Lunenburg High School - Echo Yearbook (Lunenburg, MA)

Page 86 text:

THE BOAT LEAVES THE PIER The fog drizzled through our slickers, dampening our clothes as well as our spirits. we raised our soggy handkerchiefs for one last feeble wave, although wo were quite sure they could not see us. The boat was nothing more than an almost indiscernable gray mass, blending with the grayness of the day. A bit of moisture trickled down my cheek, I didn't know whether it was rain or ---- well it didn't matter now, anyhow. l Constance Brown PORTRAIT OF A MURDERER A large portly man turned on the dinky light on the wall and' sat limply on the cot in the corner. He yanked his half open greyish white shirt from his hair ladened body and removed his muddy shoes tossing them across the room. He looked very tired but his eyes stared into space. Sweat camo from every pore in his body and his hands shook as he attempted to wipe it from h s face. There was a knock on the door. Our friend jumped from the bed and stood petrified as the door slowly opened. A policeman stood, gun in hand with a grim look on his face. uO.R. Blackie come along quiet- ly. The jigs up.N Blackic's mouth fell open and than he said as if gaining new found strength, nYou'll never get me,copper. I guess if I've get nerve enough to kill one guy, I've got nerve enough to kill two.n Q At that Blackie raised his gun to fire but the policeman shot first. nO.K. boys drag him out,N said the policeman as he replaced his gllflo Nancy Docekal MY UNLUCKY DAY When I was about nine years old my father bought me a pony. She was small, but fast. Fred Clay and I would ride around through the fields playing cowboys and Indians. we would wear only dungarees and hats, no shoes and that was all. Even our horses were stripped down. We rode without saddles just bareback. This was real fun. One Sunday morning I was sitting in the house and Mr. Winchester rode by on a beautiful bay mare. Ho had a nice saddle and bridle on her. He was dressed in white trousors,a sport shirt and fine leather gloves. I said to myself if he can look so classy so can I. The following evening I spent polishing my saddle and bridle. The next Sunday I brushed my pony and got dressed. I were white pants, shoes and shirt with a bright blue necktie. I borrowed my mother's kid gloves and started off at a slow walk. I was really enjoying myself. Slowly my neck was getting sore and I got sick and tired of riding like this. I came to an open field with a small brook running through it. I headed my pony across it at full speed. I thought my pony would jump the little brook. When we got about five feet away from the brook my pony stopped, but I kept right going. I landed on my stomach in the mud. From then on I was satisfied with riding bareback with dungarees on. Raymond Chapdelaine

Page 85 text:

THE STATE OF THE SENIOR GLASS BY His BXCELLENCY, JOE PHATEVVOUS QUnknownJ A PROCLAMATION 1 l 1946 D Whereas, the less dramatic, but none-the-less dreaded decay of the Senior Slass is one of the few unsolved and unhappy scourges with which we, the Senior Class, are particularly burdenedg and Whereas, today's social trends indicate an increasing fimpertancc for co-operation of the members of our class, and Whereas, the thought, attention and efforts of those in thennle department are attacking the problems of the dead-beats, and Whereas, the State of the Senior Class because of its 'role of leadership in the field of athletics, wishes to respond to the chal- lenge of the times, by making available the persons for a better class, and Whereas, tho decay is now to be attacked with new vigor, new re- sourcofulness through the establishment of two separate divisionswithin the Senior Class for the purpose of promoting their selfish aims, Be It Therefore Resolved: that, as Acting Foolish, I, Q'4e5- hereby proclaim the Senior Class f A MESS Cln the year 19461 Given at the Senior Home Room in Lunenburg High School, this tenth day of May in the year of our Lord one thousand line hundred and forty-six, and of the Senior Class of Lunenburg, the twelfth. By his Excellency the Governor, Joe Phatervous Acting Foolish God Save the State of the Senior Class ' Ruth Simon

Page 87 text:

IN PASSING The sun hung heavy in the western sky. The dull weariness that seems to settle over the earth as the sun sets on a hot day, envelop- ed the countryside. From my station by the telephone I could see through the window the careless growth of trees and shrubs surround- ing our home. A thin heat haze hid each separate twig and leaf from my eyes. The sudden sweeping of a young robin past the window seemed incongruous with the feeling of the moment. Then, as if by u sign from an unseen maestro, the crickets began their evening serenade, their steady, even bass the accompaniment for the melody of the birds. The shadows deepenedg the serenade became a hum in my memoryg the quiet and peace and loneliness that is evening descended. Within, the peace of evening had settled. The hustle and living of thc day had ended quietly, the house seemed empty and lonesome. My dog lay at my feet, sleeping. Occasionally, his body twitched,as though a demon strode through his dreams. On a cushion, my kitten purred contentedly. Both animals, free from the problems and suffer- ings of man, still understood the tiredness, the tranquillity and,yet, the foreboding that evening brings. The darkness was deeper inside. The outlines of the furniture were hidden in shadows. A beam from the dying sun played over the ebony telephone as if in prophecy. My grandmother's face smiled down on me from the wall. Ny loneliness caused me to recognize in her face the sadness, the struggle, the many evenings such as this one that she had spent. My bookcase, the source of so much joy te me in the past, seemed to contain only sad- ness: war, struggle, death. The radio, which had brought good news, seemed only to have brought sad news of war, of struggle, of death . My albums of records scfmed to contain only Mozart and Beethoven: no- thing light, nothing gay ---- only heavy ---- and sad. As the room grew'darker, memories of that room arose in my mind. The little blonde boy, so quiet, so good, so beloved, seemed to be reading in his regular place. That endearing little smile played across his features. His frailness, his inner strength that begged for compassion seemed a part of the room. And the others: the tele- gram from the war department, the news from Finland, the news of Grandmother's death ------ sadness, just sadness, and death. Why? Why? Where was the joy, the cheery side of life? At this moment, especial- ly, where was something to hope for? The clock ticked off the seconds, the minutes, that were pass- ing forever. My heart kept time with the ticks. I tried to curb the desperation and futility that arose within me. Life is not eternal, but neither is it futile. Yet, five is so young, so very young to have to go. But what can I de? The calmness, the dullness of the evening sattlvd once 'more over my mind. The ticking of the clock faded into the stillness. My eyes became heavy, my senses dulled, as though I were in a stupor. The ring of the telephone slashed through the stillness. Panic beat away my drowsinessg terror gripped my heart. Then, a dull ac- ceptance, a sense of futility overcame mc. Hello. He has gone. I quietly replaced the receiver. The clock ticked on. The darkv est moment of my life had passed. Esther Aho