Higgins Classical Institute - Scroll Yearbook (Charleston, ME)

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22 H. C. I.SC'ROLL 1- : f:- ,Q . if-5 these Western sagas of song that tell a story iand what a story? of some everyday CI sh-:Auld hope notl occurrence. They have a most unpleasant effect on my gl:-cd nature: I'become criminally inclined. You may feel that way too- -like murdering the tall tale teller of such trashy junk. For the benefit of the unenlightened, let mc quote a bit of a Cowboy song ffor that is the appelation they have given for want were finer of something better, if such a thing possible! I may miss a few of the points in my laborious description but even ardent adherents of that type of music will admit that I know plenty about the subject. We find our combination vocalist and in- trumentalist, two terms being used locsely, and watch him prepare for this rendition. He looks harmless enough, dressed like a house-fire in the attic with the gr:-und floor splitting from lack of support. He sings without music, as you'll soon learn. Attached to a strap over his shoulder is his musical instrument which he calls a gueetar but which we know is a, guitar by its shape. His face is contorted by expectancy of what is to ccmeg his mouth is -o-pen to a most re- vealing extentg his palate quivers with the first notes that will come our way soon. The number with which we shall be honored is a most solemn, sad, almost re- ligious ballad c-f western life: When Grand- pa hit Grandma with the Shovel, She Snuffed Out Like a Candle. Please don't cry yetg you haven't even heard it. With a 'I'wang, Twangf' a Twang-a-twang, and four twangy twangs we are precipitated into the solo. This lack of introduction is sup- posed to hide the fact that the recitalist Knows few variations of his Twangs. Whether for not we suffer or gain by the brief overture is debatable. But less talk and more description. In a tremendously sad voice our Lone Cedar Troubadour commences the piece. He has some tune, in fact, a definite -one which ex- tends to the end of the line. This same tune is repeated almost unchanged for the re- mainder of the wo-rk. However, with each successive verse we feel more unsettled. Right about the thirteenth verse people about us who have been a perfect audience, rapt in attentive awe at the hidden beauty of the opus, begun to sob hysterically. The raving of the homicidal maniac of a grand- father over the result of his brutal beating of his wife has moved them deeply. They weep convulsively. We listen as the horren- dcus tale unfolds. Oh, grampa how could you do it? The Children, so sweet, they asked. How could you belt poor grammy dead? We loved her to the last. Oh, young'uns kind, I do not know Why your grammy I did hit- With my best new shovelg It made a dent in it. On the twenty-second stanza we realize that the tale has been sung out. Now from that tearful dramatic song we expect tc- be released. But no-comes now the crowning event of the occasion. A series of tremulous whacks at the already sorely tried guitar forewarns us of a coloratura-like glorious finale. We get more than we expect. Our Lone Spruce Minstrel opens up ibut def- initelyil and belches forth a jumble of Yo- de-lay-eo-o's and various other unintelli- gible mad cries that oover the length and breadth of the known musical scale. We also hear some other sounds that must be mentioned as they form an integral part of the opus. These are indescribable wails of excruciating pain. The distorted face and figure of the victim Cat least, he is one? are proof of this. Just look. Then in a cataclys- mic c-:-mbination of voice, twangs, overtones and undertcnes we are precipitated from this sample work of art by a grand slam- bang twang on the gueetar to end all such twangs . And high time, too, you have to admit! My main reason for disliking this particu- lar type of music is obvious. The lyrics are absurd, poorly written, and of no conse- quence. Their mournful qualities are no-t apparent to me but some find these ex- tremely sad. I recall a song in particular, entitled, Old Shep, which ,I first heard when I was seven. I was bewildered. When I saw my friends weeping I couldn't connect the trashy lyrics with their plight. However, not wishing to appear different, I wept toc-. the next time I heard Old Shep. I haven't heard this since but I have been brutally exposed to -other similar works. I weep no more. A wave of disgust sweeps over me at the poor quality of the music and the atro- cious grammar embodied in the lyrics. How intelligent people listen is beyond me. I don't think really intelligent people can bear to listen. My reasons all add up to nothing, which is just exactly what these sings avail and merit. Exposed as we are to this type of music via. the radio especially, we may be thankful for the button marked OfI ! P. L. Bishop '45 l-ii..-li TRUE CONFESSION With great trepidation, I climbed on the bus that eventful morning. I was bound for the dentist's, who shall for obvious reasons be called Doctor X. I had been to Doctor X o-nly once before having previously been

