Geary Rural High School 1956 - 1967

“GRHS, A School with Class”

  It all started for me back in late fifty-five,

With two teachers, Blanche O, and Kay A.

‘Round the first of the month of September,

And great year ahead there did lay.

Now Blanche O was the kind of a woman,

That reminded me much of my Mom,

But she had different ideas ‘bout life,

That would change me in more ways than one.

Kay A was a little more friendly I found,

With a much more compassionate way.

She would even take time out to help you,

No matter what time of the day.

An old potbelly stove that stood upright,

In the center of the old one room school,

Would keep us all warm in the winter,

Though the ink in the wells would be cool.

 T’was a mile and a half in the morning,

And a mile and three quarters at night.

I walked every day- every step of the way,

Through the rain, sleet, cold, and the white.

There were snowball fights and baseball,

When it rained we would just stay inside.

The first year really wasn’t so bad,

I went on to grade two with great pride.

Now things were a gonna get better,

A new school’s goin’ up down the road.

The new Geary Rural High, would soon open its doors,

To reap seeds the community sowed.

I can’t tell you how much of a difference,

This would make for the students at hand,

Thanks to Samuel E. Carr and his family,

For selling us this piece of land.

 There were bright individual classrooms,

The bathrooms had been brought to inside.

New cold water fountains to drink from,

And chalkboards at least twelve feet wide.

There were closets for boots with coat hangers,

Designed to accommodate all.

Two piece desks with chairs that were separate,

And new floor tiles were laid wall to wall.

The new gym was downstairs in the basement,

And a kitchen for teachers and staff.

On the stage stood an upright piano,

Someone played while the pupils would laugh.

There were concerts with chairs for the parents,

Sometimes we would even hold plays,

Oh what I’d give, if I could relive,

Just one of those happier days.

 A playground outside with a flagpole,

There was a rink, and a place to play ball.

And if you were good you had recess,

If not, then you stood in the hall.

We played hopscotch, marbles and jump rope,

While the older ones just walked around,

Holding hands while they listened to music,

From the 50’s and 60’s great sounds.

Each day there were big yellow buses,

For students who lived far from school.

Lester and Roy, and then Willie and Fred,

To make sure you got home, was the rule.

Weekends and warm summer evenings,

We would swim and then so it would seem,

The school and its whole student body would meet,

By a pool on the old Rockwell Stream.

 Class dances and parties at Cameron’s,

On a Friday or Saturday night.

Tunes played by Buddy, The Big Bopper, or Ritchie,

After someone had turned down the lights.

Long hair and a taste of the British,

Which took over in late sixty-four.

Changed every child, their parents, and style,

All at once, and for ever more.

Boy friends, girl friends, and drive-ins,

Some in trunks, cars packed to the doors.

Tuesday was Buck Night, in our books,

And hot dogs were eaten in scores.

A canteen cross the way was our hangout,

A place we could go and just meet.

With a jukebox, pinball and burgers,

If you were feeling like something to eat.

 Good times, true friends, and great music,

Yeah we had it all way back then.

If you put all the pieces together,

What a wonderful message it sends.

Great moments in sports just don’t happen,

They’re created with thought, and a light.

Do your best with what you’ve been given,

T’is the reason we’re all here tonight.

Geary High School as we knew it,

Was one like no others have seen.

Many grads and eleven years later,

Came the end of a beautiful dream.

So we’re here today to rekindle,

Memories of those days gone by.

To unite once again with the classmates,

And pay tribute to Geary Rural High.

Written for all Geary Rural High School Classmates

George (Geo) Donovan. March 15th, 2011

Home

 

There is a house of many that I pass by everyday,

And sometimes I have to wonder, who could live there anyway.

The parking lot is empty, any hour I’ve gone by,

But there is a flag that proudly waves, its colors in the sky.

The mailbox at the corner of the building that I speak,

Is rusted, chipped and faded, and the hinges really squeak.

There are curtains on the windows, which will open now and then,

When someone’s expecting company, a loved one, or a friend.

 It’s very well looked after; flowers grow, with lawns of green,

You would think the house was vacant, because no one’s ever seen.

The sitting swing rocks back and forth, so easy with the wind,

A sign out front informs you, of the hours you can spend.

But the day is nearly over, shadows cast and night will fall,

The doors are locked until tomorrow, and will open at roll call.

The wheel chair at the entry, has been tucked away inside,

It’s not used much but is placed there, for someone who needs a ride.

Today’s a little different, because the flag now at half - mast,

Is telling us that some one will be going home at last.

The sign that reads “No Vacancy”, will once again be changed,

And the furniture that filled a room is being rearranged.

The swing now still and motionless, is empty as before,

And will wait until tomorrow, when the wind will blow once more.

The parking lot is busy, but the curtains keep their place,

There will be no smiling faces, as they sing Amazing Grace.

