Biddeford High School - Olympian Yearbook (Biddeford, ME)

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THE OLYMPIAN I5 case, our savant, when actually engaged in a thus propounded task, either fails to be blessed by his cerebral inspira- tions, or perhaps, to his misfortune, he enters the tentacles of another back seater and is thereby lost. Still, as you may argue, by being op- pressed by his own diabolical machin- ery, the driver may realize the conse- quences of his own failings. Alas! Not sog being inspired by the worthy ex- ample of his former assistant, his only thought is for the continuation of his self-termed welfare work. Fortunately, as yet there are few of this category who can boast of an edu- cation. For if their efforts were com- bined under the systematic direction of an informed person, then, indeed, would life be unbearable. But still, it may be lack of education that is respon- sible for this conditioin. Then, again, will difficulties be encountered, for the savant is, in his opinion, very well in- formed, which fact will offer insur- mountable difficulties in educating him. We can see, therefore, that our only recourse is to wait hopefuly until some benefactor shall opportunely come to the aid of suffering mankind. W. Osher, ' 38. A LITTLE LEARNING IS A DANGEROUS THING CPOPEJ The school of which I am a member is composed of four different classes of pupils, different in rank, learning, thoughts and ideas. Of course there are no prejudices between the pupils of these four classes, but each has certain points that stand out above all others both in thought and action. The other day as I sat in the study hall and gazed upon the faces of the pupils, my eyes happened to rest upon a boy who was very much interested in something that he was writing or trying to figure out. This boy, I could tell at a glance was in the freshman class. He had just left the grammar school and was beginning the long climb up the ladder of success. I-Ie was on the first step. If he stopped studying right there, he would fall off this ladder. It was up to him whether he would continue climbing or fall back. My eyes then rested upon another figure in the center of the room. This person was restless. I-Ie-would study for a while and then try to annoy his neighbors or engage in some prank. I-Ie had reached the second step of the ladder. But he still has something to worry about. It is a rather difficult task to jump from the second step to the third. He was just a sophomore! Ten minutes to one! Two or three boys had already closed their books, placed them in a pile and were half seats. Yes, these way out of their boys were in the junior class. They were out of danger. They had reached the third step and were safe. At least that is what they thought. Just one more year and our goal is reached was the thought in their minds. Then, a senior! We're at the top. We've succeededl But have we? I wonder. ln a few months the top of the ladder will be seen. But there is still another ladder to climb. One that is even harder than the first. This first one was just a stepping stone that led us to this next one. Will this one here be climbed successfully? One does not know. We see but a part and not a whole. God keeps man in ignorance of what his future is to be. S. Sparkewich, '38, A NOVICE IN THE KITCHEN A rare feeling tore at my brain one sunny day. I felt the urge to do some- thing great. I rushed to the kitchen determined to bake a cake unlike any heretofore eaten by man. Hurriedly I began to assemble the constituents: salt, eggs, sugar, flour. My, this was

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I4 TI-IE OLYMPIAN Spring blossomed into Summerg so their friendship blossomed into love. They were together constantly, dancing, swimming, playing tennis, or riding at night on the lagoon listening to the en- chanting melodies of the gondoliers. One windy day they had gone out to the cliff. Just two weeks from now, Monica, and we'll be happy together, l prom- ise. Yes, she thought, they would be happy together, because they were alikeg they were modern America. They would find happiness together, not run away from it. As Monica turned to speak to him, her hat blew off and became lodged on a little ledge on the cliff. I'll get it, said Barrie, jumping over the wall and taking the few steps to the edge of the cliff. Oh, please, don't bother with it, Barrie, it really doesn't matter, and anyway it's too dangerous, Barrie. Please come away from there, l'm scared. Don't worry, dear, I'll have it in a jiffyf' Barrie, Barrie, look out! she screamed. The rock is slipping under your foot. His face paled and his eyes looked up at her frantically. A scream rent the air as his body went hurling through space to death below. Days later, spent with grief and re- morse, Monica left the villa to return home, to America. As Summer passes on Nature dons a more vivid beauty, the flaming loveli- ness of Autumn. From out of nowhere, seemingly, came the majestic roll of the organ. Slowly, and unobtrusively the strains floated into the room and trembled somewhat in the gloomy atmosphere. The girl lifted her eyes a little apa- thetically. She did not mind, really, for she felt beyond any emotional up- heaval now. Strangely enough the mu- sic seemed to blend peacefully with her trend of thought. Her gaze slipped dials and wandered The pure ivories of came out in relief past the radio around the room. the grand piano against the huge darkness of the con- bust of Beethoven sole. The great loomed familiarly against the east win- dow. High above the fireplace a gracefuly carved mirror reflected the twilight without. Shades of night gently weaved its purple threads through the dull gold ridges in the sky. The tall pines bent their majestic heads in submission to the funereal tranquillity into which the earth had suddenly plunged. Violet A. White. BACK SEAT DRIVING. lt is an undeniable fact that every person has at some time during his ex- istence been assailed by the untiring efforts of a back seat driver. This gen- tleman requires no introduction, for doubtless we all are acquainted with the omniscient one whose only difiiculty lies in the fact that he does not perform the task you are vainly attempting to do, thereby obtaining an opportunity to apply his amazing theories. Even though it may be a mere card game or the innocent act of partaking of a meal, you may consider yourself indeed for- tunate if you escape his ubiquitous pres- ence and the diabolical glee, which he takes at the agony caused by his in- sistence upon expounding these hypo- theses. Perhaps the greatest contribution to the advancement of mankind will come when a genius, for surely it requires a genius, will invent a perpetual task for this insidious class, that they may tac- iturnly employ themselves in the actual practice of their theories. Doubtless we all have attempted thus to benefit human beings, but unfortunately, we are compelled to admit that, in prac- tice, this plan is not feasible. ln every

