A collision on highway 20 resulted in one death and some serious injuries.

Moyer Quick was killed in the accident, while the other two passengers with him are in good condition.

The man Quick collided with, Randy Radin, is in critical condition with a fractured skill and internal injuries. All the victims are currently at Marian Health Center and hope to make a full recovery.

The cause of the accident is still under investigation.

–This weekend, a local firefighter dropped out of a tree while saving a cat. The savior Bob Harwood broke his left leg.

Luckily the cat and Howard are doing just fine. Howard is healing in St. Lukes Hospital.

–East High recently had fifteen students suspended in the past week.

Five of those students were caught smoking marijuana in the school parking. The other ten were protesting the previous suspension.  Other problems are arising such as, food fight in the cafeteria and falst fire alarms.

Principle Laura Vibelius coments, “Not so much unrest becasue of suspension, but becasue of summer vacation being so near.”

— A Texaco gasoline truck was overturned on the outskirts of town.

Four families were evacuated because of sewer-line gas. Also, cars were being rerouted through the side streets to start clean up.

The clean up took about two hours to flush away.

It is a place full of power. It is a place full of emotion. It is the place where it all begins and where it ends. Among the four grey walls the locker room, twenty-four girls gather for one reason. All day long the room will sit in silence, waiting for its purpose to be fulfilled.  Anyone can sit there and gaze upon the names of my fellow teammates; they can see the trophies mounted on a wall of achievement.

            Although the room is empty before practice, it will safely hold their sweaty gear and keeps out unwanted visitors. As soon as three in the afternoon comes around, the room comes alive.

            One by one they come in. It is usual to see smiling faces eager with stories to tell. They can hear the twist and clicks from the lockers being opened. There is the sound of gossip around school and the complaints about classes. It was odd to sit and listen to so many different conversations that seem to have no purpose except to entertain. They will find out that someone had a new crush and that someone is not thrilled to practice.

            Everyone puts on their gear in unison. First the socks, second the knee pads that wreak of sweat and hard work, third the ankle braces that save you from a broken foot, and last the all black Mizuno volleyball shoes. Everyone will make a stop at the mirror to fix a loose strand of hair, or wipe off any make up. Volleyball players don’t wear makeup.

            The locker room is a place away from anything but volleyball and the team. No coaches, no boys, no school. There is a taste of victory from the past and victories that are in the future. There is also the taste of defeat, a bitter taste with the texture of sandpaper.

            On occasion the locker room can be an unwelcoming place. After an awful game, nothing is more awkward and uncomfortable then going and sitting with twenty-four girls who just got yelled at and lost. It’s easy to feel the tension. Some girls will burn a hole in the ground because they refuse to look up. Tension doesn’t sound like anything because everyone is frozen with emotions. Losing a game is like pouring peroxide on a wound. No one wants to do it because it can be so painful; but in order for the wound to heal, or in order for a team to heal, you must deal with the pain.

            Even though a loss can make the locker room unwelcoming, a victory makes the locker room a never ending party. They all welcome another W into our record. This is when volleyball is fun. As they all rip off our gear and quickly shower the conversations are filled with life and energy. The smell of body wash and shampoo cover up their sweaty aroma.

            When they all leave the locker room; they close our lockers, grab their stuff, and turn off the lights. The locker room is quiet again. It all starts again the next day.

The article I read this week was about the first medal of honor awarded for a living Afghan vet. I decided to read this story because the war effects me personally. I have a very good friend serving in Afghanistan right now. The man who received the medal of honor was, Sgt. Salvatore Giunta who is also from Des Monies, IA. He showed is bravery on the battle field by running into open fire and trying to save two other men.

I think this article was very well written. I feel that any story written about the war must be done with a  level of respect and the writer of this story did just that. The story was also informative and entertaining.

It is a place full of power. It is a place full of emotion. It is the place where it all begins and where it ends. Among the four grey walls the locker room twenty-four girls gather for one reason. All day long the room will sit in silence, waiting for its purpose to be fulfilled.  I can sit there and gaze upon the names of my fellow teammates; I can see the trophies mounted on a wall of achievement.

            Although the room is empty before practice, it will safely hold our sweaty gear and keeps out unwanted visitors. As soon as three in the afternoon comes around, the room comes alive.

            One by one we come in. I usually see smiling faces eager with stories to tell. I can hear the twist and clicks from the lockers being opened. I listen to the gossip around school and the complaints about classes. It was odd to sit and listen to so many different conversations that seem to have no purpose except to entertain. I found out that someone had a new crush and that someone is not thrilled to practice.

            I see everyone put on their gear in unison. First your socks, second your knee pads that wreak of sweat and hard work, third your ankle braces that save you from a broken foot, and last your all black Mizuno volleyball shoes. Everyone will make a stop at the mirror to fix a loose strand of hair, or wipe of any make up. Volleyball players don’t wear makeup.

            The locker room is a place away from anything but volleyball and the team. No coaches, no boys, no school. I can taste victory from the past and victories that are in the future. I also taste defeat.

            On occasion the locker room can be an unwelcoming place. After an awful game, nothing is more awkward and uncomfortable then going and sitting with twenty-four girls who just got yelled at and lost. It’s easy to feel the tension. Some girls will burn a hole in the ground because the refuse to look up. Tension doesn’t sound like anything because everyone is frozen with emotions.

            Even though a loss can make the locker room unwelcoming, a victory makes the locker room a never ending party. We all welcome another W into our record. This is when volleyball is fun. As we all rip off our gear and quickly shower the conversations are filled with life and energy. The smell of body wash and shampoo cover up our sweaty aroma.

            When we all leave the locker room; we close our lockers, grab our stuff, and turn off the lights. The locker room is quiet again. It all starts again the next day.

The article I read was about parents holding their children back a year before going to kindergarten. The term they referred to was red shirting your kid; just like in college where so many freshman athletes are not played their first year in order to build maturity. The same principles apply to parents holding their child back.

I found the article to be very well written. There were many statistics that made the article interesting and the stats were able to support the article. I found it very interesting that the older kids in each grade were 10% more likely to go to a four year school.

 I think the article pulls the reader into the story and allows the reader to determine if they agree with red shirting or not. I myself do not agree with holding your child back because I personaly would not want to be a year older then everyone in my grade.

Born in the sunny Long Beach, Courtney is not afraid to show who she is. Her loud and rambunctious attitude may put some people off, but she is not ashamed. With her double major English and Corporate Communications she will bravely step into the world of writing.

At age 17 she made her first break into the media world by writing a play called “Shooting Stars.” This breakthrough achievement is allowing Courtney to attend college. Her comment when asked about this was, “Haters made me famous.”

This will not be the last time we hear about Courtney Brown.