Dexter High School - Signet Yearbook (Dexter, ME)

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28 THE SIGNET would be playin-g for people too. Another pause, then he rose, shrugging his should- ers. O well, maybe the time will co-me. Maybe sometime I will e'arn enough so that I can go to New York and 'study with a real teacher. 'Plenty of. time, Pm young yet. Smilin-g cheerfully he went about his duties of closing up the hall. Twenty years passed. A small city in eastern United -States had been suddenly aroused from its usual flethargy, suddenly and unexpectedly, by the news that Eu- rope's greatest pianist would appear in the city hall on June 3rd, Women gathered for afternoon teas, men gathered at their clubs, children gathered in .groups on the playgrounds to discuss the news, that this great musician was making his second ap- pearance before the American public in their city. :Seats sold for exorbitant prices and for a mo-nth ahead of time not even standing room could be purchased for either afternoon or evening. At last the -day arrived. The hour for the afternoon .peirf-ormance came and pass- ed, and -people left the hall iawed by the 'music they had heard and envious of the fortunate people who had the evening be- fore them. The hall was empty and silent. A door opened rand -closed and a man, aged and 'broken by the yeiars, shuffled down the center -aisle. Halfway to the platform he stopped an-d looking up took off his :torn cap. The hundreds of musicians who had walked across those boards -up there de-serv- ed such homage he thought. And how man-y hundreds there had been of them! A world renowned violinist, the world's most famous harpist, great singers, and now to- day, a pianist, to whom -people in all parts of the world had flocked to hear. After a few minutes had elapsed the man 'slowly made his way to the platform and stood before the piano. I He ran his gnarled fingers 'over the keys lightly. A master hand had touched 'those keys that very afternoon, he mused, and 'Why couldn't he play like thart? Why had he never had a chance? The echoes aroused once more mingled in a juumbled sweetness :and died away. The man slumped forward on the piano benchand ran his hand through his thick hair that might have been white had it not been so grimy with coal dust. He stared into space a few minute-s then slow- ly he began to finger out a melod-y :that set the echoes dancing. Even as he started to play .a door opened and closed and a tall spare, well-dressed man with fair towsled hair stepped in, but he did not notice. The liltinfg melody soon changed to a 'loud an-d violent protest, then to ia sad sweet song. He was pouring out -all of the pent- up longings and dis-appointments of years. The light that straggled into 'that corner of the 'stage revealed to the listener at the door a man bent and old, with sallow sunk- en cheeks, and ia mouth embitte-red by dis- appointment twitching nervously as he played. Drawn' almost irrisistibly forward the newcomer approached the platform. Who was this man who played so charming- ly and, upon closer observation with so little technic? What expression he .put in- to his piece! With what lightness those knotted hands tripped over the keys! Who was this untrained genius, this almost un- co-uth man? As the man came to a close the listener drew nearer to the platform and asked in a hushed tone with fa queer little foreign ac- cent, Will you play but once more for me, Sir? Without speaking he played a fefw runs, thrills, and -chords, and soon the sweet re- frains of Home 'Sweet Home iilled the hall. It was inexpressibly sweet -and full of a de-ep meaning. The listener's eyes iilled with tears. He thought of his home, the little thatched cottage, across the sea, and of his mother in it f-or whom he had played his way to fame. It was that she might be proud of him and she was, he knew. Her struggles had not been in vain. He had worked for her as :she had for him and now, now the story the trees had told had come true-for him. But for his moth- er, -was she happy? Was his fame suiti- cient? Perhaps .she was lonely. As the last note died away the great mu-sician re- solved to go home, to go back to his mother. to make her happiness complete by being with her. His dreams for the future were broke-n into V by the man's voice' saying brokenly, How I wish I could pl-ay, play as- that man played this afternoon. But

