Hermon High School - Microphone Yearbook (Hermon, ME)

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The Ml ruor HONK 23 There is a frame about to begin. It will be a hard game. This game determines the champions of the Central Maine League. The winners will be presented with a trophy. The participants are Hartland and Hermon. Some gilds are on the floor. They are leading the crowd in cheers for their own team. One minute and the game will begin. The starting five are in conference with their coach, one team on each end of the floor. Gong! There goes the horn. The boys are in their positions. The two centers are jump- ing. The ball’s off! Each team is fighting with determination. Seven minutes of hard fighting on the part of the players and cheering on the part of the spectators. The first quarter is over, and the score is Hart- land 14, Hermon 9. Two minutes of rest, and the game is off again. The second quarter begins. Although Hermon is behind five points, they are fight- ing hard. The ball is passed back and forth down that long floor. Many baskets are made. Now another seven minutes are un. It is the half. The score is Hartland 31, Her- mon 24. Each team leaves for their dressing rooms to rest and be refreshed. Five min- utes and the boys are back on the floor warm- ing up again. What a game! There goes the horn. The third quarter starts again. The spectators are screaming with anxiety. Both sides are cheering for their home teams. The centers jump again. The crowd jumps with joy at each basket made for their side. The end of the third quarter gives us the score of Hartland 37, Hermon 37. What a close call! The thoughts of who will win make one shudder. The fourth and last quarter starts. Echoes of shouts are heard all over the hall. Hermon falls back a few baskets. Will they catch up? A few more baskets are made. There goes the horn. The game is over. The score: Hartland 47. Hermon 49! Such leap- ing for joy. The boys are presented with the trophy. Pictures are taken of the win- ning team. Hermon has won the Central Maine League Tournament by hard work and determination. What a close call! Marvin Willey, 'HI A BICAR My grandfather, one bright Monday morning in January, decided he would cut wood. Now, he never did work in the woods much, because he was what you’d call just plain scared of bears. He never did see one, but he always had the feeling he would. Grandpa, who was eighty years old, had come to the conclusion he was too old to be afraid of bears any longer, so hfb set out to prove this to his family. Arriving at his destination, the old man took off his jacket, picked up the ax, and was about ready to fell a tree when he glanced around. A bear was coming that way! He dropped the ax and began to run as fast as his old legs would carry him through the deep snow. Just as Gramp thought he couldn’t go an inch farther, he turned around quickly. The big, black grizzly bear was ready to chew him to bits! My grandfather drove his fist down the animal’s throat, grabbed his tail, turned him wrong side out, and headed the bear back the other way. Grandpa went home completely exhausted. Betty Griffin, ’51 AUTUMN When the earth lights up in the morning, The ground is painted white; The stars have vanished one by one, And we say farewell to night. The sun is rising in the east. And it shines on the leaves of red; The chipmunks gather acorns all day To prepare for winter ahead. Most birds have headed south by now. The robin, goose, and crow; The bluejay stays in Maine all year. Recause he likes the snow. Peter Voudoukis, ’50 INDIAN SUMMER The warm golden rays of summer’s sun recaptured The depthless blue of the eternal sky Reflected in a pool. The dull leaves left from former vivid dress Dance in a breeze that scarcely can be felt, It breathes so soft and cool.

