ho, Debbie Dobrenky, Rick Hum.
Front: Becky Bryant, Lena Luk, Lisa Luk, Elizabeth von Behren, Ann Christian, Margaret Ryan, Julie Newport,
Debbie Mushett, Mary Parr, Valerie Leadingham, Carolyn Cole.



HARD WORK

jogging — for 12 minutes,

exercises 30 situps, 30 pushups,

10 verticle jumps,

horizontal bicycle for

1$ minutes, i-ns and outs

for ! | minutes, 25 "burpies.'

starts —* on your mark, set, g o — 15 times.

sprints — 3 sixties, 3 hundreds,

3 hundred and fifties,

2 three hundreds,

miscellaneous relay hand-offs,

hurdles, high jump,

long jump, shotput,
discus, javelin,
distance men off on mile run.

Was it really worth it?

VICTORY

Yes, yes it was all worth it! First the girls took
The Omega Cup (being the first individual school
ever to do so). Then in the Senior and Junior Colony
Championships, members of the HKIS track team
placed in over 70% of the events. At the Interschool
Meet, the girls again took the overall and the boys
were runners up. In the South China Meet, once
again, both the boys and girls took first in their d i­
visions. Yes, it was worth it '

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