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

Page 19 text:

THE SCREECH OWL 15 NANCY By a sudden turn in the value of his stock, Mr. Buffet became rich over night. Immediately upon this change in his fortune he was coaxed into buy- ing a very large house by his daugh- ter, Nancy. As neither of the Buffets was educated beyond grammar school or possessed social position, they did not know just how to go about their new life. The new house was fur- nished very magnificently, and Nancy had a great many parties, entertain- ing extensively. One day Nancy - was invited by a girl who lived near her, but was not one of her crowd, to visit a near-by college for girls. Anxious to get into society, Nancy accepted. The day arrived, and Nancy and her student friend, Marjorie, journ- eyed over the fifty miles between home and Trixton College. The first person whom they saw upon their ar- rival at the school was Professor Horne. Nancy immediately became interested in the young professor. She attended the lecture given that day by him and then made a sudden decision. That night when Nancy was in the library with her father, she told of her visit and her desire to become a member of Trixton College. Nancy and her father visited the college the next day and had an inter- view with the college president. After a half-hour in the president’s office, the Buffets walked out, looking very downcast. Nancy did not have a high school diploma, therefore she could not join the girls of Trixton College. It being Mr. Buffet’s policy to give Nancy everything she wanted, he spent the remainder of the day and night trying to think of a plan to ful- fill his daughter’s wish. It was five A. M. when an idea came. He awak- ened his daughter and at 6:30 they were on their way to Trixton College. They arrived a half-hour before the office was opened, but they waited. After a long interview with the officials of the college, the Buffets emerged triumphantly. Nancy could attend Trixton College. But how ? Guess! You couldn’t! Trixton is to have a new building, the Buffet Dining Hall. “I just couldn’t disappoint Nancy,” said the donor. Louise Johnston, ’30. CHICAGO After I had ducked three or four bombs which had been hurled at me from the third story of the “Ritz- Rotz,” I started on the run for the nearest police station. “What’s your hurry, Buddy?” ques- tioned a ferocious looking “pug” as he whipped his blackjack from its holster. “Whither be thou bound?” Utterly frightened, I was unable to answer this simple but impolite ques- tion. He loosened his grip on my shoulder, and I heard three buttons drop to the curb. What was his pur- pose? My mind became a blank. “If you’re going down to the Police Station give my regards to the Chief. Here’s my card.” The tough looking man drew forth a card from his pocket and thrust it before my face. I cast my gaze over the inscription. “Michael Casper Jones, Politician, Dealer in Bombs, Machine Guns, etc. See us first. Call Regio 117B663.” I took the card, placed it in my pocket, and hastily bade the politician goodbye. I hurried to the nearest station, but before I got there two men in blue accosted me. Without any warning I was rushed into a padded cell. What the big idea was, I could not tell. I really didn’t like the treatment they gave me there. I protested, but for all the good it did I might have been trying to date up Joan Crawford. After a very restless night and a tasteless breakfast I was put into an ambulance and taken to the psycho- pathic ward of the city hospital. Find- ing me mentally K. 0., they shipped

Page 18 text:

