Hermon High School - Microphone Yearbook (Hermon, ME)

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The MICROPHONE 23 came into my life. I was given to him in change for a bill. He looked at me and dusted me off. “You are very pretty,” he said. I will never part with you.” I think he really meant to keep me. But he was poor and his family, large. One day, when there was only some butter in the house, he gave me away for a loaf of bread. I have been pushed around and changed hands many times. 1 missed the little girl and the tall thin man. They took good care of me. Now 1 have grown rusty. My face no longer shines. Sometimes people flip me in the air, and it hurts me when I roll on the ground. My life has been long, and I have many happy memories. Soon I will leave this world and return to the mint. I shall be happy when I am new again. Patricia McGinley ’54 BOOKS A book may be big, Or it may be quite small; The tales may be short, Or they may be real ‘‘tall.” A book may be fiction, Or perhaps it is true; But the best thing about it, It’s for me and for you. A book may tell stories, Of France or of Spain; It may show late styles, Or tell how to win fame. But we have this enjoyment, Here’s what we all need; The first fundamental We must learn to read. Marilyn Light ’53 THE TROPHY It was a Thursday night in March, The air was crisp and cool, That was a lucky night for us, We won a trophy for our school. With Mr. Dwyer as our coach, It was our aim to win. Of course we wouldn’t let him down— You should have seen him grin. The trophy now belongs to us. Of course we’re very proud, The play goes on just one more time, We hope to have a crowd. Mary Bragg ’51 THE WALLFLOWER Well—here I am sitting in a remote cor- ner trying to hold back the tears of remorse, hating the very idea I ever had of coming to this dreadful party. Oh, it’s really not dread- ful. Everything and everyone look so lovely. All but me—the ugly duckling, the wall- flower. They try to be so polite about it, but I know. I see their pitying side glances as they glide by on winged feet, laughing gayly and having such a wonderful time. If I were only beautiful or even pretty, 1 would be so happy. But no, I have to be a plain Jane destined to be only one thing—wall- flower. I’m not so bad, if you look at me from a different point of view. I have light brown hair. It does look rather drab, but right after I wash it it’s very shiny, and my eyes —they are big and brooding, but pretty in a childish sort of way, and I can dance well. Oh what's the use of trying to fool myself— I'm plain. Now look at that nice looking boy across the room. If he’d just smile at me. I’d be so happy—but I shouldn’t think of such things. It will only make me feel worse than I do. I’ll just glance at him again. He’s what I call a perfect guy—Oh! He’s looking this way. He’s smiling! Oh! But he can’t be smiling at me—not me! The wallflower. There must be a pretty girl somewhere near me. I’ll look. Behind me? No. Over there? No. Over here? No. But it can’t be me.

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The MICROPHONE THE FUN OF BEING SICK We always look at sickness as something to dread. People have always seemed to feel sorry for themselves when they are sick. Did you ever stop to think of the fun of being sick? It does sound a little silly I know, but there actually is some fun in being sick. Certainly you have been sick in bed some time or other and have had mother and the rest of the family waiting on you hand and foot. Don’t you like to be waited on once in a while? Remember how good it makes you feel just to have a little attention. We always like to have the mailman come while we are sick, for surely we’ll get at least one get-well card. It’s fun to open the card and see who is thinking of us. Boy, doesn’t that fruit that Aunt Martha sent taste good? How did she know that fruit would hit the spot as it did? Those flowers in the vase surely smell nice. Just look at those red roses! That plant with the reddish colored leaves is beautiful. Someone was thoughtful to send it. I agree with you that being sick isn’t any great pleasure, but don’t you agree with me that there is some fun in being sick? When people start feeling sorry for themselves be- cause of illness, let’s remind them to look at the good things in life and enjoy the fun of being sick. This article is not intended to make people want to become ill, so for heaven’s sake don’t start getting careless with your health. David Somers ’51 Haste Makes Waste — Not Always We were hitting sixty miles an hour as we came to the letter S curve. The tires squealed. The car swayed and lurched as it finally straightened out, about fifty yards beyond the turn. Nobody spoke as the speedometer hand rolled up near the eighty mark. The next curve, wet by falling rain, came into view. The speedometer read the same as it had a few seconds before. Quickly it dropped back to sixty, as the brakes were applied. The curve came and went. Where did we go? Well, read on. The reason for all this death-defying driving was that we were taking a woman to the hospital. This woman was slowly choking to death. Before we left the house the doctor exclaimed, This woman will die within a half-hour, if she does not get to a hospital.’’ The doctor, sitting on the edge of the back seat, was wondering how much longer he was going to live. Fifteen minutes later the woman was in an oxygen tent and was slowly recovering. Haste makes waste, but not always. Ronald Adams ’51 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A COIN 1 am a poor, thin, battered dime. My sis- ters and brothers have left me. I am old and lonely. No one cares anymore. But it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I was wanted by everyone. Years ago, when I came from the mint, I was bright and shiny. A picture of President Roosevelt was on my face. I glowed when I was handled. My first owner was a little girl with long flying curls. She took me with her wherever she went. One day while we were walking the little girl saw a big all-day sucker in a window. We went into the shop and she passed me to an old man who in return gave her the lollipop. I stayed in a cash register for days and days. I grew dusty. Then a tall thin man

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24 The MICROPHONE He's getting up. He's walking this way. Now he's standing in front of me smiling—at me!—Just me. “May I have this dance? Gayle Larky '51 MYRON Myron drives the G. M. C. That takes us kids to school, We all laugh and have much fun And obey the Golden Rule. In the morning at eight or past, Around the corner he appears; Laughing and joking with one and all Throughout the tiresome years. Up the Wing Road we do go, And then upon the York; Over ruts and through the mud, We’re racing with the clock. When all our roads are safely made, We hurry off to school; But we’ll see Myron again to-day, If we’re good and obey the rules. Natalie Phillips Ruth Campbell “54” THE MARCH OF DIMES There’s much excitement in our town, A parade is marching through; The containers are many and empty, Waiting for dimes from you. There are girls on every corner, Boys on every street, Gathering dimes for the children Who cannot use their feet. A nickel for a coke at noon, Another for a bar; A quarter or so for some cigarettes, Why not put it there? So when you see a container, Think of the lonely times, Of a polio victim who wishes you To “Join the March of Dimes.” Ruth Campbell ’54 THE FIREMAN’S DREAM Flames and smoke, And the glass that broke, And the fires that rise, Into the skies, And scorch the stars; And motor cars That hurry along When they hear the gong, And the Wh o o o o, And the Wh e e e e, And the ding dong dong. These are all the things To sing about; O yes, O no, There is no doubt The finest fire is the fire that’s out. Shirley Rideout ’51 THE RED-HEADED COWBOY When I saw him the first time, he was playing: baseball in the Texas League. I saw then that there was a ballplayer of major league calibre. That day he made two start- ling catches. They were really amazing. He got four long hits and stole two bases. Here was a player who could run, hit, and field with the best. He was a large boy with red hair, broad shoulders, and ears that stuck out like wings. I found out that his name was James “Red” Carver. I found that Red had a fiery temper and knew how to use it. That was his only weakness. If prodded and teased enough he was like a mad bull. Red lived on a ranch