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

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Whal is lli - point of all this anyway? What do Wl. go to school for, what do we try to learn any- thing for. when all we can see ahead of us is war and more war? Wars, unceasing, foolish, stupid endless wars! Wars to make the world safe for democracy, and after each great war there is less democracy - less and less. Whal is democracy any- way that it is worth millions of lives and that the beautiful monuments of hundreds years past should l,e bombed to rubbish? And the people’s world God gave us desecrated and left desolate, and millions and millions left hungry, unhappy, and filled with terror? Vet democracy is not worth enough to Christians for us to abide by Christian principles. Is there no way to peace except through horror after horror? War after war? —Lissa Owens -------o------ Tonight we have u basketball game at Ellsworth. I want to go, but my parents won't let me. I’ve looked forward to seeing this game all year. I’ve begged and pleaded to be permitted to go. I have my homework all done. Hut I can’t go. I haven’t been out a night for a week, but I can’t go. 1 had my French sentences nearly perfect today, but I can’t go. Practically everyone in school is going. But I can’t go! —Jackie Coirtney -------o------ 1 had been cast over the side of the boat and into the sea. Not being able to swim. I sank very fast and was soon entangled w ith the weeds that grow on the ocean’s floor. A great fish came along and with a sawing bile took my arms off as easily as if they were straw. My legs floated off into the great waters, and as my body dissolved in the ocean, my soul went to God. —Leslie Gray -------o------ She was tall. dark, and very pretty. She had the best lines of any boat in the harbor, yet she could not sail. She was just a picture on my wall. —Leslie Gray -------o------ I’m hot and uncomfortable. I think I have a fever. What can it be? Snowing and blowing out- side but so hot in here, and I can’t study. I hate studying. I’m sick. There she is again, looking at me. How can I study? And I’ve got to study. Bah. women! Ah. women! Beally she's pretty special, and kinda sweet, smiling like that. What’s a guv gonna do? —Jim Boisfif.lo I I was sitting in the living room reading a hook, minding my own business, and kind of pleased with the thought in the back of my mind that I was going to the dance that night. Then along came my little sister and gave me a kick in the shins and ran away. She repeated the act a dozen times, and finally I slapped her on the arm, lightly. She let a fearful shriek out of her and ran to mother. Mother came in. balled me out properly, and said, “Just for that you shan’t go to the dance tonight.” After mother had gone back to the kitchen, my little sister came in w ith a big smile on her face and said. “Ha! Ha!” Mother wouldn’t listen to a word of explanation. Was I mad! —Carroll Lurvey -------o------ Here we go into Algebra Class again. How I hate that class. Don’t gel me wrong. I don't hate Algebra nor the teacher. It’s those girls, whispering all the time, hissing like snakes. You sit in your seat trying to figure out a difficult solution, and then the hissing begins and you forget the clever idea you had. To your right, to your left, in front of you. behind you . . . hissing, just awful hissing from those eternally whispering girls. —Bernie McKay -------o------ Look at that McKay! Messed up another pass! Boy, if I were only in there play ing I’d show them a thing or two. But oh no, here 1 sit on the bench keeping it warm for the next player the coach takes out. Once I got into tile game. I remember, for five minutes only, and boy! Did I go to town? A foul every five seconds and constantly throwing the ball away. Now look at that! We're going to lose another game. Why, oh why, won’t the coach pul me in? —Frei Ames ......O'- — POINT OF VIEW For once, the gym was clean. The Y-Teens were preparing to impress their mothers with an elegant banquet, w ith decorations, flowers, and un-chipped plates. It was nearly time to start. The long tables were almost set. Joan found a better vase for the flowers and started arranging them for the third time. She hail thought of balancing them against each other in bunches, but once more they drooped gently and sadly onto the table and she gave up in exasperation. Nita came over with some shears and a charac- teristic remark. “With that face, it tops it all off to he clumsy, too.” She brushed back her hair and began to repair the flower stems with a swift, ef- ficient movement. Joan didn't say anything. There isn’t much you can sa to that kind of remark. But it wasn t fair that Nita. glamorous and popular, with all the ad- vantages. should pick Joan as a target. “It isn t right,” she thought, miserably. “Maybe 1 am silly looking. But why should she feel like picking on somebodv ? I know Anna, for instance, gripes at people because she’s skinny and gawky herself and she has to let it out on somebody. But Nita? Maybe it's just that I’m so awkward that people can’t resist making fun.” This I'age Sponsored liy HARADEN ELECTRIC CO. FLORENCE LEWIS SHOPPE Weslinghouse - Philco 94 Main Street