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H. C. I.SCR.OLL 21 h il- I I up a canyon and through a high-cut by what lay before them. It was the very ob- ject of their years of wandering and search- ing. It was the wondrous Valley of Winter Tropics was but an hoiu s travel down the mountainside. Truly, this valley was appropriately named, for snow covered mountains rose steeply on all sides. The valley was about thirty miles long and it averaged about fif- teen miles in width. Throughout was a pro- digious growth of ferns and jungle plants of all kinds. The temperature was very high and a great deal of precipitation fell. No- wlld animals were present except a form -or bird which had four legs and a trunk like an elephant. This animal co-uld fly very fast and it made noises very much like the mocking bird. This led to the theory that other birds and animals must have been in the Valley at some time because this bird imitated all the other birds and animals kno-wn. The explorers plotted their position with what instruments they had, very carefully, checked their course homeward, and collect-- ed some plant material to take for exhibi- tion. These hardy men were just ready to leave for the sub-zero temperatures when Koran contracted malaria and died. Sam Little then made his way back to civilization with his wondrous tale, his plant life, and the position of the Valley of Win- ter Tropics. When professors, in whom Little confided, plotted his position on a map, Little was astounded to see that his figures designated a point in South America, high in the Andes. Of course this threw Little's story off completely and he was proclaimed a liar. The explanation given by him was that the stars were exactly the same as the stars in the corresponding point in the Southern Hemisphere, and as he had to use the stars in plotting his position on a map he would be placed in So-uth America. Throughout the ensuing years a few men searched for this valley after hearing I.ittle's story, but never has anyone re-dis- c-:+vered the Valley of Winter Tropics. N. Soule '45 THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES Despite the vari-:Aus disadvantages of war- time living, my parents, last spring, agreed that my knowledge of historical points of interest around Boston was. like that of all Bost:nians, quite lacking. The result of the agreement was an unusual tour of Boston and its neighboring vicinity. Of the two weeks entirely devoted to sightseeing, one cf the most interesting lo- calities that I visited was Salem, the city of Witchcraft. It was in this city that I saw one of the most, exciting, unforgettable points c-f interest: The House of Seven Gables. As I swung off the paved highway into a tiny narrow street hardly wide enough for one car to pass another, I was moved by the contrast of the neighborhood which I had just entered with the one I had left behind. At the far end of the tiny street I co-uld see an odd-shaped, weather-beaten house and realizing that this must be the famous House of Seven Gables I drove toward it. The first thing that drew my attention as the car came to a stop opposite the house was the unpainted fence through which could be seen the famous Salem Elms, and beyond, the gray-colored structure. Pro- ceeding through the gate and toward the house I viewed a spectacular piece of archi- tecture. I noticed the large gable facing the street and walked around the house to counf, the remaining six gables. Thus satisfying my curiosity the first thing. My inventory hav- ing been completed, my attention was drawn to the small, somewhat out of date door that was in the front gable. As II again walked ar:-und the house I noticed the black moss which covered the roof, the var- ious slzed chimneys, and numerous cdd shaped windows in the building. The grounds surrounding this edifice were apparently taken care of by a caretaker, be- cause the grass had been recently cut, flower gardens were neat and the hedges trimmed. I wandered amc-ng the many tiny gardens for a few minutes but soon had turned back again to the little front dc-or, wondering how I could see the inside of the house. Upon trying the door I found it locked and in the corner of the window a small card-Visitors 2-5 p.m.-It was 5:30 pm. and my chances of seeing the inside of the house were lost en- tirely. But just to see the -outside of The House of Seven Gables was an advantage, and I left it with many thoughts that I have never lost. J. Peirce '45 THIS IS MUSIC? Do your eyes fill with tears when you hear Dlmpled Dorothy's Dourful Demise howled and sung dirgelike into your atten- tive ears? Mine don't, but my blood curdles and my hair stands out horizontally. Or perhaps you laugh uproariously to the words of Jumping Joe, The Sixgun Slim cr so-me such epic tidbit Ctwenty-nine and one-half verses-the author had no further inspiratlonh of the grand old West. My emotions here are unprintably vile. As you have guessed I do not care for

