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

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Canal Currents Bourne High School ADVICE I went before the faculty quite a while ago, But before I went to meet them I swore I wouldn’t go. The principal my mind did change And on that trip I went, And when at last I did return My pride was badly bent. Now let this poem remind you. All you high school Pips,” You’ll fmd your life much sweeter If you don’t get Yellow Slips. Ethel Burns, ’47 (P. S. Ethel’s probably never even had a white demerit — The Editor) HIDDEN MERIT A sandwich is most often made Of bread and what’s between. And once the middle part complained Of never being seen. You need not worry.” said the bread, For this I must confess. Without you in between us two. We’d be just crumbs, I guess.” Nancy Stephenson, ’47 FRAILTY, THY NAME IS WOMAN I heard there was a man named Bob Who, while traveling the street Of a sudden came upon the place Where his girl he was supposed to meet. Fond mem’ries started to fan the blaze His mood became more mellow But, now she came within his ken On the arm of another fellow. Francis Ojala, ’47 HEART’S DESIRE What do you think is the nicest thing? Some people like to dance and sing. Birds like to perch on trees and swung. But I like to go fishing in the Spring. Ernest Johnson, ’47 Puge Tuenly-four

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Bourne High School Canal Currents I Just Don ' t Know I WAS told to write a story but I don’t know what to write about. I have been sit ting here actually racking my brain to think of something, but I guess it’s just no use. Maybe I’ll stay here all night; so I might just as well make myself comfortable. I just took off my shoes and have a bottle of coke here beside me. Nothing has come into my mind yet, but maybe I am straining it too much; so if you’ll excuse me. I’ll listen to the radio for a little while. Well, here I am again and still nothing has occurred to me. I might just as well quit. It could be that I’m just dumb or maybe I just don’t want to put my mind on it. Could be! I guess I’ll tell you about the , no, I don’t think you would be interested. How about a trip to the moon? No, that’s fantastic. I don’t know what to write about; so I’ll just go to bed. Good-night. Mary Dodd, ’47 Essay on Study Qtudiousness is a wonderful thing (if you like it.) Great men have often ' - said, quoted, and repeated that tomorrow’s world lies in the hands of to- day’s students. Seeing that so much furor and ferment has been raised on this subjea, I thought I would find out the different methods employed by earnest students in search of learning. In this research, I have studied several types and I will endeavor, to my utmost ability, to present to you the two most common ones. First of all, we will take up the one labeled Studentia Bactilla Book- wormia.” This specimen is the type that rushes home after school, buried under a pile of books with an occasional encyclopedia or perhaps one of Ein- stein’s works for a little light reading. This specimen usually wears glasses (from working too hard), and a vacant look comes into its eye when anyone speaks of fishing or football or such. It is the type which gets home as soon as possible after school. It studies for about three hours and then eats. Then it may rest a while. Before retiring it studies another hour or two and listens to a couple of quiz programs for relaxation. Then it retires. A common name on the campus for this specimen is The Greasy Grind.’’ The second type is the poor student who is afflicted with Sportsomania.” This poor creature is in abject terror always of flunking and being left out of srorts activities. He tries hard but is always being sidetracked. For instance, he will be doing his homework and someone will tune in on a night football game. Immediately his eyes brighten and he hurries to the radio. Forgotten is tomorrow’s history exam for he is in a world where he is kicking, passing, and good for a gain every time he runs. He is a Sammy Baugh, Red Grange, Jim Thorpe and Don Hutson all in one. He’ll flunk! After I. the happy medium, have continued my studies further, I shall submit another report on students. Francis Ojala, Ph. D., Litt. D., ’47 Page Twenty -three

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Bourne High School Canal Currents REPRIEVE We go to school to learn, they say What’s in those drab textbooks. The same routine goes on and on, We heed the teacher’s looks. The let-up comes two nights a week. The nights we disobey The rime worn rule to do homew ' ork When there’s a game to play. Kenneth Jenkins, ’47 FOR ME AND YOU I was sitting by the window ' on a bright and early morn, It was the start of a new ' day, just a w ' hile after daw ' n. As I looked dow ' n on the meadow ' s. And the fields before my door. It brought back all God’s beauty Which He’d made eons before. The green-tipped trees- were filled w ' ith birds. And the meadow’s w ' ere tipped w ' ith dew. And it came to my mind that this w ' as God’s gift. His splendor given free to me and to you. Isabel Perry, ’47 WISHING ON A STAR Wishing on the evening star Gives one a certain calm delight. It never gets you very far But kind of sees you through the night. It may be just a silly thing Yet one you so desire. That little star just seems to sing; His pride you must admire. He takes his place in heaven above So all alone in space. Just give him one small w ' ink of love. He’ll keep your luck in place. Nanc} ' Stephenson, ’47 WITH APOLOGIES TO THE OLD-TIME BALLADS There w ' as a young mian from Cape Cod Who W ' as buried six feet ’neath the sod A thorn from his side And a rose from his bride Grew ' out to be joined by the Lord. Gordon Denison, ’47 Page Tiventy-jive