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

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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.

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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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10 THE SCREECH OWL 3 At length the trial was over and Hester, with a £ rin ’ Walked to her anxious father and said, Well, I guess I’m in.” And so began for Hester a busy and hectic career, And she soon began to wonder just what made her volunteer. 4 But this was no time for brooding, misgivings, or regrets, For most of her time was taken up in trying to learn her steps; Till one proud day when through the streets her regiment marched back, And way down deep within her, Hester knew she was a WAAC! Ethel Salonen, ' 46 . Abolition of Bo-Jo No doubt you’ll read this aah-er” story and then toss it aside in misbelief, but by the sev- neth son of a seventh son it is the honest truth. To begin with, this is the story of a cat — a wild buccaneer of feline — and to top it all off — a black one! Bo-Jo had a reputation as black as his glossy fur and a temper to boot. He had shown up one winter’s day in the Maine log- ging camp with trouble swinging on his whisk- ers. The cook hadn’t the heart, big, broad Swede that he was, to thrust him out; so Bo-Jo lingered on. During the winter he made a pest of himself, getting in everyone’s way, and by the spring thaw was pretty well disliked. Finally the loggers decided to get rid of him but — ohh — they hadn’t reckoned with Bo-Jo who was no ordinary cat. They tried chloro- forming, choking, drowning, but it was soon discovered that Bo-Jo had no intention of leav- ing this earth and still had a few of his lives left. The summer came, and Bo-Jo was still getting underfoot, depositing snakes, toads, and eels in various bunks, raiding the icebox, taking whatever struck his fancy, and keeping the hard working loggers awake at night with his eerie yowls. The week before the Fourth of July one of the loggers got an idea. The men began grin- ning and whispering to each other, and soon word was spread throughout the settlement of a grand celebration on the Fourth. The Great Day came and oh, what a feast was spread! Wrestling matches, races, etc., provided the amusement. Meanwhile Bo-Jo rested on his laurels, feasting on choice tidbits from the table, enduring all sorts of petting, and having a whale of a time. But all this was just a prelude to the climaxing event. At sundown two of the loggers carried Bo-Jo to the center of the field and announced the Abolition of Bo-Jo ! A stick of dynamite was tied to his quivering tail and the fuse lighted. The two men started to run, but Bo-Jo had no intention of allowing them to desert him, and, thinking it all a game, ran after them. The crowd scattered, and Bo-Jo streaked through the camp, the fuse sizzling away. What a predicament ! ! Then, as they circled a group of deserted shacks, one of the men stopped, grabbed Bo-Jo, flung him through the door of one of the sheds, slammed the door, and kept on running. He was ten feet from the spot when a violent explosion threw him to the ground, and when he dared peek, all that re- mained of the shack was a few splinters. Watch- ers, however, will swear to the fact that, arising from the ashes, a strange form was seen. Yes, it was Bo-Jo, his glossy fur now white. His ninth life gone, he was gently ascending toward a Cat’s Happy Hunting Ground, well populated with snakes and toads. As he passed slowly out of sight, the rough loggers silently removed their caps. Bo-Jo had been a worthy opponent. Helen Ketola, ’46. Our Hearts Were Young and Gay By Cornelia Otis Skinner and Emily Kimbrough This story took place about 1920 and the book was published in 1942. The action occurs in Canada, on the Atlantic, in England, and in France. Cornelia Otis Skinner and Emily Kimbrough weren’t quite in their twenties, when they under- took a voyage to Europe, unchaperoned. First of all, the Montcalm,” their ship, ran aground, but after a slight struggle they secured two passports on The Empress of France.” Here they had many hilarious adventures, begin- ning with Emily’s deck tennis. In this uproar- ious game she achieved nothing except to hit an English nobleman in the face.