Bar Harbor High School - Islander Yearbook (Bar Harbor, ME)

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STUDY HALL HORRORS Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen - - only five more to go. I feel as though I were walking the last mile. I had rather be going to China or sometimes I think I had rather be put to death then go to study hall! What a mess! What a hubbub! As I get nearer to that room I can hear the voices of my students. What a noise! Upon entering the room I find everyone talking and throwing paper airplanes. Oh well, chin-up, it is only for an hour. Bell's rungf' I yell at the top of my lungs. The students look up and seeing me make a made dash for their seats. They dig into their books as if they were going to study. And for one heavenly moment the room is deathly quiet. When a study hall gets that quiet it is scary, so I guess it is a good thing it doesn't happen very often. But, it is quiet only for a second, then the kids are whispering and passing notes. I don't say any- thing for a moment, and then the hissing noises grow louder. So I calmly announce to them that if I catch anyone talking he will have to come in after school. I hear a few mumble what an old fogy I am. Others use other names to describe me. But by this time in my teaching career I am used to being called names. The announcement I made keeps a few of the students from talking, but there are those that nothing can shut up. The first person I notice really making a lot of noise is Charlene. She is forever talking. So I have to go over to her and ask her to please be quiet or I will have to have her stay after school. She smiles at me, a sour little smile. I know she doesn't care for me, but I can't please everyone. As I tum around I notice a paper plane floating through the air. I look in the direction from which it comes, and is everyone is studying, I decide not to say anything about it. As I start to walk down the aisle I notice Betty chewing gum . . . Betty, please get rid of that gum. Betty gives a big sigh and walks to the basket and spits out her beloved cud. ,lust then - - zoooooom - - another plane, and from the same direction. Who threw that? No one makes an admission. I look at the boys and girls at the different tables. I notice one of the boys with a sly grin on his face. Nate, do you know who threw that?,' Yes, I do, he says and smiles. By this time my temper is just about to give away. Who, I shout at him. Nate very calmly answers, Mal, After ordering him to come to see me after school I take a deep breath. Will this period ever end? My nerves can only stand so much. Of course the students think they are very clever and put so much over on me. But as I see Kenny rise and walk to the dictionary I watch him. He has a piece of paper in one hand. He stands by the dic- tionary for a moment then goes back to his seat, but with no paper. It isn't very long before Margie gets up and walks over to the dictionary, opens it, and then walks back to her seat with a piece of paper in her hand. Oh yes, they think they are clever. I won't let them know I am on to their trick as I have too much to attend to already. I shut my eyes for a moment to rest them. All at once there is an outburst of laughter. It seems that Paul has gone to sit down and some one has pulled his chair out from under him. Now this is a problem, with LeRoy and Freddie sitting on both sides of him. Which one has done it. I walk over to the table and ask who is guilty. No one will admit it. Paul wonit tell, but Freddie says he will give me a hint it was either he or LeRoy. So the only thing I can do is make them both come in after school. ' I look over at another table and there is Connie, Effie, and Claribel talking like mad. I am really fit to be tied now, and I give them detention slips. I think if I get a drink of water it may calm my nerves. So I leave the room for one split second and when I retum it is in an uproar. Everyone is talking and the airplanes are flying. Everyone in this room report to me after school today, I shout at the top of my lungs. At once the room is silent. I assure them I'm not fooling and that everyone had better report to me or I will double the time. Also, I don't want any excuses. For the next minute the room is still, then that sound that I love to hear comes - - - the bell. Study hall is over for the day - - - at least for me. Thank heavens! -Connie Gray I' I i I MY PIPES I've tried cigars and cigarettes And even chewing too, But somehow they don't satisfy The way my old pipes do. My pockets fill with ashes - - I burn holes in my clothes. I light a million matches Before the darned thing goes. And some of the remarks I hear About the way they smell Make me feel like taking them And throwing them to - - well: Holy Cow, what's burning? Something sure smells ripe! Did the Russians launch a gas attack? Who put the sawdust in your pipe? But, just the same, I like my pipes. They're like old friends to me. ' And that is why l'm writing this, To try to make you see That I don't care how much they smell, Nor do I care how much you gripe. And now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll smoke my pipe. -Fred ,Iellison

