Rockland High School - Cauldron Yearbook (Rockland, ME)

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I2 THE CAULDRON SURPRISE There was nothing extraordinary about the day. It was Saturday afternoon. People were coming and going, as usual, looking for anything that couldnlt be found, gasping about the prices, laughing at their neighbofs hat, and catching up on the latest gossip. There too, was a dejected looking dog on the corner, star- ing longingly at a string of frankfurters that was guarded by the plate glass win- dow at Millerls Meat Market. After watching him a couple of minutes, I realized that I was a little hungry, too. I turned into johnsonis. That was a favorite spot with the rest of the gang after dances and movies. It was vacant now with the exception of the girl behind the counter. Finally, the menu and I came to an agreement so I orderd a milk shake and a sandwich. Now I've seen an artist's conception of strange people from Mars, live seen freaks at a side show and live heard about the seven wonders of the world but I never thought I could be startled in my own home town, yet there it was. I had walked over to deposit a nickel in the juke box and returned, about to resume my struggle with a tuna fish sandwich, when my unsuspecting gaze rest- ed upon a window across the street. It was not the window itself which held my glance, however, it was something beyond. I say asomethingp' .... should I say nsomeonev? .... for as nearly as I could make out it was a woman wearing a bright yellow dress and sitting in a chair reading a magazine as if nothing was wrong. There was something wrong in my estimation though. That unexplanable apparatus which was on her head was by no means an ordinary sight to me, to say the least. It had long tenacles reaching up to a pipe above. Could she be tun- ing in on a coast-to-coast hookup? My milk shake and sandwich forgotten, I became fascinated by the mechanisms being displayed to me across the street. Soon a girl in a white uniform detached a lot of clips from the irons on the woman's head. She replaced the former ma- chine with another which swallowed the womanis head almost entirely. I don't think the victim could have been aware of what passer-bys thought as she sat reading that magazine, with a contraption similar to an upside down cake mixer on her head. I went back to my milkshake and sandwich, leaving the poor woman to her plight while I listened to Spike Jones, rendition of Dont Fence Me In . I hadnit realized before that -lohnsonis made such Havorsome sandwiches, but after four more of them, I had appeased my hunger, so I started for the door, eager to relate my observations of the afternoon to someone else. Perhaps Ioe or Kip would be mowing the lawn around the honor roll again. just then my mother emerged from the building across the street. She had her hair different, I think, but the only thing I noticed was the fact that she was wear- ing a bright yellow dress. Franklin Blaisdell

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THE CAULDRON ll MISSING - - - ALL HANDS LOST As the sun sank into the hills of the mainland, significant things began to hap- pen. The1'e was heard the cry of the gulls as they flew inland onto the yet un- named mountain. The seals along the headland and reef ceased their play and barking and moved out to the open sea. Far to the southwest there was a line of ragged windlashed clouds. Slowly the mounful tune of the storm was apparent as the wind increased and blew through the rigging of the Rose Marie. The Captain standing at the forepeak viewed the storm with apprehension. He knew that his ship, seaworthy as she was, had just crossed three thousand miles of storm. He turned to his Mate and ordered the other anchor overboard, the .lashings on the furled sails secured. The Captain then went below for his supper. The men in the forecastle had their meal undisturbed by the approaching storm. After mess, they sat around in the glow of the battle lanterns sewing buttons and patching badly battered sea gear. One was making a little doll out of hemp for a child many miles away. O11 the island everything was quiet, deathly quiet, waiting for the storm to break. The only sound was the stilifening breeze moaning through the pines. Per- haps it was moaning for the ship that had to ride out the storm in the exposed harbor. With darkness it began to snow. The wind increased and began its vengeful, claiming roar. The seas raked the deck of the ship, fore and aft, and she tossed and plunged like an unbroken stallion. Still the storm increased its velocity until the seas tossed and writlied like a soul in torment. It grew colder and ice began to form on the rigging and the ship. , On the hills the pines tossed their branches to the sky. There was no light tower's gleam or clang of the bells-only the wind and the sea and the ship. Sud- denly like a shot one of the anchor cables parted. The Captain ordered his men on deck to see if anything could be done. There was only one thing to be done, that was to pray--pray that one cable and one anchor could hold the ship. Astern of them, on the reef, they could hear the surf pounding against the knife-edged granite. Slowly the roar became more distinct, closer drew the ship to the rocksg the last hope was lost. Then came the sound of rending timbers--then oblivion. The storm intensihed its fury as if in glee at finding its mission of destruction accomplished. Slowly, with the coming of dawn, the storm abated. The leaden skies broke clear and a huge orange sun arose. It looked down upon a mountain and a clean white beach, littered with white oak timbers, and a childis half-made doll. Raymond D. Bowden

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THE CAULDRON 13 A SLIP OF PAPER-THAT'S ALL U My name? IfVhy, you know that we have no--. Oh, back there? That's differ- eut. I was called jimmy Waterman then-just an ordinary, carefree kid like all the rest. Mom spoiled me though, 'cause I was all she had. Dad had died when I was ten. Mom took over the store, and I helped her as soon as I was old enough. Everything was all right until a certain Sunday in December . . . From then on I became restless . . . all the fellows were leaving and everyone was doing all he could to help. I didn't say anything to Mom about it though, because I knew she needed me. But she seemed to sense that something was wrong, and one day she said quietly, jimmy, I know how you feel, and I'm proud of you. If you want to go, I think I can take care of the store by myself. Dad used to, and I know he'd have wanted it this wayf' That was Mom, the grandest gal in the world, always thinking of the other fellow. And so, I became a Marine. Then, after months of intensive training, we were shipped out. I don't remember much about the war . . I don't want to. Anyway, I hated it! It was all so futile, so senseless! I'm not say- ing that it wasn't a just war, if any war can be called just. It was the mud, the fog, the insects, the not knowing when the fellow next to you was going to sud- denly drop at your feet, a gaping hole in his chest. It was watching the splendor of a tropical' sunrise, knowing all the while it might be your last. And worst of all, it was the thought of all the telegrams being sent home to mothers or wives, and the rows of white crosses . . . mute testimonials of man's inhumanity to man. I was among those who strove for a foothold on that most desolate spot of all . . . Iwo Jima. My buddy and I were in the front lines that night. We had been toge.her for some time, and I knew him as well as I know myself. I thought as much of that lug as though he were my own brother. Anyway, he was unusually light-hearted that night, and it bothered me. It was almost as if he knew .... With the rest, we were advancing on a nest of snipers, when suddenly there was the deadly whine of a bullet, and he fell. I knew without looking that now 'there would be another cross, another telegram. I-I guess I went completely crazy then. With grenade in hand, I started for the cave from where the shot had come. All I wanted to do was get the guy that got 1ny buddy! I threw the grenade as hard as I could and dropped down to wait. It was then that I heard the whine of a mortar shell . . . it grew louder and more intense, with a deafening scream that could mean only one thing! And then everything went black . . . After a long, long time I awoke, shaking as from a bad dream. But I wasnjt on Iwo, I was on the outskirts of my own home town! I couldn't remember getting there, and yet it clidnit seem strange that I was. I started down the street on the double. Yes, there everything was, just as I had left it . . . the church, my old school, the drug store on the corner, and then, the little white house that was home to me. And there was a light in the living room. Mom must still be upf' I thought. As I reached the steps, I met Mrs. Burton. our next door neighbor. I