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

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THE SCREECH OWL 11 Mr. Lovell was now on his way toward success. His business in the Woburn district expanded rapidly. Soon he had busses run- ning in Wilmington, Billerica, and Melrose. In 1921, the Eastern Massachusetts Street Railway decided to run street cars in the Woburn district. Mr. Lovell was asked to sell his busses. He replied, “I’ll sell anything but my wife.” The concern was sold to this company for $45,000. At this point in his life Mr. Lovell, then sixty-three, could retire with enough money to enjoy a comfortable and quiet life. But by now, you realize that such a sheltered existence was for other men, not him. Upon hearing of the discontinuation of car lines in Maynard, he decided that he ought to begin a transportation business in this thriving town. His experiment proved to be a great success. He soon reserved the right to operate busses between Maynard and Concord, and Lexington and Woburn. He now has these vehicles running through several towns and cities. In fact, Lovell Bus Lines carry passengers through twenty- six different places every day. Ten of his twenty busses in Weymouth carry the school children to and from school daily. Last year, his busses traveled over a million and a quarter miles. At present, Mr. Lovell has 65 busses and expects to procure more. At this writing Mr. Lovell is eighty-one years old, and still has no thought of retire- ment. He visits his office every day, and follows his schedule with the same vigot - ousness as in his younger days. Yes, again I repeat, we certainly do not have to search in history books for the lives of great men; we have one in our own com- munity by the name of John F. Lovell. Aaron Glickman, ’39. THAT’S LIFE (Series III) Shifless Kentucky was a weather-beaten old man of about forty. Tall and scrawny, he was clothed in misfitted articles that had been given to him by sympathetic house- wives throughout his wanderings. Having left his home in the Kentucky hills when he was young, he learned neither to read nor write and was given the name of “Shifless Kentucky” by his fellow men because he would never look for work. He had roamed through all sections of the country and had settled indefinitely in a certain large coastal city. His temporary sleeping quarters were an old deserted out-of-sight shack on the dock which had evidently been left by rum- runners of recent years. All his friends en- joyed his company, for he was a kind old man who loved nature and fishing above anything else. Shifless found no greater pleasure than to sit on the dock which was piled high with crates, boxes, and mostly rubbish, and fish all day in the warm rays of the autumn sun. Even Flannigan, the cop on the beat, who had known Shifless for several years, regarded him as a harmless sort of tramp, and liked to talk to him about the weather and fishing. This was the way that Shifless spent his days about the har- bor. He would rummage about, picking up bits of newspapers to push into the cracks in his shack, for there were often bleak, foggy nights that were chilly even in this warm climate. This was the life that he led, quiet and peaceful, the kind that he liked. One of those cold, foggy nights about eleven o’clock, Shifless was going to his shack with a bundle of newspapers that he had picked up on the way from the other end of the harbor where he was visiting a fel- lowman. Nearing his shack, he was sur- prised to see the flickering of a candle through the cracks of the shack. Thinking someone had moved in on his territory, he stealthily crept up to the shack and listened. He heard two gruff voices speaking. Com- ing nearer, he looked through a crack. He was puzzled when he saw two men, dressed in flashy clothes, standing before a third, who was bound and gagged and seated on a box. One of the standing men was uneasy and turning to the other said, “Well, Mouse, ain’t ya goin’ afta da stuff yet? I watched da copper, he won’t be aroun’ fer anudder half hour. Gwan, I’ll watch outside.” Then shrugging his shoulders, he went on, “Chees, dis joint is gettin’ me noives.” He blew out the candle, and they both emerged into the thick blanket of fog. Shifless waited until one of them left, then, he slowly crept up behind the other and gave him a blow on the back of the neck. Quickly he groped his way into the shack and lit the candle. The seated man sputtered in trying to say some- thing through the gag. He evidently heard the slight scuffle outside and realized Shif- ess was not one of their party. Several minutes elapsed before Shifless unbound and ungagged the man; then he muttered in a low voice, “Scram, mister, I dunno what ya here fer, but I reckon ya bettra skeedaddle outa here fer ya get inta a pecka trouble.” The frightened man reached into his pockets, then seemed to have changed his mind, and darted out the small door. Not a minute passed when the other man returned from the errand. Shifless waited until that one

