Maynard High School - Screech Owl Yearbook (Maynard, MA)

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12 THE SCREECH OWL it was intended by him to be a s 3 anbol of the Screech Owl. By a unanimous vote of the student body, it was de- cided that a letter of thanks be sent to the donor. The Screech Owl staff wish to take this opportunity to thank Mr. Reid for his gift. The owl is now placed in the library, a fitting place for the syrnbol of wisdom. May it instill in the minds of the students of M. H. S. the value of sagacity and repose. Edward C. Feams, ' 28. Our Vacation It happened in the glorious month of July, on a most wonderful summer day. I set forth with the antiquated liivver, our family relic, and the fam- ily, dog included, to spend a much anticipated vacation by the sea. We were to camp out on the beach, so the car was loaded down with camp apparatus. The family was so anxious to get started, that we went a day ahead of schedule. Amid the shout- ing of farewells and the barking of the dog, we majestically rode away. Oh, weren ' t our neighbors jealous of our coming vacation at the seaside! One long stretch of roads, a breath of salt air, and we were there. We selected one of the most en- chanting spots on the Atlantic coast, and here we pitched our tent beneath a group of sheltering trees. We were a quarter of a mile away from the surf but we could plainly hear the water pounding up the beach. Tlie first day was one of explora- tion. The whole family turned out, and we hiked up and down the beach seeking pearl-producing clam shells. We managed to locate only a few tiny land snails and then learned to our great disappointment that pearls were very scarce here. In the late afternoon we gathered driftwood for an evening camp fire. Seated about the blazing logs we would tell all the tales we had ever heard or read. The pounding surf made mysterious noises and enthusiasm waxed high. Despite inconveniences my family became so attached to this gypsy life that when it was time to depart I found it hard to persuade them to re- turn to the hot city. Finally we de- cided to break camp the next day. We were congratulating each other for the wonderful weather we had been having, for it had not rained but once the whole two weeks we were down there. Even then it was only a slight drizzle. We went to bed that night at an early hour so that we might be fully rested for the home going journey the next day. About one o ' clock in the morning I heard a terrible crash. I started up. The door of my tent was wide open and some terrific force threw me back in bed again. I was thoroughly frightened now. I made another try and was successful. The terrible force that hurled me back in bed again was — the wind. Just as I got to the entrance of my tent the wind gave a tremendous blow and the tent fell down on me. When I had man- aged to wriggle out of the mess, I staggered toward the rest of the tents. They were down too. After I had rescued my family from under the numerous tents, the hurricane had almost subsided. Was my family ready to go home ? I’ll give you three guesses. C. C., ' 31. Pals What is there in life more precious than the deep friendship that almost always exists between two young peo- ple during their school career. It is so seldom that one finds a person who can honestly say, ‘‘There has never been a sacred friendship in my life. I

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THE SCREECH OWL 11 Each day seemed to slip by more quickly than the one before and sud- denly came the sad day. It was a few hours before train time and the twins were packing a few last belongings. Peggy went about with red eyes and swollen nose, with armfuls of clothes dumping them in a trunk, and between intervals sat down to cry. Aunt Kate stayed in her room with the plea of a headache. Don went from trunk to closet with a face a mile long and gave the trunk a vicious kick now and then to relieve his feel- ings. The front door bell rang. Both tried to ignore it. “You go down, Don my nose is red,” Peggy said. He appeared a minute later with their vases. “I suppose we’ll have to take them with us,” Peggy said eyeing the vases gloomily. “Not if I have my way about it,” Don said under his breath, gazing thoughtfully at a pillow that was in his path. “Look out Don,” Peggy cried, but it was too late. Don lay on the floor looking stupidly at the shattered pieces. “Aw, Wreck of the Hesperus, I thought it was gone.” Then suddenly his eyes widened. For in the pile of broken clay, lay a gold vase. Don picked it up slowly wondering if he might be in a dream. “What happened?” asked Aunt Kate anxiously, hurrying into the room. “We’ve discovered the mystery of our extraordinary legacy,” Peggy cried. Then Don took the other one and threw it on the floor violently and a golden vase rolled out. About an hour later a very happy group were sitting around the fire- place discussing their extraordinary legacy, while a certain old lady was very much surprised to receive a tele- gram firmly refusing her kind offer of a few months ago and a certain old gentleman chuckled with delight over his message which read. Thanks. It takes time and wits. Don. Helen Dudzinski, ’29. A WORD TO THE FRESHMEN I Our Screech Owl is one year old, ’Tho many copies have not been sold. We wish the Freshmen weren’t so cold Then the number of sales would be untold. II Over the other’s shoulder they peer, As if they got a better view from the rear! Fifteen cents isn’t very much But the Freshmen seem to think it such. Ill Maybe this is a little sarcastic. But we hope it works like elastic And stretches and stretches, till it reaches each ear Then maybe the Freshmen will buy with fear! Jeannette C. Johnston, ’28. The Owl The Screech Owl is becoming rec- ognized more and more by the towns- people, who have manifested an inter- est in this activity, not only by sub- scribing and advertising, but also by a gift from a citizen of the town. At the student assembly, held or Wednesday, February 15, a mounted owl was unveiled, the gift of Mr. Wi] liam Reid. While Mr. Reid’s gift wa’ made primarily to the student body,

