Farmington High School - Student Yearbook (Farmington, CT)

Page 32 text:

if,i.'W ff' - 3 my ' 1 4' A V., M ,N M .3

Page 31 text:

cgjpgcers of 1955 President ....,,4....,...,,. , .....,,...,.,..... Martin Cyr Vice-President ,.... ...,,... R obert O'Connell Secretary ,..,....... ......,,. M arian Drown Treasurer .,,.... Reporter ..,r.... Flower . ,..,. . Colors ..... MOTTO Scientia est potentia Knowledge is power Colin Cameron Lorna Nybakken . ,..,.. ....... ,.... R o se Silver and Blue POEM The Class of 55 cqlie Glass of f55 When first we entered high school, 'Twas in our sophomore year, Everything seemed all so new, And confusion was mixed with fear. At first it was quite diiiicult To remember who was who, And finding oneself in the wrong class Was an experience missed by few. It did not take too long though, For all to get acquainted. Then initiation came, Not so bad as it was painted. Soon we were in the swing of it, joining clubs, attending each game, But june soon came with finals, And all had reached their aim. We were Juniors! Returning to our school next fall Brought many happy smiles. Seeing our friends with spirit fresh, Ready to face new trials. We tried our best as salesmen To sell the most magazines, But our best was not enough, For the Seniors were the kings and queens. Next came the Junior Prom Which was based on gay Paree. To make the dance successful, We all worked cheerfully Then Act Your Age was given And received schoolwide acclaim. But before we knew it june was here. Once more all reached their aim. We were Seniors! Now we are in school again As Seniors here at last. Realizing all there's to be done Our zest is not surpassed. First in the magazine drive We won a sizable sum. After the success of our play We knew we had just begun. The ski jaunt, then the Capitol Seen during spring vacation, The Senior prom with gowns and tux, And last - our graduation. We've made new friends, keeping old And parting will be sad, But we'll always remember Things done and good times had. We are Alumnig the class of '55 Beverly Merrill, '55

Page 33 text:

C9-fue ICU? The sweet dampness of the summer night filled the air. The sidewalks were still wet from the afternoon's rain and the puddles shown like silver lakes in the glow of the streetlights. I walked slowly toward the big white house thinking over the happenings of the day. Was I wrong in treating her the way I did? After all, she had no business doing what she did to the newsboy. It was kind of funny, though, seeing that look on his face. He hadn't seen her sitting on the porch when he came up. When she threw herself at him, she must have startled him. That's why he pushed her so hard against the railing. But she had no right retaliating the way she did. Yes, it was her wrong, or my name isn't Jack Thomas. She hasn't come near me since I reproached her this morning. I wonder if she's forgiven me. The porch divan felt damp as I leaned back against it, but it was a relief from the persisting heat of the previous days. I sat for a while waiting, but there was no sign of her. Shortly, however, the screen door was pushed open. There she was. She walked to the steps and stood looking across the lawn. Then she turned and saw me She stood surprised, not knowing what to do. Then slowly, very slowly, she came towards me. Her eyes held mine a moment then swiftly looked down. So! She realized she'd been wrong. She looked up again and then with a quick movement, she was beside me on the couch. I stared out over the rail. I could feel her eyes, those dark eyes, on my face. She wanted to be forgiven. Suddenly she came closer and nuzzled her nose in my neck. That did it! I pulled her into my arms and held her close. Even if she did nip a newsboy once in a while, she was still the best cocker spaniel in the neighborhood, and we were still buddies. Charlotte Konopka, '55 goats in the Harbor Normally, the thought of boats anchored in a harbor is a peaceful one. The mind conjures up a vision of white sails talking back to the teasing wind, of sea gulls disturbing the warm silence with their harsh calls, and of brown sailors loaf- ing on the deck until the captain appears - generally a picture of utter serenity. To the fisherman, boats in the harbor suggest several ideasg the fleet is in with a rewarding catch, a storm is approaching which prohibits chasing the first run of the year, luck has run out - there have been no fish in weeks and hope has been banished, too. Only fisherman know this thought pattern. Boats suggest play to a child. They are connected mentally with fun in the bathtub or at the shore last summer. They may be visioned as mere pieces of wood floating in a rusty tub or real cabin cruisers docked just within sight in the bay. To an artist, boats take on new life, especially during sunset or early evening. The picture paints itself while the artist gazes out towards the horizon until an evening star glides through the sky like a flickering torch to awaken him from his dreaming.