Roncalli High School

09

THE EndSenior Portfolio

Joe Warner

Writer Statement:

This portfolio is an examination of my progress of as writer though the senior year. After looking

at what was written at the start of this year and the end, I see a vast improvement. This, of course, omits

the projects completed in thirty minutes during channel one, there are two essays in which this is the

case, and examines the works that reflect my true abilities, and not my procrastination.

The early essays written this year I look at as learning experiences. The college essay is a story of

summer field studies, an experience that was a great challenge. I felt, and still do, that this hardship is

some thing that colleges look at as a reason for acceptance. The Character essay is one that when I

thought of what to write I enjoy and really was excited. Writing the essay was a different story, as I could

not convey the thoughts I had, and so the work is confusing and disjointed. Beowulf essay was

completed during channel one, and for that reason, truly suffers.

Moving on towards the middle of the year and end I feel my writing improved, but the time

spent on each essay decreased. This effectively countered any improvement I felt I achieved. That I was

lazy has in fact, improved my fast writing abilities, the Frankenstein in class essay is my evidence,

receiving a perfect grade on a piece I wrote in thirty minutes. A top score on an essay that was graded,

in terms of grammar and spelling, easily, is not my goal, or something to brag about. Finishing this year I

can see many habits that must be dropped, altered, or created in the college very quickly before I make

drastic mistakes. Please enjoy this senior Portfolio, I hope I was honest and to the point in this writer

statement, not over the top and off putting.

Portfolio Index

1. College Essay

2. Chaucer Character Essay

3. Dairy Project

4. Frankenstein Essay

5. Literary Analysis – Victorian Piece

College Essay:

The Cross Canyon Hike

I woke up to the sounds of two people talking extremely fast and who seemed to be in a great

hurry. I rolled over in my tent wondering why these obnoxious people were talking so early in the

morning. Slowly I begin to remember that I too, should be up at this dismal hour. Why? I thought in my

head. Why should I be up? The memory surged back into my head. I had to get up for the Cross Canyon

hike.

The cross canyon hike was offered by to us the night before. So in a decision of not wanting to

regret my life choices in twenty years, I agreed to go. At around five o’clock it was to begin, we had to be

ready by four forty five. My peers who I had been judging only minutes ago, I was now praising them for

waking me up, for it was four forty four. I rushed, throwing any thing I thought I would need into a bag

and ran to the vans waiting to take us to the canyon entrance. We arrived. We began. This beginning

piece was the easiest part of the hike, but required an enormous amount of effort from a seventeen

year old who ten minutes prior was dreaming of cupcakes. I look down at the steep angle that continued

for seven miles towards the center of the earth. An hour into the hike we were nearly half way down

and that is when the sun rose. I am not one for sentimental moments, but this was a wonderful sunrise.

A morning dawn that scorched the rocks red and lit the great valley below with indescribable beauty and

grandeur. This was a relaxing few minutes. The sun gave motivation to continue onward all the way

down to the valley I saw below.

An hour after that sunrise I, and my group, reached the bottom of the canyon. This was almost

like a tropical jungle. This small section had streams, birds were chirping, and huge trees surrounding us.

There the hike truly began. We trekked out of this quasi jungle and through awe inspiring paths that

included water falls and then the surging Colorado River. I wanted nothing more than to jump into its

cool water, but before I reached it, I was called back by my group leader. This period of time was quite

enjoyable; however, it was only hiding the true challenge that lay ahead. After crossing the river we

began hiking what would soon be called the “Valley of Death”.

The valley of death had no shade, no water, and offered no hope. What It did have, in abundant,

was heat. That forsaken heat nearly killed me. It was made worse because I was now sore from the first

half of the hike, and a four hour break. During this break I ate most of my food.

The final part of the hike was the eight mile, uphill battle towards the northern rim of the Grand

Canyon. As the sun began to set I, and a few others, was still miles away from camp site just out side of

the canyon. My stomach began to growl, and my throat begged for water, I had neither. The Grand

Canyon path is carved as switch backs, which go side to side in an attempt to control how steep the

climb becomes. This is good physically, but mentally it causes severe frustration and dare I say mild

depression, for there is no clear sight of the end, only endless switchbacks that tease at the end of a trip

at each turn. With only four miles left until the top I was with out energy, mentally and physically, I was

done. This was beyond description as pain and fatigue are all that can be retained in the annals of my

memory.