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I6 THE OLYMPIAN going to be easy! The kitchen was topsy-turvy but then all great creators and artists worked in cluttered areas. The cat and clog were running helter- skelter to escape my feet which were now striding about with increasing ra- pidity. Why do eggs always break when you drop them? How will I ever get this place tidied up before mother returns? Such thoughts as these were running through my gray-matter . Now let me see, the recipe reads: Cream, milk, sugar, and butterg well, there is something definitely wrong with this recipe. Imagine telling some- one to cream butter, milk, sugar with- out even stating the amount of cream to be used. This batter looks like but- terscotch candy-but who am I to ques- tion a reliable cook-book? There, that went into the cake-tin nicely. I wonder what those funny-looking bubbles are: oh, I know, carbon dioxide or some- thing. My, isn't it wonderful what an education will do for you! Ah, it was finally ready for the oveng m-m-m m-m-m it did look good. While the cake was in the process of making history or cement, I attempted to straighten the kitchen. The results were disastrousg breaking eggs, spilling Hour, stepping on the dog's paw all added to my misery. Well, it seemed that about this time mother usually tested the cake. Gingerly, I gathered up the cake-tester and, eager with antic- ipation, I raced to the oven. Woe, misery-what have I ever done to de- serve this-there is no cake, nothing but a black round disc as hard as mor- tar. Well, perhaps I HAD left it too long in the ovenl At any rate, during that speechless moment the novice of the kitchen became a graduate of the school of disappointments. Anne O'Sullivan, ' 38. STREETS OF GOLD Rock River winds its way through the valleys and lowlands of southern Wisconsin, and where it jags sharply southward on its way to Illinois is the town of Centerville. Years ago Center- ville was a railroad center, and a meet- ing-place for farmers on market days. In those times the railroad yards were on the western edge of the town. Be- yond the yards was a jumble of shacks and houses on a crazy little hill. Th's district was known as The Patch. One had to be Irish to live in The Patch. If a person didn't have a good Irish brogue, it was dangerous to so much as walk up the road that was Gold Street. They were a cliquish, tempestuous lot, those people of The Patch. New to America, they clung together like a hive of bees, and could be just as venomous if aroused. People on the other side of the town called them shanty Irish. The men worked on the railroad, as a rule. They were on section crews at first, then later, as America drew them to her, they filtered into other branches of railroad work and became foremen, brakemen, firemen, and engineers. Some climbed even higher. Martin I-Iannigan, a broth of a lad, with skin as soft as a girl's and muscles like iron, lived with his mother in a lit- tle cottage at the end of Gold Street. I'Ie was a fireman on the Number 99 that ran between Chicago and Center- ville, and besides that, something of a wrestler. Everyone in The Patch re- spected Martin, for not only was he able to take care of himself in a tus- seling match with men, but could read and write with the best of them. Like his mother, he was gentle in his waysi, especially with women folk. It was said of him that he never went looking for trouble: neither did he walk away from any. The Patch people admired him for these qualities. So did others. When Martin, still in his 'teens, got a