While the world is such a busy place, and time is of the essence,

There are those, who really need, to have you in their presence.

But, the mail is not delivered, by a postman anymore,

And words of love not written, down on paper as before.

A thumbtack holds a calendar, with nothing on the page,

But the occasional appointment, only marked with D and A.

It’s not much, to look forward to, a check up and a pill,

A Doctor gives them words of hope, strengthening their will.

The loneliness encountered, by someone who doesn’t get,

A visit from a loved one is compounded like a debt.

From day to day they sit’n wait, and count away the hours,

There is no mail on Saturday, and no one’s sending flowers.

Someone, will be in tomorrow though, the pastor will arrive,

To thank God, for the Sundays, and the week that has gone by

The day has been a long one, and so much like any other,

There was no mail and no one seen, a father or a mother.

I guess I’m rather fortunate, to have a family tree,

That was planted by my grand dad, long before I came to be.

And years from now, when I am done, and in retirement,

I’ll spend my days, not Home Alone, but in accompaniment.

Of family, and the friendship, of the loved ones I hold dear,

The mailbox will be painted, and the hinges oiled each year.

The day has been a long one, and so much like any other,

The family has gone home now, “What ya thinking about, Mother?”

 Geo W. Donovan March 22nd, 2005

Old folks are worth a fortune,

 with silver in their hair,

 gold in their teeth,

 stones in their kidneys,

 lead in their feet and

 gas in their stomachs.

I have become a lot more social

 with the passing of the years,

 some might even call me a frivolous old gal.

 I’m seeing five gentlemen every day!

As soon as I wake, Will Power

 helps me get out of bed.

 Then I go see John.

 Then Charley Horse comes along,

 and when he is here he takes a lot

 of my time and attention!

 When he leaves, Arthur Ritis shows

 up and stays the rest of the day.

 He doesn’t like to stay in one place very long,

 so he takes me from joint to joint!

 After such a busy day,

 I’m really tired and glad to go to bed,

 with Ben Gay!

P.S. The preacher came to call the other day.

 He said that at my age I should be

 thinking about the hear-after.

 I told him I do, all the time.

 No matter where I am,

 in the kitchen or down in the basement,

 I ask myself, “Now what am I here after?”

Author Unknown

The Big Yellow Bus

Wish there was a way, I could bring back a day,
To ride on a school bus again.
On a cold vinyl seat, where my friends use to meet,
In the mornings, and at the days end.

Lester and Roy would count each girl and boy,
To make sure we all would be there.
On the big yellow bus, there were many of us,
Who rode to and from with no cares.

When I look back now, I wonder somehow,
I made it as far as I did.
But what I wouldn’t give, if I could relive,
Just one of those days as a kid.

To ride once again, with some of my friends,
Are just memories for many of us.
But we rode every day, and I’m happy to say,
It was on an old “ Big Yellow Bus”.

Thank you, Lester and Roy

The Milky Way

I wonder what it would be like, to walk the Milky Way?

Or to take a trip in outer space, that would be nice some day.

To see the earth and all the stars, a different point of view,

The trip of a life time it would be, I’d take you with me too.

Just imagine looking down, from some place way up there,

Into miles of shiny oceans, through the crystal clear blue air.

A camera could not capture, all the beauty that was seen,

Snow capped covered mountains, or the trees of hunter green.

Now look out there somewhere beyond, and you will see the Moon.

The Little Dipper’s not so small, and in it there’s a spoon.

Oh look there goes a comet, Haley has come round again,

Joining universal fireworks, that never ever seem to end.

Just to the right if we wait till night, the Sisters will appear,

Bringing laughter and some happiness, which you can often hear.

If you look around for Venus, shining lady of the stars,

You will find her in proximity, of a planet known as Mars.

Way over on the corner, is the largest of them all,

I know you’ve heard of Jupiter, at it’s very best in fall.

There is Neptune and Uranus, but you have to strain your eyes,

These two are the quiet ones, the turquoise of the skies.

Just to the south of Venus, on a clear and pitch black night,

You’ll see the lights of Mercury, when the timing is just right.

And if you listen close enough, when it is very much in dark,

You just might hear Ol’ Pluto, in the background when he barks.

Then there’s Saturn in splendor, with it’s many shining rings,

Oh how wondrous it is out there, and all the things it brings.

Yet it is just as beautiful, from right here where I stand,

To look out into the heavens, from my home and native land.

Who knows I may just get a chance, to take the greatest trip,

To be where no one’s ever gone, without a rocket ship.

And if I could I’d take you there, just so we could say,

We visited the Universe, and walked The Milky Way.

Geo January 22nd, 2005

The Spirit of Christmas

Here is a little story I would like to share with you. We all have experienced, at one time or another, very special events or times in our lives that seem to stand out and are forever etched in our minds. This is a true story of a special Christmas and memories which will be with me forever.

