Dennysville High School - Dentonian Yearbook (Dennysville, ME)

Page 27 text:

' ' g . Q.: THE GOSSIP 27 had given Lucky the easy way out. Curly was sent home with Lucky. His parents knew only that there had been an accident in the field that no one could account for. As the discharge papers hadn't come through Lucky was still in the U. S. Army when he died. In the par- lor lay Lucky Del Amico when Curly, Whose Irish heart was filled with sor- row, went in to say his last farewell to a buddy he would never forget. It was November, 1944, and the blue star had turned to gold in the window of those Italians in a little town way down in eastern Maine. Eleanor Leighton '46 41 41 41 if First Honorable Mention A PLEASANT INTERLUDE ' It was a beautiful morning in May when I decided ing vacation in ing that makes live. The birds was a delicious blue, with only some fantastic tdispend my forthcom- Maine. It was a morn- one feel glad to be a- were singing, the sky blanket warmly tinted an occasional cloud in shape, floating lazily across it, this last seeming to enhance its beauty rather than to mar it. The Warmth of the day was of a lovely lazy kind, and the young green grass wassoft and springy to the touch. This was how it looked to me as I stopped by the hedge and called, Ronnie! Oh! Ronnie! Ronnie was our next door neighbor. He was the traditional scape goat of the neighborhood, the family confi- dante and general handyman. His name wasn't Ronnie. It was Ronald S. Camford but everybody called him Ronnie He was about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, with dark unruly hair that would not stay in place, a vital glowing complexion, and, in contrast to this, he had start- ling blue eyes. He was about six feet tall and had the build of an athlete. If anyone wanted anything, at any time, he asked Ronnie. Ronnie had answered me mean- while. Coming out of the house, he vaulted the boxwood hedge that sepa- ated our property and came swinging up the graveled drive with a free and easy grace that comes only from living out of doors most of one's life. Ronnie, I repeated, a trifle im- patiently. What seems to be the matter, Mi- lady Anne. He was very fond of nicknames. You'll never guess. I'm going to spend my vacation in Maine. What's so wonderful about that? he asked. It's been done before. Where are you going? Kittery, Ban- gor, Portland, Augusta? No, I replied rather hesitatingly, I want to find an out-of-the-way place. I then consulted a map of Maine, which I had taken from my pocket, and found a small town near the sea- coast. I said goodbye to Ronnie, and pro- ceeded to the railway station, where I bought a one-way ticket. Then I came home and ga efed sufficient luggage for a short 'ip iif the gnear future. The day that I picked for my journ- ey can only be described as terrific. The weather report had said, Cool and clear. It was cool all right, but by no means clear. The day started with a slight drizzle, and before we reached the south-western boundary of Maine, it was a downpour. The con-

Page 26 text:

26 THE GOSSIP could see it was going to be a long hard war. Lucky had turned more and more to religion since he had been in the army and he had found it very comforting. Back home they had gone to church every Sunday, but it seemed more important now. He wrote his mother once when he had heard a rumor about being shipped overseas, Letters may be few and far between, but don't worry, Mom, because God will see me through. Remember how we always called it luck, but now I know it was God who was always with me. He'll help us over all the rough spots. It was good to get home to his par- ents and Carolyn, but Carolyn seemed uneasy when she was with him and finally he asked her if something was the matter. It was hard to tell him she had found someone else. She tried to explain to Lucky that he had changed, that he had grown up all at once. She said the war was probably to blame but Lucky didn't wait for her to ex- plain anymore. He went back to camp that night, as bitter and discouraged as he was when he came home. Months passed, and he heard with great joy the rumor that his company was being shipped overseas soon. Since his furlough Lucky had been getting into a lot of trouble. He got intpmfights ev ytime he went into towrl and'M: P32 were always locking him up. At camp he didn't joke any- more. He wasn't the good-natured carefree fellow they had known the first few months. Finally the chaplain talked with him asking him if there was something wrong. Lucky wouldn't tell him and kept getting into trouble. One day Curly told him he had been issued all summer Clothing and the rumors were getting hotter. Some even said their destination was the South Pacific. Lucky hadn't been issued any summer clothing. Perhaps Curly was mistaken. Curly O'Neally had been Lucky's closest buddy since they entered the army. They were so fond of each other that Lucky sometimes introduced him as me brudder, Curly . Curley even stood by Lucky he changed so much. Lucky Curly wasn't mistaken, and he that secretly it was bothering after knew knew Curly too. The next day they went out drilling in the field and they practiced with live ammunition. All the boys were excited and some admitted a little scared. There was an accident. No- body knew how Lucky happened to get in the way. It all happened very quickly and they 'iinew before they reached Lucky that he was gone. Curly put Lucky's head in his arms and cried, over and over, Lucky, speak to me, Lucky. Lucky's eyes opened and he faint- ly mumbled, Don't waste tears on me, pal. I'm not worth them.. He stopped a moment and then continued in his heavily accented English, Tell Mom dat I love her and Pop. He squeezed Curly's hand very, very slightly and said so faintly that only Curly heard, God bless you always, brudderf' His body was limp in Curly's arms and the tears streamed down Curly's face. All the boys had known that Lucky's dis- charge papers were coming through any day. They knew he couldn't stand the humility of knowing he had been dishonorably discharged from the service of his country. Curly knew it and he might have thought Carolyn to blame but as it was he thought God

