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

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The “Screech Owl” staff is printing in this issue two stories chosen as the best of those submitted to the con- test. “The Owl” extends its thanks to Miss Ruth Finn, Miss Helen Morgan, and Mr. Guy Fowler, who acted as judges. SCREECH OWL PRIZE STORY THE LAST CLICK By Katherine Bariteau Katherine is an active member of the class of ’30. Her literary career has been short and this is her first prize money in that field. Katherine is em- ployed in a local bookstore, which may explain her literary trend. She likes the out-of-doors and is adept at many sports. She is a pleasant associate and finds much enjoyment with her class- mates. Katherine intends to enter Bridgewater Normal in the fall. New York City! Hustle, excite- ment, noise everywhere, horns blow- ing, trains puffing, and people rushing to their destination. Jack Wells, one of the many million visitors to New York, was lounging gracefully on the hotel divan when he heard his name being called. “Mr. James Wells! Mr. Wells!” Jack jumped up, looked around him and saw a messenger calling and wav- ing a yellow envelope in the air. “Right here, Buddy,” replied Jack. “Pm James Wells.” The boy handed the telegram to Jack, who signed for it. Jack carefully examined the enve- lope and said, “Why, this is the first time Fve ever received a telegram! It can’t be bad news !” Cautiously, he opened the telegram and read the con- tents. “Come at once stop Mother very ill stop Rose.” Jack’s face paled, his hands shook, his eyes glared, visions ran speedily through his mind. “Mother very ill? It — it can’t be. She was well and happy when I left a week ago, but Rose would never send me a telegram if it were not seri- ous. I’ll go home immediately.” Hurriedly, but still in a daze, Jack packed his bag and boarded the train heading for home and Mother. “Oh, why doesn’t this train go faster? We are merely crawling.” Suddenly his face brightened, “I know. I’ll get out at the next station and go by airplane.” This Jack did and found himself in San Diego in an hour. Arriving home, he was confronted at the door by the dearly loved but- ler, Perkins, with a horrified look that Jack had never seen before. “Oh Perkins, what has happened? I must see her at once ! Where is she ? Answer me, Perkins!” “My boy,” said the butler. “Com- pose yourself and listen to my advice. Your mother is seriously ill and knows no one. She continually calls your name. Go to her. She will not recognize you, but be brave for — ” “Stop! I must go to her!” cried the boy. At that, Jack bounded lightly up the stairs and stopped before his mother’s door. Gathering his courage, he slowly opened the door and saw his frail, pale, yet sweet mother lying on her bed. Clearing his throat he said, “Mother, I am here.” “Camera! 0. K! Stop!” shouted the director of the Magno Film Company. “We’ll shoot the rest of the scene to- morrow.”

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8 THE SCREECH OWL the world? Yes, of course, for most certainly each and every one of us experiences this feeling at some time or another. When we are pessimistic, we cry, “Of what value are we any- way? We live, we die, thousands of centuries will follow ours, and mil- lions of beings will take our niche in the world. Why live, then?” But when we are happy, we shout to the world, “We live for happiness, for the joy of living! We are strug- gling to reach an ideal of perfection, one that is never reached in this world, but which is rewarded only in heaven!” Which of the two is the right atti- tude? Is it that of continued grumb- ling, believing that life cannot be changed ; and that it is only made up of pitfalls and chasms of despair, where no sunlight ever penetrates? Is it that of disillusion, believing that the dregs of life are only bitter and unsatisfactory? Is it this? No! Is it happiness then, joy, laughter, sprinkled with a few tears which make us realize even more the su- preme happiness of life? Is it earnest struggling to grasp that which we desire ? Is it bonds of love, — love that holds home, church, and nation as one? What is it? It is a question for each individual to decide for himself, for we get only as much out of life as we put into it! If we put grumbling and half-hearted efforts into the bowl of life, an un- pleasant mixture results! If we put happiness, zest, energy, the will to do right into it, a concoction of our dreams is made! Remember and profit by the experi- ences of others, for it is for the earn- est people that life is worth while ; all else she excludes from her retinue. Which attitude are you going to take? Doris Dawson, ’ 30 . AHEAD— Ahead of us we have three months in which to complete the work of this school year. For a few of us these months will be the last we are to spend in school. Let us make the most of them. Let us make these last school days an aid as we forge ahead. For others of us these last months are merely the last of another school year. There is hardly a thought as to what lies ahead. We say that there will be time for that later. But will there be time ? The time to start pon- dering over the future years is in the early years of high school. We should resolve at that time to make our high school career a worthy one and to strive with our utmost ability to pre- pare ourselves well for the future. Ahead of us is Life. We must meet it with squared shoulders and a quick step. We must be courageous and plucky enough to go out and try to attain our goal. The knocks and bruises we receive from life should not crush and defeat us. They should be an incentive to fight more valiantly than before. Nothing worthy is gained without giving something of worth ; so let us be determined to give the world the best we have in hopes that the best will come back to us.

