Lawrence High School - Lawrencian Yearbook (Cedarhurst, NY)

Page 5 text:

THE LAWRENCIAN 3 PLAGIARISM. Stealing the possession of someone else has always been considered wrong. No excuse is found for a person committing a theft. He is punished and rightly so. This does not apply only to stealing a material object, for plagiarism is simply a more polite word for theft. A high school student copies a newspaper editorial for his English theme—and we think him rather clever if he can “get away with it.” There is something vitally missing in the character of a person who can take or condone such an attitude. In the last few years several instances of plagiarism in Lawrence have ‘come to our attention. Some have even gone so far as to seek to have plagiarized material published in the Lawrencian and, because it is sheer impossibility for any editor, or board of editors, or any English teacher, no matter how learned, to have read everything, they have in one or two instances succeeded. The favorite field of the plagiarist seems to be the less well-known books of famous authors and the verses of the newer poets. We sincerely hope that nothing of this nature has found its way into this issue of our high school publication. The Editor. FIVES—AS A MATTER OF DISCUSSION. by JOEL LASKEY The number of fives we get, seems, to the teachers, to be increasing. But, is it? It has been said that humans never change; only the standards do. Of course we understand that a five is a bad mark, and that teachers may be only giving us the monthly lecture, and that as we get to be upper classmen the fives begin to accumulate, but ARE the fives increasing? It is not the call-down that we get at home that matters. The things that really matter are confessions of weakness on the part of the student and a loss of self respect. A new student who had come from another school said to us, “I got two fives, a four and a three on my report card. Gosh, I never thought I was good enough in Spanish or French to get a five.” He was taking the wrong attitude on these subjects. Why couldn't he say, “That’s a terrible mark. I’m sure I was worth more than a five;” but that’s how things go. However, don’t get discouraged with the appearance of some fives on your card; it may look like Christmas decorations but let’s all have blue decorations for Christmas this year, to surprise our teachers, parents and Mr. MacDonald; on our cards, at least. Make way for better (not bigger) marks from here on ! !

Page 4 text:

2 THE LAWRENCIAN CONTENTS Editorials....-....—................... — 3 A Case of Vengeance ...».......-......-...... 4 A Case of Facts.......... -........ -...... 7 Some Other Time Dear...-.......... -...... 8 w Alumni News ..—.....—............. —..... 12 Class Notes ............................... 18 Book Review —................... —....... 22 Advice to the Love Lorn ............. - 23 Exchange Notes ...-......................... 27 Poetry ?------------------------------- 29 Gossip ..... ................. —..—.. 32 Advertisements 38

Page 6 text:

4 ,THE LAWRENCIAN A CASE OF VENGEANCE by TOBY A. MILLER Sven Peterson cast a reflective glance across the heaving sea. A grim smile etched itself around the corners of his hard, leathery mouth. What stories that sea could tell. Slowly the smile expanded into a deep chested chuckle. What stories he could tell! Ha! But the tossing waves couldn't speak, and he surely would never reveal what was hidden behind those watery blue eyes. Deliberately he pulled the tiller of his power boat far over to his left, and made for the cove, about six miles distant. As the long dory described a wide arc, his steady gaze fastened on the stern of a fast disappearing schooner. There went the last remnant of his guilt. Somewhere in the vast hold of the Water Sprite was a case. Not unlike any other case, but so extraneous as to the cargo it contained, that had the captain been able to see through its sturdy sides, he would have indignantly, and rightly refused to take it on board. However, not being particularly gifted in that direction, he had checked it on board as an ordinary packing box bearing the address . . .Mr. O. Joriig. . . Pitea. . . Sweden, and had listed it as being sent from a Mr. J. M. Joriig. . .North Sebago. . . Maine. . . . U. S. A. Probably a rich relative sending some furniture back to the old country. In this surmise. Captain Thorm was totally wrong. The case was large enough to hold several pieces of furniture, and heavy enough to pass as such. But that was what it had been intended to represent. The actual contents of the crate would have stricken the god-fearing captain dumb with horror. Surrounded by a mass of tightly packed seaweed, and six or seven weighty rocks, were two tarpaulin bags which held the bodies of two women, about nineteen and forty respectively. Their faces had been mangled beyond recognition, and they bore no identifying articles of apparel or jewelery. After tying his boat to the end of the wharf, he slowly ascended the hill, on top of which was perched the Seaman’s Rest. As he walked along the rocky path, a face seemed to keep bobbing up and down in front of him. Keeping time with his long strides. The face of a woman, with such an expression of surprised terror on it, that he would not soon forget. Of course he knew that face. It was Elsa’s.But Elsa. . . .she. . Impossible! Hadn’t he beaten out her brains with a marlin spike, packed her in the big case, and sent it to an unknown address in Northern Sweden? That other face! Swinging like a ghastly pendlum before his unbelieving eyes That was Greta’s. . . .She had been disposed of too. He must be going mad. Those faces peering at him from the edge of the woods. He’d remember them, always, they were seared into his brain. The look of incredible amazement Elsa had given him, and the mockeery in Greta’s eyes when he had come upon them, arm upraised, bent upon their destruction. Breaking into a run, he made for the inn. There he’d find merriment, good rum to warm his innards, and many friends. There he’d be able to dispel those fantastic shapes that were haunting him. In a certain corner of the low ceilinged room, he’d find his two particular cronies. Ole and Eric Lindstrom. Pushing open the weather beaten door, he strode across the bare floor to his accustomed place, and sank wearily into an empty chair.