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A BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN F. LOVELL There is an old tale about two children who searched all over the world for the Blue- bird of Happiness, only to find the bird at home. It is the same with all of us. We open our mouths and gape at the wondrous feats of far off heroes, and we often pro- claim, “What wouldn’t I give to know a per- son as plucky as that!” If we only opened our eyes and ears to the situations about us, I am sure we would find many heroes as great as those we read about in history books or even greater. For instance, do you know in our very vicinity there dwells a man who denies most vigorously that “life begins at forty”? For this man, life began in the sixties and has gone on and on. You may not know him personally, but if you have lived in Maynard for any length of time, you must have had an occasion for being thankful to him. I speak, of course, of Mr. John F. Lovell, President of the Lovell Bus Lines. I shall not tell you very much of his boy- hood. That in itself would demand more space than the Screech Owl now contains. I must, however, show you how his determina- tion even then was remarkable. Born at Plymouth, Massachusetts, Sep- tember 28, 1858, Mr. Lovell did not have the advantage of going to school long, for at the age of nine, he was forced to leave school and seek employment. This industrious fel- low found work in a nail factory in Ply- mouth. A seventy-one-cent-a-day job wasn’t much pay for an ambitious boy, but after all, what kind of a salary can one expect to get at the age of nine? At eleven, he left the factory, and went to his grandfather’s farm in Carver. While at the farm, he started a little business of his owm selling milk. Mr. Lovell used to ask his uncle to make out his customers’ bills. One day, however, his uncle said to him, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself; a boy fifteen years old not being able to read or write.” That statement hurt John’s feelings, but he soon realized that it was true, and some- thing ought to be done about it. He couldn’t attend school, but did the next best thing by gathering whatever books he could obtain and by beginning to learn how to read and write. A short time afterwards he was mak- ing out his own bills. John stayed at this farm until he was twenty-one years old, and then he moved back to Plymouth. There he secured employ- ment in a shoe factory and increased his salary from $1.00 to $4.00 a day. At 24, he married and moved to Ashland, where he worked in a shoe factory; later, with the aid of his wife, he opened a restaurant. The shoe factory, failing because of a depression, made it necessary to seek work again, and this time he secured a job in Woburn with an insurance company working on a com- mission basis, and receiving $15.00 to $25.00 a week. Speaking of his experiences during this period Mr. Lovell remarked: “The people I took the premiums from needed the money more than I did.” While living in Woburn, he decided to go into the theatrical business, for his weekly salary with the insurance company was not sufficient to support him and his wife. The result was that he opened theaters in Beverly and Gloucester. He was becoming prosperous in the business, but soon “old man depression” came once again, and he lost these too. But now it is time to begin telling you of the remarkable part of his life. I refer to it as being “life begins at sixty-one.” For it is from this age that Mr. Lovell’s success story begins. At this age, he found himself penniless. Most men would be thinking of retirement and pensions, if any. But not he! He was determined “to be successful.” With only a Model T Ford to his name and enough money to buy four gallons of gas, he started a taxi-cab business. John Lovell described the Ford as being “an ancient looking old trap,” but if it could be returned to him to- day, it would be of great value. Gradually, his cab made enough money; thus he was able to add more to his business. One day the Mayor of Woburn asked him to establish a bus line from Woburn to Reading. Mr. Lovell, foreseeing a great chance of expansion, agreed immediately. He did not have much capital, but because of faith stored in him by the Reo Company of Boston, he was given busses on credit terms.

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12 THE SCREECH OWL discovered his unconscious partner and then pounced on him from out of the shack. In several minutes there was a great deal of noise as the two men scuffled in the dark- ness bumping into crates and boxes and sending them flying all over the place. Shitless was slowly losing way. He was too old for such rough handling. Just as he was on the verge of collapse, a light shown on them from the distance and Flannigan’s shrill whistle rang through the stillness. Shitless took to his feet and dashed around the crates. He heard someone follow, a shot, then a groan. His antagonist didn’t get away. Later, from a hiding place, for he knew every nook and crevice, he saw the police wagon arrive, and the two hoodlums were taken away. Shitless sighed in relief and curled up ready to retire for the night, for he dared not return to his shack, lest the police make further investigations and finjd him and lock him up for taking part in the brawl. Thus everything quieted down, and Shitless fell asleep on the once-more quiet dock. Several months elapsed, and Shitless had already forgotten the episode. He mentioned nothing to his friends, whom he saw but occasionally. He chuckled to himself when he thought of the incident, or by it he had gained a box of candles left by the hood- lums. Now, every night. Shitless looked at the pictures in the newspapers that he found on the dock and around the harbor. One night as he was looking at a new batch of newspapers, he picked one up and exclaimed, “Gosh darn, if that ain’t the man I un- hitched here in ma shack.” He drew nearer to the candle and stared at the picture of a man on the front page beneath which read in large print — MILLIONAIRE SEEKS TRAMP WHO SAVED HIM. Then in smaller print — J. J. STANLEY WILL GIVE $1000 AS REWARD TO THE MAN WHO RESCUED HIM FROM KIDNAP- PERS. MAN URGED TO IDENTIFY SELF. After gazing at it for several minutes, he said to himself, “I wonda why they’s got his pitcha in the paper.” Then interrupting his own thoughts, “Dang thet wind, it’s blown the paper outa the blasted crack.” Crumpling up the paper he was looking at, he pushed it into the crack, then went to bed. — Helen Smith, ’39. A FAREWELL TO SCHOOL LIFE They will never quite leave us, the friends we have passed A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast. The work which we leave and the books that we’ve read The songs that we’ve sung — dear words that we’ve said All these thoughts are forever encased In the haunting chords of memory chaste. In years to come we cannot speak with later friends Of those old times in school to which love lends Such clinging thoughts and mystic haze of soft regret Which we would not, if we could, forget The sweet enchanted sighs of bygone hours at Maynard High. — Helen Smith, ’39 THE EMOTIONLESS LOVER Early each morning by the old west gate she waited patiently for a passing glimpse of him. He was never there at the appointed time; so she went in search of him. As usual, in rain or shine she found him at his work. She stood gazing at him for a long, long time. How handsome he was! He was tall and straight; indeed he was a model if there ever was one. Very daintily she made her way over the fresh planted ground until she reached his side. She hoped she was beautiful, for this was the most important day in her life. She looked at him and gave a deep sigh — she always felt like this when she met him after a long day away from him. Very slowly she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. He never even turned his head or lifted his derby hat. She rested her head on his manly chest and then parted her lips, sending forth another heavy sigh. Suddenly she heard someone shout, “Betsy, get out of that field!” She looked around and there was farmer Brown standing over her and looking very angry. Could it be that he was jealous of her new-found love ? Oh, but she could never love anyone but him. Farmer Brown was very angry, so much so that he slapped her and spoke harshly to her. And real gentlemen never did or said such things to a lady. She expected her brave hero to come to her defence, but he stood there staring straight ahead. This was too much. She turned away broken-hearted and disillusioned, but never a w’ord of protest passed her lips, for she was just an old Guernsey cow and her lover an old scarecrow. — Edward Donahue, ’39.