 | Dershie Bridgeford McDevitt (SHS1960) has published her first novel set on a South Carolina barrier island. A compelling murder mystery, it will hold your attention til the end. Dershie lives in Asheville, NC and summers in Dewees Island near Charleston. And no, this isn't a "biographical" novel.
Available on Amazon | ||
 | JW Kelley (SHS 55) has undergraduate, graduate degrees from the University of Oregon , anesthesia residency VA Hospital Des Moines, Iowa, practiced anesthesia over thirty years and is a retired USAF Colonel. His wife Beth Haselhorst is a retired Family Practice Physician, Flight Surgeon, and USAF Colonel.
They have resided in Colorado Springs since 1992
| ||
 | Read an online biography of Bernard Thomas, Sheridan Artist SHS 1937. Written by Judy Musgrave SHS'63. | ||
| Hot Straight and Normal: A Submarine Book Bibliography 2001-386 pages by Ron Martini '59 iUniverse publishers Available through Amazon.com | Submariner's Dictionary 174 pages-2006 by Ron Martini '59 Riverdaleebooks publishers Available through Amazon.com | ||
General George Crook's Campaign of 1876 -- Newspaper Accounts of the Day At Sheridan area Bookstores or write: legoski@cyberhghway.net |
The 21-Day Challenge: Take Control of Your Mind and Your Life. by Robert Wakefield, PhD (SHS '57) Wellington Press, |
||
SHERIDAN WYOMING by Charles W. Popovich, (SHS Teacher) Includes: 360 Pages, Preface, Author, Table of Contents, 94 Articles, Index, Photo Appendix At Sheridan area Bookstores |
Sheridan Stationery is 206 N. Main, Sheridan, WY 82801 (307) 674-8080 Book Shop is 117 N Main, Sheridan, WY 82801 (307) 672-6505 |
||
If you have written a book, or want to submit poetry or prose for this page, send your material to the
Webmaster.Authors have submitted material for posting to this site, and retain full copyright of their work. Normal display of material on this site through a web browser is an approved use. Any other use of an author's work, including remote links to this site or copying of material, requires the written permission of the author, and possible payment of fees.
ALUMNI POEMS
Milt Cunningham, A LENGTHY LINEUP OF LARGE LIZARDS
Theron T.Tynan, 1910, A CLASS POEM
Carolyn Drown Schilling
, 1951, EPITAPH
Betty J.May, 1952, BLUE MOUNTAINS.
Betty J.May, 1952, EVERGREEN TREE
Thelma Calder Kearns, 1940, CLASS REUNION
Thelma Calder Kearns, 1940, A CHRISTMAS POEM
Clara Blakeman Lehman
,1953, ON A CYCLE RIDE & LOVE AND THE WIND
Mary Alice Wright Gunderson
, 1953, Creekside ON A CYCLE RIDE
A LENGTHY LINEUP OF LARGE LIZARDS
-- Milt Cunningham
The Saurus family's very large
With children by the dozens:
Aunt Dyna Saur and Uncle Bront,
And lots and lots of cousins.
Old Stego's back was always up
Any time you'd see him,
And Grandpa Rex, us kiddies thought,
Belonged in some museum!
Tricer O. Tops, with three long horns,
Went anywhere he wanted,
And ugly Archie Opterix
Was one nobody taunted.
Terry Dactyl flew the skies
And claimed he was above us,
But brother Ichthy loved to swim.
And his teeth showed how he'd love us!
And one young Saur had lots of words,
And he knew how to use 'em;
He'd throw them at the other Saurs,
And laugh, just to confuse 'em.
You'd think a Saur as smart as that
Would have a name like Boris;
But no, his name was simply Thes,
Just plain, verbose Thes Saurus.
There's freedom on a cycle ride
Beneath the open sky;
The open road your only guide
As hills and streams glide by.
Alone with your thoughts you ponder
What lies around the bend,
Perhaps that valley up yonder
May be the rainbow's end!
A chance to view the world so bold
With free and open mind
An all-over feeling of gold,
Infused as you unwind.
Reflecting on the sights you've seen,
Relaxing at day's end,
It heightens just what life can mean
To share it with a friend.
Clara Blakeman Lehman, Class of 1953
(Written after a beautiful ride through Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado, Aspen and Central City, on the backseat of a Honda Goldwing.)
LOVE AND THE WIND
Love and the wind are identical twins;
Blowin' hot, blowin' cold, ever changing;
Over land, the sea, and man's tangled mind,
His terrain, thoughts and heart e'er deranging.
RETURN TO TOP CLASS POEM
EPITAPH (In Memory of Dale B. Schilling, Class of 1951 Submitted by: Carolyn Drown Schilling, 1951 The mountains are as blue as blue can be Return to top
The Evergreen Tree:
1940 CLASS REUNION Class reunions are special times, to get together and "remember when", CHRISTMAS Thelma Coulter Kearns 1940 As Christmas time draws near again, we get all sentimental and nostalgic.