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Terrible Monday morning, like Iasi Monday, like ail awful school Mondays. It’s seven o’clock and I should he out of bed and I don’t want to get up at all. I can’t get up, hut I've got to. I'll he late again and I can’t stand going to that office late. But I can't get up. I can’t! Seven-thirty now! No, it can't he! Good Lord, did I drop off to sleep? Oh. dear, oh dear. I can't get up, I simply can’t. But I’m up and where are my clothes? Mother and I had an argument and she's sore at me, hut I’ll have to have some clothes. You can't go to school in your pajamas. I stand on the cold floor and yell out. “Mum. where are my clothes?” Faintly, “What do you want?” “My clothes! My clothes!” “Come and get them.” less faintly. “Where are they?” I yell. “How should I know? I don’t wear your clothes.” I go downstairs and hunt and hunt for my clothes, get into them, gulp breakfast, hating every- thing and everyone. Now I’m ready for school. But where are my hooks? Where are those darned hooks? Here they are. But where are my French sentences I spent so long doing? Why is everyone mad at me? Why do I have to live like this? Why is there a Monday morning? Will I ever get started? I slam the door and am on the street. I hurry along and I wonder why people have to live any- way. I come to the building, get inside. th° bell rings, the corridors are empty. Late again. 0 gee! —Herbert Mitchell There was no one in the Casino at all. It was faintly lighted so that I could see the huge cave-like ceiling floating above me. The sound of my foot- steps echoed around it. I began to sing: at first only to hear the echoes and then because the echoing made the singing itself l»eautiful to me. and I imagined into it all that it lacked. The music was a part of me, inside me. It came from within my own heart. —Vivian Scott As I stand here among the flakes of snow that silently fall around me. I wonder how it is that God has made each snow flake to have a meaning of its own. A meaning that alone says nothing, alone as a single snow flake, yet brought together with masses of others, forms a coverage over the earth. —Richard Salisbury “What is it like to die?” I ask. The answer is very important, for I am going to die in a few minutes. Through my mind race little things out of the past, like my first day at school and my first killing. Yes, I said my first killing. So long ago that was. and so many others since. And now I've got to pay. My eves are getting hazy, the room is going around and around, my stomach is sick. Fin falling, and yet I feel no pain. Why is there no pain? I open my eyes once more. A face, an eloquent dear face smiles at me. There is no fear any more in me, I am ready. —John Lymburner What am I taking Latin for anyway? I don't understand it. I can't memorize the declensions and conjugations. When I try to study the words get all blurry, my mind won’t absorb the funny words, and I just have to give up. Yet Latin goes through my head in idle moments; past tense, future tense, pluperfect, future perfect ... It’s all so strange. I'm confused, all mixed up. —Joy Lymburner - How can my parents he so mean? They re going to take me away from my friends for a whole summer. Just because they can get in with their crowd again in the fall, they think I can get in again with mine. But when I come hack everyone will have her own little clique and I'll he left out. Going to that awful place really makes me mad. There’s no one there and nothing to do. Nobody to talk to hut my parents. It's not that they're so had. hut it all gets tiresome after a while. Young people want young people. I try to talk to them about this matter, hut they just talk me down and keep saying sweetly how much I'll enjoy the summer. But I know I wont. I don’t want to go! —Betsy Croxfori» I sit here often pitying myself. I think that life holds nothing for me. and that I just want to lie down and die. It's an awful feeling, just wanting to die. What causes it? Am I tired? Bored? who knows? —Mary Jane Spear This Page Sponsored fly BLACK WHITE CABINS On The Beach CHAMBERS CHEVROLET CO.. INC. 322 Main Street Bar Harbor

