6 10 9760 https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/ca5c4cbc9700795342f8cc882c06ecf1.pdf ce8685a5723758465243e6e75e5de091 PDF Text Text THE PERFECT CRIME Jane Logan “Stanford, get your feet off the coffee table, and button your collar,” a shrill femine voice called. “Yes, Eunice,” the harried husband replied as he obeyed. Under his breath, however, he muttered, “just you wait.” Stanford, you see, was going to murder his wife; or as he liked to say to himself, “Do away with the old bag.” He intended to make this the crime of the Gentry—the perfect crime. In fact, it would be so perfect no one would ever know a crime had been committeed. That was his only regret—■ he would never win fame for his greatest achievement. But then, peace of mind was worth more than fame anyway. That very afternoon he initiated step one of O. P. C. (operation per­ fect crime). “Eunice,” he said, “how would you like to do some travelling—see the country. You’ve always talked about doing that. Money’s no object, you know. We can sell the house so we won’t be bothered with renters or care­ takers. Then we’ll just start driving—go where we want, stop when we like. We’ll see the country, then settle down wherever catches your fancy.” Eunice hardly took time to say “Yes” before she began making plans for the trip. She found hundreds of errands for Stanford, she made him carry heavy trunks and suitcases up and down stairs, and she talked con­ stantly in her falsetto voice—issuing commands, commenting, complaining, and giving more orders. While Stanford was working, he was planning. Soon he carried out step two of O. P. C. with Eunice’s full consent and knowledge. He trans­ ferred all of their money to a secret, numbered account in a Swiss bank. Only he and Eunice and his insurance company knew the account num­ ber. Then he reworded his will, so that whoever knew the account number would be his heir. At last the house was sold, the goodbyes said, and the mountain of luggage packed into a shiny new convertible, which Stanford had purchased especially for the trip. Off at last! Eunice back-seat drove, complained constantly, ate vora­ ciously, spent money like a corrupt politician, and mailed dozens of picture postcards to her friends. Stanford smiled throughout the continuous ordeal as he planned step three of O. P. C.—again with Eunice’s full knowledge and consent. “Do you realize, Eunice, the tremendous sum of money you and I’ve spent on life insurance? If only there were some way we could get that money now, while we’re still alive.” —29— �“Isn’t there any way we could get it?” Eunice asked. “Well, yes, but it’s not legal, and if we were caught doing it, we’d go to prison.” “What would we have to do? If we were smart, we wouldn’t get caught.” Eunice replied. “Somehow, we’d have to appear to have died, then when things cooled down, we could withdraw all our own money from the Swiss bank, plus that which the insurance company would deposit to our account if we died.” Under persistent questioning, Stanford revealed his plan. There was a little traveled scenic road on their itinerary. The road twisted down a nar­ row canyon beside a deep, swift river. Stanford recalled that he had once read an account of an auto accident in this canyon. The vehicle had missed a sharp curve and run off into the river. The swift current of the river had apparently torn the lone driver’s body out a window, and his body had never been found. Stanford had studied the situation carefully and decided there would soon be another accident in this canyon. The next afternoon he and Eunice checked into two motels in a large town a six hour’s drive from the canyon. At one motel they registered as the brown-haired couple, Mr. and Mrs. Stanford Wright. They were driving a red convertible with a Missouri license plate. At the second motel they registered as Mr. and Mrs. Henry Smyth. They now had very gray hair and wore sunglasses. They were driving a second-hand car with a temporary permit, which Stanford had just purchased under his new name. Then they went out and purchased new wardrobes and credentials to complete their disguises. Late the following afternoon they checked out of both motels and left—Stanford driving the convertible, Eunice following in the other car. Late that night they reached the appointed place in the canyon. It was the work of only a few minutes to transfer all the personal ef­ fects of the Wrights into the convertible and drive it to the very edge of the river, where the bank dropped straight off into the swirling black waters. Then, leaving the convertible running and in gear, Stanford got out, got into the other car, drove it up behind the convertible and gave it a helpful push. There was a loud splash, a gurgling noise, then only the rushing roar of the waters, Eunice and Stanford climbed into the second-hand car and drove off—now officially Florence and Henry Smyth. The next day they rented an isolated mountain cabin and awaited events. Two days later their efforts were rewarded. The following notice ap­ peared in the newspaper, which Stanford purchased at a gas station a few miles from the cabin. Hunnesville, Colo. (UPI)-—Authorities yesterday discovered a car in the Rio Peligro after an unidentified person notifed them of car tracks which appeared to go directly into the river. A —30— �search turned up a red, 1964 convertible about 100 yards below the point of entry. The swift current had badly damaged the ve­ hicle. No sign has been found of the occupants of the car, who must have been swept away by the swift current. The next day’s paper contained this terse notice. Hunnesville, Colo. (UPI)—The occupants of the car found two days ago in the Rio Peligro have been identified as Mr. and Mrs. Stanford M. Wright of Mankin, Missouri. They were identified through vehicle registration and the testimony of a motel owner here, who recalled that they had stayed at his place the night be­ fore the accident. Their bodies have not yet been found. Now Stanford settled down to step four of O. P. C.