Farmington High School - Laurel Yearbook (Farmington, ME)

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THE LAUREL 13 INTERESTING BITS OF OUR EARLY LIFE My First Poem T was a dreary Friday morning. The rain peltered down with quiet deter- mination on the hosts of brown leaves which were falling from the nearby trees. An atmosphere of restlessness pervaded the classroom. But the old clock on the wall seemed to pursue with a more mono- tonous trend its continuous tick, tick, tick. The minutes passed slowly. A paper rustledg and there was heard the low dron- ing voice of a boy reciting. And yet under all a strange silence, I leaned lazily back in nIy seat, wondering, if it would ever stop raining-why one must go to school -if teachers always conduct themselves as they tell us we must. Suddenly a bell rang. Clarion and shrill it pierced the thick drowsy atmosphere. I sat erect, the instructor was speaking. If any of you feel that you can, or would like to try, I would like to have a poem for our Good English Club Paper. A poem! The words burned in my brain. Could I? The sheer bigness of the thing overwhelmed me and I started guiltily. Of course it was all nonsense. I, Meclora Hogan, writ- ing a poem! Aibsurd. And yet something whispered, Why not? The moments Hew by as in a dream, and I found myself home-thrilled with intoxicating hope. VVords tumbled over themselves in eager- ness, incohercntly at first, to be sure. Then they sang swiftly, maddeninglyg faster and faster my pencil flew until there it was in childish scrawl, my Hrst poem. How I loved it for it was my own-my very own! New worlds opened before my eager eyes. The dreariness of the day was changed into mystic, joyous beauty. Every rain drop glistened witlI a new luster, every swish of the giant elms was music to my ear. Life was glorious. Crude, trite though it may be, still it will always be a lovely t'hing in my memory. My first poem! Zlfledora Hogan. My Ford THIS story is made possible by a Ford, just a common, ordinary Ford, not as good as the new ones and not as bad as the first ones. In fact I ride to school every morn- ing in this same automotive contraption popular in earlier years. 'Dhis story begins with a very excellent Thanksgiving morning. It was morning because it seemed the right thing for it to be. The day was such as our poets write about, but I Yhad work to do. The chief task was, crank Miss Ford. After two or three hours of physical strength had been exerted, the inevitable happened, Liz kick- ed, breaking my arm in Hfteen or twenty places, I really have forgotten the exact number. The usual procedure was faithfully car- ried out and I found myself in the clutches of our family physician. My arm was set but it failed to heal properly. After sev- eral settings had taken place the doctor decided that to insure perfect results I should go to a hospital. My father and I prepared for the trip and journeyed to Portland by rail. I could tell the intersec- tion of every rail, every jar was registered in my aching limb. We arrived in Portland and I was taken to the Children's Hospital, the inmates varying in age from one day to twenty-one years. The arm was set again and many X-ray pictures were takeng it was also placed in casts of various kinds and sorts. The one trouble was, I was obliged to re- main in bed. The doctors were very kind to me except in a few instances when they would sieze my arm and strike it several forceful blows asking if the procedure hurt. You know how doctors are, espe- cially surgeons, very kind and thoughtful. My neighbor in this physician's paradise claimed all doctors were ex-pugilists. I often thought he was correct in his con- jecture. The nurses were exceedingly nice to us. However, I will not give any eluci- dations of their treatment of us. Q

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t 14 THE LAUREL Time slipped by rather swiftly. Our food was of the best and there was suffi- cient, thusly one's desires were satisfied. There were also many boxes from home containing articles from mirrors to jack- knives, from candy to mince pie made from mother's new recipe. Orange com- bats also aided greatly in driving away the depressing air. Christmas arrived on time and found me still sojourning at the 'hospital I was asked by a lady whose face was embel- lished by a few thousand convolutions what I would like for Christmas. Think- ing it a joke I answered, UA fountain pen. Imagine my surprise at being the recipient of the same on Christmas day. How little we make of our opportunities! Well, eventually the injured member re- cuperated sufficiently to allow my return home and return home I did. Hospital life is a novelty for a wthile but it soon gets lonesome and I was very happy to return to my secluded, quiet home in Walton's Mills. Ever since this incident took place the Ford has served me well and faithfully but it can never make amends for the pain and loss of time it cost me. I always shall look upon it as a deceptive creature, with grim tragedy lurking for a successful op- portunity in order that it may again hor- ribly multilate me. Even after a pleasant trip with the motor functioning properly and all going well I cannot completely dis- miss t'hese suspicions from my mind. George Hobbs. TT A Stone's Throw I IT is sometimes interesting after we have outgrown our baby days to look back over many incidents- that happened in our childhood. Nevertheless it sometimes brings a twinge of shame. The cause of this particular event was my ungovernable temper. As far back as I can remember I always wanted 1ny own way and when as a child usually got it, for my brothers and sister would often rather give in to me than to see my temper started. Nevertheless it was many times a source of much amusement for them, espe- cially my older brother -who sometimes considered it a great joke to arouse my anger. I freely confess that it was a very easy thing to do and moreover, being a girl and younger than he, my folks usually considered fhim at fault. I always thought I had gained the upper hand if I could get him in wrong. To tell the truth I felt proud of my temper and I certainly made use of it to gain my own desires. It was a source of much worry on my mother's part, who tried in every way imaginable to teach me to control it. But being of a stubborn nature I thought myself very smart to be the possessor of suclh a temper and instead of trying to remedy it, I often encouraged it. One day, however, I came to find out what a really beastly temper I did have and in what it might result if I did not control it. I remember very distinctly that it was a wonderful summer day. One of my girl friends and I had been playing house and had made mud pies. A short distance from my home there lived a boy about my size but younger, wit'h whom I often played. This day I happened to be feeling like lighting, After my friend had gone home, this boy came down to play and unintentionally kicked our carefully made mud pies. If I had been reasonable I would have overlooked it but I immedi- ately grew angry instead. After a few words we began to throw mud at each other as fast as possible. Of course, never having tried to curb my temper, a thought to that effect never entered my mind. My only thought was to pay him back for de- stroying those pies. Our scrap soon devel- oped into a stone fight. The boy, mean- time, was called to supper and as he passed through their garden toward Ehis home he was lost from my sight in the corn which reached far above his head. Foolishly we