The Corner

I wrote some of the following from a building at the University of Montana where I go to write sometimes. The sight of the studious young people are an inspiration. And I did attend one quarter here in 1974, although I graduated from MSU, so I am a cross between a bobcat and a grizzly. The following are five more students I went to school with in the old high school at Ekalaka.

The Leaves — Not Of Grass, But Of Our Vine

I sit on the campus of U of M,

Students about me boosts a man of age,

To do justice to all leaves on the stem,

The Carter County High vine still engaged.

Tom, his boot heels clacked, if as at the helm,

Peter, brain power focus, turn the page,

Rob flirting, perhaps, cowboy to the brim,

Jeff, brought envy to some, always onstage.

Velma, quiet confidence, family gem,

Of these five, my sonnets, home on the range,

Awkward lines may bring the most, cloudy realm,

We’ve all evolved, but how much, ask our sage.

As for myself, still much the same, same kid,

Yet our sage may say no, pence not a quid.

Tom Rutledge

From Texas Tom appeared to us, stage right,

A natural actor, artist, not shy,

He stared in a school play, hat of white,

To see talent away from sports applied,

Was but good for me then, Tom a delight.

Tom of faith, valued by him, sure as sky,

“Pope” my name, it stuck, my fault, became trite,

Catholic not his faith, he laughed, not cried.

His artwork, a velvet robe, starry night,

“How did he do that”, I thought with my eyes,

That red robe still on my mind, art’s excite,

Tom fit in — but not as well, to baptize.

Tom kept us in stitches at times back then,

To Texas, his dimensions, jokes to zen.

Peter Sikorski

Peter, the top of class as a student,

Earnest in studies, always with answers,

To tough questions, our engine’s coolant,

We would not challenge him, no advancers.

He could have answered, what’s the Occident,

His Valedictorian speech with no fears,

Back then in gym class, his smile, content,

Arms crossed, laughing at jokes, with best manners.

He, in advanced classes then, higher rent,

In choir, with widest vocal range standards,

Peter, scholarly and bound for ascent,

And of his studies, he nailed them, mastered.

Geology was his path chosen, we walked,

With Jeff in ninety four downtown and talked,

Rob Strub

Rob always a cowboy’s guy, jeans and boots,

And mischief accompanied him at most times,

Rodeo rated high to Rob, his roots,

I may not be one to write this, my dime.

I did not know Rob too well, clashing suits,

My hair did not fit him, his hat not mine,

But lessons are learned by minor disputes,

Rob, a good guy to me, without our rhymes.

Laughing Rob in desk, maybe in cahoots,

He talked to girls more than most, bell chimbed,

Snorting bucking horses, shooed towards the chutes,

This is what I think, when Rob comes to mind.

Whitehall, Montana where I think he roams,

There he still rides, tied by cowboy rhizomes?

Jeff Tauck

Athletic, Pete Maravich on the court,

And swift wide receiver out on the field,

And long jumped, high jumped the wall of our fort,

A Ridgeway wonder, the class praise congealed.

And with charisma, looks and warmth exhort,

Jeff was a good student too, pen to wield,

Coach Kaess choice, ‘Taukerosa’, Jeff’s disport,

Jeff to catch, I to block, a touchdown yield.

Jeff in grade school, Play Day time transport,

We both would run and jump, kids to reveal,

Talent in sport and sportsmanship comport,

We go way back, like some of us, straight keeled.

Jeff is still Carter County home bound,

Ranching on the land true, more to astound.

Velma Taylor (Healy)

Second cousins we are, around when young,

Velma and I go way back, to the start,

Her dad and mine in the same band, songs sung,

But no singing from them, sax with drum hearts.

Velma, reserved and kind, rarely waves sprung,

Family anguish to heal from, departs,

My sisters, her child friends, mother tongue,

She forced maturity, world needs impart,

Not one to complain, warm oil of tung,

In class would do her work, steady upstart,

Velma’s photos with doll, with care, not flung,

These, my memories, hope they do their part.

She’s in Missouri, not far from Lamar,

Our shared ancestry nearby, falling star.

Next week Cheryl Till (Strub), Loren Tinsley (Talkington), and Ed White. Also Blaine Ness and Mitzi Heckman (Stevens)

— Erwin Curry, CCHS Class of 1974