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

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THE SCREECH OWL 11 with the famous aviator, Wiley Post, in the tundras. Little did he realize, when in Fairbanks, that he was de- livering his last speech. Post and Rogers started from Fair- banks to Point Barrow, which was a five-hundred-mile trip. They were only a few miles from their destina- tion when this tragedy, which all the world mourned, occurred. Will Rogers ' own explanation of the place of his birth was halfway between Claremore and Oolagan, before there was a town in either place, on Novem- ber 4, 1879. School books and learning meant very little to Will. He would do almost every one else ' s work but his own. Riding and roping were this Okla- homan ' s favorite recreations, and even in later life he spent his vacations working in the annual round-ups. Will depended upon the stage for his future work. At first, when he did not realize the importance of his gift of speech, he merely did tricks with his rope. Gradually he gathered enough courage to make a few remarks which caused the people to roar in spasms of laughter. Then Will ' s career was set. He starred in the Ziegfeld Follies for many years. He would pick out many people of importance in the crowd and embarrass them with his witticisms, but even these people enjoyed the fun immensely. At the beginning of his stage career he met Betty Blake, whom he fell in love with and later married. My wife made me what I am said Rogers, who had by that time ac- quired world-wide fame. After his stage career he went into the movies, and although he claimed that he could not act, he became one of the most popular and most beloved of all actors. Later, radio fame was his, and he received more money than any other person ever on the radio for one of his talks. Rogers travelled very much all over the world and met many famous people. Among them were the Prince of Wales, now King of England, the late King George, Presidents F. Roose- velt, Theodore Roosevelt, Coolidge, and Hoover, Lindbergh, Mussolini, and Stalin. Home, with his wife and three children, was to Rogers the dearest place on earth. He was not an auto- crat there, for when the children were young and needed punishment, Will always found a reason to leave the room and let Mrs. Rogers give the punishment. Will ' s charity was known every- where. He gave many thousands to his pet charities. But these were not all. The following incident tells of his true generosity: One day Will went to the bank and took out very many small bills. A friend followed him to see what he would do. Rogers walked to the poorest section of the city and there distributed the money among the needy. As a commentator on the ever- changing political scenes, Rogers, through his witty, yet piercing, remarks, made his wisdom known. Being a very faithful Democrat, he made many cracks about the Republicans. About all the prominent men he made jokes, but in back of these jokes was no envy or jealousy. Once he had very seri- ously been approached to run for the presidency, but he had put this aside, saying he was too ignerant. This ambassador of good will , while travelling, made friends with kings, presidents, dictators, and dip- lomats, all of whom enjoyed his shrewd observations on the happenings in their countries. Ambassador Morrow had his most successful interview with President Calles of Mexico after Rogers had made that official laugh. Rogers was known as the number one air passenger of the United States. He preferred travelling in the air to any other way. After the tragic death of Rogers in the plane crash, Conrad Nagel chose this selection from Shakespeare to describe the American cowboy hum- orist and philosopher: His life was gentle, and the element