—this time without Eunice’s knowledge or consent. He spent two afternoons in the thick timber a quarter of a mile from the cabin, digging a hole. It measured six feet long, two feet wide, and five feet deep. On the second afternoon Stanford was working in the hole. It was nearly finished. His spade made a chunking sound on the hard earth, then there was a splat as he carefully piled the earth on a large canvas. Sud­ denly he heard a noise. He turned, straightened, and looked out of the hole. He found himself staring straight at a pair of woman’s ankles. You left the pick at the cabin, Stanford,” Eunice said as she brought the pointed instrument down onto his skull. BURDEN Sheala Dunn It was a cold day, a dark day for doing many things, but certainly not the kind of a day to spend taking care of a two year old. The girl sat star­ ing out the window as these, and other thoughts, mesmerized her mind. Children were such a waste of time, always wanting something and jabbering to no useful end. There were so many other things more important and in­ teresting. Her self-inflicted depression was interrupted. “Sissy!” called a sleepy voice from the other end of the house. He was awake. Another day of dressing and undressing, cleaning up messes, reading stupid stories and answering endless nonsense questions. “Hi! Get up?” asked the cheerful, cherub-like mouth of the flaxen­ haired child. His dark eyes glowed with life as the girl stood expressionless before him. “Get-up?” he said again, patiently waiting for a sign of approval from his part-time mother. “Well, get up!” she said impatiently, wishing that there were some way to keep him in bed the rest of the afternoon. Mom would be home —31— � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print magazine story Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "The Perfect Crime" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived this story to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource Story published by Jane Logan in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jane Logan Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Logan Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 3 pages https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/f8e440da5c87a86902b20f112588f451.pdf 90b1f5b9dbfb316cc64870edcde0a5c7 PDF Text Text THE REDEEMER Leland L. Bush The new morning sun shone partly through the slats of the boardedup window where the Red Clouds lived. Young Johnny Red Cloud lay star­ ing at the opening which allowed the sun to slip into their one-room shanty. It is Easter morning,” thought Johnny. “Yes, Easter morning. I must not be late for Mass so as not to disappoint Father Mannard, for it is my turn to assist in communion.” Sitting up, hunched over on his knees, Johnny gazed bitterly at the surroundings in which they lived, wondering how God could let them exist in this dump—unfit for a rat’s nest. Lifting his eyes to the cots in which Mr. and Mrs. Red Cloud slept, Johnny wondered if they would come home today or the next. “Probably today,” he thought to him­ self. “Today is Easter and Moore’s Bar will be closed. Then they’ll just lie there. Lie there in their stench, too drunk to brush the flies away.” Johnny felt the cold, hard steel of his gun against his bare leg, the eun he had stolen from the rancher near the mission. He smiled to himself as he thought of his crafty trick: “Right out from under his nose, the stupid white eyes!” The rich rancher would never suspect, for he often saw Johnny at Mass, and who could suspect an altar boy—a child of God. No, he would never suspect. I hate them! I hate the white eyes in their fancy houses and big ranches. Papa is no good; he won’t work. He just sits in Moore’s Bar with Mama and begs what whiskey he can from the proprietor, and ...” “Johnny! Johnny! whispered his younger brother Robert, “are we still gonna go hunting with your new gun before Mass?” Startled, Johnny looked down irritably at the questioning look of his seven-year-old brother. “Yah, sure,” he said, “get your clothes on.” “Robert is too young, six years younger than me, thought Johnny to himself, “too young to know what life is all about. No, he doesn’t understand how the white man can ...” “We must get a big deer and then tonight we can have a feast,” babbl­ ed Robert, excited at going hunting. Will you shut up,” snapped Johnny, “you want to wake your sister?” I m sorry, Johnny, I didn’t mean to make so much noise,” Robert meekly replied. Picking up his newly acquired rifle, Johnny led his younger brother out into the early morning light. They were soon picking their way over rocks and boulders and between the brush and aspen trees which encroached in their path. Occasionally a goss hawk would shrill the air breaking the calm­ ness. Suddenly a jackrabbit veered out from beneath a clump of scrub brush. “Shoot him, Johnny!” yelled Robert, “get him quick!” —6— �“No! No, he is too small,” Johnny retorted sharply, “and for the sec­ ond time today, shut up, or do you want to scare everything away?” The brothers silently continued their hunt, weaving in and out of the underbrush; the younger, stinging from the harsh rebuff of his brother, and the elder, gun in hand, burning with triumph at having swiped the white man’s gun. “Look, Johnny,” whispered Robert, his finger pointing toward a dense growth of trees. Something stirred, rustling the quaker leaves. Quickly, Johnny raised the gun to his shoulder and sighted the trees. Squinting his eyes, he squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked through the still morning air. Robert scrambl­ ed over the rocks and through the brush to the spot, only to stare in dis­ belief at his feet. Johnny ran to his side and gazed down blankly at an in­ nocent bundle of brown fur at his feet—crimson with blood. “Oh,” Johnny gasped, “it’s only a puppy.” Sudden compassion over­ came him, and his eyes blinded with tears and trickled down his dusty cheeks. Robert sadly lifted his dark eyes to Johnny’s face, “Yes, it is only a poor little puppy.” Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Johnny said, “Come on Robert we will be late for Mass and Father Mannard will be angry.” Slowly turning, they started back in the direction they had come. Johnny glanced over his shoulder at the little dog stained with blood and shivered under his shirt. “We will bury him,” said Robert. “God says everyone should be buried.” Looking down at his brother’s round, childish face, Johnny soberly nodded his head in silent agreement. Four hours later, Johnny and Robert returned to bury the little victim they had thoughtlessly slain. They stopped at the aspen grove where the little dog had lain. Now all that remained was a dried patch of blood. The two brothers stood stupified, staring in bewilderment at each other. Then Johnny kneeled beside the empty spot and bent his head on his chest, his long black hair hanging in his eyes. He looked at the stolen gun in his hands and remembered the Priest’s words from Mass: “Take, eat, for this is Christ’s body that died for you. Drink, for this is his blood that was shed for your sins.” “Where is he, Johnny?” asked Robert with pleading eyes. Johnny suddenly jumped to his feet and, with all the strength he could muster, threw the gun against the trunk of a tree. Then he turned, placing his arm around Robert’s shoulder “He is risen, my brother.” —7— � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print magazine story Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "The Redeemer" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived this story to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Requests to take this story down should be made to the Casper College Goodstein Foundation Library Western History Center. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource A story published by Leland L. Bush in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Leland L. Bush Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Bush Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 2 pages Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available 2 pages https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/cb74cdad7a0b88d2eeaa8a43371be4b8.pdf c931d1267a3f33b5814a494046019ea7 PDF Text Text THE REQUIEM OF ELLIS Jerry Peterson Ellis smiled contentedly to himself. It was the perfect day to do it. He leaned back comfortably against a big cottonwood and gazed across the meadows towards the house. Curly, his old brown dog lay beside him and moved only now and then to snap half-heartedly at an occasional fly. Let’s see, Ellis thought and glanced at his old pocket watch. One o’clock, the folks should be getting home from town in two or three hours. Ellis almost laughed. Won’t they be surprised! All these years, Ellis thought, all these years ever since his mother had died and his old man had pawned him off onto his Aunt Minnie and Uncle George. Ellis let his mind wander back to his mother’s funeral. He could still see Aunt Minnie talking to his father. “Harper”, she had said, “Now that Dotty’s passed on, the boy will need more of a home than you can give him yourself. George and me have talked it over and if you want, we’ll take the boy to live with us. We’ll treat him right, see that he gets his schoolin’ goes to church, and besides he’ll have our Virgil and Sissie for company. “I don’t want to go with them, Pa!” Ellis said. “Take me with you Pa, I won’t be no trouble, honest Pa, let me go with you!” Ellis’s father looked down at his young son. “Your Aunt Minnie is right, boy. I can’t give you no home now. Not what with your Ma passin’ and all.” His father looked back up at his Aunt Minnie. “I’m obliged Minnie that you and George will consider takin’ the boy.” The first couple of years Ellis spent with his Aunt Winnie and Uncle George he never doubted that his father would one day come for him. Ellis gave up hope only after he learned a few years later that his father had married a widow woman who had four children of her own and had moved to Wisconsin with his new family. His father had even written him a letter in which he said he knew Ellis would be much happier living with Aunt Minnie and Uncle George on the farm than coming to live with him and his new family. “You stay and work on that farm boy,” his father had writ­ ten. “You’ll get plenty of good air and exercise there so you’ll grow into a big husky man. The city where were goin’ to live ain’t no place for a boy like you.” After the letter Ellis knew he would probably never see his father again. Ellis let his mind drift back to the present and gazed up at the sun filtering through the big branches of the cottonwood. Twelve years, had it been that long since his mother had died? Twelve —16— �lousy, stinking years on this God-forsaken South Dakota farm. Twelve years with Uncle George and Aunt Minnie and Virgil, the fat slob, and Sissie, the bitch. God how he hated them all. Ever since I been old enough to start doin’ a little work it’s been “Ellis, you do the chores this mornin”. Virgil ain’t feelin’ himself and says he thinks he’ll feel better if we let him rest an extra hour.” Or, “Ellis, you load the wagon up with posts and go up and fix that fence on the section line of the south pasture. Rest of us is goin’ to town and do some shoppin’ and mind you, Ellis, don’t go loppin’ around the house just cause we ain’t here. That fence don’t show improvement when we get home you’re gonna be sorely reckoned with.” After Ellis had finished the eighth grade. Uncle George had told him that was enough schooling for him. He said he wasn’t smart enough to go on anyway and might as well start learning to do a good full day’s work and making a hand. Of course Virgil and Sissie were to be sent on to high school but they were brighter than Ellis. Aunt Minnie would always say; “Just look at Virgil and Sissie’s report cards, George, almost straight “A’s.” Too bad Ellis can’t do as well, or at least a little better.” Of course it couldn’t be, Ellis would think to himself at times like this that if Virgil and Sissie would help with the chores he might get a bet­ card. Of course he never said anything to that effect out loud because Uncle George would have hided him for not being grateful to him and Aunt Minnie for putting him up all these years. Ellis let himself think of how they would react when they found out. Uncle George would probably be a little slow in grasping the situation; he usually was. Aunt Minnie would probably start quoting scripture and praying and wringing her hands like she did whenever she got excited. Virgil would probably faint. Ellis laughed outloud. That slob was the spine­ less worm of spineless worms. Ellis laughed again as he recalled the time he had put the little garden snake in Virgil’s bed covers and how, when he’d turned his bed down that night and saw the little snake, he lost control and wet himself. It had caused Ellis a beating but it had been worth every lick of it. He’ll probably just up and collapse into a big nervous mass of Jell-O when he sees what I’ve done this time, Ellis thought. Of, course, Sissie will figure I done it on account of her teasin’ me all the time. Swinging her little fanny around in them tight jeans of hers and always actin’ so cute. The bitch thinks she’s got every boy in the valley slobberin’ all over himself every time he thinks about her. If she only knew I wouldn’t touch her with a vaccinated crow bar unless it was to bash her stupid head in! A sparrow hawk screamed overhead and Ellis watched it for a moment as it lifted and fell on the easy summer breeze. —17— �I’ll be like that soon, Ellis thought, as he watched the hawk skip and bob in the pale, warm summer sky. No fences, no boundaries, no more Uncle George and Aunt Minnie, fat Virgil or bitch Sissie. Just freedom like the sparrow hawk. Ellis glanced at his watch again. Twenty minutes till two. Well, he thought, now is as good as time as any. He reached over and scratched the old brown dog beside him. “A couple more hours and we’re even with them Curly,” he said. “Even for the last twelve years we’ve spent on their rotten, stinkin’ farm. Then Ellis put the barrel of the gun against his temple and slowly squeezed the trigger. Overhead the sparrow hawk screamed. THE ELEGY Richard F. Miracle The town of Holton seemed to be in a trance tonight or so it would appear to a stranger. It was Friday which on a normal week would be very active, but tonight the populus stayed at home and waited. The people had known three months ago it would be like this. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it was supposed to be the last. On the second floor of the hotel a man could be seen looking out to­ wards the end of the town. In most respects he was the average man in every . His only difference was the peculiar smile on his face. Tonight was his night and his alone as far as he was concerned, but then he was not the only one concerned. Then there was a rap on the door and he new it was time to leave. With the moves of a cat he walked over and opened the door. “My escort for tonight, I suppose?” asked Chester. “Yes sir,” replied the guard. “I will get my coat and we can be off immediately, for I do not want to be late,” said Chester. Upon reaching the front of the hotel Chester looked up the street to see no more than a very quiet town. The glummest of feelings could be perceived in the light of a million stars and a full moon. “The town could pass for a ghost town tonight,” said Chester. “Yes, I believe it could,” replied the guard. “By the way, sir, is it al­ ways this quiet when you come here?” “Yes,” said Chester, “this will be my thirteenth trip in the last six years and it is always the same. Also between here and our destination you will find the same number of blocks. Tonight I will finish naming the blocks.” “What names do you give them?” asked the guard. “Well, as I have said, I started six years ago with my first task,” said Chester, “and each time I return I name another block. This first one is � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print magazine story Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "The Requiem of Ellis" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived this story to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource Story published by Jerry Peterson in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jerry Ellis Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Peterson Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 3 pages https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/24a1f13ded5bcd147947ed26bb47f941.pdf 907b53565f749e49c28ea86c935b7dcf PDF Text Text THE UNDECIDED TOURNAMENT Brad Morton The ball has been bounced, passed, kicked, and controlled many a time before on many a different floor for many a different tournament under many a different coach. And each time the pace has quickened un­ til the entire audience was frenzied to the state where colors and screams are no longer sufficient to satisfy their much too anxious, jealous, and greedy spirits. However, as the ball has been blurred by the speed with which the players have handled it, so too has it slowed to a dismal loft and thud while the assembly thinned to a scanty few. The glorious but vain trophies are toted away and put on display for all to see, but the players have returned to the sweat and callouses of labor only to await the sum­ mons of another play-off. This evening (evening is assumed for there seems to be no clock in this gymnasium) I sit at the mid-court watching the climatic action of the tournament. Although there is no posted bracket or schedule, everyone is confident this is the final minutes of the last game. The game is a see-saw battle as number 4 leads his Councils quite well against number 5O’s Independents. These two centers have been taking the majority of the shots all game, although 4 has been a little more suc­ cessful than 50. 50’s teamates seem a little more than stubborn about throw­ ing him the ball, while number 4’s crew instinctively focuses on its post man. Inversely, the Independent leader is very sharing with the ball, while the “quad” is a greedy maniac. At the moment the Councils have had great success with the particu­ lar play. The ball is moved into the lower right corner on a sneak play which has been meeting plausive success. The applause seems to be the goal of each team, and this is of course directly proportional to the number of people sitting on my left or on my right. No clock ticks off remaining time, nor have I heard a buzzer denote marked periods of time. Although the players never seem to tire, time­ outs are frequent. The Independents call time out every four minutes so that they might decide whether to maintain confidence in their present coach while the Councils change guidance only when his strategy begins to fail. Time has just been called