Bucksport High School - Hillcrest Yearbook (Bucksport, ME)

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APPRECIATION Appreciation! A well known word, isn't it? But how many of the seniors, undergraduates, too, actually know the meaning of the word? Appreciation is something that arises from the pit of one's soul. It is not an attribute that can be increased or impaired at will, on the contrary, it is entirely ab- stract and originates only spontan- eously from within. How many of us appreciate all that has made our high school car- eer possible? Do we ever- stop to realize the dollars spent by our town to main- tain an institution of high standard in order that we might obtain the education necessary for an average living, or the basis for our continued search for knowledge? Do we think of the hours of endurance and patience, understanding and advice, uhselfishly given us by the faculty members in an effort to aid us in locating ourselves in the vast area of learning through which we have groped for the past four years? Do we give a thought to the months of want, weeks of oppres- sion, days of anxiety and worry, years of silent sorrows happily borne by our beloved parents who were willing to sacrifice all in or- der that we might have an oppor- tunity to get a start in this topsy- turvy world? They bore the bur- den of expenses. They surrender- ed luxuries which they might have enjoyed. They spent hours of con- triving, nights of planning, days of laboring, that we might have the chance which they, possibly, were deprived of. It is with these in mind that I speak of appreciation as something abstract. It is a feeling that cannot be expressed by the pencil, it is an inward feeling which comes from the heart. And so, as we receive our diplo- mas, seniors, let us regard them. not as a testimonial of the end of our school career, but as a signi- finance of the gratitude due to all who have helped unlock the door of opportunity to us. -Patricia Phillips, '40. WHY SOME TEACHERS GET GRAY Silence reigned throughout the small hall of the Castine hospital. The only noise that could be dis- tinguished was the clomp, clomp of one pair of shoes. In these shoes my dears, stood all the height of six feet two and a half inches. This six feet two and a half had been steadily pacing the hall with all the grace and dignity of a school teach- er. His eyes were glowing with a strange nature. A scared look could be determined on the face of this person. The white walls dimmed before him. His head reeled and shook upon his tired shoulders, but he still paced back and forth. His eyes were glued upon the little white door ahead of him. It seem- ed so far away. He had been a father before but nevertheless his emotions were not under control. Page 18 He kept repeating to himself, What are you, man or mouse? Stand straight, chest out, chin in, shoulders ba-ck. Take it like a man. But no! This didn't work. He sat on the bench near the window and drew out his handker- chief. He wiped his wet brow. Beads of perspiration covered his tired face. Finally a nurse opened the little white door but he couldn't get up. He couldn't move. His eyes met her smiling face. Happiness beam- ed on his face as she said, It's a boy. He sighed heavily and once more wiped his brow. He was a father again. He threw back his shoulders, chest out, chin in, and went through the little white door like a man. -Frances Goodie, '40.

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xv-I-X th' lv' if .Qi cg .lllilili Y The major function of the Hillcrest if 19-10 ' . 4 f is a portrayal of the events which have taken place during the year at BHS. Although today such a yearbook does not have the sentimental value to the stu- dents that it will in years to come, it serves to remind the people for what reasons they are sending their children to school. For making this, the Hillcrest of 1940, what it is, much credit is due Miss Britten, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Coffin, who have willingly and generously given their time and advice. We Wish to thank 1- . our ac vertisers who, by their support, have made it financially possible. Charles Kloss Editor-in-chief Page 17

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The 3:15 buzzer sounds, hardly heard, in the whistling force of the March wind. But ever watchful eyes knew by the clocks that re- lease had come. A straggling of hurried footsteps became a heavy scuffling tread as various rooms were emptied of their classes. One by one, giggling girls, silly boys, sedate girls and dignified boys, braved the sudden change of tem- perature in heated rooms to the crisp challenigng air of out-doors. Through the mud and slush they ran, walked, skipped or blew to the sidewalk, trying to become accus- tomed to the dazzling sunshine. So long: see you tomorrow. Don't forget, seven o'clock. I'll be up, 3'15 Bye. Back and forth the voices sing. While inside, ten weary teachers sit back and mop their foreheads, enjoying a minute's res- pite. Soon they'll have a second session, namely, detention students, but, for the moment-A hush set- tles over the spacious school. Foot- steps echo strongly. Suddenly a measured, firm and steady tread is heard. Those who are able, rush for cover. The more invincible ones stand their ground and hear the time-worn familiar voice say: No loitering in the corridors, and the measured tread passes with not a falter. School is definitely out, it is 3:16. -Adele Crooker, '40. THE ART OF SELECTING CHRISTMAS CARDS You know the selecting and send- ing of Christmas cards is an art and requires real skill on the part of the sender. If you don't think so lis- ten to this example of a modern college lass, skilled in the art of se- lecting and sending. She sits gazing at the cards dis- played before her and as she starts her selecting she mumbles to her- self: Let's see now-here's a cute one for Jim--he sent such a nice one last year. And here's the prettiest one lor Mother-that twenty dol- lars she sent yesterday certainly came in handy. Here's the senti- mental one for Bill-the engage- ment ring he gave me at Thanks- giving is such a beautiful thing! Now where's that homely one with the hideous flowers? Oh there it is. Afraid I'd lost it. That would never do because I bought that es- pecially for Aunt Laura. The old skinflint! Never even gave me a Christmas present last year and she's got so much money she doesn't even know what to do with it. Hmph! I could tell her a few Ways to get rid of some of it. I wouldn't bother to send even a homely card but 1'm afraid Dad would find out and wouldn't give me the fur coat he's promised for Christmas. Let's see, here's the pile of duplicate cards to send to the other aunts and uncles. Hope they don't compare them because I need the traditional stockings they always send, but it's such a job to select different cards for each relative. I've already mailed those penny Christmas cards to the kids back home. I suppose I should have bought more expen- sive ones but, honestly, if I had, I would11't have been able to indulge in that heavenly banana royal this afternoon. Oh! I nearly forgot to send one to the Peckhams. Boy, that was close! If I'd forgotten them they might have forgotten me when it came time for them to make their Christmas trip to the home town, and I might have been left behind! As you can see by this example it is a wise person who knows how to select and send Christmas cards so that the sender profits by it. -Betty Barnaby, '40, Page 19