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

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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

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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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“I WONDER” I wonder why I think of you In every waking hour. I wonder why I paint your face On every budding flower. I wonder where it came from, This sweet and lovely spell. I wonder why I love you— Maybe you can tell! —Ann Tripp '53 THE TEST We have a test in class today. It reallv lias me scared. The questions are just bound to be On something not prepared. 1 studied this, I studied that And turned page after page, I’ntil my eyes are nearly blind — Mv mind almost in rage! In class, I chew my nails to bits. The teacher talks away. He grins, and then he stops to yell, “No test for you, today!” —Jeanne Cleaves --------o------- SMOKE GETS IN YOl R EVES Personally, I don’t smoke. Perhaps the reason why I have never had the desire to do so is because when I am with people who are smoking their smoke gets in my eyes, nose and ears, and plugs up my throat until I nearly choke to death. So in my esti- mation, cigarettes are enough to kill a man. That's why 1 keep clear of them. Rut what tickles me are the techniques some women use in order to let people know they are experienced smokers. The sophisticated smoker is no end amusing. From between her fingers she gently places the long, beautiful snow-white, small paper cylinder into her mouth. With the other hand she presses on her shiny lighter and sets the cigarette afire. Drawing into her lungs about as much smoke as she is able to consume, she waits a while. Then she becomes a dragon, w ith the smoke pour- ing from her nose and mouth in steady' streams. You wonder if the next breath won’t be smoke, too, because of the amount of smoke she took in. for it doesn’t seem as though she could let it all out in just one breath. How she lives through one cigarette is more than one can understand. And al- most you wish she wouldn t. I’ll never forget a woman I once knew who smoked in this manner. She filled her mouth with as much smoke as she could (didn t in- hale. but just filled her mouth). Yfter that dramatic procedure, she caused a very beautiful scene to occur. With her mouth half open, she jerked her head back curiously and left the smoke in mid-air to curl very artistically up around her nose and eyes. I can’t see what J( enjoyment she got out of it, other than being noticed. Perhaps the most popular method is that which I have generally noticed among beautiful young ladies. They, like the sophisticated smoker, gently press the precious fag between their lips and inhale far too much. Tilting their heads a little awkwardly, they then blow the smoke straight into the air hor- izontally. They blink their starry eyes prettily as the smoke goes by. Thev seem to get as much out of a cigarette as they put into smoking it, and that's a lot. Yes, how often I wonder just w hat type of smoker 1 would be if I took up the habit. I think I’d like to lie one of those dragon ladies, with the smoke coming out of all ends. It looks so much more fascinating and skillful. Y et. 1 would probably throw the cigarette away with the first puff, for I would be terribly sick from swallowing what now chokes me merely from its smell. —Helen Hanscom --------o------- I DIDN’T MEAN IT” It’s so dark here, and the time seems to be dragging. It must be way past midnight. All I can hear is the ticking of the clock. And here 1 am wait- ing . . . waiting! ! If they only knew how' things would turn out, but only time will tell. I’ve got to do something to take my mind off that maddening lick-tock-tick-tock. I can’t stand it! Sitting here in the cold dreary darkness not knowing what will happen next. If only I could turn on the radio . . . No. they’d hear it. Maybe if I tried reading . . . No, they’ll see the light. All right! All right! I’ll confess ! ! ! Oh. God, you’ve got to forgive me! 1 didn't mean to do wrong. I just couldn’t help myself! I didn t mean any harm! I couldn’t help taking them. I just couldn’t, honest. I couldn’t. They have always been my weakness, and 1 bet you'd like to have had them too. 1 know I've done it time and time again, and they kept warning me they would give me one more chance. I always suffer the consequences, and say I'll never do it again. Yet whenever the situation arises again and 1 see those beautiful, enticing things 1 can’t resist them. It is beyond my control. My hands just reach out for them automatically. No one ever sees me take them. But they always come Ellsworth American Printers Since 1850 This I'age Sponsored 11 y A. J. McKay Beal’s Service Station West End Sheet Metal Ellsworth Maine Drug Company