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22 The MICROPHONE Literary Because of limited space we are extremely sorry that we were unable to use the longer of the excellent short-stories contributed by the Junior English class. A CROW HUNT The crow hunt had been my suggestion. It was almost too fine a day to think of killing anything, but when a black outlaw in the form of a crow sounds his querulous call from an elm outside one’s window every morning for a week, it sets one to thinking murderous thoughts. “Where’ll we go?” asked Tom, as we started out. “How about back of the old stage road,” I suggested. “O.K.” said Tom. Soon we turned into the narrow old stage road, parked the car, and squeezed under the fence. “I hear one,” whispered Tom. I didn’t hear a sound for awhile. “Ca-ca-caw-caw,” came from a pine in the corner of the woods. “That old fellow has told every crow' with- in hearing. We may as w'ell pick up and go,” I said. A mile or so farther on we stopped to listen and look. At first we w'alked quietly along and enjoyed the beauties of the day. Flowers were beginning to blossom, hepaticas, violets, and trilliums. The sea- son’s song and a little yellow warbler flitted in and out among the trees along the brook. We sat listening to the murmur of the clear, foamy water tumbling over a rocky dam. Soon I heard the w histle of an oriole, and I began to answer him. Finally we saw him peering down through the new' leaves of an elm tree. Sitting there in the bright green foliage, he surely was a beautiful sight. His orange and black coat glistened as if it too w’ere new. Suddenly we heard the caw of a crow, which brought us back to the purpose of our jaunt. We eased through the woods, I giving a good imitation of a young crow in distress. Crows dived through the leaves from all directions. We opened fire. I missed with the first shot, but the second was more accurate; I could hear Tom blazing away. “You missed him by a mile!” I shouted, as a scared but unhurt crow flopped frantic- ally away between two pines. Our next stop was at the edge of a swamp. Tom saw' a big crow' in the very top of an elm. We tried to make him fly nearer, but he must have been an old-timer and sus- picious of us, because he flew disdainfully away. However, suddenly a whole flock of crow's came along. The air was full of crow's, darting, diving, crossing the clearing until our guns were smoking hot. “How many did you get?” asked Tom. “Five, 1 guess. How many for you?” “I have four,” he replied. “Well, aren’t you glad I suggested this crow’ hunt?” “It surely has been a fine day. We’ll do it again,” Tom answered. Denvood Hillman '50 A CLOSE CALL Today, February 17, 1950, we find our- selves at the Armory in Newport. The hall is filled with spectators. Probably there are six hundred. On the floor are two teams warming up.

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24 Thi' MICROPHONE The cattle graze contentedly in half-brown fields, Whose summer foliage of Lincoln screen To man, long since, is lost. A blue fly buzzes drowsily, and here alights A tardy bee upon a withered flower Destroyed by autumn's frost. Somewhere a rooster crows, callins: out to his mate. The locusts and the crickets keep in tune Their orchestra of strinses. The call of the geese comes clear and wild and free, And here and there the flocks of smaller fowl Pause to rest weary wings. Dorothy Keith, ’50 GRANDMOTHER Sitting before the window, With eyes of shining blue, Sits a lovely lady With hair of snow-white hue. She sits and dreams of pleasant things That the future will bestow. And thinks of things now gone by As they flow back row on row. Her eyes betray the by-gone years, The thoughts her mind contains. She bravely holds in her eyes the tears For memories that still remain. She has grown old with the passing time Rut still her beauty's there, For gentleness and kindness shine In the face of loving care. Lois Kitchen, ’53 NATURE’S COLORS The trees are a beautiful green, And the flowers all colors it seems. A clear blue lake I’m sure no one else could make Nature’s colors. High purple mountains, Nature’s white foaming fountains, Rocks peaked, jagged, and high, Where only clouds and eagles fly— Nature’s colors. A valley so smooth and green, A stream long, blue, and slender. As beautiful as a rainbow’s colors, Outward stream Into a valley, Clean with splendor— Nature’s colors. Christine Fletcher, ’50 SCHOOL School sure gets me down. I’d really like to pout; Rut what’s the use? I might as well Jump about and shout. Though I do the best I can, I sometimes feel great shame, And when report cards come around I have to forge a name. I get the high school kids To do my work, and then When a test comes up, I’m really ashamed again. CH ARI OTTE K IKK STEAD, ’53 DAY TO NIGHT The sun in the east is rising; The horizon is lacy with gold. The birds from their nests are surmising The dawn with its wonders so bold. The sun has risen completely; The day is now in full bloom. The birds are singing discreetly Of the day like a peacock’s plume. The sun now sinks down slowly; The horizon is again like gold; The darkness of night so lowly Again comes as nights of old. The stars in the heavens are dancing, The sun has gone out of sight; The moon across the sky is prancing, Glowing through the darkness of night. The dawns and the days and the evenings Are splendous beauties of youth; The sun and the moon in the heavens Are treasures of love and of truth. Mildred Kitchen, ’50