back in and suddenly the tempo is quick­ ening with every second! Every man is making his moves with more pre­ caution and sharper intensity! The ball is now thundering against the floor with a deafening rapidty! Suddenly the crowd has risen to its feet, and it seems certain the ball will explode under the pressure!!! Oh Lord, I pray that it is filled with only hot air. —12— � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print magazine story Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "The Undecided Tournament" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived this story to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource Story published by Brad Morton in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Brad Morton Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Morton Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 page https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/89621551facfb32247044c8492733c64.pdf 626d75fa3e8c88accd3e19425bda8c7f PDF Text Text TOMORROW Peg Meece He tucked the thin, tattered, blue blanket beneath his son’s chin be­ fore he left the apartment, which was typical of most Harlem apartments— unheated, ill-lighted, and without hot water. The young girl who lived in the next apartment would come in and check the boy if she heard him cry­ ing through the thin wall of the apartments. He walked down 58th street towards the subway, his spirits beginning to lift as the filthy smog and dank atmosphere fled before the morning sun. Perhaps today would be different. Today he would go home with a job. He had been unemployed for over a year now, and was about to give up. He knew he had lost his pride, but he also knew that it would return if he found a job. Before, people had always been against him, but now he was in New York City, the showplace of the United States, where all men were equal as God had created them. Equal to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. “Pursuit of happiness,” he mused. “What chance would a guy like me have for happiness? Millions are enslaved by communism, but I am free, free to pursue happiness. True, I can’t find a job and bills are long over-due, but Bess is working. I’ll find a job soon, and little Billy will be able to play in no time. Pneumonia! What does the doctor know? Billy just has a little cold.” He now turned a side street and reached the subway. He paid from the few coins that Bess had left him, and after a few moments was racing below the streets of New York, showplace of Democracy. When he got off, he then walked the rest of the way to the Unemployment Bureau. After leaving his name at the desk, he was asked to sit down. There he waited. He recog­ nized most of the waiting people. Some children, who had been brought by their parents were chasing balloons of red, white and blue. Others, who had grown weary, were rapidly falling into the sleep of children, peaceful and innocent. Most of the people there were Negroes, like himself, or Puer­ to Rican. They waited. About an hour later a young couple lounged up to the reception’s desk after rudely bumping, and nearly knocking down an elderly woman. “Why don’t ’ya watch what you’re doin’, Spic?” the young Lady sneer­ ed at the bewildered immigrant. Her companion was in the characteristic black leather jacket, tight jeans, sunglasses, and long greasy hair. The girl wore a tight-fitting skirt and sweater, with curlers in her hair which she occasionally replaced. Both seemed to be under twenty. After a few moments, they were interviewed and promised a job within the next few weeks. Still he waited. Still most of the others waited. Three-fourths were —21— �non-white. They waited. The weary, half-starved faces of those around him reflected the dis­ couragement and helplessness he was feeling. It was now almost 5:00 p.m. He had waited through the noon hour, thinking that he might miss a good chance if he left. About 6:00 p.m. the office closed and with its workers left a young Negro father whose wife works irregular hours, whose son dies as he waits. But there is always tomorrow. STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN Jacob. See, Jacob? Staircase, Jacob. Long way up there, Jacob. See the top way up there, Jacob? Listen! I hear somethin’ cornin’, Jacob. Soon there’s got to be a reward cornin’, Jacob. But now you must admit, repent your old sins, Jacob. There’s the only way you’ll ever get to heaven now, Jacob. Jacob Jacob Jacob Jacob. —Tom Norman VICTORY Like a falcon in the sky. Triumphantly passing others by. The victorious chant and scream. And yet, may not know what they mean. Meanwhile, the conquered must bow down. And lose possession of their noble crown. But, who really won in the end? Of course, those who had the most to spend. THEIR GOALS It’s true, the components of this marvelous age. Want it all in black and white on this very page. Not to think, contemplate, decide, and do. But rather, to merely follow through By Plan A, let the flower bloom. That’s what they want — Security of the tomb. —Ronnie Forgey � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print magazine story Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "Tomorrow" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived this story to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource Story by Peg Meece published in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Peg Meece Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Meece Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 2 pages https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/007aeb76c118628afe91cfa3dc2ad951.pdf 570b96cb16099b2df1663b481a98897f PDF Text Text 1 Potential Media Communication class project designed to leverage the Charles "Chuck" Morrison Photographs and Papers to teach lifelong learning and professional communication skills. Project: "Uncovering the Casper Context: Then and Now" Goal and ISLO Alignment The assignment challenges students to act as historical communicators, synthesizing archival research (Morrison Photos and Papers) with contemporary context to create a compelling, publicly-facing piece of media. This directly supports the ISLOs of Critical Thinking, Effective Communication, and Information