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

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8 THE SCREECH OWL Boyd’s voice had sounded so urgent over the phone that I was almost afraid of what might be wrong. I knew that the thing I feared most had happened when I heard the continuous hys- terical screaming. No one but Boyd and myself knew about Kathy’s fierce, violent insanity on stormy nights like this. I was mounting the stairs two at a time when the shot was fired. I stood frozen on the eighth step, the silence broken only by the moaning wind outside. Somewhere a door slammed, then Boyd’s tor- tured voice was calling Kathy. We met at the top of the stair case and en- tered Kathy’s room together. She lay on her bed, the gun clenched in her hand and a hideous red spot staining her white gown. Both Boyd and I had heard Kathy talk of suicide on a night like this and both doubted her. The look on her face, so white and young, was not a look of horror or terror, but one of peace and content- ment. Even Boyd thought that his sister’s death had brought her the peace she never could have had otherwise, and with her death went her secret, for it was safe with Boyd and me. Jennie Denisewich, ’44. My Brother Was Born, or It Could Happen to Anyone Editor ' s Note : If you have read the Life of Jefferson which is now a bestseller, you will realize how great a contribution to modern biography we make when we publish the famous Wuorio ' s Life of Wuorio By Herbert C. Wuorio Now that you are here I shall tell you more about life; that is, my brother’s life. Let us turn back the pages of his career. (Editor’s note: Please turn the pages carefully, for they are flimsy and the ink doesn’t hold to- gether so well). On the first page we see the year 1927. All that night of March 4th his future family was patiently waiting the arrival of the stork — and him. (He went along for the ride ) Especially patient was his elder brother, hiding behind the sofa with a gun, ready to shoo 1 : the stork for his next day’s share of meatless Tuesday. My brother’s father was hopeful that night. He’s apologized to my father many times since. When Raymond’s father first came face to face with Raymond, he turned to mother and said, Cheer up, dear. Maybe it’ll go away.’’ The next day his picture was in the news- paper — in Ripley’s section, to be more exact. Three years later a memorable event took place. My brother spoke his first words and got his first punishment. All he said was, XXX ! !” When he was four he was admitted into his elder brother’s club. There he learned the famous Indiana Hog-Call. Since then he has never failed in getting his elder brother home to dinner on time. At the age of six he met education. Educa- tion was the only friend he couldn’t trust. While in grade school he learned to hate all forms of education. Teachers tried to pound it into his head day after day. It must have been painful, for the hammer they used was very hard. If you doubt me, look at the shape of his head. I’ll always remember his first class picture. He was the third from the left in the rear row. He would have been down front except for the fact that the rest drew long straws and he drew a short one ; so he did not get a mask. While in the second grade our family mi- grated to the West End of town. That is where he first learned that his head was given brains so as to keep the hollow noise out. I’ll always remember the day he entered his new school on Main Street. They had recently installed a new ventilating system to take out the foul air from the room. My brother was out of school for two weeks. Soon afterward he entered the junior high school. That was when he realized why the auditorium separates it from the high school. He’s also the founder of the school paper called The Owlet.” After the first copies were sold he reached a conclusion as to why no one else wanted to be editor besides himself. The Owlet,” by the way, was one of the eggs laid by the Screech Owl.” He and his classmates soon graduated from the junior high school amid cheers from the teachers. When he entered high school, girls began running after him. One finally cornered him, but R. T. White, a classmate, saved him. (Now Dick’s going with her.) Through all this his talents have survived and always will. Some day he’ll be President of the United States. Now that I have finished his life story, I hope you will be kind enough to go up and see him on some Visitor’s Day.”

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THE SCREECH OWL 7 Bing looked down at the once blue water, which was now black and rough. If it was like this here near the coast, what was it like out in the open sea? With a worried look and a scowl on his brow, he looked ahead at the dark, swirling water. Be prepared for anything now, Boots, warned Bing. Boots knew by the sound of her brother’s voice that all wasn’t pleasant ahead, and the race might even turn out to be disastrous. She looked around and saw the other boats tossing about on the waves. They were third in the race, but if a storm were coming up, would they even be able to make Salem Sands? A drop of rain — and another and another. The rain came pelting down and a gust of wind nearly swept Boots off her feet. Boots, take the wheel and hold her steady!” yelled Bing through the howling wind. I’m going to lower the sails.” The other boats could not be seen through the down-pour of rain. The sea rolled and waves lashed against the sides of the boat. The Elizabeth” was taking her beating with the sturdiness and vigor of an old time warrior. They just had to pull through the storm and reach the harbor first. To win the cup two years in succession meant so much to Bing. Boots, Boots ! Help ! ’ ’ Fear gripped her heart. She turned around just in time to see a wave wash Bing over the side of the boat into the swirling black waters. She let go the wheel and rushed to the place where she had last seen Bing. Oh, why wasn’t there someone else on board? She could see his head rise and sink. There was the life belt. With the ship tossing and rolling so, could she throw it to him? She must hurry! A wave came rolling over the deck of the boat. It knocked Boots off her feet, and she slid dangerously close to the edge. She grabbed the rail and raised herself, gasping for breath. Now another wave came higher and higher and crashed down on the deck. A blast of wind ripped off the top of the mast and Boots leaped aside as it fell to the deck. Bing was now quite a distance from the boat. Boots grabbed the life preserver and with all her strength flung it over the side. Her broth- er’s head went under and then rose again. He clung to the preserver. Boots began tugging. How she ever managed to get him aboard with- out falling into the foamy brine herself, she never really knew. It must have been the hand of Providence. Bing was in no condition to sail the boat. She must carry on the rest of the way alone. Thank heavens ! The rain had ceased, but the wind still blew strong. She took the wheel again. They had gone quite a way off their course. It was no use trying to win now. No boats were in sight. Probably all were now safe in the harbor. If only there hadn’t been a storm. The Elizabeth” was a speedy, sturdy sailboat and Bing was a great sailor. She could picture Bing and herself standing there on the shore with the golden cup in their hands — but it was only a dream. ' i here was Salem Sands ahead. The sun with its warmth shone again on the blue sea. The shore was crowded with people cheering and waving their arms. Why were the people waving at them? Oh, why hope? It couldn’t be — but it was! They had won! The next day, sprawled in a soft, comfy arm chair with her legs flung over the sides, sat Boots. She was engrossed, gazing at a picture of a smiling young girl. Bing, they should have let me comb my hair first before they snapped my picture,” said Boots smiling. Ann Hamlin, ’44. Nightmare Last night I dreamed I went back to Fabre Heights. The rain pelted relentlessly down on the long and steep private road that led to the mansion. The fabulous brick house had seen many such storms in its youth, but still it stood on the rocky cliff high above the churning sea. I hunched over the steering wheel of my coupe and pressed my foot down harder on the acceler- ator. To add to my tension, I could hear the waves breaking against the foot of the cliff. I left my car a short way down the road as Boyd had ordered me to and dashed for the gate. From a cottage on the other side came Josh, the gate-keeper. Dressed in an ancient rain- coat, he stood motionless for a long moment. The corners of his eyes formed crow’s feet as he squinted through the rain. With a toothless grin he opened the gate to admit me. As the door of the house opened, a stream of eerie yellowish-green light showed on the wet path.

