Madison High School - Bulldog Yearbook (Madison, ME)

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28 M. H. S. BULLDOG 1947 LITERARY ONCE IN HIS LIFETIME It couldn't be true! It just isn't pos- sible. I couldn't believe my eyes. That's what I thought anyway until-oh, yes, it happened, all right. It was just an ordinary day-not a thing unusual about it. It wasn't the least bit like the day you would expect it to be. The sun had come up at about the usual time. It wasn't particularly sunny but still it wasn't rainy either. It didn't even happen on a special day: in fact, it was on just plain Wednesday right in the middle of the week. Yes, it had been a most cus- tomary day. My alarm clock had gone off at exactly seven. I got up at exactly seven-thirty. The morning shower hit me with that custo- mary icy feeling. The same wrinkles were in my tie and even the same left suspender wouldn't stay fastened. At eight I went downstairs and found my wife just as crabby. I ate exactly the same breakfast that I have eaten for the past ten years. The coffee burnt me and the butter, of course, wouldn't melt on the toast. So, as you can see, it was a per- fectly ordinary, normal, and customary morning. I had gone down to the bus stop and was getting on, before I realized what had happened. There he was right in front of me. That's the part that I just couldn't believe. Instead of racing down the street carrying his coat, necktie, and sometimes his pants, he was calmly getting on the bus with plenty of time. Yes, it's true all right. This time Dagwood Bumstead made the bus: he didn't have to catch it. JoAN WING, '47 THE MIGHTY NIMROD My name ees Juan. One fine day w'en the feesh are biting line, my ole fren', Jeem Parker, ask me eef I wants to go feeshing weeth heem. I don' know w'at thees ees as I jus' move to Maine. W'en 'e esplain, I say, I try. 'E tell me to get bock's tail as 'e got rest of feexings. I deed not know at that time that a bock's tail was a fly for feeshing. Py golly, I run roun' and roun' that zoo chasin' that bock an' trying to cut off hees tail. I steel feel sore w'er I shouldn't on accounta that fresh Zookeeper prod me weeth peetchfork an' haul me eento court. I have to pay five dollair for that opset. Jeem, 'e say I don't know 'nough 'bout feeshing so 'e takes me hunteeng for rac- coon. That I know somesing about. Well, one dark night, w'en the moon she shoold be out, she stayed een. But jus' same we go hunteeng. Jeem an' I take guns an Jeem, 'e take dogs. Finally, we get somesing treed. Jeem tell me I should climb tree 'an' shake raccoon out. I go up an' as I reach for 'coon, I hear speeting noise. Then, those green spots een front of me tell me somesing. My brain. she cleek. She work fast as she has never done before. Just as my mind tell me thees theeng ees a bobcat, she also tell my working mussels to get me out of thees place fast. Jus' as I fall out of tree, thees bobcat fall on top of me. Jeem, 'e peek off bobcat een air an we gets feefteen dollair for bounty. The only reason I deedn't get keeled was that Jeem's poor dog, she was under me. NORMAN VVVESTON, '48 MY LONG-DESIRED FUR COAT I am the owner of a very unusual fur coat, sold to me by Mr. XVatts, a salesman from Norwood. He called the coat a rare silver fawn, and as he held it out for me to examine said, Madame, this is a very choice fur coat. Never does it have to be packed away in cold storage: moths will not destroy it. If you wish to keep its appearance the same as new, brush and comb the fur often. This coat may even get wet, as long as it is dried out quickly. With good care it should last you for at least ten or twelve years. You may be very proud of this coat. It is a rare specimen, and there are few like it in this country. The last one I had was imported from England, and not for sale! As I ran my hand down the shimmer- ing black stripe which ran down the back of the fur coat, it almost seemed to be