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10 THE SCREECH OWL Honorable mention has been given to Harriet Frye, a member of the Junior class, whose story follows: PAUL TO THE RESCUE “Here is a story, believe it or no. It happened to Cook and I know it’s so. The scene was — ” “Oh, preserve it for a rainy day. If you can ' t talk prose like the rest of us, keep it to yourself,” interrupted Bernice ' s older, and of course, super- ior brother Paul. “Well, what I was about to relate to your royal highness,” continued the undaunted Bernice, “is that Judy walked in her sleep again last night — but alas ! — I fear a most disastrous outcome. She walked up and down the hall by Chloe’s bedroom door, waving her arms about and reciting Lady Macbeth ' s sleep-walking scene. Poor Cook is nearly frantic and de- clares she won ' t stay in this ‘ghost ' s den’ another day. She plans to leave on the 7 : 15 train tomorrow morning.” “For cat’s sake,” exploded Paul, jumping up from the most comfort- able chair in the room. “A fine scrape — with Mother and Dad not due home for a week yet — and, holy gee! — our party’s tomorrow night!” “Yes, dearest brother, and but forty cents remains in the family treasury. None of us can boil water without burning it, let alone cook anything. Oh, we’ve got to keep Chloe.” “Now listen, you two,” said Paul as Judy entered the room, “I’m respons- ible for us all in Dad’s absence — ” “Oh, listen to the child,” giggled Bernice, “most illustrious sir, I humbly beg to be allowed — ” But Paul silenced her with a glance (being a football player), and contin- ued: “Judy you’re the cause of all this — can you offer any suggestions ?” “Yes, I thought that maybe Bern- ice could sleep in Chloe’s room to- night, and at, say twelve o’clock, I could do the same thing over again. Then Bernice could show Cook that it’s only me.” “Marvelous, stupendous, how did you ever think of it?” was Bernice’s comment. “Gee, Judy, that’s just the thing. And I’ll keep vigil with you, too — when you hear that cat-call of mine you’ll know that it’s time for your act. I’ll have to stick around to see that everything goes off right.” So it was agreed. The trio spent the rest of the day trying to console pessimistic Chloe, but that negress just wasn’t to be comforted. Came the night. They all retired early, and Paul found it hard to keep awake the long three hours to midnight. He started to read “Tom Slade, Dispatch Rider,” for the tenth time, but found the repetition too monoton- ous. He then proceeded to get out his writing materials and started a letter to Bill, but stopped after writing the salutation because he couldn’t think of anything to say. The remainder of the time was spent by poring over his old stamp album. Finally the downstairs clock struck twelve. Paul opened his door, and crossed the hall to Judy’s room. “Me-oow, me-oow !” No answer. He knocked on the door and called, as loudly as he dared, “Sis! Judy! Ju-u-u-dith!” Gentle snores were the only reply. No doubt about it — she was asleep and it would be useless to wake her — she’d get excited and there was no telling what Judith Hazelton would do when she got excited! Paul crept down the hall and made sure that Bernice and Chloe were asleep — he could easily tell by the sound, — then went back to his own room to concentrate. Weren’t girls just the limit? You never could depend on them. All ex- cept Ruth Rhodes, but then she wasn’t like other girls !