Step after stumbling step I slowly climbed the side of the canyon. The sun was now fully set, and

the dark brought cold. I had dressed warm in the morning but had stripped most of my clothing off;

those articles were now returned to my body. With help from others I did one or two switch backs at a

time, and then rested for five minutes. As I was about to give up, give in, shut down, I saw a light. For a

split second I thought it was at the end of a tunnel, but I soon realized it was two car lights; welcoming

us to the campsite. I crawled into the warmed van and nearly fell asleep. After some food and drink I slid

sorely into my sleeping bag. I was asleep before I could zip the bag up. I maintain that the Grand Canyon

is one the greatest experiences of my life.

Chaucer Character Essay:

Questioning My Journey

I labor down the road, and I dream of what I will find at the end. I wonder why

my once joyful, carefree demeanor, has been over taken by a cynical, bored soul.

This is not to say my life is bad, far from it, I just have questions. The questions that

can never be answered. Faith. God. The meaning of life. When it comes to faith, I

have been putting one foot in front of the other for God longer than I can

remember, always in the most faithful of ways, but then I see so many people doing

their prayers in an empty manner, only wishing to be seen praising, instead of truly

giving themselves to their worship. This I believe; faith is too important to be

controlled by religion.

This is not the only observation I have made on this journey of life. I see the

people move slowly about hoping to be cured of sickness, doubt, or even to make a

quick profit. This may be the biggest hypocrisy of America; profit. Jesus did not tell

us to make as much money as possible, in fact the opposite is true. When it comes

to taxing the rich in an effort to help the poor, attack for being socialism by those

who have vast amounts’ money, is what Jesus preaches to us. This I believe;

capitalism must have morality, true morals, and not political morals. With great

power comes great responsibility.

I have noticed about myself that my dreams seem to be diminishing; I am

not the same young man I was only a year ago. This world, full of negativity, post

9/11, this earth of fear. Fear thy neighbor. The talk that diplomacy will not work in

today’s world, and that war, is the only way is ridiculous, and dangerous. If there

was no talk during the 1960's between whites and blacks would America Stay

peaceful, or would it of waged war on its own people?

This I believe; the world will never be black and white, that way of thinking is

fundamentalism. The world is, and should be morally gray, this is not to be

negative, in fact, and this is a blessing.

I have not reached the end but I have already changed. I do not stare at the

shining stars, I am no longer interested in my idealistic ideals I have not concluded

if this loss of heart is part of my long journey, a test of faith that will pass, or is the

effect of wear and tear on a young man who simply wants to believe in the best of

people. Both choices can be true, but it is all dependent on what happens in my life;

the cure to doubt; or the desecration of all things hollow by fear. This I believe;

humanity is good, but God wishes we would be great.

Beowulf Compare and Contrast:

Grendel as a Villain

A villain is the most important aspect in a story; this is because a villain must be a true challenge

to the protagonist and create tensions in the story. Grendel, the first villain to be written in English in

the epic poem Beowulf, is a great precedent for all villains to follow. This statement is not true to John

Gardner, the author of Grendel, a sympathetic tale about the motives Grendel maintained while

attacking the Normans of the story. Grendel is portrayed drastically differently in the two stories in very

key areas. The main differences reside in Grendel’s ancestry, motives, and tactics used to attack his

victims.

In the epic Beowulf, Grendel is a fiend and a monster. He was “… spawned in that slime… of

Cane, murderous creatures banished by God…” (24), and was exiled. He had claws and was intelligent,

enjoyed murdering and devouring all those he could digest. Fighting made him happy and killing was

what his kind was infamous for doing. Grendel was in the same cursed family as the “… fiends, goblins,

monsters, giants…” and was cursed by god.

In the epic poem Beowulf Grandel’s motives are very simple, the Normans are happy. Grendel

was cast of into the caves and lives in his own personal hell, this is because as a spawn of Cane he was

forever cursed by God and exiled. Grendel heard the Norman’s “…harps rejoicing…” and became

infuriated. His motives were that of bitterness, anger, and the fact that he was a monster condemned by

God wishing to destroy man.

In Grendel he has a much more specific, less mythical, reasons. Such as the wars the Anglo-

Saxons continued to fight with out remorse, and the song they gleefully sung for the battles of old. He

was angered by the murder, destruction, and “…fire and acrid smoke…” (G34) the Normans brought

with them. He hated their worrier code, which was their honor system of the time period. He also

regretted his attacks against the people and did not wish to continue the gruesome attacks.

The tactics displayed by Grendel in the poem Beowulf was again a supremely simple strategy.

Each night Grendel would wait until the soldier men, and women, and children were sleeping, then

attack, eat, and destroy all the life his “greedy claws”(24) could obtain. He placed a curse on the swords

the Normans possessed that would dull the blades, effectively making Grendel invincible to the common

warrior. Grendel simply over powered the Normans and when faced with a stronger combatant then

him, Beowulf, his power escapes him, and he is defeated.

