Fryeburg Academy - Academy Bell Yearbook (Fryeburg, ME)

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26 The Academy Bell EEK-A MOUSE! IT was Valentine's Day and Sandy and I were hurrying back from downtown so that we might make Alumni I-Iouse's 5:30 dead-line just on the dot, per usual. As we trudged along, laboriously picking up and laying down our heavy storm boots, one of us suddenly stopped short and uttered a stifled cry, Look, it's a mouseln Now, don't let me give the impression that we two girls were frightened by a mouse. Oh, no, nothing like that! It was just that the little gray animal running around in circles on the ice-covered sidewalk before us startled us for a moment. We were perfectly all right after we had disentangled our arms from about each other, and I had let go the strangle hold I had acquired on Sandra's neck. Indeed, Sandra, the braver of us two, even leaned over and picked our little friend up by the tail. As we stood there, gazing doubtfully down at him, the clever thing gave a leap and plunged into the snowbank. Not wanting him to escape so easily, we dived after him and a minute later our friend mouse was safely tucked away in- side Sandy's mitten. Sandrais face lighted up as she exclaimed, I've a brilliant idea! On Valentine's Day you're supposed to give gifts to those you like, aren't you? Which teacher's on duty today?', I, immediately conceiving Sandra,s idea, answered, Miss Moore's on dutyf' Then I echoed, somewhat less heartily, 'AThat is a brilliant idea. About three minutes later Miss Moore opened her door in answer to a timid knock and greeted two slightly hesitant, but mischievous-looking girls. After a few preliminary words and motions, I managed to extricate the mouse from in- side folds of the mitten and thrust it toward our startled teacher. Miss Moore glanced once at the poor little innocent thing and, with a scream, jumped up on the bed. The scream pierced the room so loudly that it shocked to a standstill the entire third Hoof except the mouse. He shot from my hands and darted under a chair. Then followed such a racket as Alumni House never hopes to hear again. Such a slamming of doors, scraping of chairs, creaking of mattresses, thumping of wastebaskets, and squealing of fright and laughter that came from inside that room! When Miss Moore emerged from her room about fifteen minutes later, she was bearing both a triumphant smile on her face and the mouse in a kleenex box. She glanced at Sandra and me, who, panting wearily, were straggling out be- hind her. Incidentally, Miss Watson said that her cat enjoyed his supper very much that night. Too, the doctor said that the gash in Sandrais finger where the mouse bit her would heal up soon, in fact, it would scarcely be noticeable in a week or two. MARILY'N Gnans, '46

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The Academy Bell 25 IDRUMMANIA BEALE Street at midnight was an ever-rising undertone of chants, tinkling pianos and mysterious aromas. Soft lights streamed from cracks in clouded windows. The low monotones of throbbing drums brought pulsating rhythm to your blood. Once inside, you found dim blue lights playing tricks upon your eyes. Before you, a vision of a beautiful girl giving forth with Blues In The Night stimulated you with excitement. Her background accompaniment was a screen of smoke through which you occasionally caught a glimpse of a glassy-eyed drummer and a gangling half-awake pianist. The throaty notes of the singer played upon your emotions till you were drugged with the atmosphere. The last thing you remembered was the pulsating rhythm of the tom-tom passing in the night, then you were swept out of reality into memories of the past or dreams of the future. MARGARET WARNER, '46 AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL Book One of my life is closed, It's not a perfect book: I've made mistakes, I have missed many things, There are things I should have done, And things I should do over. There will be regrets, many of them, When I look upon this book, upon myself. The book of my F ryeburg life is finished, Except a few short lines- Homecomings, reunions- Days of painful, nostalgic joy. How I hate to see the covers of this book Still shine with the smiles of school day friends Close to my reluctant eyes! I place it on my shelf and turn- And lo! upon my desk a new book Dancing in the light of things to come. I open it and on the page, These words, and a golden pen. Those words were these, just six: This book you write, my sonli' Pfc. ROBERT CHUTE, '44

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The Academy Bell 27 SIMPLY RAVISHINGI ALDADDY, dear, don't you think I look sophisticated Pi, What now?n I groaned impatiently, and turned wearily toward the door in answer to my young daughter's startling inquiry. Ye Gods! I gasped, turning rather pale and grabbing at the mantle-piece for support. 'KWhat on earth did you do to yourself? Were you in an accident? Are you sick, Marty? Is it catching?', Why, daddy dear, fof late she had taken to calling me daddy dear, usually spoken in the tone one uses when speaking to half-wits and idiotsj I simply asked you a question. Don't you think I look simply ravishing? Iohnny's coming over tonight, daddy dear, and I wanted to look simply devastatingf' She twirled around on tiptoe several times for my inspection, and stopped her whirling-dervish act only when the phone rang. Oh, there's the phone. Don't bother, daddy. I'll get it. As she tripped mincingly across the room to the phone, I sat down heavily and meditated on the problems of having a 'teen-age daughter. My head was whirl- ing and my brain was in a muddle. So that was what Marty considered sophistica- tion, was it? And, what was worse, she evidently thought Iohnny would agree with her- hook, line, and sinkerf' What next? Two weeks ago she had imagined herself a Southern belle, and had gone around saying in heart-melting tones, How are you-all? and Ah simply adore the smell of magnolia blossoms, and anything else that she con- sidered to sound typically Southern. Last week her idol had been Ingrid Bergman, and she had gone Hall out', for that healthy, outdoor lookfl At least it was a change, though, and we all ac- cepted it loyally, and remained silent every time we saw her dash from the house, her just-scrubbed face shining like a headlight, unpainted lips looking strangely pale in contrast to her usual abundance of make-up, and her auburn hair definite proof that the comb hadn't even had a look at it. This latest quirk was too much for even me, though. Sophistication! 'LSimply devastating! she had said. Well, I could, in all honesty, agree that she was devas- tating, but more in the way ofa bazookagun than a potential I-ledy Lamarr. I was still puzzling over the strange and unexplainable fads and fancies of the younger generation, when Marty hung up the receiver and advanced towards me, mincing uncertainly along on her three-inch heels. Her hair was piled high on her head and fastened insecurely with several jeweled combs--the whole thing gave the curious effect of a leaning tower of Pisa. Her eyebrows had been plucked nearly to the non-existent state, and she had on enough mascara and eye-shadow to outdo Theda Bara herself. She had evi- dently had an argument with herself as to whether her lips would look more devastating painted in a Cupid,s bowu or left en naturalef' The result was Gene Tierney on one side and Marty Iohnson on the other. To lend the final unique touch, Marty was wearing a most peculiar get-up. At