Fairhaven High School - Huttlestonian Yearbook (Fairhaven, MA)

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THE HUTTLESTONIAN A Freshman ' s First Day at High School The first day of school dawned; for fear Fd be late, I rushed from my house on the first stroke of eight. My walk through the park was a record in speed, A track team had nothing on me, no indeed! To High School I hurried my heart beating fast; Its windows seemed grinning at me, hastening past. And into the high school I entered a “Frosh,” My knees all ashake and myself at a loss. A schoolroom so spacious before us we saw, We entered and each took his seat, filled with awe. Yes, into a classroom, dominion of “House,” Each pupil did tiptoe as still as a mouse. And following assembly hi room each one sought “The mazes of rooms are confusing,” we thought. Then into a small room we suddenly did dive, And looking about us—“So here’s Latin five?” From the walls stared the heroes of Rome and of Gaul “Portant tela” and “Anna” they gazed on us all. Next down to 1 the lunchroom, as hungry as bears, And all upper classmen had beat us downstairs. The wait for our tickets prolonged seemed to be, “Sophs,” Juniors and Seniors all served before me 1 A grab for a sandwich, a cookie—two cents, Some quick mental figuring to find the expense. Inquired at the window “No, soup is all out.” And all upper classmen are furnished, no doubt! A gobbling, a stuffing, “Oh! There goes the bell!” A rush to our home room; this day went off well! SuSANNE GlDLEY, ’31 [ 24 ]

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THE HUTTLESTONIAN from the tops of the boldest waves. The majority of the passengers, for reasons which should have been kept to themselves, retired from the decks to the privacy of their cabins. As proof of the force of the storm, on the next day a baby swordfish was found on the boat deck, 50 feet above the water line. But on the following day the sun shone and, although the sea was by no means calm, most of the passengers rose from their death beds and reappeared on deck. We were first reminded that we were not alone upon the sea by the appearance of a square rigged West Ireland fisherman lumbering up northward to some port beyond the horizon. She had long outlived her time and would soon, no doubt, join her fellows and add her ribs to the forest already pointing upward from the unknown depths. We now began to see more of civilization in the form of vessels. Theyj increased in number until on the morning of the 8th day we saw the Cornish Coast rise above the horizon. This shore line is noted for its beauty and as I gazed upon it there was not a bit of disappointment in my heart. Huge reddish colored cliffs topped by the greenest grass I have ever seen were visible on every side. We continued slowly through the thick channel traffic made up of cross-channel passenger boats, small freighters and dirty little French fishermen with many colored sails with here and there ocean-going monsters like our own which might be bound for any part of the world. Before long we dropped anchor in the picturesque harbor of Plymouth, our ocean trip done. After obtaining a landing card from the immigration officer I stepped ashore to visit the homes of the men who gave our country birth, and to learn more of the land of which I had heard so much but knew so little. Raymond Mitchell, ’29 (Continued from page 21) haystack and stopped. We all climbed out feeling rather “seedy.” As we had no tools with which to repair our car, we went in search of some. About three quarters of an hour later we returned to find the car in flames. What a pitiful sight! All the fellows, with the exception of me, cried like babies. (I had only given a dollar and a half towards buying it.) Well, to make a long story short, we returned home by train and left each other at our respective homes after planning to go on another wonderful trip in ten years. By that time we would have sufficient money to buy a good car. No more “Baby Lincolns” for us. David Entin, ’29 [ 23 ]

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THE HUTTLESTONIAN A Fourth of July Picnic wwT don’t care anything about going to that Fourth of July picnic, X ’Lizbeth,” remarked a smoothly attired young gentlman to the object of his devotion as they stood on the front porch of her house. “All right, perhaps we can have just as good a time here,” said Elizabeth, glancing with a twinkle in her eye at Jim’s clothing which betrayed an intention other than that of a Fourth of July Celebration. They walked over to one end of the porch and seated themselves at extreme ends of the hammock. The silence became oppressive. Some boys who had been setting off fire works in the street now had their heads together as if in secret conference, “Wonder what’s up,” ventured Jim, seizing this trifling incident as an opportunity to break the deadly silence and, at the same time, wriggling three inches ' closer to Elizabeth. “Some childish prank probably,” replied Elizabeth, trying hard to appear at ease. The matter was dropped for it had served its purpose: that of starting the conversation. Things went better now and there was barely a foot separating the couple when matters took on a different aspect. A thunderous explosion followed by a shriek of terror and a cry of pain rent the peaceful air and brought the couple back to earth most cruely. “You just wait until Papa comes home, Willie,” wailed a feminine voice as the would-be admirer sped down the street endeavoring to cover with his hands a vital wound in his trousers, while underneath the porch Willie and his band of culprits strove vainly to supress their hilarious mirth. Raymond Mitchell, ’29 [ 25 ]