Literacy. Part 1: Archival Research & Critical Analysis (Information Literacy) • Task: Students select one major subject documented in the Morrison Collection (e.g., a specific Casper political event, the New York Oil Company, a documented building/landmark, or the Cole Creek Wreck). • Lifelong Learning Skill: Mastery of Specialized Information Retrieval. Students must navigate the finding aid, access the original primary sources, and use secondary sources (as previously discussed) to establish the provenance, context, and potential bias of their chosen Morrison records (photographs, papers, or both). • Deliverable: A Research Brief (internal document) summarizing the archival materials and their historical context, including proper archival citations. Part 2: Contemporary Interpretation & Ethical Communication (Critical Thinking) • Task: Students research the contemporary status of their chosen subject. o • Example: If they chose an oil company, how has the industry changed in Casper? If they chose a landmark, what is its current status or function? Lifelong Learning Skill: Embracing Complexity and Ambiguity. Students must identify the "gap" between Morrison's historical record and the current reality. They will critically analyze the narrative shifts over time and determine the most ethical and accurate way to frame the historical information for a modern audience. Casper College Goodstein Foundation Library Western History Center 125 College Drive, Casper, WY 82601 �2 • Deliverable: A Messaging Strategy Outline (e.g., a PR/Comm plan) detailing the target audience (e.g., current Casper College students, local residents, Wyoming history buffs) and the core message that bridges the historical context with the present day. Part 3: Media Creation (Effective Communication) • Task: Students create one of the following communication products: 1. A Feature Article: A 750-1000 word historical feature for the Chinook or a local magazine, using at least two Morrison photographs (with required reproduction permissions and credit lines) and quoting/referencing two textual primary sources. 2. A Short Video/Podcast Segment: A 2-3 minute piece (e.g., a social media reel or podcast episode) that visually or verbally contrasts Morrison's historical images with modern-day footage/interviews, focusing on the chosen subject's legacy. • Lifelong Learning Skill: Effective Communication of Complex Ideas & Professional Agility. This final stage requires students to translate dense archival information into engaging, accessible public media, forcing them to adapt their communication style to meet professional standards and channel constraints. This assignment provides students with a transferable ePortfolio piece and reinforces the idea that history is a dynamic, living narrative that requires continuous, critical interpretation. Casper College Goodstein Foundation Library Western History Center 125 College Drive, Casper, WY 82601 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "Uncovering the Casper Context: Then and Now" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="https://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2025-11-09 Description An account of the resource Potential Media Communication class project designed to leverage the Charles "Chuck" Morrison Photographs and Papers to teach lifelong learning and professional communication skills. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Hanz Olson Language A language of the resource ENGL https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/a421d1a64a80848b07f58859cff12833.pdf 8d794c43719c599f868352dcde3963ac PDF Text Text Red Rock Review • 53 Chad Hanson Vestigial Legs Seward, Alaska. The skeleton of a mink whale hangs from the ceiling of a natural history museum. A docent raises her hand to signal the group surrounding her. She points to a hole in the skull of the whale. She explains that someone shot the creature in the face. Then she walks to the bottom of the exhibit. She notes two sets of bones: vestigial legs, left over from a time when the whale's ancestors walked upon the land. They climbed out of the water. They grew legs, and they took steps. Then the whales thought better of their choice. They retreated back into the sea. But we chased them. �Red Rock Review • 54 Chad Hanson Broilers Bird sounds come from aisle sixteen at the farm and ranch store. Below a heat lamp, thirty-two chicks raise and lower their feet. They sing, wobble, and cling together to gain the comfort of somebody else's feathers. I see a sign that identifies the birds as broilers. I picture poultry, on a rotisserie in a delicatessen. We all end up on a rotisserie in a manner of speaking. Until then, it is best to sing, wobble, and cling to the chicks in our cages. � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Journal Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "Vestigial Legs" and "Broilers" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2013 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_32 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The<em> Red Rock Review</em> is published by The College of Southern Nevada https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/e413e58e4cca64e74aa15d5d999076b8.pdf 9fa72ff5ab2f377471cc31733a678cc0 PDF Text Text non-white. They waited. The weary, half-starved faces of those around him reflected the dis­ couragement and helplessness he was feeling. It was now almost 5:00 p.m. He had waited through the noon hour, thinking that he might miss a good chance if he left. About 6:00 p.m. the office closed and with its workers left a young Negro father whose wife works irregular hours, whose son dies as he waits. But there is always tomorrow. STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN Jacob. See, Jacob? Staircase, Jacob. Long way up there, Jacob. See the top way up there, Jacob? Listen! I hear somethin’ cornin’, Jacob. Soon there’s got to be a reward cornin’, Jacob. But now you must admit, repent your old sins, Jacob. There’s the only way you’ll ever get to heaven now, Jacob. Jacob Jacob Jacob Jacob. —Tom Norman VICTORY Like a falcon in the sky. Triumphantly passing others by. The victorious chant and scream. And yet, may not know