Chelmsford High School - Yearbook (Chelmsford, MA)

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CHELMsFoRn HIGH SCHOOL PHYSICS FOR GIRLS The most terrible thing that could ever happen to a girl is a course in physics, un- less she is one of the rugged modern indif vidualists. Learning the principles of the lever, the laws of motion, and the operation of a generator and a motor are, in my es' timation, not only nonessential, but imposf sible for a lady of the gentler type. Take me, for instance. I am definitely of the gentler sort. Why rack my brain a whole semester trying to realize that H: .2412Rt? Why should I understand fif I couldlj the four strokes of a gasoline en' gine? And what care I about measuring ref sistance with the Wheatstone bridge? Be that as it may, I signed up for the course, and in the natural order of events it comes time to do the assignment. I open my book and make a very determined effort to study. The diagrams swim before me, and technif cal words, such as armature, centrifugal, coulomb, eddy current, electvophoms, Fraunhofer lines, manometric flames, ophf thalmoscope, stereopticous, and synchrof nous motors so confuse and scare me that my few simple wits leave me in a complete mental void. As the book docsn't help me, I resolve to try the notes I took down in class, only to find I noted all the lesser facts and none of the important ones, and anyway I can't read what I do have. In desperation I go out to the garage to try to match the parts of the car with the diagram in the book. l crawl under the car, and when I gaze at it from the vantage point of a cold cement floor, there are so many nuts, bolts, screws, springs, gears, and so much grease withal on the eontrap' tion, I forget all about matching anything in my bewilderment. The nightmare of bolts pursues me to the very end of the day when I try to sleep, and my brain ref frolves as fast as the generator I'm supposed 'to know all about. In spite of all this, don't let me discourf age you, girls. But remember when you make out your program for next year, just skip over physics, that is, unless of course, it is your most secret and most cherished ambition to become a professional grease monkey! MARY MULCAHY '47 SPEAKING IN JUNIOR ASSEMBLY Nervous excitement can be caused in many ways. To me the surest way is speak' ing before an audience. Let me recall my experience in junior Assembly. The moment arrived. I had been an' nounced, and I bravely walked to the rosf trum. I was now before the audience and I gave the name of my topic. I spoke in a clear voice. Good work, Jimmie, I thought to myself. Then it was time to start my oration. I saw eyes staring at me from below like a thousand gleaming daggers. I swallowed. My voice faltered and my knees began to shake. Somehow the most crucial point of my speech arrived. My nervousness increased. If I put my mind upon keeping my knees from knocking, my voice stammered and falteredg if I concentrated upon my voice, I found my self shaking like a tuning fork. My clothes felt like a clinging wet towel. I found myself eagerly but alas, too soon- saying the last few lines of my speech. Realizing my mistake, I started back over the regular course, hurrying until I again arrived at the longed for conclusion. I tried to put that ending over in the effective manner in which I had been coached, but it didn't work. ' After the horror was over and I had ref treated to my scat, I concluded that no ex- perience life could offer could ever be worse, and having endured such misery, no trial could ever be unbearable! To this day I have never altered that conclusion. JAMES WHITWORTII '47 BLUE SKIES Oh, glad we see blue skies break through The clouds so dull and gray, ' The clouds that just this morn we thought Would darken all our day. So through the clouds that fret the mind, The ray of hope shines bright, The sun of happiness breaks through And blue skies bless our sight. ARTHUR EDWARDS '47