Page 28 text:

28 THE GOSSIP ductor looked at me and asked me where I was going. When I told him he just sighed and shook his head. At this queer response I felt cheered: this then must be the typical inhabi- tant of Maine. When we reached the village about midnight, I got oil' the train expect- ing to see a bus or a reasonable fac- simile. To my surprise, I was ap- proached by an exceedingly odd in- dividual. I said, Is this Bayview? Yes! this is a nice view, my friend replied. Noi No! I said, Is this the town called Bayview? We'uns ain't got no town hall. It was burnt down last year or so. Is there something I can do for you? a voice asked. I turned around to find a young man beside me, definitely amused and making no effort to conceal the fact. Is there a bus or something to take me to the hotel? I asked. No, ma'am, he replied. Just ol' Lizzie, my Ford, that is. I was thunderstruck. No bus! I took a deep breath, Where and what are your hotel accommodations? I asked courageously, and are you the chauf- feur? As for the hotel, there isn't any, but you can put up at my Aunt Ag- gie's. She takes all the tourists- Young man, I am not a tourist- I began, And I take people. . . And I take people where they want to go, when there are any, which there usually aren't. This talk was beginning to get on my nerves, so I agreed to go to this person's aunt's. Come on, Uncle Jed, said a blythe companion. The Odd Individual as I had already named him, came over and got into the Ford. I must say he did a better job than I did. Just when I felt that I was mounting most grace- fully to the seat, I had a decidedly sickening sensation. There was a loud RRRRrrrrrrrrip and I felt a cold rush of air. Alas, I had stepped on the hem of my ultra-stylish ensemble, otherwise known as a travelling dress, and had torn a piece, about afoot long in it. Uncle Jed merely said one word, Wimmen . There was no mis- taking the implication what-so-ever. We reached the house and I went in as quickly as possible because of my natural inclination to hide my torn skirt. On the way down I had found out that my humorous companion's name was Hemingway, Larry Hem- ingway. The fact is , he had said. These people aren't my blood rela- tions, I haven't any. We entered the house, it was a traditional Cape Cod cottage furnish- ed neatly, if sparsely. It had a com- fortable lived-in-atmosphere and I literally fell in love with it. Aunt Ag- atha, as she was called, was a red- cheeked, grey-haired, rather plump woman in her early fifties. She had a merry twinkle in her eyes, that came only of long association with ease and contentment. To me she seemed the typical mother, often portrayed in poems. She did not seem to mind that no one had previously forwarned her of an unexpected visit. Why, ma'am, you must be pretty near worn out. Here, let me take your coat-why there's a most terrible rip in your dress-wait'll I fetch a needle, and murmuring she went in search of it. Meanwhile, Larry had picked up my suitcases and was leading the way through a picturesque living-room to