Grendel portrays Grendel’s vicious raids as almost a recon mission. He hides in the shadows and

listens to what the Anglo-Saxons discuss and what was their entertainment. He laughs and scoffs at their

beliefs and costumes, feeling they are inferior to his superior intellect. His actual attacks still echo those

of Beowulf, but were stronger and fiercer than the poem’s battles were portrayed.

The two versions of Grendel are very different, yet are both true to each other, in that he

murders and is eventually defeated by Beowulf, a great Norman worrier. In the epic poem Beowulf it

shows a demon attacking the faithful followers of God and how God will defeat evil, this making Grendel

much more of a metaphor than a character. The sympathetic, new version of Grendel, presented in the

excerpt of Grendel is a great exposé into the motives of a killer and fully shows that there are two sides

to every story. With both versions of the story showing the perils of greed, war, and excess pride, they

are great examples of living a good life.

Dairy Project:

The Day I Quiet My Job

Sept. 11th 2001. I walked through my office floor door. I quickly turned on my computer and

opened my excel sheet. Behind on work and my boss was going to “check up” on me and make sure I

was working hard, as soon as he got in two hours late. My monitor always reflected the light from the

windows three rows of cubicles over. Some times I wish it was the sky instead of the twin building next

to me. I left my desk and entered into the small fake kitchen, installed to make us feel relaxed and

appreciated. I would have preferred a lower floor.

I rarely entered this room because the right wall was made of only windows, which must have

been so expensive to install if cracked. Their beautiful presentation of New York, and not just the other

tower, far below made my fear of heights embarrassingly obvious. The view was fantastic though. Two

of my coworkers sat in chairs conversing with the other. I had never met them before, so I simply

opened the fridge and twisted open the bottle of cold water.

A heat brushed against my right check. My eyes turned toward the windows as I saw glass from

floors below jettisoned into the early morning sky. I shook with the building, and watched the fire ball

engulf the shards of glass. The fire sprinklers turned on. Drops of water bounced, and dribbled over the

cracked window panes. I shut my eyes.

I was floating, drifting down the stairs. I could not feel my feet as I watched them connect with

the stairs. I looked up and the man who had been conversing was now leading. Stair way after stair way

we descended. I regained my thought process after the fifteenth floor we had past.

“Who many floors up are we?” I remember asking.

“We are just ten floors from the lobby.”

It seemed like hours until we burst out of stair well and into the front entrance. I had a horrible

cough as the firemen placed a mask around my face. That day was the day I quit my job.

Modest Proposal Essay (social Satire):

Scott has it

Scott has it

Frankenstein Essay:

Victor Was Wrong

In the novel “Frankenstein” one of the crucial parts of the story comes when the monster asks

his creator, Victor Frankenstein, to create him a wife. This took Victor aback, but as the monster

presented his case Victor eventually gave into its demands. As he this second creature Frankenstein

began to reconsider his actions and ultimately destroyed this wife of the monster. Frankenstein did the

wrong thing after weighing the monsters case over what could be created and evil that could be caused.

The monster case was a sound argument, one that any human would argue for. The monster

that lives in a world that “shunned and hated by all mankind”, and wished only for someone who would

accept and love him. The monster promised that “neither you nor any other human being shall ever see

us again.” Thus taking the fear that Victor must face what he had done every day and that innocent

would be disgusted. This request is oddly human is the monster’ dream for “bliss”.

Frankenstein refuses at first yet eventually gives into the monster. Victor is convinced by the

monster as it talks about “going to the vast wilds of South America” and living off of “acorns and berries”

Frankenstein remains doubtful l the monster would “persevere in this exile.” And shows his anger

towards his “evil passions,” but decides he had “no right to with hold from him the small potential of

happiness which was yet in my power to bestow.”

As Victor Frankenstein worked on the monster’s wife the counter argument which had guided

Victor represented itself. Victor began to fear a partner “ten thousand times more malignant than her

mate.” Or an entire “race of devils”. Victor’s choice to destroy her only brought despair to Frankenstein

and death to those around him.

Victor was wrong in destroying the monster’s wife because of his decision was based off a fear. This fear

was stemmed because of the murders the fiend had committed: however, if Victor had re examined his

actions he would have realized that this “monster” was human just as Victor. As all human’s are, capable

of murder and evil, or the ability to love.

