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

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THE CHRONICLE On a Dreary Winter Day It is winter, and I am sad: My feathered comrades have forsaken me; Garlands of snow festoon the land Where vari-colored blossoms ought to be. A cold whiteness envelops the earth; Naked trees writhe and twist in the gale; The wind whines, howls in ceaseless mirth While lashing the trees with invisible flail. I shudder and drawing my coat More snugly long for the warm summer sun. I long to see the white clouds float In an azure sky. I want to run In the breeze and feel its soft caress On my brow.—My imagination hears the call Of birds. I see the green meadow, and yes, In the sky the sun like a golden ball Hangs.—The gale derides such tho’ts, and the gray Sky hangs low, foreboding.—Begone, I pray! Olive King,

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6 THE CHRONICLE An Appreciation We believe that our auditorium programs are quite superior to those held in many schools. Here the educational entertainments are provided by the money that comes from the candy bought by the students. Our principal arranges these programs with an eye to their educational value as well as to their entertaining qualities. Many of the people who take part are famous throughout the United States. We have had explorers, men interested in natural history, musicians, poets, and dancers. It is little wonder that the heads of other schools consult our principal in regard to their auditorium programs. May Pogmore, ’40 A Musical Treat Much credit is due the North Main Street Parent-Teacher Association for giving the general public a program of the best of the classic type of music. On January 15, this organization sponsored a concert presented by a forty piece ensemble from the Bridgeport Symphony Orchestra. While the orchestra was tuning, Mr. Frank Foti, the conductor, entered amid great applause. After greeting the audience with a few words of introduction about the various instruments of the orchestra, Mr. Foti lifted his baton to begin the concert by playing Mozart’s overture, Eine Kleinenacht-musik. The concert continued with the Allegro Moderato (first movement) of the Unfinished Symphony and Symphony in B Minor, by Schubert, followed by Tschaikowsky’s Nutcracker Suite. After a brief breathing spell, as Mr. Foti called it, the program continued with Carl Maria von Weber’s overture to the opera Oberon. The next selection was a novel overture of the Three Bears by Eric Coates, and then came Johann Strauss II’s Roses from the South, which was beautifully presented. The program was concluded with the playing of Reinhold Gliere’s Russian Sailors’ Dance from the Red Poppy. All of us who attended felt that we had been given a most enjoyable afternoon of symphonic music. Now we are looking forward to the operetta Hansel and Gretel, also to be given under the auspices of the North Main Street Parent-Teacher Association. Alex Sabo, ’39 — o — Fog Fog that fills the air we breathe, That makes clear vision fade Is just the steam from mother earth And all her river’s aid. Kenneth Buongirno, ’38

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8 THE CHRONICLE The Tale of Becky’s Garden (A Legend of Lake Winnipesaukee) The moon rose high above the mountains across the lake. Dark shadowy islands rose above the silvery folds of water. A warning beacon on a tiny island just outside the harbor blinked endlessly. Up on the porch the gang of young campers settled themselves comfortably. Peter Piper’s famous cookie jar stood in the place of honor. It was said around the lake that only once had anyone ever known Peter’s cookie jar to be empty. That was when he bought nineteen pounds of cookies on Saturday morning, expecting them to last until the Tuesday supply boat, and had so many visitors that they were all gone on Monday morning. Peter always had swarms of company who came to sit and eat and listen. When anyone was introduced to Peter, he was also introduced to the cookie jar; and after the introduction he was expected to help himself. The gang sat and munched and waited expectantly. They didn’t have to wait long. Peter put his feet on the porch rail and stared out at the beacon light. “Do you know why they call the beacon rock Becky’s Garden?” He looked around but everyone looked blankly at him. “Well, it was like this. Over on the mainland lived John Thomas, whose wife always called him a stern John Thomas, and his wife, whom he always called a most undignified Becky. They simply couldn’t get along. Becky nagged and scolded until the neighbors all laughed at such a hen-pecked substitute for a husband. Then one day the worm turned, as worms will. John Thomas decided that the last straw was coming and that he was going to dodge it. One June day he got the demuring Becky into the motor boat. She fussed and fumed for two solid hours of skimming past the most beautiful scenery in a section noted for its beauty. As they were heading back, John Thomas skillfully slid the boat up to the rock where the beacon is now. The whole island is only about four feet wide and eight or ten feet long. John Thomas put on his sternest look and said, “Get out.” Becky simply looked at him, dumbfounded. John Thomas hadn’t ordered her around since they had been married. “Get out,” he said again. “Hurry up. I can’t hold this boat all day.” Becky was so surprised she stepped out on the rock. John Thomas shoved the boat away, tossed her a packet of sandwiches, and delivered his ultimatum. “You’ll just have to stay there until you promise not to nag nor scold. Also, you’ll have to accept the fact that I am boss.” With that as a parting thrust he sped off. At first she wept; then she stormed. All the neighbors on the nearby