Dexter High School - Signet Yearbook (Dexter, ME)

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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.

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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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30 THE SIGNET Nevertheless, even though she refused to admit it, knitting and patchwork were becoming absorbing occupations to her, and ia rocking-chair by a sunny window held hitherto unknown charms. Sometimes the knitting needles w-ould be still for a mo- ment, and Grandmother would look out over the hills with a dreamy expression and a half-smile. It was then that we knew that she was living over some scene of the past, or callin-g up some bright dre-am of her youth, so m-any years -ago. We children hailed these moods with demands of Tell us a story and were seldom disappointed. We crowded closer, in order not to lose a word of these enchanting chronicles of yes- fterday which 'she was unfolding to us. Brightened by her keen sense -of humor and clarified by her sympathetic understanding of children, the :tales held us spellbound, and the end of each was immediately greet- ed by Now 'tell us another one! Of course, we ,always wanted to hear about her own childhood, and so sh-e told us many interesting incidents about her sichool-days in the little white country schoolhouse. After a while, though, she didn't say much about her home life when she was small, for, if we didnft actually cry, we always wanted to, because we felt so sorry for the mowtherless little girl who had had to work so much harder than we could ever imagine. Sometime-s, in connection with these rem- iniscences, she showed us her daguerreo- typos in their faded red plush cases. We could hardly believe that 'she had once been the misehie-v-ous-looking, black-haired girl in the dim old picture. Then, as we watch- ed Grandmother's brown eyes soften as she looked at the picture of 'the young man with the mutton-chop whiskers sitting so stiff- ly at her side, we knew that these were in- 'dee-cl likeness-es of our own grandfather and grandmother. She t-old of -them calmly enough, but we realized 'that -the first few years of her mar- ried life were not easy ones. First, the farm had to be cleared, and the evolution from virgin forest to smo-oth, ferti-le fields was not accomplished in a d-ay. Then, the mortgage- muslt be paid -off. After fourteen hours -of weaving, baking and the various other tasks which made up her day, Grand- mother must spend the evenings -preparing dried apples to sell, for every penny count- ed. No wonder, we thought, that even six- ty years afterwards, sh-e considered idle- ness one of the cardinal sins. The stories that we liked best of all, and fthe ones Grandmother most enjoyed telling, were those about her own children, our father and his older brother and sister. We laughed at the pranks of the little boys, but we never lteased to hear about their sis- ter. Granfdnwther still che-rished a sweet- faced china doll, resplendent in yellowed old-fashioned silk and ruffled pa,n't'alette-s. She didn't say much about it, but we knew that the doll had been the favorite play- thing of the little daughter who hard slowly choked to death with diphtheria, one spring day so many years. ago, in spite of the efforts and pra-yers of her agonized parents. As Grandmolther's' future became more and more limited, the past became more de- sirable, and -memories and recollections took an increrasingly important place- in her thoughts and cionver-sation. It was a long, long ste-p from her generation to ours. We could not always understand her willingness to -return to the days of the past, but she knew. She knew that, for her, life could hold no pleasures equal to those which she had experienced, that there were bright memories which would remain with her fore-ver. Her year-s of hard work had not dimmed her love for beauty and nature. One of her hobbies was her garden of bright, ald- fashioncd flowers. From the time when the first che-ery daffodil appeared to the cutting -of the hast frost-bitten aster, bouquets from Grandmother's garden brightened many sick rooms. She was a most satisfying com- panion on woodland excursions, for she knew and loved ea-ch flower and bush. And -the -most infiallible itest of a kindred spirit -she could always pause to look sa-taa sun- set. 'Sometime-s we grandchildren took h-er somewhat for granted. 'She had always be-en there, ready as any time to sew on ia button or tell fa slt-ory, or, when we were sick, to dose us with que-er concoctions steeped from the dried herbs hanging in the attic. But, somehow, on the infrequent oc-