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THE HERO It must have been the biggest thing that had ever happened to that little town. To have a handsome face to look at, instead of the customary birth, marriage, and death notices, was cer- tainly a welcome change. The event that made such a deep impression on Plattville was the sudden arrival of a distinguished visitor whose gray-tinged hair made one think of a movie actor and whose pronounced limp only added to his distinction. When he bought a house and became a resident of the town, interest in him waned a bit, since he went out very little. Even Joe, who was hired to help keep the grounds and house neat, knew nothing about him. Stories created by wild imagination circulated freely. Josie, Joe’s wife, insisted that she had sometime seen his picture in the papers. Whenever the mystery man made one of his rare visits to the center of the town, everybody stared. He walked slowly along, limping all the way, his far-off expression showing that he was unaware of the excitement he stirred up. There was no doubt about it ... he was living in the past . . . but what was his past? Curious eyes watched him from across the street, from doorways, from behind lifted curtains, but no one could discover whether he was rich man, poor man, beggar man, or thief. One day Joe galloped into the post- office, fairly bursting with news. His breath came in gasps. The usual gang which hung around there patted him on the back and urged him to tell what the matter was. Finally he panted, “He’s a war hero, that’s what he is.” Then Joe told the story. When he was cleaning and polishing the living room furniture, he noticed a cabinet filled with glittering medals and trophies. When the mystery man caught Joe’s glance, he calmly closed the cabinet door and put the key in his pocket. “I know I’ve seen his picture in the papers, too. He’s been a hero,” Joe finished. Now the town at last paid proper homage to its illustrious citizen, who only smiled absent-mindedly when he was given a dozen honorary positions. His proud manner and his limp became a legend. One day he asked the grocer for credit. Flattered by being treated as an equal by the famous man, that worthy soul gladly allowed him to charge several hundred dollars worth of supplies. Other people were also famed by such attention. Then one day, the town’s first citizen left . . . for good. He died. The whole community attended the funeral. Flags were lowered, stores closed. Joe took the key in nervous fingers and brought out the famous col- lection of medals to display. Great was the shock to the people of Platts- ville when they fixed their eyes on the largest and gaudiest gold disk! On it were the following words: “Presented to , Champion Pastry Cook of Paddington County, 1915-1919.” — John Yanuskiewicz, ‘39. WILL ROGERSI By P. J. O’Brien “Off for somewhere.” That was one of Will Rogers’ last remarks before he met his tragic death

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12 THE SCREECH OWL So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’ ” Will Rogers by P. J. O’Brien con- sisted of a series of incidents which occurred during the life of this prince of wit and wisdom. O’Brien’s book, unlike most bio- graphies, is not written in continuous form, for it tells of Rogers’ many characteristics and occupations as if each were a different short story, in- stead of as in most biographies, with the events occurring in the same order as in real life. One would have to read this book, however, in order to appreciate the very many interesting phases of the life of this truly great American. — Lyli Tervo, ’38. The following poems were inspired by the Indian poetry in “Of to Arcady”, a textbook used in the Junior year: A PLEA Oh moon god, hear my plea, Send your light o’er this land tonight, Help your children do what is right. Oh moon god, our enemy is strong, Give us strength to quell the wrong, For we are few, but we have might, Oh moon god, send us your light to- night. — Evelyn Saari, ’37. AN INDIAN WAR DANCE The soft pad-pad of moccasined feet on the sod, In mysterious supplication to the great War-God Resounds through the valley now shadowed with night, Lighted only by the campfire’s eerie light. Faster and faster the warriors dance round, Now shouting to heaven, now heads near the ground. The drummer’s tempo grows more rapid and fierce, As each soul-stirring cry the night air does pierce. — Helmi S. Tikkanen, ’37. JUST BEFORE MORNING Jennison was bored. He regarded with weary hatred the job he had left behind, the car he was driving, and the destination that lay ahead of him. The sultry day pressed down upon him, and the gravel road, peculiarly luminous under a leaden sky, reminded him of those unhealthy, phosphorescent things you find in swamps. He cursed the doctor who had sent him away “because you need a com- plete change and something new to think about”; he cursed the radio which was giving forth that ear-split- ting static that means lightning; and he gave particularly profane attention to the straggling village into which he was just coming. It was not all the sort of place to cheer one up. There was that first house on the left. It must have been rather good once; but the white paint was almost completely worn away, bricks from the chimney littered the roof, and the windows had that death- like stare that only the windows of a deserted house can give. Behind a picketless fence, flowers and weeds grew in shamless disorder. Jennison remembered that he needed cigarettes. There must be a store somewhere. There was. The proprietor was a lean, cheerful, little old man, avid for company. He looked over his glasses at his customer and detained him by the simple exped- ient of not giving back his change. “Touring, I suppose,” he ventured. “Going to my camp in Northern Vermont,” replied Jennison, somewhat avid for company, too. “Vacation!” “Well, an enforced one.” “You been sick!” “No, merely tired, I guess. You know,” Jennison paused to light a cigarette, “Im just about bored to death with this trip.” “Well, now, that’s real too bad,” sympathized the proprietor, absently inspecting the change in his hand but not parting with it. Jennison spoke about the house he had seen on the way in. The pro-