what they mean. Meanwhile, the conquered must bow down. And lose possession of their noble crown. But, who really won in the end? Of course, those who had the most to spend. THEIR GOALS It’s true, the components of this marvelous age. Want it all in black and white on this very page. Not to think, contemplate, decide, and do. But rather, to merely follow through By Plan A, let the flower bloom. That’s what they want — Security of the tomb. —Ronnie Forgey —22— � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print poems Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "Victory" and "Their Goals" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived these two poems to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource Two poems published by Ronnie Forgey in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Ronnie Forgey Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Forgey Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 page https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/d4ff05a5f39b97c1bdc56101b1824169.pdf b1c3a76accf5d0ec688f2c3304d5903e PDF Text Text vague but something about it made me think it was Doug Bitter. With the exception of my one dimly lighted window, the place was in darkness. I watched the figure move closer to the house, and with sudden sur­ prise a beam of light swept out of the darkness, shone for a moment on the house, then vanished. Startled, the figure crouched at the side of the house porch. It appeared that another figure was now making its way along the path. It seemed to float to within a few feet of the crouching form and then it paused. Because of the darkness and the costume it wore, I was unable to see the new stranger other than as a dark form. Again the first figure was illumined in that blinding flash of light. With a kind of gurgling cry, it sprang upright and started to run toward the cliff’s edge. Doug—if it was Doug—paused and looked wildly around. Suddenly that other shapeless form was behind him. There was a shriek, and Doug, if it was Doug, went hurtling over the edge. I blinked my eyes. There was nothing at the cliff’s edge. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself irresistibly pulled out of the house. I stumbled up the dark path until I could see over the edge of the cliff. A dark form lay sprawled on the cold moonlit rocks below. I straightened up, took a step backwards. Hands dropped upon my shoulders and pushed me forward. I lurched around, freeing myself from the pressure, and swung to catch the wrists. I grasped nothing. Nothing! NOTHING. I hear the same familiar footsteps coming down the corridor to my room as they have for the past nine years. There is the usual pause, then the knock and Nurse Brown’s voice asks, “Mr. Weakly, is your script ready? Then she said a curious thing, as if someone else was there. “We have to keep the patients busy doing something, and poor man, he really thinks they are sold each month.” She paused, then went on, “Yes, just as I thought, word for word, it’s the same one he’s written month after month for nine years. After the same story over and over without a word changed, I sometimes wonder if perhaps he’s not crazy; perhaps such a thing could have happened.” "WHAT A DAY IT HAS BEEN" Tom Norman “Mom,” I called. “I’m going now!” “Oh, honey, do you have money?” “Yes,” I said as I slipped on my coat. “Now, if you should have an accident, do you know what to do? There’s an accident report form in the glove compartment.” “Yes, I know.” —2— �Mom always worried when I took the car. I had been driving for two years, and had never had an accident or a violation, and she trusted me with the car, but she always worried. “Drive carefully, and have fun,” she said as I left the house. I slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As I backed out of the driveway. Mom stood and kept the kids from running in back of me. I waved goodbye as I drove away, and turned left at the corner. As I drove along, I thought of the many years I had known Martha, and how, five long days ago, I had finally summoned the courage and fortitude to ask her for a date. I had caught fire inside with joy, and half swallowed the happy lump in my throat when she said “Yes, I’d love to John.” To my way of thinking, Martha was the most beautiful, the most “fun” girl in the world. I simply couldn’t imagine any human being who might be more right for me than she. She was simply wonderful. Well, here was her house! “Stop the car, put on the brake, and don’t forget to remove the key in your hurry,” I said to myself. Approaching the door, I hesitated a moment, but in a final spurt of decision, I pressed the bell. The door opened, and I was suddenly confront­ ed by a solid hulk of man — her father. “Good evening,” he said with a deep, booming voice that seemed to shake the very foundations of the porch. “You must be John.” Stammering, I pulled myself together and managed somehow to spit out the words, “Er, uh, yuh-yes! I - I am!” “Well, come in, John!” “Uh,.... Thank you, sir!” “Thank you,” I said, as I untied the knots in my fingers. “How’ve things been going?” I offered as a conversation starter. “Quite well, thank you.” “I like your house. I think this is really nice.” “Thank you.” Our conversation went on like this, until I finally hit upon the sub­ ject that he wanted to talk about—the high school football game that night. We both wanted the home team to win, of course, but he said he would have to put his money on our opponent. I had to agree. I stood as Martha entered the room, quite beautiful, even in her band uniform which hid her more than ample physical assets. She had red hair and brown eyes, and quite a pretty face. She made my heart go pitterpatter just to look at her. As she approached me, she held out her hand, and I, being the ham that I was took it, bowed to her, and kissed it. Somehow, I felt more com­ fortable with her in the room. �We bade Mr. Patton goodbye, and left the house. She was always such a lady. I liked it, because that allows a man to be a gentleman. I enjoy being a gentleman. Something that a boy of seventeen likes vary much is for a girl to move over to the middle of the seat when she enters the car. Martha did this. When we arrived at the school, Martha took her flute, put the plume on her uniform hat, and handed the hat to me. We ventured on into the school building, and into the bandroom, where we picked up music, glockenspiel, and a few other necessary items. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the football field, and assumed our places in the ranks of the band. The night was cold, and none of the instru­ ments were warm, so everyone was either flat or sharp, depending on wheth­ er or not they tried to compensate. Cold weather has little, if any effect on a glockenspiel, so I wasn’t on key with anyone. The band sounded pretty bad that night. After the game was over, we went to a drive-in hamburger and coke joint, and each of us had a coke. We sat and talked for a while, and then I took her home by way of the park. We sang a few songs, and the last one we sang was “Almost Like Being In Love” from Brigadoon. It begins with the lyrics, “What a Day It Has Been.” This was our song. I think it was that night I fell in love with her for good. By the way, we won the game! CONDEMNED FREEDOM Steve Halvorsen It seemed she would not or could not catch up with herself. As she walked, her shadow caught on a tree, fell to the ground and stretched as if made of rubber bands. She was certainly no china doll about to break. She seemed capable of stretching into any form imaginable. The whole spring scene appeared as a thick green mist. The figure of the little girl blended in with the landscape like the fluid motion of an impressionistic painting. The continual flow of movement created a romantic frame for her awakened innocent body skipping along through the moist woods. And as the early morning rays of the sun produced a repeated sparkle in her eyes, she would whisper to the flowers the natural and slowly vanishing secrets of her liber­ ated morning in her own little private fantasy world. The true expression of those eyes articulated the final irreducible secret of life itself. She wander­ ed alone in the depopulated environment of the non-objective. She was the pure and simple beauty of innocence. And that innocence was free from any prejudice of the discrimination of race, creed, or color. The anonymous morning was painted with yellow sunlight, while umbered shadows melted � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Any textual data included in the document Print magazine story Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "What a Day it has been" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC-EDU/1.0/</a> The Casper College Archives has archived this story to encourage the use of its Expression Literary Arts Magazines for digital humanities and other related educational uses. Requests to take this story down should be made to the Casper College Goodstein Foundation Library Western History Center. Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1964 Description An account of the resource Story by Tom Norman published in the fall 1964 Casper College Expression Magazine. Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Tom Norman Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. 1964 Fall. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.01_Expression1964_Fall_Norman_01 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Extent The size or duration of the resource. 3 pages https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/8c61c9179e5afc38f906859077fb96ff.pdf 5dbc4c94947d47c350b1b32707b639c5 PDF Text Text POETRY Chad Hanson White Lupine I climb through fields of purple flowers on the side of a ridge in the Wind River Mountains. At the top, I pause to look back over the terrain. The land tilts up at me in every direction. Treetops melt together forming a blanket of green, arching up from the lowlands, reaching onto the rock ledges guarding the rim of the valley. Pillars of granite burst through a wash of pine needles, declaring victory over time and erosion. At my feet, I see a white lupine and I cannot go home. �POETRY The Bitterness of Rodeo From a speaker in the rafters, an announcer asks, "How many of you travelled here from California?" A hundred people hoot from their seats in the stands. The aimouncer counters that with, "Welcome to America." The crowd busts into laughter. Cowboy hats nod approval. Belt buckles jiggle up and down from their positions on the topsides of Wrangler jeans. It's a win for the bull riders and barrel racers. But the joke belies the knowledge that the tide already rose. The old West sank into the surf of history. Words Are What We Have in North Dakota He spent the decade of his twenties in the Sierra Range. His mother called on the first of October. She needed his help. A week later, he stands in his mom's yard with a suitcase in his hand. When he looks into the distance, he feels like he is standing on the top of a bubble. His eyes miss the peaks that line his home in the Owens Valley. "Oh, well" he says, "We'll make mountains out of the stories that we tell. We'II build peaks out of our past. Words are what we have in North Dakota." He doesn't notice his mother behind the screen door on the porch. She says, "Words are all we ever have. It doesn't matter where you go." Chad Hanson teaches Sociology at Casper College in Casper, Wyoming. His poems and essays have appeared in REED, Matter, Flyway, Third Coast, The Chariton Review, and North Dakota Quarterly, among others. A collection of his work. Trout Streams of the Heart, was recently published by the Truman State University Press. 54 WEBER A THE CONTEMPORARY WEST FALL 2Q14 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Journal Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "White Lupine," "The Bitterness of Rodeo," and "Words Are What We Have in North Dakota" Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text"><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2014 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chad Hanson Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chad Hanson Journal Publications, CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.e.2025.01_ChadHansonPapers_39 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available <em>Weber - The Contemporary West</em> is published by Weber State University