Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

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14 THE CHRONICLE “Er — hello, BiflT he said after a moment of hesitation. “Won’t you come in?” He was a bit shaky about allowing him in. The last time he had done so he had been carried by Biff to the campus goldfish pool. “Eve got to see you about a very important matter, Chauncey,” said Biff. “Sure you don’t want to feed me to the goldfish again?” “No, the truth is that I want you to help me.” “What? Me help you?” “You sec it’s like this,” explained Biff. “The dean won’t allow me to play in the big game unless my grades are made up. I was wondering if you’d help me.” Chauncey thought quickly. Biff was Brighton’s best football player. The whole team was built around him. If he helped Biff, he would be doing his part toward assisting Brighton win the major game. “All right, it’s a deal,” agreed Chauncey. i With all thoughts of leaving gone, Chauncey drilled Biff during every spare moment, day and night, for a solid week. At the end of the week after his grades were all made up, the great football hero came to Chauncey and uttered in his most grateful tone of voice, “Chauncey, that was swell of you after the way we all treated you. The team wants to show their gratitude and appreciation by appointing you mascot.” After this Chauncey never thought of leaving Brighton, where after graduation he remained as an instructor. Viola Lendler, ’38 Snow Reward “I might as well sit down,” she thought wearily. “I’ve been down that track about thirty times already.” She shook herself, trying to remove some of the soft, flaky snow- from her suit. A rustic bench had been placed conveniently at the bottom of the ski track, and after brushing the snow from it, she sank down with a sigh. “If there were only a moon, I could at least imagine a Lochinvar coming out of the North on snow shoes, but the only Lochinvar I could ever have now would be Santa Claus. I’ll bet my cousin has every male in New England up there teaching her how to ski. Oh gosh, why couldn’t I have been beautiful and dumb instead of just dumb?” Finding a smooth spot on the white ground, she began to draw characters with her pole, when suddenly she heard the crunching sound of skis on the track above her. She looked up; a lone skier was speeding towards her. As he neared the bottom of the hill, he lost his balance, and, falling on the slippery track, slid the remaining distance to the bench.

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THE CHRONICLE 13 But you really can’t do that.” “And why can’t I?” Because I’ve got your good shoes on. The gravel road won’t do them any good. Oh no, you haven’t my shoes,” Dick laughed back. “I thought you’d borrow them; so I borrowed a pair for you. You’re wearing Professor Lowry’s Sunday best, and you know how fussy he is about his clothes. When he finds those shoes gone and you in them oh boy! You'd better thumb a ride and get them back quick. Are you sure I can’t lend you a thumb?” Dick's loud laughter and the hum of the motor made Dave’s shouts inaudible, and the car drove swiftly down the road, leaving behind in the middle of the road a lone figure waving madly. Josephine Gallagher, ’37 What’s in a Name? Chauncey Percival Gillingsworth was lonely so lonely; in fact he had already packed his bag and was prepared to leave Brighton Academy. After all,” he thought, I can’t go on like this. I’m about the most undesirable person in the whole school.” Chauncey walked over to the mirror and gazed into it. What he saw only made him all the gloomier. He saw in his reflection a thin little fellow about five feet, six, wearing immense horn-rimmed glasses and having a very studious expression. Once again he thought, Why do I have to be so darned smart? Everyone seems to hold it against me.” As a matter of fact everyone did. In the first place what was a person with a name like Chauncey Percival Gillingsworth doing at a school like Brighton? Also why was he so smart? Nobody came to Brighton to learn anything. Everyone came to play football and major in athletics. Thus because Chauncey had the hard luck to be gifted with brains instead of brawn, he was an outcast. Only the other day Chauncey overheard two students discussing him. One couldn't seem to understand how Chauncey could possibly study so much. They agreed that he had never given the incorrect answer to a question in all their classes. The second of the two boys didn’t see why he had to give the appearance of a bookworm. One look at those hornrimmed glasses would convince anyone that he didn’t even know the shape of a football. So now as Chauncey gazed into the mirror, a feeling of despair came over him. He wanted to get away, to hide himself, to do anything rather than have people criticize him all the time. As he was about to leave, there was a knock on the door. Quickly hiding his suitcase, he opened the door.

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TIIE CHRONICLE I liable to keep silent she burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. He looked up at her, trying to hide his embarrassment and confusion. “Hey, where’d you come from, and what’s so funny?” He tried to pick himself up, but he was so tangled in his skis that finally in a last attempt he unfastened them and pulled himself out of the snow as a dog pulls himself out of water. He looked at her again and grinned. ‘‘All right, I don’t blame you. Maybe I’d better go home and read the second lesson.” “‘Oh, have you read the first yet?” she asked. He bit his lip after all, she was a girl. But who? “Say, who are you? “Just Helen’s cousin.” “Well, whoever that is, you shouldn’t give advice about skiing. Those shingles of yours couldn’t make a skier out of anyone.” “They’re the same kind as yours, but they’re waxed belter.” After all they were good skis, and this amateur couldn’t “A-ha, me proud beauty, we shall see. You caught me off my guard once, but never again. Come on, from the top of the hill to the bottom, not to see whose skill is greater, but whose skis are better. Not afraid, are you? I’ll take your skis. We’re not enemies until the race begins. She laughed in spite of herself, and they both set off for the starting point. Half way up he stopped, unfastened the binders on all the skis, and started again. “‘They hurt my shoulder,” he explained. “Sissy, you could have carried them another way. Now I’ll have a terrible job fixing them.” Finally the race began. At first he was a length ahead: but as she picked her course and began to “feel” the track under her, she gradually overtook him. Faster and faster they flew, but still she stayed in the lead. She reached the bottom several seconds before he did, but when he came up to her, he said, ‘“Gosh, I thought for a minute, I’d lose.” “You thought you’d lose! Why-why, you did lose. I was ahead by three lengths. Now you’ll learn “No, I won,” he said quite firmly. “You didn’t! I might have known “You won, but you really lost. You see, I won. The skis you had on won, and they’re my skis. Remember, it wasn’t a test of skill but of “So that’s why you unfastened the binders, so I shouldn’t think it was funny when they didn’t fit my shoes! My pal, Lochinvar!” She bent to pick her skis up. “Who? Well, anyway, you’re a good sport even though you’re not much of a skier. Hey! That snow ball hit me!” “No, not a snow ball, just your silver cup for winning.” Charlotte Crump. ’37