Chelmsford High School - Yearbook (Chelmsford, MA)

Page 67 text:

1947 YEAR Book all those subjects I usually am, I can read a book or just daydream. Oh! daydream' ing, that's the life for me. I love it, but it doesn't get me aywhere. I guess I have to take courses, and they are all equal in my estimation. Now, that leaves me with no theme to write about! ToNY CHANCEY '47 WHAT LICENSE? Our hero starts to drive a car at a ten' der age. When I say he starts to drive, I mean he goes through the motions in a comfortably parked car. Soon he can, by successfully stripping the gears, start, stop, and turn around quite well in a ten acre lot. How he got the car into the lot, I real' ly don't know. Suddenly he reaches the stage where he learns to drive into one side of the garage and right out through the other. You see, he makes his own doors. He goes through curves instead of around them, being a direct sort of a chap by dis- position. Having discovered that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, our skillful driver proudly exhibits a slip of pink paper, which is known as a driver's license. This license, issued by the Secref tary of Safety Last Council, I. M. Reck' less, entitles him to drive around, over, or under any car, bus: street car, auto, or freight train, and to frighten old women and children at will. The holder of this permit holds the right of way, is not al' lowed to drive less than 80 miles per hour through traflic, and is expected to disobey all signals, particularly policemen's whistles. He is entitled to all the road at all times, to make wrong turns at will, and to ignore entirely red stop lights, stop signs and tick' ets given by the special policemen. Our skillful driver figures that his license is good until death ---- and usually it is! ALICE MCHUGH '47 MOTHERS LITTLE MAN Perhaps at some time in your life you have been deceived by outward appearance. Perhaps more than once you have been fooled by inexperienee. Well, whatever blows the Fates have dealt you, remember that I too have been victimized. I'Iere's what happened to me back in the dark thirf ties. It was a typical spring day, bright and sun' ny. Birds were singing and apple blossoms were in full bloom. You might wonder how even the Fates could be insidious on such a day, but wait and see! Alas, what misery! what woe befell me! I was suddenly cast from the carefree, joy' ous state of boyhood into the burdensome, woeful status of maturity. The reason for this calamity? Long trousers! I had reached the masterful age of ten, and Mother- very decent of herwthought her little boy would look manly in long pants. So the short pants, familiar, comfortable, worn aff fairs, were laid aside, and on came the trousers with suspenders and all the rig' ging. My first effort to get properly inside of my new raiment was disastrous. You see, I had very inexpertly inserted both feet in a single aperture, and, unable to proceed eff fectively, I picked myself off the floor fre' qucntly. But getting into the contraption was only one misery, wearing it was a se' ries. Like an elephant trying to climb a ladder, very often I had accidents. Mother had not had too much luck at the hit or miss method of guessing sizes and had vastly overestimated my proportions. Durf ing the course of the day I was constantly treading the hem. I walked on my trousers, not in them, and unconsciously beautifully polished Mother's waxed floors. Moreover, I could have dispensed with my shirt, as the pantaloons-doubtless they were tail- ored by a tentfmaker-covered me nicely as far as my armpits. Neither time nor words did I waste in expressing my resentment, and joy of joys, again I was free! No ball and chain, no fetters, no tripping, no flopping. But hapf piness is short lived and woe is merely post' poned. The time comes to each mother's son when he must inure himself to the dictates of the civilized world, disagreeable though they may be. Eventually I yielded to the inf evitable. I slowly accustomed myself to the conventional men's wear, and now, as you can see, I am a slave to the dictum of fash' ion. HECTOR MCDONALD '47

Page 66 text:

CHEi.MsFoaD HIGH ScHooL FISHING Every boy has at one time or another been fishing. Perhaps he had only a freshly cut birch sapling with a string and a pin, or, if a little more fortunate, Dad's cast'off rod and reel, but he went fishing, and that's the main thing, for he has become a par' ticipant in one of America's greatest out' door sports. He has become, literally, one of the thousands of sportsmen who take to the streams and ponds when the open sea' son arrives, in quest of the wily trout, bass, pickerel, and bullhead. He has been initiatf ed into the worldfold order of those who know, as they think, where the prize specimens of their favorite species are hid' ing, and who hold that knowledge a secret from the world. There is something about this sport that can be matched by no other. It comes part- ly from the feeling of being out early in the morning as the sun is just raising its scarlet head above the huge, solemn pines. It comes partly from the sound of the lit' tle wandering brook that gurgles its way among the mossy rocks down to the deep, dark pools below. It comes partly from the tang of the frosty atmosphere and the thrill of a fighting brookie thrashing about on an end of a seven foot leader, his splendid body leaping and whipping the blackish waters of the pool. Yes, there certainly is a thrill in fishing that can not be equalized by anything else in this world. But the actual fishing is not the only fun that comes from this Hne sport, nor is its enjoyment merely seasonal. There is the fun of poring over tackle on a cold winter's night by the fireside. There is the gloating over a finely varnished bamboo rod, a ma' roon-colored automatic reel, and a hundred varifcolored flies. And can one fail to men' tion the pleasure that is in the pages of simple sporting magazines, where the search for new and better tackle is never ending. To me the pleasantest invitation in the world is, Let's go fishing! Horus WILKINS JR. '47 SCI-IGOLDAYS Do you recall your first day in school, when you entered the first grade classroom with your mother by your side? Do you remember how everyone laughed and talked, and how selffconscious you felt as you walked into the room? The boys had on new knickers, with white shirts that weren't too white when they returned home because of a fight in the school yard with a new friend or spilled milk at lunch time. The girls had on new dresses and wore long pigtails tied with big bows which were no advantage because boys just loved to tease girls by pulling their pigtails or putting them in nearby ink wells. The next few days of school were not as difiicult as the first because you were getting used to the routine, and maybe you liked the teacher a lot better than you did the first day. Maybe you even liked her enough to bring her an apple at one time or another. The days and the years soon passed, and the boys went from knickers to long trouf sers and started to use hair tonic on their hair. And the girls went from long pigtails to curls, and into skirts and sweaters. Then you graduated from grammar school and started high school, the best years of your life. More years have passed and soon you will graduate from high school, and some day you will recall all the silly and nice things you did in high school. Not yet, but some day, today will be a lovely memory and you'll say, Remember when-? and you will sigh, remembering. LILLIAN Ramon '47 MY FAVORITE SUBJECT What is my favorite period? Now lct me see, what subjects do I have? There's English? No, I'm afraid that isn't my favof rite. Mathematics? Hmm, I don't know, I'm not very fond of math, Well, that leaves me with economics, ofiice practice, history, and typing. Come to think about it, none of them seem to appeal to me at all! I wonder why I took them. Maybe there wasn't anything else, but that's be' side the point. Gee, I'm not getting very far! I can't seem to think right now that I like any' thing but study period. In study I can do anything I want to-well, almost anything. I can do homework if I have any left over, or if I am sick of school work, which with

