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

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THE SCREECH OWL 11 “Barney,” cried the man. “Boy, I haven’t seen you for years. How are you, old man ?” He was on the running board pumping Barney’s hand. “Bud!” was all that Barney could say — possibly the surprise forced it out. Bud could and did talk steadily for a time — told Barney that he had risen in the world, that he was leader of a popular band which played nightly at the Colonial Grill. “Why don’t you come to my apart- ment now, Barney? Then you’ll come to the Grill tonight and hear the boys play. Oh, come on.” So Barney left the truck and followed his friend to the taxi. That night found him at the Grill in a borrowed dress-suit, watch- ing Bud lead his band. It came time to broadcast; everything was made ready and finally they were on the air. Their soloist, a tenor, hadn’t ar- rived. Bud became more and more nervous — the proprietor began to tear his hair. Poor Bud racked his brain; suddenly he remembered that Barney used to sing. He implored him to take the tenor’s place — he in- sisted, and finally ordered Barney to stand up before the mike and sing. Barney stood up, and finally he sang. Then, the song finished, he sat down. That wasn’t the end of it; telephone calls and telegrams kept coming in from the studio and direct to the Grill. Bud was overjoyed — Barney didn’t understand it all. But at the end of the year Barney Fallon had crooned his way into the hearts of both his country-women and his country-men — his name was known all over the nation, and yet no one knew anything of his life. Neverthe- less, Barney Fallon was receiving only two hundred dollars a week as salary. Early in April, Maud Allan was sent by her editor to get some sort of an interview with Barney. Maud was thrilled at the prospect. She knew many others had tried and failed, so she was prepared for a long, hard struggle. Next evening found her at the studio waiting for the idol of the nation to finish broadcasting. Barney used a different exit. Maud waited at the studio night after night, but Barney always escaped. She de- cided that it was getting her no- where and so the next evening when Barney entered his apartment Miss Allan was there. Barney went down the fire escape ; Maud called to him to come back, but in vain. Next day when Bud came in to see his friend, Barney was mournfully re- garding an official letter from the studio. “What’s the matter this fair morn- ing,” asked Bud jovially. “Look,” said Barney, for brevity was still the keynote of his speech. “I can’t do it.” Bud looked — then spoke. “Why of course you can do it. All you have to do is meet Miss Allan at the studio and take her out to dinner. It’ll be easy — you won’t have to do anything except answer questions. Oh, you’ll get through it all right.” Barney took Miss Allan out to dinner. Now Maud Allan was very wise ; she was breathless at the honor — very obviously so — and under her admiration, Barney became loqua- cious. He found himself thinking what a wonderful girl Maud was ; he asked her out to dinner again. Barney saw more and more of her and began to feel more and more important. A few months later Maud and he were married. And now Barney Fallon’s salary runs to four figures. He has his pet announcer and his tempera- ment. But he still makes one word do for three or four. Edith Priest, ’32. REPORT CARDS ’Twas the day for reports cards, and down on my knees, I hunted in vain for the “A’s” and the “B’s”; Not a good rank was on it, not even a “C” ; The marks were off duty. Oh ! Where did they flee ?

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10 THE SCREECH OWL that Carbone is going to make the coffee. The day of my funeral arrives and the undertaker comes in to close the coffin. The lid comes down with a thud bringing me to my senses, and I look very sleepily into the face of a Smiling dentist who had just ex- tracted two teeth. Leo Mullin, ' 28 . THE MARCH OF A GAY COCKADE (Apologies to Tennyson) I One more step, one more step, One more step onward, Two, three or four abreast, Saunter three hundred, Into Assembly Hall, With not a care at all, Two, three or four abreast, Saunter three hundred. II Into Assembly Hall, We have obeyed the call, Of the Assembly bell, Why should we worry, Our’s not to hasten on, Our’s not to lead the throng, Our’s but to sing a song, Into Assembly Hall Saunter three hundred. III Teachers to right of us, Teachers to left of us, Teachers in back of us, Glower and mumble, Glared at with lowering brow, On through the hall we plow, Into the center isle, Up to our seats, and now, Down flop three hundred. VOICE-COMPLEX Barney Fallon was the tenth child in a family of ten boys — that in itself was enough to weigh him down. But to make it worse, Barney was a sensitive, music-loving lad, and that in an Irish contractor’s family. His father, red-headed Mike Fallon, never understood his youngest son- — and Barney certainly had nothing in com- mon with the nine young giants who were his brothers. His mother would have understood him had she lived, but his Grandmother Fallon brought him up ; old Mrs. Fallon was anything but understanding. By right Barney should have been slender and delicate. Instead he grew to be bigger than any of his brothers — something about his features showed him to be different from the other boys. His quick growth made him awkward; he naturally became the butt of all his brothers’ fun- making. When his sweet high pitched voice never changed, you can imagine the results. It was enough to make Barney resolve never to speak again. It did serve to give him a deep-set inferiority-complex and make him think twice before uttering a speech. During his school days, Barney’s only chum was Bud O’Leary. Bud played the violin, and Barney spent hours listening to Bud playing; and once in a while Barney sang. It was only once in a while, and he never sang for any one else. Barney didn’t go to High School — he couldn’t stand the laughter any longer. He and Bud kept seeing each other until Bud graduated, organized a band and went his way. Barney tried various jobs — he was a grocery boy, an ice- man, a boxer by popular vote of his brothers, and finally became a truck- driver for his father. He became famed for uttering few more than two sentences a week. When Barney was twenty-four he was still driving his father’s truck and had cut down his utterances to one sentence a week. One day he was sitting in the truck waiting for his father when a taxi drove by. It stopped a short distance ahead of where the truck was parked. A man got out and ran back to the truck.