14 THE SCREECH OWL Yet his heart was gay. He had something the other had not. He sent his brother a handsome parrot swing- ing in a gilded cage. Not free to wander was that parrot, but hamp- ered, checked, restrained on every side. The irony of marriage! Wieno Sneck, ’30. WAITING AT THE CHURCH The Carson household was in a tumult. In fact, this precise family had never before been so disrupted. They moved about with despair on their faces. And all because Nora, the cook, was going to marry Patrol- man Casey and leave the Carson household. This in itself might have been a minor detail to some but to the Carson household it was an acute tragedy. Nora was “E Pluribus Unum.” Never had there been a cook like Nora. And her apple pies — m-m- m — . “We simply must do something about this drastic situation,” mur- mured Mr. Carson. “We’ll raise her pay,” suggested Johnny Carson. “We’ve already tried that,” sighed his sister. “We’ve got to do something,” snapped Mrs. Carson. “We’ll each adjourn to a separate room and think for half an hour,” de- cided Mr. Carson, “then we’ll come back here and discuss our plans.” Thirty minutes later found them again in the library. “I can’t think of a thing,” sighed Johnny. “Neither can I,” said his sister. “I’m as bad as the children,” said Mrs. Carson. “It would seem,” said Mr. Carson with asperity, “that, as usual, I must do all the thinking for this family. Well, I’ve thought of a plan and if I do say so I think it is a wonder; in fact, it cannot fail. Owing to my ability as a plan maker, we will still have a cook. Now listen. We’ll let everything go until the wedding, to- morrow. At the moment that Patrol- man Casey arrives, I’ll have Johnny run in with a note, supposedly from the chief, saying that a murder had been committed and for Casey to come right over. His sense of duty is so strong that he’ll put the wedding ahead for an hour and leave for head- quarters. Nora will arrive and I’ll tell her that Casey had to go to the sta- tion to answer a hurry call from the chief. Knowing Nora as I do, I feel assured that she’ll be so mad at be- ing kept waiting at the church that she’ll naturally give Casey the go-by. Now, how’s that for a plan?” “I think it’s terrible,” exclaimed his wife, “but we must keep Nora.” The next day found Mrs. Carson at the church standing beside Patrolman Casey, once the pride of the force, but now a very much shaken and worried man. Mr. Carson and the family were also present. Johnny Carson was seen running toward them with a very ex- cited expression on his face. He had a note in his hand, but, instead of handing it to Casey, he gave it to his father. “I believe this is for Patrolman Casey, isn’t it?” asked his father quickly. “No, for you, — ” this with a sem- blance of suppressed mirth. Mr. Carson adjusted his glasses, opened the note, and proceeded to read. Then his jaw slowly dropped, he reddened and coughed his embar- assment. “Well, I’ll be — ” he was heard to mutter. “What does it say?” anxiously in- quired his wife. Mr. Carson looked at the crowd, swallowed hard, and read: “I have eloped with the janitor. Nora.” John Horan, ’30.

Page 20 text:

16 THE SCREECH OWL me back to the jail. Upon my arrival they brought me before the judge who had a face that reminded me of a cross between a St. Bernard and a Boston terrier. “What’s the charge?” growled the judge, as he took the card I offered him. I shrank down to the size of a Mex- ican jumping bean. My brow became moist. All eyes were focused on me. I didn’t know what I had done to cause all this commotion and trouble. “Your honor,” a man with a red mustache said, “I found this lunatic out in the street.” “But your honor!” I exclaimed. “Shut up!” the judge growled. “And he was breaking windows and shooting children and using profane language.” “The first few charges are nothing, but for his using profanity I shall give him thirty years at hard labor.” “But your honor, think of my poor wife and children.” “Twenty more years for contempt of court.” “What! Your honor, I was only — ” “Put him up for life,” growled the judge. After I had served three days, I knew all the tricks of the various il- legal trades, such as bootlegging and politics. The other prisoners let me in on their plan for escape. The zero hour came and we mutinied. We refused to eat stuffed duck. We were fed up on it. We wanted chop-suey for a change. When the chef refused us, we started our escape and burned down the prison. Gathering together all the ammuni- tion in the supply room, we headed down Main Street to make “whoo- pee.” As we approached the stock yard, someone shot off a cap pistol. A stam- pede immediately followed and I used up all the bombs that I had and made my escape. I’ll not go there any more. Harold Lerer, ’30. QUAND NOUS PENSONS EN FRANCAIS LE TONNERRE DES MAX1MES DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD REVERBERENT DANS LA FORET VIERGE DE LA CLASSE AVANCEE. LA ROCHEFOUCAULD Francois La Rochefoucauld, auteur et moraliste frangais naquit a Paris en seize cent treize. II servit plusieurs annees dans l’armee et prit part a la Fronde. II fut blesse deux fois. II ne regut pas la recompense qu’il esperait d’Anne d’Autriche. Pendant les dernieres annees de sa vie il fit la connaissance de Madame de La Fayette. Sa celebrite est due a son petit volume de “Maximes.” La note preponderate des “Maximes” est l’egoi ' sme. Cette philosophie de la vie est exposee avec ardeur et d’une maniere elegante. Ses maximes sont distinguees parcequ’elles sont pleines de pessimisme. En voici quelques-unes. Jugez en vous meme ! Howard King. “Les vertus se perdent dans l’interet comme les fleuves dans la mer.” “Si nous resistons a nos pas- sions, c’est plus par leur faib- lesse que par notre force.” “Le refus des louanges est un desir d’etre loue deux fois.” “Ce qu’on nomme liberate n’est plus souvent que la vanite de donner que nous aimons mieux que ce que nous donnons.” La Rochefoucauld.