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-i- 1l.l . it erar Y The literary section represents what we feel to be the most outstanding literary material produced in our school this year. We have tried to make our selections on the basis of style, interest, literary value, and appeal. In doing so we hope to give you an insight into the literary potentialities of a high school, and we hope too to please you, the reader. Fred Jellison, Literary Editor 4+ -I if -K' COOKIN' You men folks may think c0okin's fun. It ain't no fun fa me. I think cookin's the durndest thing That ever my eyes did see. First of all, there's eggs to fry. One's just bound to break Before I get it from the pan Into my fatheris plate. While I'm fryin' eggs away, ' My cake burns in the oven. My mother sends me one quick glance, So I keep right on a'pluggin'. Then duty calls me elsewhere. My fryin, .eggs burn black. I start to cough and then to choke, When someone. whatsks my back. I turn around real quick and fast. Through the fire and smoke I see Mom as plain as day. Believe me - 'tainft no joke! I have many tales of cookin', Enough to fill a book. It really ain't my fault at all, I just werenlt made a cook! - , Jeanne Cleaves, Junior THE RIVER Oozing out from hidden birthplace, Trickling down o'er rocky path, Little hint of future exploits Gives the river at its start. Tumbling with its gained momentum, Random leaping as its trait, Sparkling clean as friskly salmon, Dwellers in the liquid depths. Merging now with greater volume, Held in line by walls so firm, Bending into dancing rainbows Sunrays, prisms put to shame. Flowing smooth with clear, cool calmness Dignified, assured and strong - Quality and deep-hid power Viewed in rippling, richest blue. Hurling on oier plunging spillways Spreading froth when smashed below - Sending forth a thunidrous ballard, Shaking earth with mighty song. Savage, scramb'ling, torn asunder- Rapids formed by scraggly teeth Dashing blindly, thrashing, breathless, Striving on to nearby goal. Grasping, now at last attaining - Pulled by some unyielding hand, Wand'ring spent, begrimed and weakened. Mixing with the clutching sea. Lost, the bright and youthful vigor - Power, raw and deaf,ning, gone. Clearness, calmness, all are claimed by Ocean depths which know no bounds. -Paul Jordan

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WILL MAN NEVER LEARN As Toynbee has pointed out, History is a record of manis slow climb upward from savageryf' His- tory may be a record of dates, events, and trends of the time, but it is also a story of many vivid person- alities. Down through the ages, their deeds have been told and retold in songs and stories and have accumulated a vast amount of legendary over lay. For example: On the night of February 1, 1855 in Devonshire, some strange creature, whose identity was never discovered or presence explained, was abroad in the fields. In the deep snow it left a trail of footprints like of which no one had ever seen before. For weeks, all England was puzzled by the weird footprints. Superstitious souls were sure Satan himself had crossed the countryside that night. The truth was never discovered. To this day the mystery of the 'Devil's Footprints' remains unsolved. Our nation is a mere youth in age compared to other nations that have risen to power only to de- cline. Examples are Egypt, Persia, Babylonia, Greece, and Rome among others. These all rose and fell leaving their imprints on the record of time. Is the United States to follow in the path of these nations? I believe that we will if we don't do some- thing to strengthen our national character. It would seem that if the technological advance of man continues without an equal development in social knowledge he will destroy himself. A World War III might bring about such a catastrophe either bv atomic warfare and biological warfare or by jet- propelled missiles. The possibilities are too horrible to think of. Is wise, strong and fair-minded leadership pos- sible? Without such leadership we may conclude that man is doomed! -Grace Libby I- I' H I' WHY? Why can't we use atomic power To keep our houses warm, To develop electricity, Instead of for a bomb? Why can't we use the steel we make For shells, and guns, and tanks, To build homes or universities, Or hospitals or banks? Why can't we use the money We spend for self defense To teach earth's civilized people A little bit of common sense? Why can't we devote our efforts To some project of real worth? Why canlt we work together, All people here on earth? Did you ever stop to ask yourself Why, since history began, We've spent so much time and life and energy Just destroying fellow man? -Fred ,Iellison SPRING The days grow long, the sun breaks through, The snow is melting fast, Blue skies above, the robin's song -- Brave spring is here at last. The lovely sight of waving grass Blends smartly with the sea - 'Tis picturesque, our native land Unlocked without a key. A last farewell to winter's sting - 'Tis tamed by seasonls thaw. A tranquil rain and beaming sun Brings spring by nature's law. LeRoy Dyer, Senior I' 'I H 'I ART Although there are many other kinds of art, I always think of the modern, zany, psychological type when the subject is brought up. These artists who create their weird, primitive, inter-mingling streaks of wild color must live a rather satisfying life in some respects. ,lust think of the fun they have soothing their inner, childish, violent emotions by attacking a blank innocent piece of canvas and changing it into a strange distorted group of figures and objects, that can have as many meanings and angles as a fluttery, high strung woman. If one article I read is any indication of modem painting methods there will be more and more artists developing. It seems tha-t the only ingredients needed are a few tubes of paint, several sticks, a little dust and gravel, a couple of spiders, fany stray form of insect life that may wander across the canvas,J a flair for carelessness, a wild, flighty, lurid imagination, and a very, very understanding family. For these few inconsequentials, you may invent something worth thousands of the little, green pieces of paper with George Washington's portrait inscrib- ed on them. It sounds easy, doesn't it? You know, I think that my garage would make an excellent studio. -Paul Jordan 'lf' I' l 'lt DREAMS There are many kinds of dreams. We all have them every day. With us trav'ling over time To hold us spellbound in their sway. We had them in our childhood days Perhaps in thoughts of Santa Claus. And sometimes now in troubled times, We think about the day that was. We are in a warlike world Where there is no peace of mind. But sometimes in our restful dreams. We find the peace the world can't find. - loan Williams, Junior