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V. . ,. .. .....,,., .,, vw. H. C.I.SCROLL 23 -- n if- 5 attended by Doctor Y, a few doors down the Doctor X. hall. I have never enjoyed my visits to the den- tist, but I never c-:-uld evade making them. This morning I was unusually nervous. When the bus reached my destination, I dismounted and walked a few steps to the dcor leading to the upstairs part of the blc-ck. I o-pened the door and ascended the stairs, literally quaking in my boots. I walked down the hall to the omce d-3-or and, following the instructions on the door, I walked in. A My appointment was for an early hour, and the ofllce nurse had not yet arrived. The doctor came in and asked my name and if I had an appointment. He seemed quite astonished when I said, Yes, but he didn't stop to argue. I followed him to the chair. He started to work immediately. I twisted and squirmed in agony, but when he was through drilling, all he said was, Ah, ha! That didn't hurt much, did it? I glared in helpless anger. He now seemed to want to converse with me. Who did this other work? he began. Oh, that Doctor Y down the hall! I re- turned scornfully. Who? Doctor Y, did you say? Why I'm Doctor Y! You'? Doctor Y? I was horrified. In what sinister plot had I become involved? I glanced at him. He was Wrathful. My mind began running in circles. All I wanted to do was to get out. V I began edging out of the chair, buf, he made no move to detain me. I still could hardly believe he was Doctor Y! I almost questioned his sanity. Now I question mine. You are? I repeated. You're Doctor Y? I thought you were Doctor X , I added unnecessarily. No he grunted indignantly. I kept moving towards the d-cor but he had another question to ask me. Weren't you satisfied with my work? What did I do? I jumped in headfirst. Well-er-well, you see, all my friends were going to Doctor X and-well-, I couldn't finish it. I finally reached the door, but he had one more parting sh-ct-a mere matter -of a, comparatively large bill for ser- vices just rendered. Well, at least I was in the hall, blut I still had an appointment With Doctor X, and how was I going to explain those three gap- ing holes in my teeth? I thought I would try to be more tactful this time, so I locked carefully at the name plate on the door be- fore entering the right odice. Once in, I summoned all the courage I could muster and incoherently poured my pitiful story into the sympathetic ears of He laughed. He kept on laughing. He told his nurse. She laughed. There they were-- two laugh-stricken humans! What was I dc- ing? I was laughing and crying,-crying be- cause I had so brutally insulted poor Doc- tor Y,--laughing because it was funny. I am st-ill laughing. In fact whenever I think of it-I laugh. J. Baker '46 TONY December had come in all its beauty to Vermont and great banks of snow lined paths and roads. Banks so high that one could not see over them. In front of the large colonial type home the freshly piled snow matched the gleaming white pillars of the front porch. Inside everything was bright and Warm. Children were popping corn, making candy and singing. Older folks sat around the warm room talking. Lying before the fire drowzily blinking his wise, brown eyes was Tony, a medium sized brown and white fox- terrier. At the time of our story he was nine years old. Tony was passionately attached to the family and he actively resented any intru- sion on its privacy or on his own. Today he felt good, he was warm, well-fed, and his family was under his observation. He was contented. Finally he got up and made the rounds of the house to be sure that everything was as it should be. Tony was the sole watchman and protector of the grounds and he took his duties very seriously. He paused before the front window. All he could see was the end -of the path where it opened into the highway. Thoughtfully he gazed at the empty road. Suddenly he started. Was that? Yes, it Was! Simon, his mortal enemy, the neighbors' yellow tomcat! Tony began to bark and whine in such a. Way that finally he was let out the front door. Like a streak he was on his way down the path. Then to the horrified ears -of the peaceful young group came a loud screeching of brakes, a pitiful cry of pain and then un- broken silence. Instantly they regained their senses and moved with one accord out the front door and down the path. There in the road was a huge moving-van and a sober- faced man holding a. brown and white dog covered with blood. Tony had not had a chance. When he rushed down the path, he could see no truck and no truck could see him. He had been killed instantly. The driver offered to pay but no amount or money could bring Tony back. When a dog is killed, there is a large sense of loss. as there is in the case of death of a person in the family itself. M. Baker '45