Theron T. Tynan, Sheridan High School,1910 .
We are parting, classmates, parting,
All too soon our path divides;
In each heart lies joy and sadness.
Vainly each the other hides
.For the deep, unfathomed future,
Of whose fields we love to dream,
For the start to this strange region,
Joy reigns in us supreme.
But we turn and looking backward.
See the joys and friends of yore,
Then to each there comes a yearning
For the days that are no more.
Many years we've toiled together,
Striving for the goal now won;
Sad it is we must go singly
Onward through the years to come.
Gaily on a brook we started,
In the frailest barks that be,
Adding to them as we journeyed,
Till at last we reach the sea.
Now we start upon the crossing
Of the wild and surging deep
But there is no fear of sinking
If the helm we firmly keep.
Yet, in all our mirth or sorrows,
Through the thickest of life's frays
We will hold fond recollections
Of the friends of our school days.
Let each give the other courage,
Some will never meet again;
Let each one uphold the memory
Of the Class of Nineteen Ten
May God aid your each endeavor;
May he help you to the fore,
Till you cross the troubled water,
to that sweet, all-resting shore.
1933-1987
Carolyn Drown Schilling,1951
Up early with the crack of dawn,and moving fast to please
the body's want for fast relief from cold, slow moving knees;
The cowboys in the bunkhouse are all in motion now,
preparing for the day ahead with horse and dog and cow.
No time for words, it's action speaks when cattle are awating:
Head for the cookhouse on the run, coffee starts cold abating;
And gulp your food and grab your horse, and to the range your're headed.
Your saddle beneath, the sun not up, the cows no longer bedded.
But somehow the routine of what he's heard and "seed,"
is stopped still in the tracks of this young cowboy's steed;
Mother's spotted youngest boy, and votes he's not a-going:
She stops 3-wheeler in its tracks, rider's tears they start a flowing.
Returning to the ranch house astride his trusty trike,
and wondering why he can't go with Bill and Len and Mike,
Our future cowboy's day at work is short and not so sweet,
For Mother's wrangling means she is switching at his seat.
This memory of Mother is the only one he had,
and while it stung and though it hurt, he never thought it bad;
His mother died on Christmas eve, and had she never cared,
Our cowboy would have been without this memory he shared
For memory is all that's left of these beloved two:
Of Mother---and of our little "cycler buckaroo;
His mother died when cowboy was but a lad of three,
And this is written by the widow of the man he grew to be.
The snow is pure, soft and white for all to see
Valleys are way far down and oh so deep
The cliffs and the hills are jagged and steep
Strength and splendor show from afar
The sky is clear giving a setting without mar
This being one place the animals feed and play
Time is of no essences in any particular way
Creations of God all in its natural setting
Searsons come and go without the animals fretting
Beauty can be found if you will look
It is all natural and needs not pictures from a book
Fish swimming in a rippling stream
Everything could come to a stand still it would seem
In the presence of God it is planned this way
Giving us so much beauty to enjoy every day
When trouble come they will also have to go
Trusting in Jesus should be all we need to know
The pictures God paints we can walk in day by day
It is not flat but the entire earth on display
Beauty in depth and without waste.
Come to Jesus with a great amount of haste
God's beauty will be there long after we are gone
Enjoy every moment and break forth in song
Sing of the mountains so blue
Remember that God is real and also true.
The evergreen tree all covered with snow
Hidden in its branches only God will know
Birds of many kinds and colors
Away from the cold in the tree it hovers
Squirrels have hidden the nuts from the pine tree
They scurry here and there without worry of who will see
In the summer the evergreen tree will hide the birds nest
To a person it will give shade and peaceful rest
In the setting of a sky so clear and blue
The evergreen tree stands so elegant just for each of us too
The evergreen tree is a reminder of one of God's promises
It reminds us that we were once a doubting Thomas'
The Lord is ever true to His word Every thing
He has spoken needs to be heard
The evergreen signifies God is forever
Let us not waver and continue to endeavor
It is God's way of saying, "I Am here forever"
Then He says to us, "I will leave you never"
Let us stand as regal as the evergreen tree
Letting everyone see God has fulfilled His promise to you and me
He will never leave us or forsake us if we are true
Jesus is there forever willing to do, all we need Him too
Thelma Calder Kearns
Such as the freshman mixer, how long ago has that been?
We were proud of our marching band, there were very few in the state.
We were proud of all our sports teams, win or lose, we thought they were great.
Remember the snake dances down Lewis and Main, before the football games?
We all had our favorite teachers; do you remember any of their names?
Remember how hard it was to concentrate, when spring was in the air?
Gazing out across the valley, Oh to be outside but knew we didn't dare.
How many spent their lunch money at Frannie and Ed Larson's store across
the street?
Or better still, had a hamburger at Louie's, that was a real treat. Remember the Sadie Hawkins day dance, the gals invited the guys?