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M. H. S. BULLDOG 'I947 AWARDS IN THE SENIOR COMMERCIAL DEPARTMENT Iean Adams-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Opal Bird - Shorthand - O.G.A., 60-word certificate. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-word certificates. Corinne Blanchard-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Vivian Boyington -,Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-word certificate. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Norma Brown-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Yvonne Cormier-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-word certificate. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Retha DeRoche -,Shorthand-O.G..A., 60-, 80-word certificates, 100-word pin. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Katherine Ferris-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-word certificates. Shirley Fletcher-Shorthand -- O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates.. Ianet Humphreys-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-word certificate. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Loraine Kenney - Shorthand -- U.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Reginald McKenney -Shorthand - O.G.A., 60-word certificate. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50Hword certificates, 60-word pin Beverly Quimby-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 30-word certificates, 100-word pin. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Barbara Rowell-Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates, 60-word pin Roland Thebarge - Shorthand - O.G.A., 60-word certificate. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Dorothy Towne --- Shorthand--O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates. Barbara Willette-- Shorthand-O.G.A., 60-, 80-word certificates. Typing-Ir. O.A.T., Sr. O.A.T., 30-, 40-, 50-word certificates.

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M. H. S. BULLDOG 'I947 29 alive. The bright sun made every hair tip gleam with silver. I purchased the coat at the unbelievably low price of a hundred dollars. I told Mr. Watts to send it by express to me in Maine. Finally on February sixth, during a cold blizzard, I received a telegram from him saying that he had shipped my fur coat which should arrive in Madison that fore- noon. I could not wait for the expressman to deliver it, so eager was I. Despite the severe storm, I set forth for the express office some distance from my home. The Maine Central Transportation truck was just unloading the express, as I came in sight of the oiiice. Our express agent called out to me. Your package is inside by the stove. Go right in! I did, and there in a box two beady little eyes were peeping out at me. I reached in, and pulled out my sweet little pug puppy, Peter. CRYSTAL YOUNG, '50 UNFINISHED BUSINESS Sue shouted, Tom, where are you? It's awfully dark in here, and I'm scared. Tom exclaimed, Oh, don't be such a sissy! If I'd thought you were going to act like this I wouldn't have come. I'm over here in the corner. Sue started stumbling in the opposite direction. Not over there, he cried, turn left: now just keep coming. My gosh, I should think you'd be ashamed of your- self. Sue said in a very low voice, I am, Tom. Tom, startled by her quick agreement, bent to look at her face to see if she were joking, but what he saw must have satisfied him, for he straightened and continued talking. Sue, are you sure Uncle Ned said that he lost it here? Sue exclaimed tearfully, Of course I am! I wish I hadn't told you. All you do is make fun of me. Oh now Sue, he drawled, I wasn't teasing you. I just wanted to find out for certain. Now, it must be around here some place. You start over on that side. I-Iere's your flashlight. Suddenly they heard voices and steps in the hall. Tom, cried Sue, someone's coming. What are we going to do? 'AI-Iide quickly in some packing case. I-Iere, get in here. Now not a sound out of you, or I won't take you to the Football Dance. The two men whom Tom and Sue had just heard rounded the corner and entered the room just as Tom climbed into a packing case. They carried one of these cases. One of them said, What's the hurry, Bull? My feet hurt. Let's just put it down here and fix it later. I want to sit down. Yeah, and what would the boss say if he knew this was the kind of men he hired? It's slipping, Bull. Put it down quick, if you don't want it to fall on your foot. Oh, all right then, but don't let the boss hear about it. Hey! he said in a sur- prised voice, it looks like someone's been in here. The cases have been moved, and there's mud on the floor. You're crazy, Bull: looks the same to me. Oh, my feet hurt! Come on, we'd better go back for the other case. Just a minute, Jack, I'm going to look around. I think you're nuts, Bull, but I'l1 wait anyway. It'll give me a chance to sit down. Bull slowly circled the room, looking behind the cases, seeing nothing. Then he started toward the window. Closer and closer. He reached down to raise the cover of the packing case. A shrill scream filled the room as the curtain closed at the end of Act I JOAN FITZGERALD, '48 L. T. C. Jimmie Jones, a nine year old package of dynamite, was the leader. Everyone catered to him. Likening himself to a queen bee, he made all the other children his workers. One day when the neighborhood gang were playing together, Jimmie had an in- spiration.