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THE SCREECH OWL 13 have never had more than casual ac- quaintances ; I have never had an in- timate friend.” If we did find such an unusual character there is but one answer we could give him, “You have missed one of the most beautiful things this life has to offer you.” A pal is the most intimate type of a friend. One to whom you confide all your joys, sorrows, and even your thoughts; one whom you trust . It is human nature to want one per- son to go to for comfort when we are blue and discouraged; when we have become tired or bored with the rest of the world. It is then that we want to have a place where we know symp- athy and understanding will be found. It is even shown in the case of the very young child who loves some par- ticular toy above all others. Who, al- though dazzled at first by a new shiny plaything will turn ultimately to the old, faithful teddy bear or rag doll. But this close friendship is accom- panied with an ugly jealousy that springs up at the slightest and most illogical provocation. Not jealousy of material things that the other posses- ses but at the imaginary slights for which one is forever on the watch. It is the bitterness that accompan- ies all felicity. It is that which makes us recognize joy, for without this severe reminder we would forever look for, and never find, happiness. Edna Paine, ' 29. The Forest Primeval I A splash of water, a bubble, a wave; A rising echo bold and knave ; A sudden crash, a wailing cry, A moan — a shriek — a sobbing sigh ! n A rustle of leaves, a hissing sound; A sudden leap and rushing around; Silence, awe ; a stir — the breeze, A sudden wind — a crash — a tree ! Ill We can but wonder what beings creep In the forest primeval and deep ; On and on, all year around ; For ever and ever the echoes resound. Irma Ryssy, ' 28. The Yosemite Falls Downward, downward, downward, pours the water in a never ending stream. Dashing over the rocks in a constant flow, the current pours over the lofty cliff, hour after hour, day after day, year after year, on into eternity. As this scene meets our eyes, it carries to our minds some idea of the majestic grandeur of Nature herself. As we gaze on this imposing scene, we realize how truly great is the world about us, and how inconsequen- tial we ourselves are. We see the stream, falling tumultu- ously over a vast precipice, to a tur- bulent and boiling pool beneath. The spray and mist, bathed in pure sun- light, burst forth with a display of colors unrivalled in iridescence. The turbulent waters, flowing quietly away from the foot of the rag- ing cascade, pass through the restful peace of the forest and the cool calm and shade of the masterly oaks and hemlocks. On either side, this cataract is flanked by massive cliffs, carved by the tools of Nature and hewn by the hands of Time. Their stern, gray and sombre hue lends a picturesque and fitting background to this galaxy of the shades and tints of Nature. Nor is the art of the Yosemite Falls one of painting and sculpture alone, but also, it is one of music. The roar of the water, tumbling angrily over the precipice is mightier than the greatest of symphonies, while the quiet harmony of the stream, flowing serenely on its way, cannot be dupli- cated in the airs of the greatest of masters.