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THE SCREECH OWL 9 My Brother Was Born, or It Could Happen to Anyone By Raymond Wuorio Man’s best friend is his dog. Therefore, I write this stirring tribute to my brother, Herbert, dedicated to brotherhood and manhood, the lat- ter of which is connected in no way with my brother. To begin this tale we look back on The Wist- ful Wuorio Mansion on 1 Elm Street in May- nard, Massachusetts. To this humble home would soon come the stork on his bombing raid. My brother was one of the duds. It was the morning of June 17 and I lay in my bed sleeping. I was suddenly awakened by the dull thud of a baseball bat behind my left ear. When completely awake, I was told by my elder bro.ther of the birth of Herbert. Soft- ly the two of us crept to the door of my mother’s room to get a peek at the new arrival. He was lying in my mother’s arms, serenely aiming a shotgun at my father. At that moment my elder brother, Olavi, and I, christened him One-third of the Unholy Three.” One evening, a few years later, we had guests at our Wistful Mansion. After a friendly argu- ment, which my father lost, they decided to stay at our home over night. Where were they to sleep? It was my father who made the de- cision. After a twenty-five-cent bribe, maneu- vered by my brothers, he decided to have me vacate my bedroom. I started for my brother Herbert’s room. I looked in, and there he was, lying in his cradle, peacefully snoring like a buzz saw. I carefully put my bottle beside him and climbed in for a night’s sleep. I was thrown out on my ear immediately, minus the bottle. The cute little rascal was muscular! At the age of six Herbert entered school. Al- though he was well taught, he spent three- fourths of the school year in the principal’s office and the other one-fourth going to and from it. He also wore the Dunce’s Hat” so much his head grew in a cone shape. We then moved to our new home on Main Street. You should have seen our moving day procession. My father led with the bedroom set. He was followed by my mother, who had the kitchen table. Then came my elder brother with the dining room furniture. I tagged along after him with the parlor sofa, and my brother, Herbert, brought up in the rear, carrying the bills, mortgage, and family cat. While living at this residence, we two broke our Peace Agreement.” Nearly every day we had a fight. I had pity on him, however. I felt sorry. How he must have suffered while lovingly beating my brains out! It was here, also, that he learned to swim. One day, while swimming in Rockies” (Edi- tor’s note: Rockies” is the name given to a swimming pool in the Assabet River with the capacity of ten swimmers of average size, and one dog. ) that I challenged him to a swimming race. 1 started off slowly. He, however, got a quick start and was sure to slow down. He swam three laps after I had won the race and gone home. I remember one of the fights he had with gloves on. He danced out to the center of the ring. The bell rang and he was carried out. The bell rang again, and he danced out to the center of the ring. The bell rang and they carried him out. The bell rang again and we carried him to the center of the ring. He finally got into the high school, a Fat, Full-Fledged, Freshman Flop. During this time the nation observed Scrap Collection Week. Three times that week I had to go to the Scrap Collection Depot to identify him. He also has been turned in at four Waste Fat Collection Depots. I must now end my biography of my brother, Herbert Christian Wuorio, for I see that old gleam in his eye. Finis Hester Joins the WAACS 1 A gaudy banner, a roll of drums, and feminine hopes are high. The streets are crowded to the curb as the WAACS go marching by. Amid the throng a scrawny figure is captured by the spell; ’Tis none other than Hester, the daughter of Farmer Snell. 2 She turned to her sire and said, There’s some- thing this outfit lacks. I wonder if it could be me? I’m going to join the WAACS.” So we find Hester at the recruiting center, very much a-fluster, For to make such important decisions tcok all the courage she could muster.