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1947 YEAR Book crystals into a small machine that grinds the crystals into powder. As you can see, there's no end to his abilities! Now that he has his substance prepared, he proceeds deliberately and forcibly to fill the man-sized cave that he has dug out of my back molar, and I mean forcibly! The job is now complete, except for some nasty tasting mouth wash. Boy, what an experience! ' And to think that after my going through all this, the man has the nerve to ask me for money in return for his services! And more than all else, he says cheerfully as I leave, I'll see you next Thursday at 10 A M IVIATILDA CAPuANo '47 MY GREAT FEAR People talk about fears. Most people have many apprehensions, and most of them are quite silly. My fear is my one and only, and it is far from being silly. Every two months we get our report cards, and there is never a sadder day at my house than that. Well, anyway, last marking period I got my card, and what I saw! Not one, not two, but three of the most beautiful F's you ever laid eyes on! That's one thing the teachers can do, make beautiful F's. They're always so-o-o neat and so-o-o well written. All I could think of was what my parents were going to say when they saw my card. I knew that they wouldn't appreciate the teacher's hard work to make those F's as I did! Wheii I got home, my father said, Hand it over, so that I did, unwillingly of course. One look was all that was need- ed. If you haven't guessed what my great fear is by this time, I'll tell you. Oh, you guessed? Yes, that's right. It's my father's right hand. LURRAINE Boucrisa '47 I LATE ARRIVAL lt was the night of the Senior dance. I had left my partner of the evening at her doorstep, after having observed all the formalities to which young gentlemen are heirs. I had danced all my duty dances, held her coat, helped her over two inch steps, stuffed my pockets with the customary lip- stick - handkerchief - rouge - powder puff - mascara - comb collection, fed her refresh- ments, and paid the proper number of usual compliments. It had been a wonderful eve- ning, and I drove through the town in an agreeable and hazy state of reminiscence. I was definitely pleased with myself. Sud- denly and without warning I was awakened from my happy retrospect by a single mel- ancholy note of the village church bell. One o'clock! and, in the midst of my recol- lections, growing to such dimensions that it overshadowed all else, loomed the memo- ry of my own voice saying, Yes, Dad. I'll surely have the car home by twelve. Although I had already exceeded the al- lotted time by an hour, I stepped on the accelerator. Luckily the house looked as peaceful as Grant's Tomb as I coasted noiselessly through the yard and in breath- less silence slid the car into the garage. Then, as luck would have it, alighting, I planted my large foot squarely on the cat's tail. Why felines always stick out their tails directly in the way of my advancing size tens, I never could guess. Fortunately, in spite of all, the house remained quiet and dark. My key slipped cautiously into the lock, and slowly and gently I pushed open the door. Oh! How I wished I had oiled those hinges the previous week as I had said I would! Climbing up the creaking stairs in stocking feet and with shoes in hand, and quaking at every stealthy step, I passed the closed door of Father's room and sneaked furtively into my own. No lights cast brightness on the familiar objects of my sanctum. In total darkness I dropped my clothes to the floor and crawled between the cold sheets, leaving even the windows undisturbed. Boy! that bed felt good, but I lay there wondering if I had succeeded in my burglar-like entrance, until, unknowing- ly, I fell into a deep, fitful sleep in which l was chased up and down innumerable stairways in my stocking feet by an out- raged bob-tailed cat! Now I know how Mickey the Dip or Mike McGurk feels when he has com- mitted some crime which goes undetected. Mother beamed at me the next morning. Father said pleasantly, Have a good time son? but at about that time son was feel- ing pretty small and saying with fervor to his innermost soul, Never again! ROBERT MORRISON '47 9

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1947 YEAR BOOK SKIPPIN G SCHOOL Everyone knows we break a rule, Whenever we fail to go to school. But Oh! what fun it is to bum A ride with an entreating thumb, To sit in some fine Cadillac, Against soft cushionsvrest your back, To leave the high school in a blurr NO bells, no noise, just the en'gine's purr! To be on your way to Fenway Park, And on a school day steal a lark, To think of study period four As some vague, dreamlike distant bore. To laugh, to be jolly, and have fun With nary a thought of the time to come. What care we for a mere detention Or even our parents' severest attention! Oh, what fun to break the rule To do the thing we shouldn't in school, It's playing with life as with a toy, It's part of the business of being a boy. ROBERT SWEET '47 ON WITH THE NEW My little car is growing old. Its mudguard's bent, its engine's cold. Many good times we've had together, In all sorts of seasons and all sorts of weather. But the '46 model sure looks nice, Although I'll pay a fancy price. So goodfbye little car with the squeaky brakes, I've bought a new car that's got what it takes. DONALD SIMM '47 REVENGE From Monday until Saturday- Five whole days in school! And all I come here for is so I wOn't grow up a fool. They make me work hard every night, They make me slave each day. I sure would get revenge on them. If I could have my way! The teacherslmake me work from spite And follow every rule, So just in spite to them I think I will become a fool! LINCOLN DEXTER SNOWFLAKES Pretty snowflakes falling down Spread a carpet on the ground. Out come shovels, mittens too, Lots of work for me and you. Blisters, aches, and groans of pain Call SlOan's from the shelf again, But though it brings me work and woe, I still can't help but like the snow. Evelyn Desmarais '47 NAIL POLISHING To keep nails shaped and polished Takes the patience of a saint. First you nicely file them down And then apply the paint. You try to close the bottle, Your finger slips and then- Oh! the trouble that you have To do that nail again! At last you put the cover on And reach to get the cotton. And that's the time you chance to see The nail you have forgotten. The bottle must be opened To paint that fatal nail. You make a very vague attempt And hope it dOesn't fail. Sometimes I really wonder Why I paint my nails at all, For when I'm done, I'm sure they look No better after all. Mary Mulcahy '47