Page 68 text:

CHELMsEORD HIGH SCHOOL ON TAKING CARE OF CHILDREN Buzz! The telephone is ringing. I dash to answer it, thinking of what I will do this afternoon. Hello? Oh! Yes. NO, I'm not doing anything this afternoon. Certainly. I'd love to take care of Janie and Tommy. All right. Bye. Bang goes the receiver and gone are my plans for the afternoon. As I ring the doorbell of the darlings' home, bang, a cap pistol goes Off in my ear. That's Tommy, Mummy's little man. So playful. Finally my hat and coat are off, and here comes Janie to kiss me with cook' ie smeared all over her. That's Daddy's lit' tle sugar plum. Mummy leaves with instructions as to what to feed the darlings for supper. Janie, trying to be so helpful, decides to give her kitty some milk. Result, one quart Of milk on the kitchen floor. At last, the children are in bed for the afternoon. Thank goodness. Peace for an hour or two. The dishes are done and put away in record time and I am comfortably on the couch with a good book. My good' ness! What's that thump on the stairs? To my surprise there appears Tommy sliding down the stairs on the laundry bag. Mummy's little man once again in bed, I start down the stairs. Janie decides she wants a drink. As nothing can induce her to go back to bed, I get her dressed. I hear Tommy cough, so I go in to see him and am met by a room full of feathers. Mummy's little darling got a pair of scisf sors and cut up a pillow. Now the three of us are Outdoors, swing' ing. Soon the clock strikes five and time for supper. Janie doesn't like potatoes so she decides to throw them at Tommy. The food is gone, the dishes done, and there's Mummy. Were the children good? she asks. Oh, yes, I reply. Wow derful. Now I'm home recuperating from my af- ternoon's fun. MAUREEN DANE '47 WHY PARENTS GET GRAY When I recall my childhood days of so long ago, I chuckle to myself to think of some of the amusing incidents that oc' curred. One recollection in particular en' tertains me. I was about five years old. My mother called me for supper. As I sat down, I did not fail to notice a delicious chocolate pudf ding, and my mouth watered. Father prof ceeded to fill my plate with carrots, steak, potato, and spinach. I began to pick at the steak, I ate none of the carrots and just a small amount Of spinach. Mother said, Brown, you haven't touched those carrots, and you know you must eat them before you can have your dessert. I squirmed and mumbled sulkily, I dOn't like carrots. My father interrupted firmly with, Well, you are going to eat them just the same. I retorted saucily, I don't tell you what to eat, do I? At that moment a large hand reached me. I jumped from the table and ran to my room, slamming every door as I went. In seclusion I made my future plans. I'd show them. I'd run away and then they would be sorry, and when they had huntf ed for years and cOuldn't find me, my fa' ther would die of a broken heart. I dragged out my suitcase and began to pack. After Hnishing this, I went down and told my parents the drastic decision that they had driven me to. Then I put on my coat, took my suitcase, and left with great dignity. Five minutes later found mc standing on our front porch. I couldn't de- cide where to go! I stood there for ten min' utes more. I went back into the house, and my mother asked me if I was staying. I said, No, I just want a glass of water. After taking five minutes to drink my water, a magazine with colored pictures caught my eye. I asked if anyone would mind if I looked it Over. My father gave my mother a peculiar look and said it would be perfectly all right. SO I settled down in a big chair and poured over the pretty pictures for nearly an hour, until my eyes began to droop and my head to nod. At nine O'clOck mother announced casually that it was time to retire. Her daughter went out On the porch, got her suitcase, hastily scurried to bed, and I don't think Mother ever heard any more from me about running away--or about refus- ing vegetables either! FLORENCE MORRELL '47