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12 THE SCREECH OWL Pursue them dear teacher, have pity on me. I can’t pass my lessons on only a “D”. Edith France, ’31. THE NOBLE RESOLVE Uncle was a chronic grouch. There was no doubt about it. Uncle was a grouch. Even his nephew, upon whose defenseless head was falling the brunt of Uncle’s wrath, conceded this. “No”. Uncle’s decisive bark cut the silence of the room. “I can’t let you have any more money. This foolish talk of setting up a radio shop, rub- bish!” “Very well, uncle,” answered his nephew in a hopeless voice, “I’ll go to the law school, but I’m telling you now, that I won’t be the success you want me to be because my interests are in the radio and electrical works, and that’s — ” “That’ll do.” Uncle frowned. “You’ll get a good education, be ad- mitted to the bar, and I’ll set up a practice for you in town here. That’s the future I’ve set my heart on for my brother’s boy!” “Well, if you change your mind, you can find me at the University. I leave tonight. Good-bye, Uncle,” and James Lowell, nephew of old Judge Lowell, strolled out of the office. It was three o’clock in the morning, but the Judge had not danced the whole night long, on the contrary, he had played poker. The Judge was feeling in as good humor as a chronic grouch who was $5,000 to the good could be. It was then, in this most amiable frame of mind, that he en- tered his domain. All was quiet. Everyone had gone to bed, but just as he was about to place in his desk, all the night’s hard earned winnings, an uneasy thought struck him. The Judge wanted to use that money; in fact he planned on going to another poker game where the stakes were bound to be high, so he decided to look for a place in which to hide it so that his wife Martha could not find it. With this in mind, he instantly dis- carded the desk as a hiding place, for Martha was always looking for re- cipes, old bills, etc., in the desk. The Judge put in a few minutes serious concentration, then his face lighted up. Selecting an envelope, he wrote his nephew’s name on it. Then he put it in his coat pocket. “Guess Martha won’t bother to look in my old coat pocket for money,” he chuckled, “and if she does, she won’t be likely to open a letter that is going to James!” Thus, well pleased with this brilliant piece of work, he re- tired. Jane Ann walked down the street. On her face was a thoughtful look, in her soul THE NOBLE RESOLVE. To the ordinary individual, she looked like an average red-headed, freckle- faced, serious eyed girl of ten years, but to those who knew her, she showed signs of inner perturbation. As a matter of fact, something was preying on her mind. She had just heard a lecture at the school, and it had impressed her mightily. The lec- turer had exhorted his listeners to do a good deed, and so spread sunshine. This Jane Ann decided, was good pol- icy, and she determined to try it. “Uncle will like me to help,” she decided. “I guess I’ll help him and Aunt Martha all I can. I’ll help Jimmie too,” she declared in a burst of enthusiasm. “I’ll clean out the clothes closet.” Upon arriving home, she found the house deserted. Aunt Martha was out, probably on the trail of new gossip, so there was none to discourage her. With all the zest of new-found en- thusiasm, she tackled the old clothes closet. As she took down old dresses of her aunt, she put them aside ; they would serve as gowns to be worn when she and her friends played “house”. When she came to her uncle’s garments, she carefully ex- plored them so that she could gather up all the booty, consisting of cop-