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THE SIGNET 27 THE RACE The sky grows red in the east, the sea seems allgabl-aze. The de-ep voiced 'WhiSt1BS of the tugs sound down the harbor. Every thing along fthe waterfront is in motion. It is dawn in Gloucester. This perhaps will -prove the -most event- ful day of my life. My crew -on the Sleepless and I are to race the yet un- beaten -Sa.ndy .Ho-ok boat Echo o' fthe Mom. Ten o'olo-ck sees two trim little sloo-ps gliding down- the harbor amidst the cheers of fthe crowds. There is the starter's whistle. We com-e about an-d shoot across the line on a flying start. Both boats are abreast. Ah! now I slowly creep past. I am ahead by a length. They set more -sail. Now the distance between us is lessenin-g fast but here is the bouy. I roll the wheel down and the deck is awash as sh-e heels down and pivots around. Now we are be- hind, and on the home stretch. I set my spinmaker, and now We shoot :ahead as if the Echo stood still. Oh! what ia sight to see a -sloo-p with every stitch of canvas spread bearing down. She is coming so fast that I can hear the wind screaming through the rigging in which the -men climb about like monkeys trimming sail. The Echo shoots past like an arrow with the salt spray fiying over her d-eck. Now I am about three lengths behind. -Suddenly with a crash the Echo's rig- ging goes overboard not more than a hun- dred yards from the line and as I shoot past the wreck I see -a bitter -look -of dis-may on the face of her ca-ptain. He had -put up more sail than she could can-y and thus has sacriiiced all in a vain attempt to- win. I shoot 'across the line 'ami-d the cheers of the crowds and have -beauten the world famous .Sandy Hook boat Echo -o' the Mom. Daniel Wakeneld '31, , SUCCESS AND FAILURE 'In a tiny Ithatch-ed cottage 'a b-oy of twelve sat before the one luxury the cottage held, an old and scarred harpsichord, and played. Hour after hour he worked intensely on -exercises and scales. Darkness fell and a tall, large, fair-hiaireld women left her work and crossed to the boy's si-de. You have done well, Franz, She said, smoothing back the tofwsled hair from his damp forehead. Well enough to repay you for your work in- the fields? -He inquired. Yes, rn-any, mamy rti-mes -over. Each night after I hear y-ou play it seems' that I can never work hard enough to give- my -gifted Franz the opportunities he 'should hfave. But come, -1-et 'us hear what the trees are saying to-night. To-gether, M-other and son stood in the -doorway listening to the wind -sighing in the tree tops. They are talking of rain to-night and they say that I can not do my work in the fields vtoemorrowf' said the- practical mo- ther. X Yes, rain. But it is to be a good rain, Mother. It is -going to 'bring me success, it is going to make you proud -of me. To- night the trees -say that 'sometime I will play in Berlin, in Vienna, in 'P-aris, in Lon- don, and sometime, sometime in America, in that big country across fthe sea. They say, Mother, that it will rain all of this and that you will nrever have to work -again. Play it for -me, Franz. Play for me the song the trees sing to-night. Franz improvised and played. He played to -success, to brightly li-ghvted hal-ls, to ex- quisitely dressed wom-en, and to faultlessly groomed men. At the door his mother list- ened and understood. Sometime the world would claim this gifted son, som-eftime he wou-ld leave her. Tears of joy and of sor- row filled her eyes. Across the sea, in -America, in the coun- try Franz hoped 'to visilt sometime, a young man :sat idly dingering the keys of a piano in a .large hall. T-he entertainers had gone, the people had gone, only he was left. He -smiled faintly as he thought -of the eve-ning. Pretty gocld le-ntertainmcinrt, that, he mused, Best I've seen, but just the same, I think I could do a better job at the piano. That pianfistf-not -much time to his play- ing. He struck a few chords then paused and :stared hard alt the piano. If Mother and Dad had lived, -an-d if I didn't have to work so hard fto make both ends meet I

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THE SIGNET 29 then, I never had the money to get the kind of training he 'must have had. I am t-he man y-ou refer to but what money I had -came -only through hard labor of my mother's -and of min-e. .My teacher was my father while he lived and later a s-chool teacher with some musical -ability. You are mistaken, not money bwt hard la- bor and my mother put me where I am. Then you are a man. You are really great. You appreciated and worked for what you had. Oh, how I wish I had not put oif my opportunity! H-ow I wish I had realized how fatal it is to put -things off! I thought I. had plenty -of time for music and now I will never be more than a jani- tor. How I wish I could -play now! Mut- tered the janitor as he shambled hopelessly from the platform. X The artist watched the man go, a-nd shook his head sadly. Wh-at a pity such -a man had never be-en able to conquer himself and master an art fthat w-as almost second nature! 'That night an en-thusiastic audience ap- plauded th-e great master again and again. Th-en they called for the piece that had made hi-m famous, What the Trees Say. I will play it for you, he said in reply to their dem-an-ds, I will play for you what I think the trees are -saying to me tonight. He played, -but not to success, not to the dazzling lights and crowd, no, the trees' did not say tha-t tonight. Instead he played to a lit-tle thatched cottage across the sea and to a m-other standing in the doorway listen- ing, listening. Downstairs 'the janitor li-stened, 'list-ened and forgot his own' bitterness, forgot his disappointments, forgot himself -an-d wor- shipp-ed the man, worshipped the success that might have been his. Hel-en Palmer '28. -.lil MY PICTURE OF PEMAQUID I can -see it now, a round stone fort with deep parapet for fthe cann-on, -as cl-early as when ll Hrst s-aw it on a sunny day, its whitewa-sh-ed walls standing out against the waters of t-he bay, giving me the impression of great size. I remember that I walked -on the .top of the wall that en-closes the original site of the first fort. -I thought of it and its capture and de- struction, and the building of others and their fates. I thought of the settlers as they gazed at a -ship as it stood -out clearly in the bay wondering whether it would be friend or foe. I seemed to see a flash through the 'trees as some too adventurous youth rushed toward the fort followed by a -storm of ar- rows. I -held my breatih -until I saw .the big gate -cpe-ning to receive him and then clos- ing. Then my dream ended and I entered the fort. -Around the sid-es I -saw musket balls and -cfther relics .picked up around the fort. By going up stairs I was able 'to en- joy a won-derful view of the ocean. I gazed at the bay until I -seemed to see a large ship entering the harbor and then there shot from the shore a score or more canoes laden- with -skins and furs for trad- ingg then as the Indians climbed the side of the ship, the vision- faded. I heard -a horn and after several moments realized my father was Wai-ting for me. We drove -away but -I took with me -a men- tal picture shall always keep. Stanford Blake '32. GRAN DMOTHER Grandmother was n-ot a celebrity. No monuments have ever been erected in her honorg her name is -not found in the Whois Who. No biographies or eulogies- con- cerning her have ever been .pnbli-shed. But she is not unknown, she has achieved that most la-sting and worthwhile memorial--a place in the helarts of countless friends whom -she has helped. When I knew her, -she had -already reach- ed an age at which it -is permis-sable to -sit back with fold-ed hands and watch others work. Grandmother knew this, but she only laughed at anybody who tried 'to tell her so, and said that she oal'lated to keep round as long as -she was -able. And so, from morning till night, she was busy. Sometimes she admitted fthat she was tired, but we knew that she didn't min-d .that sort of tiredness, for wit-h it went the knowl-edge of a day well -spent, -and to Grandmother, who had been from h-er -childhood, .a disciple of -all -the old .proverbs of diligence and in- dustry, this knowledge was the most satis- fying reward.