Camden High School - Megunticook Yearbook (Camden, ME)

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T'H'E MEGU NTICOOK I5 HARRY'S FURLOUGH Harry Weare was not going home on his furlough as most boys do. He was spend- .ing his time helping a farmer whom he had never seen or heard of before. Mr. Jackson, the farmer, picked Harry up 'at his camp and while driving to his farm told him about his son, Andy, who was a flyer somewhere in the Pacific. Harry listened intently to the whole story of how much he missed Andy because 'they were so close, what Andy's favorlte dishes were, and how he always called him 'my boy. He even said that he would prob- .ably be calling Harry my boy before he went back. Dinner was ready with all the dishes Andy liked when they arrived at the great rambling farm house. Andy's favorite pie turned out to be apple which was also Harry's. It certainly was the best he had ever tasted. . The first 'thing that caught Harry's eye was a picture of a boy in uniform in a sil- ver frame. No wonder they were so proud Of him as he looked so handsome in his uni- form. - The two weeks of Harry's stay went by rapidly with Mr. Jackson calling him my boy, just as though he were Andy. In fact he really did seem to take the place of their boy overseas. The night before his departure Mrs. Jack- son knocked on his bedroom door and ask- cd to come in. She had a warm knit sweater which she gave Harry saying, This is just a small token of our appreciation. You have been not only a great' help with the work but also our son. We never 'told you this be- fore, but our son was killed in action three years ago. Mr. Jackson likes to believe and pretend that some day he'll come back to us. You have made my husband smile which I baven't seen him do since we got the tele- gram. I would like to meet the mother of as fine a boy as you. Of course Harry missed going home on his furlough, but he knew his Mom had two youngensons who weren't in the ser- vice to take care of her. He was more than glad that he had helped the brave Mr. and Mrs. jackson find happiness for a few weeks. Blanche Bryant, '47 Camden, maine feb. 20, 1945 bout ate ofclock dear pal i be goin 'to tell u about de swell basketball teem we had dis yere. to start with we gut tin1 Grindle who iS a gi from Millville or up thata way som- whares, he played lef forard and he done a swell job when he want thinking bout the farm. then theres Jack Williariis he wus a leetle gi, who played rite forard and u can bet yore last bag o cow feed thet he wus rite in thar for all he wus worth. Dead-head Allen was a long gi who play- ed center, he wus a gud man cuz he wus long nuff to git them passes an git em in the baskit. that Leonard made a swell lef guard whin he want 'thinkin bout Rockland say he wus doin al rite down thar, but he knowed bas- detball just as wel as he knowed pool an he wus a gud man with a cue. an we musn't fergit Bryant, say he has played baskitball evey sense he waz high as a chicken, ess sir, he sure wuz fond of chick- ens well I be gittin off the subjec. we had a swell teem this yere. we only played one game the't didn't look gud' an thet wus whin Rockland took us ovor, well thet wus an off nite fer us. but on the hole we done dern gud this yere. yores truly till the hens stop cacklin Bob Richards, '45 - C H S - A MODERN DAVID CDedicated to Min Katherine Libby, The Ford is my auto, I shall not want. fanotherl It maketh me to lie down beneath it, It soreth my soul. It leadeth me into the Paths of Ridicule For its names sake, - Yea, though I ride through the valleys I am towed up the hills. I fear much evil, my rod and my engine dis- comfort me My radiator runneth over. I've repaireth my blowouts in the presence of mine enemies, Surely if this thing follows me all the days of my life I shall dwell in the bughouse forever. Anonymous, '46

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THE MEGU NTICOOK' I7 SHIRTS OR SHEETS Before journeying to my cottage on the coast of Maine last summer, I took ten of my favorite Lady Pepperell sheets to the Chinese Laundry, leaving instructions with my sister 'to get them in two weeks. I returned in late August,.healthy and sunburned from salt air exposure, to find lying on my bed in three neat rows, not my favorite Lady Pepperrell sheets-but ten white, stiff collared shirts! Ohhh! I wailed, What happened to my favorite Lady Pepperrell sheets? This situation demanded an immediate explanation. I soon discovered that my sis- ter and the Chinaman had had a disagree- ment as to whether shirts or sheets was written on 'the bill, the unfortunate part was my sister had forgotten her glasses and could not argue against him. I did not wait for the following day to iron out this difficulty and with the ten shirts carefully held under my arm, I marched to the laundry. It was a small shop under an inexpensive brownstone, apart- ment house with narrow stone steps lead- ing down from the sidewalk where you could glimpse the dirt streaked window and the words, Laundry- Sun Yet Sen. A't the moment the little, miniature, silver bell above the door tinkled, Sun Yet Sen himself appeared. Last july, I began peacefully, I brought ten of my favorite Lady Pepperrell sheets in here to be laundered. Evidently-there was a misunderstanding-for my sister brought home shirts. Here they are 3-now I'd like my sheets. 'tMe no gut no sheets. His face remained expressionless. But here's the bill. I waved the white slip of paper before his eyes, my calmness diminishing rapidly. Me no gut your sheets, his tone was de- finite. But you have, I argued helplessly, an- ger rising in my throat. Me no gut sheets. Now me take shirts. VVhy-that's outrageousf, I was so an- gered that my voice was only a whisper. I'll call the police if you don't give me my shirts,-I mean sheets. Help! Police! screamed the red ski1't- ed Chinaman. I stood motionless and speechless as 'two burly policemen ran down the stair in ans- wer to his shrill summons. What's the trouble? demanded the tall one, and I felt a curious sensation as two pistols were aimed at me. He stole my favorite Lady Pepperrell sheets, I managed to gasp. V Me no gut her sheets. He has- and I poured the whole story in the perplexed ears of the policemen. After changing the direction in which the gun pointed, they searched high and low for my Lady Pepperrell sheets, but they were no- where. Lady,-you'll have to take the shirts! Oh, I wailed, but I have no man in the house! ' The disturbed face of the blue uniformed man brightened, and he leaned forward to whisper in my ear. I agreed and the next day the neighbors were puzzled to find this sign on my door, Man wanted-to fit ten shirts! Eleanor Brown, '47 -- C H S -' THE TOWN CLERK An eccentric old man who had been the local clerk for thirty years was the first person I saw when I entered the small scrag- gly town of Hampton. The first time I had visited there, it had been prosperous and happy. But the long arms of time had en- veloped 'the thriftiness and merged its yquthfulness into decrepit age. A specimen of its work approached me now. Although actually only fifty years of age, Mr. Mars- den gave the definite impression of eighty at the least. His stooped, round shoulders told anyone clearly that no attention had been paid to mother's, father's and teach- er's warnings, Shoulders up, chest out, and head high ! The scrawny, tapering fin- gers holding an intricately carved cane be- spoke the clerical work, without bodily toil. which he was still doing. Insufficient light and prolonged use of bright brown eyes had made them dull and without enthusiasm. His once smooth face was now wreathed in countless wrinkles. Because of the unusual- ly bent form, his medium height of 5 feet IO inches was now reduced to 5 feet 8 inches. As there was no need for dressy clothes in such a town, Mr. Marsden more than followed the example by wearing cloth- es which looked as though they had been slept in for at least ten years. I felt as though I should in some way make every- one understand that this example may be- come common throughou't the world if in-