If my memory serves me correctly it was around 1990 or 1991. Christmas was fast approaching and I was living alone at the time, in a small one bedroom apartment in the tiny community of Welsford, New Brunswick. While living in this community for nearly fifteen years, I had made many friends, but this is about two very special friends of mine. Twin girls, Sara and Kara had been born to a couple I had known quite well for a number of years. Kara was born with Spina Bifida, and Sara was as normal as could be. They were about five years old now and during this time the three of us had become very close. I would visit occasionally and both girls just loved to see me come around. I guess I was more like family to them and with each visit the bond grew a little stronger. Now you have to imagine a man living alone has really no reason, not to mention much interest in putting up a Christmas tree. But this year somehow seemed different, and I’m sure it was the Spirit of Christmas that was getting to me. As the 25^th of the month drew closer and closer, I knew that this year would be different, different than any I had experienced in the past.

I remember as a kid setting out in search of the perfect tree, not that many of them were perfect, but it was the thrill of dragging home some scrawny Charlie Brown which would be used to celebrate the occasion. So it was, I donned my winter apparel and headed out, knowing exactly what I intended to do. It was like something was directing me to follow every step that had been pre planned or laid out for me. After a thorough search of the area the perfect tree did appear, so down it came, and it was now on it’s way to the most wonderful Christmas that ever was for me.

What does one do when you have never been alone at Christmas? You now find yourself wondering how on earth you’re going to trim a tree, when you have absolutely nothing to trim it with. I stood the naked tree in a corner and wondered when the next part of my imagination would take over and give me some direction. All I knew at the time was that this was going to be a tree for my two little friends and somehow everything would turn out fine. It would be the special Christmas I had hoped for. Without thinking much more about it, I hopped in my truck and headed to the local general store to have coffee. You can imagine what a variety of goods would be available in a little local country store. Being the time of year it was, extra care was taken to order all kinds of things pertaining to the season, especially candy and the like.

While standing there sipping away at my coffee, I noticed a box shaped like a star with candy inside. Wow, my heart started beating a mile a minute and I knew what the next step would be immediately. I bought that star shaped box, and any other candy I could find that would make the ornaments for this special tree. Gum drops, life savors, round balls of bubble gum, popcorn, it didn’t matter as long as I could turn it into ornaments, it went home with me. I even bought a spool of thread to tie things together so they could be hung up. I remember tying two tooth picks together in the middle so they formed a + and then sticking one ball of bubble gum on each end of the tooth picks. I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning making ornaments and decorating. When I finished the only thing on the tree that wasn’t made of candy were the icicles and mini lights I had bought as well. Even the empty star shaped box was placed on the tree to top it off.

What a sweet little tree! Well not really, looks can be deceiving. Most of the candy I purchased as it turned out was of the sour kind. Remember me saying it was as if I’d been following directions from a power greater than mine. How could I know that sour candy was a favorite of these two special little friends, I didn’t, but could something or someone else know?

On the day before, the day before Christmas (December 23^rd) I asked their parents if they could bring Sara and Kara to my place, explaining I had a little surprise and a little gift for them. Boy, I want you to know if you ever witness the spirit of Christmas like I did in the eyes and on the faces of those two little girls; you would know what Christmas was all about. When the season of celebration ended my two little friends came to visit once again, and as promised, they helped me dismantle and undecorate their tree. When they left they each had a shoe box nearly full of sour candy, memories for a life time, and smiles that would melt your heart.

That my friends, was about 21 years ago. Neither they nor I will ever forget that very special Christmas.  

Thanks for taking the time to read this and letting me share one of life’s more pleasurable experiences.

                                        Geo Donovan

    

 Jack Frost

The Moon reached out, to wake Jack Frost,

And his coat of white appeared.

Ah haaaa he said, with the turned leaves red,

When he whispered through his beard.

The flowers of the summer past,

Have vanished over night.

Jack and the Moon have come too soon,

While the Sun was out of sight.

There is honking of the wild geese,

As they head to warmer climes.

Followed only by the wind blown clouds,

And days of harder times.

The Sun, now low, cannot support,

The life that lingers still.

The things that Jack has breathed upon,

Now fall against their will.

Jack pressed in vain against the pane,

To let himself inside.

But the glass stood tall and would not fall,

No matter how hard he tried.

By morning all that could be seen,

Were clues that he was here.

Droplets left on the windows,

As the Sun of the day reappeared.

Now you might consider Jack to be,

A Pro, who paints in white.

His canvas is the landscape,

That he works on every night.

The gallery where he shows his stuff,

Can be seen night and day.

On trees, on rocks, and windshields,

And on fields of non cut hay.

So go on Jack Frost, and color the world,

As you've done for many a year.

You, and the Moon, and I, well know,

Ol' Man Winter will soon be here.

With a brush that's a little wider,

He too is a Pro of White.

Then you both can work in unison,

On the canvas, every night.

Geo W. Donovan........... October 9^th, 2006