Houlton High School - North Star Yearbook (Houlton, ME)

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' ' ' . .cz .-.-,- i' 5 . Q- W ... SEVENTH GRADE Still Learning How' As the fire burns. your thoughts change from one thing to another. Smaller and blacker the great log has become. The flamesiblue-green, pale yellow, and red- they a1'e making their last stand. Soon they will die. The fireplace will be dark and gloomy. While the coals are yet glowing. some last thoughts flicker in your mind. Slowly, one by one, the gay flames are sub- merged in the gray ashes. At the same time your thoughts are becoming more and more indistinct. As the fire dies, death, too, comes to your happy thoughts. Never mind. You will again soon look into a blazing fireplace, For now, though happy memories must be content to remain in the depth and gloom to which they have fallen, you also must be content to wait until another time when the fire will per- form in colorful dances. At that time, a a dream most welcome will again become the master of your mind. THE STORM By Lawrence Tilley It was night. As I watched the storm from my porch, it seemed to unfold in all of its fury, pouring its anger at the earth. Its fie1'y tongue darted across the sky, lighting up the sodden countryside with its sudden brilliance. The wind-swept trees seemed to quiver in fear of the ominous rumblings, and the cutting sheets of rain slanted to the shining wet ground as if trying to break it open. But it was beautiful. The lightning, thunder, rain. and wind, all combining to produce this vent for Nature's potential energy, were beautiful. It was one of those scenes that cannot be described by mere words, but that can only leave its lasting impression on the finite mind that beholds it. THE SCOTCHMAN By Earl Tomilson I took a taxi to the store. .lf I hadn't. I'd have slipped. He charged a quarter for the l think that I've been gypped. ride- As I was walking in the store, I took one awful flip. I had to pay for a dozen eggs-- I think that l've been gypped. 20

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Nearer snore I saw a gleaming white pleas- ure yacht steam leisurely by. Still nearer. small sail boats were bobbing aimlessly up and down. On my left, a group of children playing happily on the white sands caught my atten- tion. Faint sounds of their laughter reached my ea1's above the noise of the breakers. On my right were great jagged rocks where, so history says, many a vessel came to grief. Gradually the volume of the waves grew greater and greater as the tide came in. At last. when the water reached the rock on which I was sitting. I returned home, but only to remember a scene on the coast. CIVILIZATION - 1938 STYLE By Charles A. Hannigan VVe are now living in a civilized age. A fervent prayer of thanksingving that we do not live in the Middle Ages! Why, today. man can kill man more easily than ever be- fore. Just thinkithe prehistoric man had to meet his enemy in fair combat. Now, thanks to science, Japan is cutting China's throat. not by fighting, but by slaughtering thous- ands of helpless Chinese men, women. and children. Never before have men been killed so quickly, easily, and painlessly as today. A shell slipped into a gun, a few levers turned, the shell sent on its course, and a hundred screaming things that were men are strewn over tl1e terrain. No, there was no science in the fighting of Caesar: but men fought, and men were killed. Now. in our haughty cities, clouds of gas, respect- ing neither the frightened women, the trembing invalids, the tottering aged, or the suckling babes, may search out their innocent prey and breathe choking death upon them. And we call ourselves civilized. I wonder! THE.PRIVATE LIFE OF A BLOCK OF WOOD By Allison Carson At first I was just a little seed, and I thought I would never get to be a big tree like the one beside me. The first year I grew to be about a foot high. The next year, I grew a couple of feet, and soon I was all of twenty feet tall. Then came the terrible day when that woodsman came and cut me down. I was cut up i11to small pieces and dried. One cold day I was put into the stove. My ashes were sold, and I was made into soap. A little girl washed with me. At length I grew so small .I went down the sink spout, into bad company, HOW TO DRIVE AN ENGLISH TEACHER CRAZY By Alfred McGowan There are numerous ways of making an English teacher crazy. The best way is to write a theme with three run-on sentences and two fragments in it. When passing it in, also forget to sign your name. and have at least two large blots on tl1e paper. XVhen in the classroom, place both feet in the seat beside you, turn around, and annoy the unlucky girl behind. Place your feet with a nonchalant air, as if to say, Whats English, anyway? Then. when the teacher tries to explain something, turn around and laugh at the other boys. In addition, you should make it a point never to know what the lesson is, or what it is about. And when the teacher hands you your D paper, just smile aloofly and stuff it in your pocket absent-mindedly - as if it really didn't matter. Then move out of town, be nice to your new teacher, and have her write to your old teacher about what wonderful work you are doing in English! FIRESIDE COMPANIONS By Lona Taggett XVhy is it that a fire-new, roaring, and vigorous - brings back so many mem- ories? A fireplace has a certain power, magnetic, perhaps. Once a person is before it, gazing into it, he finds the task of break- ing away hard. VVhen the fire is new, it brings back to young and old alike experiences, either happy or sad. You remember the gay Christ- mas party last year. You remember your vacation at the seashore. A hundred and one things present themselves to you, Many acquaintances return to you. How much you would like to see them now! The warmth of the fire envelops you. 19 l A

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I asked him, did he have some cheeseg He said, Yes, freshly shipped. He paid twenty, I paid forty- I think that I've been gypped, As I leaned over to feel the fruit, My pants they tightened, ripped. A pair of trousers Ihad to buy- I think that I've been gypped. This poem is not as good as yours, 'Cause, when they leave my lip, The words don't make a bit of sense- I still think I've been gypped! ,AUTU MN By Paul Oliver Rusty leaves are tumbling downg Comes cold and snappy weather, Punkin's ripenin' ou the vine- Come, let's get together. Let's bundle up in hunting styleg XVith dog and gun and cartridge. Let's tramp and trail o'er hill and dale And p'r'aps we'll see a partridge. The quiet shades of twilight bid Goodnight to dusk-dimmed sung 'Neath wind-swept sky we breath a sigh- An autumn day is done. BRIDGE By Frances Donovan Contract is my favorite game, That is, when there's no cheating: But, when somebody kicks your shin, You take an awful beating. Everything is going right, A game you're trying to get. The point turns on your only queen- Egad, the kingg I'm set! Once more I try to make four spades, When my partner, who's raised me two, Puts down his hand - a count of four. G'adzooks! says I, f7l'm through! Now, friends, in closing I would say, When others set the pace, And everything goes wrong for you, Don't trump your partner's ace! MY C1ABIN By James Ward I know where there's a cabin In the wild wood, far away, Where the squirrels play and chatter And the birds sing all the day. At night, 'I hear a murmur Of that cabin's friendly call That makes me think l'm welcome XVithin its cosy wall. I can think of the joys of freedom In that little camp of mine. Oh, how I love to dwell there In the good old summer time! AFTER AL.L-PEACE By Mildred Clark A white-clad, rubber-gloved figure slipp- ed silently up heavily carpeted stairs, glided down the hall, quietly opened a door at the end of the corridor, and darted into the room. The light of a full moon flooded the room with incandescent whiteness. On a wide bed lay a beautiful girl, her shining hair flowing in bright waves over the pillow. The intruder stood still for only a mo- ment, watching the girl as she slept, peace- fully unaware of the impending danger. He drew from the folds of his gown a small can and a huge wad of cotton. The can was covered tightly, but he had had much prac- tice, so it took him only a second to open it. He saturated the cotton with the solution. The heavy scent of chloroform filled the room. He crept stealthily to the bed and carefully placed the wet cotton over the girl's nose and mouth. She stirred restless- ly. From another pocket he drew a roll of adhesive tape and began, with deft, quick movements, to wrap the tape securely over the girl's face. By that time, her breath-