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A couple of girls wandered over and began scattering napkins around, chattering about nothing in particular. One wrinkled her nose and muttered, “I II bet that this darned mother’s banquet makes me late to the dance. You know these long-winded speakers.” The other one said cheerfully that she didn’t mind. “I'm not going with anybody special, so why hurry?” Nita laughed smoothly. “Joan isn’t going with anybody . . . special, are you? No, she is much too busy for such things.” Joan just stared at her for a minute. She felt that she was going to cry a little, and hating herself for being hurt so easily, she went out into the hall. She heard them laughing at something behind her. Maybe it’s true they’re all laughing at me. It’s be- cause I’m really ugly that she does that.” Then she began to he angry, mostly at herself. “No. that isn’t so! There must be a reason for Nita hating me. It can’t be just me, it can’t be. 1 don’t want it to be.” Diinily she heard voices outside. She must go and greet the arriving guests, be polite and cheer- ful. and find them, their places. She opened the door for them, seated them with appropriate ges- tures, and began to feel better about life in general. Inside of half an hour, the dining room seemed full. Joan looked around at the tables. There were some missing. Her own mother was there, talking happily to a lady in a pink hat. next was Mrs. Car- ter. then a space . . . She turned quickly at the sound of the bell and walked over to be a hostess again. She opened the door to a large, fair woman who boomed out: “Glad to be here.” As they started towards the dining room the lady said, That’s another of your own sty les you’re wearing? I like your sewing, young lady. I tell my own girl to set store by your example and do a little work herself. But she’s shiftless. Always has been.” Joan was appalled. “My lord, that poor girl w ho’s her daughter.” And then she looked at the lady again and had to stifle a w hoop of laughter at her, striding ungracefully through life with a militant eye and a positive yen for saying the untactful. But there was more to come. She had caught sight of Nita carry- ing dishes. The huge voice echoed again. Nita. doll, that’s a dreadful dress: like I tell you. look at what Joan, here, has got on. Y ours looks a mess beside it. Resentment flared in Nita's face. Joan watched, speechless, as it smoothed into the too familiar con- tempt. She said bitterly “People can hear you, you know,” and walked swiftly towards the kitchen, nearly running before she reached it. Joan stood there, fascinated and relieved. “It wasn’t me! She was taking something out, like Anna does! And so would I, if my mother did something to me like that. Only I’d probably hit at my mother and get to the point.” Nita passed by and said with cutting courtesy to Joan. “Isn’t Madame going to do some of the work?” Joan turned to her and smiled. “Sorry, 1 guess I m just naturali) lazy.” —Vivian Scott ON CATCHING COLD One of the easiest things to catch is a cold. It re- quires no intelligence whatsoever. You may spend hours trying to capture the mouse that has been bothering you at home and be unsuccessful; but catching a cold is an entirely different matter. Colds just love to be caught. There’s nothing they like any better than to get into some poor victim’s head anil throat, stuffing the nasal passages and causing a frightful cough. Consequently, colds don’t put up much of a struggle, if any at all. In fact, they often resort to catch- ing you. if they are lacking a person to make miserable. Some colds are very aggressive. They just can’t wait to be caught so they go right out and tackle their prospective victims. This explains why many people land flat on their backs so often in the winter months. Colds are really a lot like the people who catch them. I here is the “sweet young thing” type, which results in a little sniffle only. Some specialize in causing just an awful cough or an un- ceasing runny nose. So you see. colds resemble the various professions w hich have specialists. All colds, regardless of their specific type, have the same purposes. These purposes are, one, to catch as many victims as possible. Here 1 might add that each cold has a quota each month. Failure to com- plete this quota results in extermination. The world of the cold is essentially very communistic: and two. to make these victims as miserable as possible. From inception, each type has these two principles taught it. In conclusion, I hardly need say: “Beware! You may be the next to be attacked by our enemv. the cold!” 1 —-Joy Roberts SNOW FOREST n elm stands poised and richly dressed And, if the air were not so still. Would rise, all floating, far above. As strangely weightless, shining lace. Dark, forbidding, northern savage— fir tree, brooding wild within. That wears in drifts its piles of snow And heaves against the clinging weight. I Pine has softer, hazy patterns All in plumes with little needles Poking through to mark the edges.) Oak thrusts out its twisted limbs; Sunlight, warming all the trunk, Goldly glitters on its branches, Wreathed in flashing, blue-fire jewels Etched about a fragile sky. —Vivian Scott 7 his I1 ape Sponsored By THE COLONY ELITE DRY CLEANERS For Gracious Living BAR HARBOR LATNDRY KENNETH CLEAVES Civil Engineer