Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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THE ORACLE speed, streamline, and sport we may see 'ir woodland dell, our rabbit and squir- ACI. And who knows? We might even see a deer! CARL P. -IAMES, JR. BOBBY'S SHOES When I was hve years old or so, I used to play almost every day with a boy named Bobby who lived in the house across the yard. Between the two houses ran a fence, over which he used to climb in order to shorten the way. The after- noon I saw him coming by the sidewalk I wondered about it. When he arrived, he pointed to his new brown shoes. The mystery was solved, he didn't want to scratch the shiny new shoes. I didnlt like the idea of having black shoes while his were brown. I told him so. We sat on the steps trying to think of a way to make them black like mine. He suggested that we get some black paint, but we didn't know where we could get any. Finally I thought of stove polish. He agreed. I went into the kitchen, pre- tending to get a drink of water. It was fortunate for me that mother was enter- taining two neighbors. I rushed out the back door with the polish and the brush. We hid behind the lilac tree, and I pro- ceeded with the painting. I was quite proud of my work. After I had finished, I went into the house to put the polish away. I wasn't so careful this time: I didn't care if mother did see me. Of course I didnyt realize that I had got some polish on my face and hands, and that I had ruined one of my best dresses. Mother said not a word. She put me before a looking glass. I was frightened and began to cry. I didn't know who the little girl was standing before me. Mother tried to make m: understand that it was I. She went out to see how I had acquired so much d'rt. When she saw Bobby's shoes col- ored black, she was very angry. I often wonder if Bobby received pun- ishment similar to mine. When we were once again allowed to play together, we never dared mention the affair. Mystery of long ago, silence of child- hood fear. KATHLEEN DUMONT THE MILK MAN The Milk Man comes to our door three or four times a week in the early morning hours and deposits a bottle of milk. If there is an empty bottle there, he picks it up, drops it in his rack, and departs noisily down two flights of stairs to the street. His wagon attempts to compen- sate its owner's noise by automobile-tired wheels. Although his visits are usually between five and seven, there is one day of the week that he returns at ten. When you open the door in response to his knock, he presents you with a yellow or white sheet of paper, on which is totalled the amount of your bill. If you see that he is in no hurry, you invite him in. The conversation invari- ably starts in the same manner. This sub- ject is the weather. Talking about the weather starts the conversation, whether you are talking to a milk man, a store- keeper, or a friend. The conversation, having gained its initiative, continues without interruption. You tell him about your aches and pains and ills, and ask him, as a man of the business world, about the business conditions, have they

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THE serenity in his work cannot be doubted. It is a dingy, dirty shop where he works, and the odors are rank. The only light is his forge, where he transforms innocent pieces of iron into shoes for the most blue-blooded of animals. There is the dank, musty smell of redhot shoes being dipped into cold water, mingling with the odor of the sweat of horses. Through all the smoke and haze you can see his massive jaw and high forehead, topped with an unruly mop of coal-black hairy his eyes never leave his work for an instant. His mighty forearm rises and his mighty back, clothed only in under- shirt, is shiny with the perspiration of hard labor. If you speak to him, you know by the blank eyes that there is a false air of un- derstanding about him. Like Millett's Man with a I-Ioef' he is not of high in- telligence. He possesses, nevertheless, a joy in his work, a loyalty to those he serves, that might well be the envy of any man. Longfellow's immortal poem has made him a man of the ages. Lols SMITH JUST SOMETHING When I see a young man coming down the home stretch in a race I wonder to myself what he is thinking about. Is he glorying in his perfect physical condi- tion that is enabling him to win? Is he thinking of the peaceful look he will see in the eyes of the coach? Is he fighting for personal glory? Is he thinking of joy he will possess if he wins? So many peo- ple think they can hide their thoughts but they can't hide them from an observ- ing person. If it is joy, the eyes betray. OR ACLE 15 If it is shrewd contriving, again the eyes betray. Why can,t people under- stand that their eyes reveal? What will the young man who is coming down the home stretch do when he crosses the finish line a winner-wait around for congrat- ulations or rush over to see the rnan who made it possible for him to win-his coach? If the young man waits for praise of his friends-well-a sigh is evoked from yours truly. If the young winner rushes to his coach with eyes alight and eager to see if coach is satisHed-well- do you wonder why the ghost of a smile hovers about me? Do you mind if I leave now? HCHUCKH CARTER THE MODERN HIGHWAY Where is the beauty one used to see when traveling from one city to another? XVhere are the cars which used to travel so slowly yet gave us such wonderful chances to view the countryside? In trav- elling today one does not think of look- ing for beauty, all is for speed and time. The beautiful grove of trees where you once stopped and ate your lunchg the rippling brook, beside which you sat and read or restedg the occasional rabbit which hopped out of the bushes and the squirrel which came and let you feed him -where are all these? What happened to them? If you will look carefully, as you drive along the highway, which is fenced in by billboards, you can see a hot-dog stand where the grove of trees stood, you can see a patch over the brook, which now runs through a pipeg you can see the noisy crowd which has fright- ened off or, more likely, run over and killed the rabbit and squirrel. When the people of today overcome their lust for

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THE improved lately? He, in return, answers your queries and talks with justifiable pride about his pretty young wife and his two young children. Together you discuss the affairs of the country, voice your opinion of the President and other prominent officials, and formulate ex- tensive plans to construct Utopian gov- ernment. But what does he do off duty? You know by virtue of his job that he starts work at two in the morning. When does he sleep? This question is brought to fur- ther emphasis when you see him at a thea- tre or other public place some evening. When does he find time to be with his family? Are his habits similar to ours? CARLETON CHALMERS TENNIS When soft breezes begin to blow, the snow melts away, the grass becomes green, the birds return, and the days grow warmer and longer, what do I think of? Tennis! What joy it is to bring out the old racket reposing in the darkest corner of the closet, where it has been stored away all winter! To grasp it in my hands once again and swing it up, and hit the ball hard and swift, making it spin over the net and land on the very place at which I aimed. I-Iow I love to get up with the sun and play a couple of sets! No matter how down-hearted, how depressed I may feel, before the end of the set my spirits are up again, and all is well with this old world after all. How good the wind created by my racing feels against my cheek as I speed from one side of the court to the other. How tri- umphant I feel if I hit the ball squarely and send it flying over the net so that it is OR ACLE an impossibility for my opponent to .... it back! I-Iow happy and contented I and with the world after a spirited set of tt.. nis out in the open court, with the sun blazing hot and my face and arms and back becoming every minute a deeper tan. I-Iow victorious one feels even though he may have lost! What a glow- ing picture of physical and mental health -- alert, keen-minded, and above all things happy! Happy in the joy and zest of living in the great out of doors. RUTH H1XZEI.TON THE FRESHMAN'S THOUGHT Freshman to Senior: Well, big shot, I'll bet you're mighty glad to be getting through. Senior: Think so? Freshman: lim sure I would be. Don't tell me you're sorry you're leaving! Senior: Aw, I don't know. Freshman: Well, it seems to me that four years would be enough. fAt this the Senior looked at the Freshman with pity.j Senior: There are some things in life that we would like very much to haveg we work and strive to attain a certain thing and when we do attain it, we are not so happy as we thought we should be. Freshman: Do you mean to say that you've looked forward to graduation and worked hard for it and now that it's come you,re not so happy about it ? Senior: Exactly! Freshman: Well, I declare!