Biddeford High School - Olympian Yearbook (Biddeford, ME)

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I8 THE OLYMPIAN card. Martin watched her go clown the platform, his eyes glistening. ln the cab of No. 99 as the train pulled away from the station, he re- membered the card and looked at it. WINIFRED MORAN. 1001 Western Avenue New York City His lucky day! Martin sang all the way to Madison. Jim Moran was President of the Road and this was his daughter! Kitty Murphy saw little of Martin from that day on. When they did meet, he scarcely noticed her. You mustn't be minding his dull moods, Mrs. Hannigan told her. He's thinking, dreaming of carriages --and things. Forget him. Forget Martin? As if she could! Years passed. Martin worked up from one position to another on the railroad. Eventually he left The Patch and Centerville. and turned his face eastward-toward New York, the city of his dreams-and the girl with the voice that thrilled him. ln the east he hitched his wagon to a star, and drove were rewarded. On appointed District Railroad, Winifred his wife. His mother grew old in the little cottage at the end of Gold Street, but before she died, she often talked of her boy, who dreamed of carriages and diamonds, and at last saw his dreams come true. I always knew he'd do well, she would Asay. Could read it in his eyes when 'he was a little one. He always said he'd go where the streets are pav- ed with gold! And he did, too! He was a deep one, they will tel! you in Centerville, not at all like the rest of us-quiet, dreamy-like, his head always in the clouds-queer, but well able to take care of himself, a fine lad liked by everyone. Hardly ever comes back here any more, though. hard. His efforts the day he was Manager of the Moran became Wouldn't know what he looks like now, it's been so long since we saw him. Kitty Murphy still lives in The Patch, a spinster, alone in her old home. She has grown a bit queer in late years, they say. Every day at noon when the train from Chicago roars by her house, she stands at the front gate to watch it pass. Sometimes on bright, sunny days, she waves at the Hrernan. The fireman, a nice. young lad, always waves back. The people of The Patch told him Kitty's story long ago. He under- stands- J. Walsh, '40, OUR WASHINGTON TRIP. April I5, I938, to April 22, 1938, are seven days that sixty-five seniors will never forget. Four long years of waiting! Oh the excitement that filled sixty-five hearts the days previous to the trip! What fun we had spending New York Skyline money, buying new clothes, and pack- ing our bags! We started off at exact- ly l I :44 that Friday, a crowd throng- ing the station to bid us a cheerful good-by. l know that the ride to Bos- ton seemed short to most of us, since time passes so quickly when we are having some jolly good fun. We were hurried to the wharf in taxis in the pouring rain so as to be on the boat by 4:30, and then we had to wait an

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THE OLYMPIAN I7 job on the railroad as fireman, lVIolly's, his mother's, heart sang. It meant her boy was going to do well in this new land where the streets were paved with gold. From fireman it would be just a few steps to better things. She thought of other lrish boys she had known, who had risen to fine positions, even managerships, on the far-Hung railroads. Martin would be like them. She knew he would. In some ways Martin was accounted a queer one. At times there would be a strange blue light in his eyes, and he would sit for hours without so much as saying boo to anyone. When this mood had passed, he would suddenly grow loquacious, and his talk would be strange, far-away. At such times his friends in The Patch would shake their heads in bewilderment, and won- der what had come over him. The fairies are in his blood again, they would whisper among themselves. His father had it, too. My boy, Martin, will ride in a fine carriage some day, Molly would say softly, her eyes filling with pride. And he will be wearing diamonds on his fin- gers, too, he will. You wait and see. Kitty Murphy loved to hear the old 99 whistle, miles south of her home alongside the tracks. The first faint sound of it always brought her out of the kitchen. When the sound of the whistle drew nearer, and the rails began to whine softlyg when a ribbon of smoke climbed to the sky, she would run back to the house to give her chestnut hair a last touching up. At the exact mo- ment when the 99 rumbled past on its way to the station, she would be out again to smile and wave at the husky fireman in the cab. When Martin Han- nigan waved back, it was an important moment in her day. Kitty had loved Martin since child- hood. As the years went by she could see none of the other young Irish blades who came calling at her door. A slender girl with roses in her cheeks and a song in her eyes, she had a vivaciousness that attracted many a likely lad, but Martin was not attracted so much as she would have liked. He did call oc- casionally, but courting was not the word for his visits. Still Kitty kept alive her dream of some day marrying Martin. When Martin was assigned to the through run from Chicago to Madison with only a ten-minute stop at Center- ville, Kitty begged Mother Hannigan to let her carry his dinner to him at the station. One night half-way down the road, Kitty caught up to him and walkefd home with him. All he talked of was the glittering carriage he would some day ride in. When Kitty knelt to say her prayers that night, there were tears in her eyes as she asked, Oh, dear Lord, will he ever really see me? There was a day when an escaped lunatic ran amuck on the station plat- form, swung an axe he had torn away from someone, headed toward people crowding out of the coaches on Mar- tin's train. There were sudden screams. Women fainted. Men turned and ran for their lives. Martin Hannigan did not run. He followed the lunatic, and just as the crazed man swung his axe above a girl who had fallen in fright, he caught up with him and leaped. There was a shortfrenzied struggle but the police came, manacled the man and took him away. When the girl recovered possession of herself, she thanked Martin and asked his name. She was young, slen- der, beautiful in a way entirely new to Martin. Her soft voice set his blood tingling and he imagined he was stand- ing on a cloud. She said goodbye, then, remember- ing that she had not told him who she was, she hurried back to hand him a

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THE OLYMPIAN I9 hour before sailing. But we didn't mind. Some of us went to dinner that night, and some of us did not. Some of us danced and some of us did not. Some of us slept that night, but most of us did not. Anyway, the sail into New York harbor in the morning was beautiful. We lunched in the sunny city of Philadelphia, after which we toured the city, stopping at the art museum and at the famous lndepend- ence Hall. We arrived that evening at our journey's destination, beautiful Washington. ln this lovely city, we stayed a little over three days. Of course we didn't have time to do all the things that we wanted to do, but we visited the most important places: Mount Vernon, Annapolis, the Capi- tol, the White l-louse, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the Smith- sonian lnstitute, the Lincoln Memorial, and many other places which attracted our attention and which were made even more interesting by our guides. The Capitol from the Air The weather was warm while we were there, and it rained the afternoon we went to Annapolis. Of course, we were disappointed that there was no dress parade. Most of the evenings we had free to do as we wished. We left Washington Wednesday noon after a visit to the Franciscan Monastery. In New York, late that evening, Radio City and Fred Allen's broadcast were enjoyed by us, even though we were almost exhausted. Thursday we shop- ped and toured New York. Then we had another evening on the boat. Fri- Waslzinyton Monument from the Air day morning we were in Boston and, finally, in our own city of Biddeford where we dragged our weary feet. Now it is all over but the memories will remain with us for a long time to come. Joan Goodwin, '38, PHOTOGRAPHY MY HOBBY. Have you a fascinating, popular and economical hobby? If you have not, then you should make a hobby of photography. Photography is fas- cinating in that it demands activity, both mental and physical. It is popu- lar and economical because it is with- in the reach of all. lts practice is educational, for it de- velops artistic taste in one's self while one is enjoying himself. It is a hobby that may be considered partly chem- istry and partly physics. Anyone who has studied these subjects will find photography enjoyable, whereas any- one who has not studied them and has much to learn will learn through his hobby. It is very inexpensive. Many people have the mistaken belief that in order to have good photographs, they must have the most elaborate apparatus that is available. This is false for many prize winning prints in national com- petitions have been taken with equip- ment worth only a few dollars. Photography may be divided into