Bourne High School - Canal Currents Yearbook (Bourne, MA)

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Canal Currents Bourne High School The End Of Quite A Day A rchie was ripping and raring to proceed with his ski lessons. But to his surprise there was no teacher in sight. To a youth of meek character and limited resources, this would have been a major catastrophe, but to Archie this just opened a whole new field of research. Wliy should he, Archie LaRue, heed the unwelcome assistance of the little, insignificant, wizened in- structor who probably didn’t know how to ski anyhow. Therefore Archie, the unconquerable, proceeded to prove to the doubt- ful world his unlimited courage and initiative. He ventured to the edge of the steep incline and gulped back his heart after practically chewing on it. But not even this darkened the bubbling spirits of Dauntless Archie.” He gave the ski poles a manly push and tore off into snow-filled space. To Archie, it seemed as if Mother Nature had been waiting for this oppor- tunity for centuries on end. The inescapable bottom of the hill loomed nearer, nearer. Poor Archie leaned back on his ski i trying to stop the two man-made monsters which were carrying him to inevitable destruction. On and on he went at a blinding speed. Then, to Archie’s horror and extreme discomfort, a stunted little bush, which to Archie looked like a Redwood, loomed up directly in his path. He tried desperately to turn off to either side and succeeded in doing both. The bush hit poor Archie amidships and nearly split the unlucky lad right up the middle. Archie gingerly felt all over his body for broken bones and concluded that he was what you might call a portable Belgian Bulge” with bumps all over the battered hulk of what had once been a fine specimen of masculine perfection. Archie managed to pick up what was left of himself and smarted the long journey home on footl Upon reaching his house, he immedia ' rclv park- ed himself in front of the fireplace and listened contentedly while the fire crackled and sputtered around what was left of those two malicious strips of hickory called skis. Louis Fougere, ’47 Wonder Woman O NE teaspoon each of salt, pepper, vinegar, mustard, olive oil, ipecac, orange juice, lemon juice, two ground onions, and a piece of garlic. I must add a few frog legs. I will boil it for eight minutes. Then it must cool. It is cool now and I must drink it all within three swallows. One, two, it is gone. Look at me. How I have changed. I have a face like that of Esther Williams, a shape like Betty Grable’s, and the strength of four hundred men. Gracefully I slip into my two-piece aqua skating suit. I don’t need skates or shoes. I am ready for action. Lifting my arms into the air, I say verv softly, Imajr.” Swiftly but gracefully, I swing into the air. Tonight I will go to Germany and rebuild a few hundred homes. It should take, to make the Page Twenty

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Boume High School Canal Currents First Love OT once had Linda been on a real date, not even to a party with the bunch of girls she went around with. It wasn’t that she was a drip; heavens, far from it! Gosh, some of the girls in the class said that she had the most hubba, hubba clothes in the school — absolutely swoony. The boys all talked to her during class, one of the reasons being that she had the right answers most of the time. But when it came to dates, nix. Now the part that I remember the most clearly about this whole situ- ation was the time we walked into the Sweet Shop on the north side of town and there behind the counter was a new boy, not just an ordinary, frizzy- topped boy, but one with blond hair and the most w ' onderful smile. Well, it so happened that our whole gang was so bored with all the drips in our class that practically everyone immediately began pouring on sugary talk and Bacallish looks. That is, all except Linda; she didn’t even seem interested, simply because this was an old story and one of the other girls always won out. Strangely enough, the new ' boy, Dick was his name, kept staring, and steadily too, at Linda. At first she didn’t notice this; she was too absorbed in her double malted, but one moment she looked up and there he was, star- ing as if she were an angel from heaven or something to that effect. Only now did the gang begin to notice this strange attraction between the two and they were getting pretty sore about it, too. So even before Linda was through, they rushed her out of there as fast as a cat can wink, even quicker. Immediately Betty, one of the girls, spoke up and said, Oh, well, he’s probably a drip, anyway.” Then Joan, one of the nicer girls of the group said ver) ' casually, Oh, yeah? Well, I heard that he’s on the football team at NewTon.” Of course, this made them sit up and take notice but then the matter was quickly forgotten. Linda was walking home slowly after leaving Sue at her corner and she started to think about the new ' boy again and wondered if it had been she at ail whom he had been staring at. It was probably Dolly, the little short girl who was sitting next to her in the booth. Still, she mused, he was awfully cute. Quickly she realized she w ' as already home. Entering the house, she threw ' dow ' n her coat and yelled, What’s for supper. Mom? Was there any mail?” No, dear,” her mother answ ' ered, but there w ' as a phone call from some- one called Dick Reeves.” Did you say Dick Reeves? Are you positive?” Yes, of course.” Linda’s knees felt w ' eak and her head was spinning. Then it wasn’t a mistake; he had been looking at her in the shop. Her thoughts were inter- rupted by her mother saying, Why, who is he, dear?” No one special. Mother. Just one of the gang.” And he is now, she thought to herself, as she dreamily walked into the kitchen. Barbara Anderson, ’47 Page Nineteen

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Bourne High School Canal Currents journey over and back and complete the work, about two hours. I start over the Atlantic and wirhm two minutes I am in Germany. I cut the trees, pre- pare the lumber, build the homes and still have two minutes to make the journey home before my magic drink wears off. I start out over the Atlantic. My speed starts dying down. I become very panicky. I try to remain calm. I know it is of no use. Bang! Splash! I open my eyes. I am drenched! But, what am I sitting on? I am on the floor. I had fallen all too hard. I had fallen out of bed and had knocked the water off my night stand all over myself. Whewd Ruth Remick, ’47 Mistaken Identity A S I walked out of the office building and down 52nd Street, a cold damp fog was slowly creeping in from the sea and I could hear the persistent blaring of distant foghorns. As the light was rapidly fading, I tried in vain to signal a taxi and eventually gave it up as impossibl e. Dejectedly I turned once again in the direction of my apartment and also the fog, which was get- ting colder and thicker as the night wore on. After walking a block or so, I found it almost impossible to distinguish my hand before my face. As I stopped to light another cigarette, I noticed the dim outline of a man standing in the doorway on my left. Not desiring to lose my wallet, I quickened my step and with a hasty glance over my shoulder noticed that the man had taken up a position directly behind me. As I quickened my pace, he quickened his, and I was beginning to wonder who was going to win out in the end. It was about this time that I hit upon an idea. -I said to myself, who was I to run away from one man, and decided to wait for my would-be as- sailant in the next doorw’ay. Stepping into the doorvv ' ay I brushed against a shovel and I grasped it quickly, thinking it w ould bolster my courage. It did. I heard his footsteps slowing down as he approached the doorway and then, abruptly, they stopped. I took a firmer grip on the shovel, slowly rais- ing it above my head. I peered out from the doorw ay and could see nothing. I waited, peered out again, and there he was, standing directly in front of me. I raised the shovel higher above my head and was just about to bring it down when I noticed his police uniform. I dropped the shovel with a clatter as if it were a hot iron. The next tw ' O hours I spent at headquarters trying to explain. All be- cause of mistaken identity. George McGovern, ’46 Page P wenty -one