Prose Piece – “Lady of Shallot”:

The Poem of an Artist

On both sides of the river are large fields of barley and rye. They go as until the land meets the

sky, as they line the road on the way to towering city of Camelot. While travelling across the island of

Shallot people look at the lilies blow in the wind. Willows and aspens shiver, and quiver next to the

endless river that flows to Camelot. The city walls and towers look casts a shadow on the flowers resting

in an isle that embowers The Lady Shallot. Many ships, barges, and many others move towards Camelot,

but none of them have ever seen The Lady Shallot wave her hand. Only the early morning reapers can

hear a song that echoes from the river. All those who hear know that it is the fairy Lady of Shallot.

There she weaves every day and night making a magic web and happy colors. She knew she was

cursed if she ever stayed to look at Camelot. She does not know what the curse may be, so she weaves

steadily with no worries. A mirror that hung in her room could show her shadows of the world. The

mirror would show her the winding highway towards Camelot, the turns of the river, and the red cloaks

of the girls as they pass onward from Shallot. Some time it would show her knights or a long heard page,

or shepherds. Sometimes it would show knights, but none were loyal to her. But she still loved to look at

the magic mirror.

Sir Lancelot rode through barley as sun shown on him. On his shield a Red Cross knight for ever

kneeled to a lady. Sir Lancelot’s shield shown like a star in the golden Galaxy. The wedding bell chimed

merrily as he went to Camelot, as he rode his armor and sword rung near the remote Shallot. The blue

sky light the jewels on his leather saddle, as well as his helmet and armor. He had long black hair, and

rode his war hors like a meteor. He flashed into the crystal mirror by the river. The Lady of Shallot left

the loom and ran to sir Lancelot and could see the mirror broken and said “the curse is upon me.”

A storm made the tower of Camelot uninviting and cold and the river have rapids. She found a

boat and wrote her name into the side. She pushed away from the shore laid down as the ship drifted

away. The boat floated towards Camelot as she sang her last song. She sang it slow and calmly, until she

froze to death and looked snow white.

Literary Analysis – Victorian Piece:

A.E. Housman’s “To an Athlete Dying Young”

The theme of A.E. Housman’s poem “To an Athlete Dying Young” is easy to identify. The poem is

addressing the fleeting moments of both fame and youth. Housman writes a poem directly to an

unnamed athlete, an athlete that died, and is happy that this death occurred while youth was still with

him. The theme through out the poem, “To an Athlete Dying Young”, is: to die young with fame and

youth is far soupier to dying old and watching glory fade away.

The poem begins with a young athlete winning a race and crowd carried him “shoulder high”

cheering; however, the very next stanza the same young athlete has died (ll.4). This is a startling

transition, one use to describe the speed at which life, and youth, leaves a person. Houseman does not

lament this young man dying though, in fact; he compliments the man for dying young. A.E. Housman

calls the athlete a “smart lad,” because he dies young (ll.9). This is the option A.E. Houseman would

prefer in this poem, instead of the athlete seeing “the record cut” by another. The writing presents a

case that there can experiences but sadness if an athlete’s fleeting stardom is lost. Instead, the athletes

most dye young, happy, and not living after their glorious memories of fame.

An athlete dying with fame grants him timeless glory. Housman describes how people “Will flock

to gaze the strength less dead,” to see him (ll.26). A.E. Housman believes that the only reason people

would care for a person dying, that they did not personally know, is that of fame. This reoccurring theme

is made obvious in multiple lines, such as, “glory does not stay and early though the laurel grows it

withers quicker than the rose,” And when how the “echoes” of the athlete’s name “fade” (ll.21).

Death is described through out the poem in a favorable fashion. Only one line is dedicated to

the sadness that the living feels for the dead athlete. This line, “Townsman of a stiller town”, is the most

unfavorable line about death found within the poem (ll. 8). However, A.E. Housman’s view on age is

cynical and cold, believing there is nothing after fame and youth is gone. He refers to victors whose

youth and fame has run out, calling them a “rout”. The old athletes, ones having to live a long life, A.E.

Housman describes them as “Runners whom renowned outran and the name died before the man”. This

theme of sadness, in regards to living past fame, is at the core of the piece. A.E. Housman praises youth

and fame, conveying that if an athlete is to die young, then he is the lucky one.

A.E. Housman’s poem “To an Athlete Dying young” is piece that honors glory, youth, athletes,

and degrades long life, and glory lost. This poem appears to have a positive outlook; however, digging

into the words that are written as a congratulations, it is clear that there a blatant hate towards age. The

thought process of A.E Housman is one that disregards family and children, putting glory at the forefront

of importance. The poem “To an athlete Dying Young” is true in its successful portrait of youth passing,

and the same for glory; however, it lacks the foresight to see that athletes can glory in their humanity or

their family.