The corsages made of fresh vegetable tops, now that was a real surprise.
The Jr.-Senior prom was a very special event, Ah, those wonderful high school years, the most carefree days we've ever spent.
Well it's been 60 years since we said good-by To our classmates and teachers at Sheridan High,
We've traveled north, south, east and west, And settled in the places we liked the best.
We've said good-by to loved ones, who sadly had to depart, We've welcomed grandchildren, great grandchildren, too, with a loving and open heart.
We're being called the "Greatest Generation", a title we humbly, but proudly claim,
We are grateful to attend this reunion; grateful we are still able and game. T.K. class of '40.
We make our lists for cards and gifts, and try to maintain a bit of logic.
So you open your card, and "HEAVEN FORBID" here is a long list of everything we did
From the great Pacific Ocean through California's majestic Redwood Trees.
Across Utah's Monument Valley and Canyon Land eroded by water and breeze.
Idaho's Craters of the Moon is like a trip into outer space.
And the Badlands of South Dakota is a very austere place.
We were fascinated by the awesome power of the Geysers in Yellowstone Park.
Intrigued by the history of Deadwood South Dakota (played the slot
machines just for a lark)
So, when it's cold and wet and it just might snow, YOU should be in Arizona, I guess you know.
Mary Alice Wright Gunderson, 1953
An excerpt from a 22 page essay called "STREAMSIDE."
.....Then he told us stories of Kendrick Park, the one just two
blocks from my house whose entrance even now is guarded by two
greenish-bronze Chinese dogs set on stone pedestals. When we
biked into the park, he said, and veered onto the path beside the
stream, we rolled among invisible tipis. Our pedaling churned
through the dust of wagon ruts, infantry boots, cavalry mounts. We
had never imagined our park this way before, as we ran in the big,
grassy field, the scattered pines and cottonwoods encirlced by the
arm of Big Goose Creek. Our park was streamside picnic shelters,
slides and swings, double scoops of chocolate at Small's ice
cream stand, the clang we made smacking the steel-banded merry-
go-round against its center pole.
I leaned forward, pressing the edge of the table against my
chest, imagining a distant scene unfolding in Cinemascope: the
sun high on a hot June day in 1876, dust hanging above the
snaking, mile-long approaching line of canvas-topped wagons
creaking toward me, the spoked wheels laboring up gullies choked
with underbrush, the plunging horses of fifteen troops of cavalry
flanking the wagons, and leading the way, five companies of
infantry marching past me in columns as I lay with binoculars atop
a cliff in view of the Big HOrn Mountains. We were the children of
the John Ford-John Wayne western and in our games we were
general's daughters, teachers at the fort, horse soldiers, Cochise,
Geronimo, Crazy Horse.
There were scouts and teamsters and guides, he told us,
surgeons, newspaper correspondents, civilians and miners and
adventurers: more than thirteen hundred men, wagons and packs,
eighteen hundred horses and mules who fell in with army regulars
along the Bozeman Trail, called "Thieves' Road" by Plains tribes.
This expedition, commanded by famed Civil War cavalry officer
General George Crook, was the largest of three detachments who
would join together as ordered by the War Department, to "pursue
and punish the derelict Sioux' and return them to reservations.
We tried to imagine their encampment, its rows of tents
,wagons and cookfires, picketed mules and horses grazing,
seeking water, in this camp that extended, perhaps, for more than
four square miles over what became the Sheridan business district,
through Kendrick Park, our own grade school Linden, and --best of
all I thought--the very land on which my dad had built our stucco
house, streamside on Griffith Street.
A half-mile downstream from the park, "Camp Goose Creek"
headquarters were established,we learned, on an island which no
longer exists. The water was deep then and swift as a millrace,
and the island formed at the junction of the Goose Creeks, where
Little Goose flows north and turns west to empty into Big Goose.
>From this joining of waters, all of the stream north, to the mouth of
the Yellowstone, was called Tongue River. Crazy HOrse, war
leader of the Oglala Sioux, had warned whites not to come north of
the Tongue into Montana, onto Indian land.
More than a thousand Sioux and Cheyenne warriors met the
soldiers in the Rosebud Valley, forty miles to the north, on June
17. Historians tell of a day-long battle--the Battle of the Rosebud--
up rough country and over fallen timber, with low casualties on
either side. The battle was probably a draw, though Crook would
claim victory and fall back to Camp Goose Creek for a week,
awaiting further orders .
The soldiers passed days in camp swimming, playing cards,
writing letters, attending to laundry and equipment; General Crook
discussed taking a hunting party into the Big Horns. On that last
Sunday in June, 1876--th 25th--hoping to supplement field rations,
a number of officers went fishing, some catching a hundred at a
time by firing into the water and scooping fi sh out onto the banks
of Big Goose. As they fished that day, fifty -five miles to the north,
Custer's Seventh Cavalry rode into the Battle of the Little
Bighorn........( end of the Crook part)
