Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

Page 13 text:

LITERARY 11 The Small Boy By Z iven Baghdarariun He is a very inquisitive lad. How are your folks? Who will win the football game? Why do they throw passes? Where was the Fire last night? Are you working now? Why do you get all dirty when you play football? Did you catch many fish yesterday? His interest in others and things around him classifies him not as a boy who plays in the sandbox, but as one who is affected by the things with which he comes in contact. Sailing, I938's Most Popular Sport By Victor Luca: Universal Newsreel, Life, and countless other authorities claim sailing the most popu- lar sport of the 1938 season. Sailing offers the vacationist a wholly new recreation, a means of exploring the unlimited reefs and bays. Doctors of very good standing claim sailing to be one of the best remedies for nervous disorders. The owners of these boats are not members of the Four Hundred but ordinary citizens like you and me. Some people buy these boats direct from the factory, others buy them second-hand, but lim and I built our own craft. The most popular of small sailers are the Moth boats Qeleven and one-half- foot catboats with only one sail.j These boats cost in the whereabouts of two hundred dol- lars, but can be built for as little as thirty-Five dollars. The regular U. S. sailing season comes to a climax about Labor Day, but in these parts it ends later. Lake Massabesic has sailing races every Sunday until ice forms. Governor Francis Murphy donates the Govemofs Cup to the winner of a number of scheduled races over a six-mile triangular course. This year a thousand people watched one race held in August. Thousands Cincluding myself, have dis- covered new thrills lying on the decks with the spray washing their faces. Sometimes a squall-a sharp gust of wind-comes up from nowhere, it seems, and causes a knock- down. The skipper turns the boat right side up, bails the cockpit out, and it's off to the races. Who, What, and Why By Anthony Morse No one cares about him unless he's late. Heis always there-a strange white figure in the early morning mist. Striding firmly to your door he smashes down part of his heavy burden. Then his confidence seems to break. Emitting a shrill whistle, he runs from txt house, summoning his horse for the get- away. And that's all. We don't even know if he's bald or has a six-foot beard and is cross eyed. Something must be done about it. Not many people have seen him. Those who have are rather unreliable sources of in- formation, Qbeing slightly woozy at the time.j It doesn't do any good to get up early. True, your alarm does its best, but an alarm can be turned off. And it really wouldn't be very nice to set a bear-trap for him. But still, we would like to see him. Why, you might pass him in broad daylight and never know him. 'Tis a most astounding enigma. Is he a dark dreary bachelor or a happily married man leading a double life? Well, good luck to you on your search, but if you do find him, do a little favor for me. Ask him what you will, but please, while you're at it, Find out why he makes so much noise with those milk bottles every morning.

Page 12 text:

'10 IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE The New Ski Technique By lolm Mullin: Sometimes I wish the good old days were back again when skiing was a simple matter of hitching a pair of toe straps over your overshoes and gliding breathlessly down a 5- degree slope. To stop yourself, you sat down, jerked your two-dollar skis around, and stood up again. If you had poles at all they were sawed-off broomsticks. Nowadays skiing is a high-pressure, stream- lined science in which wind resistance, air pressure, and the number of degrees at which the slope slants are all taken into considera- tion. Equipment is expensive and bewilder- ing. The ski language is a peculiar mixture of Austrian profanity, Scandinavian slang, and American engineering terms. The talk is of vorlage, tempos, and gelandesprungs. The terms and jumps themselves are com- plicated, perilous gyrations. In fact, they are so fantastically complicated that I have de- cided to add a few of my own, which in my opinion are just as easy and sane as the or- dinary ski methods. I would suggest: The Rocket Reel: While proceeding down the slope, shove both poles in the snow on one side, lift your skis clear off the ground with a spring, cross them, whirl around the pole twice, come back to earth, and continue downhill. The Reverse Gimlet: While proceeding down the slope, advance one ski far enough so that you can slide the other behind it. thus crossing your legs. Now place one pole in the ground, turn around by throwinj' your weight, and go backwards. While going backwards, slide your poles in the groun spring, uncross your skis, turn around, and fall back to the ground, proceeding downh The Halsbrechen: Unfasten your harnesses, and sit down backwards on the skis. Push off with your poles, and, while going at top speel, stand up, turn around, fall back on skis facing in normal direction, walk down skis to up-ended part, return, turn around again, and sit down. The only thing that worries me is that if these turns are ever heard of, somebody will be sure to try them. I sat high on a hillg I watched the sun Sink quietly Into the west. I was alone. I sat high on a hill, I watched the moon Creep quietly Across the sky. I was alone. Friendship By lc-an Form' I saw him climb th So roughly clad, His figure bent, His eyes downcast. I knew him not. I saw his tired eyes Gaze at the moon. He loved it, too, And then I knew He was my friend. e hill

Page 14 text:

12 IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE The Average Enigma By lolzn Mullen The smart boys say he just exists. He goes to school, but he doesnit do much study- ing. He's never Hunked anything. He sits in class all day, mumbles a few words when called on, writes ordinary papers, gets along. He never gets in much trouble. He just smiles politely when the rest of his class- mates are gleefully tearing things apart and getting into trouble. He's fairly friendly with most people, but isn't very intimate with anyone. He never has much to say. Not more than three people in the school even know where he lives. School activities like dramatics and publi- cations he passes over-if wistfully, no one but himself ever knows. Sometimes he makes a half-hearted remark about suckers in school activities. Athletics don't interest him. School ath- letics he ignores, and outside he doesn't do much. He plays a little baseball and football, steadily but without much enthusiasm. He spends most of his time just watching others. Maybe he takes long lonesome hikes and swims, by himself, or perhaps with the one or two people who are slightly closer to him than the rest of the world. Social activities, dances and parties, and dates are completely outside his existence. He smiles his quiet, reserved smile at the men- tion of girls and retires to his usual place on the outside of the group. When he does go so far as to do a bit of talking, he is far from inspired. He merely makes a few ordinary comments about auto- mobiles or fishing or whatever he happens to be interested in. For he always has some in- terest with which he occupies his spare time, those apparently endless hours when he for- gets the world. Maybe he'll turn out to be a harsh, bitter Old Man on the Corner. But I like to think of him as a budding of something or other, a man who some day will make a revolution- ary discovery about his automobiles or his radio sets or whatever his lonesome hobby may be-a man who will some day leap to prominence and enjoy in his dogged, fum- bling way the limelight. 'Twas The Night Before Christmas By Emmy Connor One Christmas in my life I think I shall never forget. Something very funny hap- pened, something which makes me smile every time I think of it. I was about six years old and was still sup- posed to believe in Santa Claus. The day before Christmas I happened to be going by the storeroom when I noticed that the door was open. Naturally, I put in my head. Much to my surprise, there was Pop, strug- gling with an old red suit. I knew something was up, but, as it was so near Christmas, I thought maybe I'd better keep quiet, I slipped away and didnit say a word to any- one. That night I was supposed to go to bed and be awakened at twelve to see Santa Claus. Everything went along all right and at twelve I was up with the rest of the fam- ily-all except Pop. As time wore on I no- ticed my mother and my older brothers and sisters getting restless, talking very fast and not saying much. But still I was quiet. Iust before twelve-thirty there was a loud thumping which seemed to come from the roof, then an outburst that sounded like Pop in a temper. There was a lot of excitement and the next thing I knew we were all out in the yard. I still wonder if Pop intended to come all the way down that chimney, but, anyway, there he was, in the chimney, almost up to his shoulders, yelling like mad. He