Buxton School - Yearbook (Williamstown, MA)

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SOLITUDE The crying sands of winter's coming, Out on nothing, into nothing, Forging through a spinning world of silence. Quiet sands: a portrait of the lost forgotten earth, And man, who came to leave his step behind. - 11 lzlron Deazfau MAN IAC? HELDON, Ohio, population one thousand, was submerged in a thick coat of fog on that memorable November afternoon. It was way back in the late nineteen twenties when I was still in my teens, but I think I'll remember that old man's face as long as I live. I guess this might be clearer to all of you if I started from the beginning. Around five o'clock on this late fall afternoon was when we first noticed the old man trudging up Main Street. He seemed to have at- tracted most of the town's stray dogs, for there were at least a half dozen of them running along at his heels, yelping and growling. He had a withered look about him, with his long scraggly beard and stooped shoulders. He carried no pack or knapsack like the ordinary tramp but only a crooked stick to lean on. Paying no attention to anyone, he went over to the town bulletin board and pinned up a small piece of paper. Then laughing quietly to himself, he proceeded down the street and disappeared. As soon as he left, a few curious townspeople saunter- ed up to the bulletin board to see what the old man had placed there. After a few seconds a gasp of astonishment was echoed amongst the crowd, for the sign read: AT MIDNIGHT TOMORROW NIGHT, IN YOUR CEMETERY, I WILL RAISE SOMEONE FROM THE DEAD. The startled people scattered around in small groups and excitedly discussed the strange old man and his prophecy. Before the day was over, everyone in our small town had been told about the notice and they all speculated as to what it really meant. Very few people really believed the message, but they were all eager to know what was going to take place in the cemetery at midnight. The next evening, as early as seven o'clock, cars and buggies started arriving at the cemetery. No one had seen anything of the old man since the previous afternoon, but in a small town like ours everything that happens out of the ordinary always causes a lot of excitement. Most of the townspeople, even though they put little faith in the old man's words, spent most of the day wondering what it would be like page .rixleen

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WHY lzf il lhal if lhzlr were a ulopzan world, one devoled lo lhe realzka- lion of dreamw, lhe achievemenl of idealw, where parodoxew could exzlrl in harmony fhere would alway.r be lhowe who would find il nece.r.ra1y lo creafe new dreamf and grealer idealm The anwwer 111' hard lo .rupply, lzul lhiw much may be .raidz lhal when all lhinga' are conmidered thim .rlriving loward ullimale perleclion .reemf lhe one bawic human drive more lhan any olher which make.r life meaningful and imporlanl. In a .rmall New England lown amid lhejoolhillw of lhe Berkwhiref lhere lie.f a .rmall Jchool. I i if here in Seplember when lhe leave.r are .falling and the wind if blowing lhal lhe jfnrl car.r drive up a lonewome driveway lo un- load lheir cargo. The Hello'J and lhe Hi'.r and lhe eml1arra,r.ring hugo' and unpleawanl hand.rhake.r lhal alway.r come when one doe.r noi know exaclly wha! lo do, are all parl of lhe finrl meeling and lhe jim! day. Then lhe night wilh lhe long lalk.f about .rummer'.r advenluref and finallyjalling a.rleep in lhe new room wilh lhe new roommale and lhe new life. Here in lhe .rerene almowphere of lhe counlny wilh il.r mounlainlr and wilh il.r woodland a cla.r.r can go up inlo lhe fieldo' and learn. One doe.rn'l learn by a monolonouf voice going on hour afler hour, llul by dilrcumrion. The ,rludenl Ill' nol merely lhal parl of lhe cla.r.r lhal ia' lhe impo.rJ'ible ollfecl of lhe leacher'.r knowledge, bu! zlr emrenlially lhe cla.r.r. By demanding more lhrough curiowily and parlicipalion the leacher mu.fl mold the lime lo lhe inlerewl of lhe cla.r.r, and in .ro doing he work.r loward a goal lhal will be mo.rl benqlicial lo lhe Jludenl. Afler di1rcu.r.rion.r, and lqy piecing lo- gefher bile' of knowledge one come.r up wilh .romelhing worlhwhile and ha.r learned or beller ye! haw la.rled a bil of knowledge, and wanl.r ever .ro much lo know more. dffer all, learning al lhif .rlage lil' no! lhe beginning and ending of all educalion but lhe opening of new inlerewl and lhe dewire lo learn for a long lime lo come. Among lhewe new inlere.rl.r, crealive wriling a.r.fume.r an imporlanl place. AJ lhe following examplew will Jhow, each individual wrile.r abou! wha! he hun.relffeel.r and expre.f.fe.r himlrelf in whalever-form he choo.fe.r. page fifleen

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to see once again their loved-ones and friends who had died. This was about the most exciting thing that had happened to our little town in an awful long time. About eleven forty-five, he arrived looking just the same but with a queer smile on his face. He had no implements or tools but only a small faded leather book. He looked around at the large crowd, and they in turn grew silent and apprehensive as they waited. After a careful study of the graves, he walked over to a small one in a corner which seemed to have had little care or attention for many years. It was the grave of Mary Larson who had died ten years before after fall- ing down her cellar stairs. Her husband, Ben, a sullen and solitary man, had never remarried, but lived by himself with few friends and no relatives. Standing in front of the grave, the old man opened his little book and started to read silently to himself. Ben Larson, who had arrived late, began pushing his way to the front of the crowd to see what was happening. He had been out possum hunting that evening and seeing all the commotion at the cemetery, had come over to investigate. Liv- ing so far out of town, he had heard nothing of the old man, and when the people, in hushed whispers, explained to him what was going on he immediately grew very excited. From time to time, the old man would interrupt his reading to look up at the crowd and seeing Ben he laughed a queer croaking kind of laugh. Then he started making strange signs with his hands as if to call the spirit out of the grave. By this time, the expression on Ben Larson's face had turned from one of astonishment to a look of intense horror and fright. Then the old man turned to the people and raising a hand to silence them he said: Now it is time to . . . Iust then, Ben Larson uttered a horrible scream and grabbing his hunting gun and stumbling toward the old man he fired three shots at him and screamed: I won't have her ghost coming back to haunt me. I didn't mean to push her. I won't let her come back. Then grabbing up his gun again, he fired the fourth shell into his own head, and fell over on top of his wife's grave. The old man, who had died instantly, lay over to the side with the same strange smile on his face. The next day there was a clipping on the town bulletin board from the state capitol's daily newspaper, reading: Maniac escapes from state asylum. He is about seventy years old and believes he has supernatural powers. - Hnn Jlalheww page .revenlcen