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

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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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Seven By Mary E. White, ’43 1 Not thirty-six can the answer be When seven are taken from ’43. Gone to fight for the freedoms four, Into the conflicts unceasing roar, Into the battle for you and me, Are seven members of ’43. 2 Each heard the clash of the battle din ; Each answered the call as it come to him. Services different, but objects the same, To the rolls was added each student’s name. In the air, on the land, and on the sea Are the young recruits of ’43. 3 No, not thirty-six can the answer be When seven are taken from ’43, But the war must be won, And the strength of our young Will bring us the VICTORY! At the time this poem was written there were seven boys of the Senior class in the service. Sails The sun rose lazily from the calm sea and looked down upon the tiny village snuggled in the cove. Gradually the village seemed to come to life as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky. From a small white cottage there appeared a young girl about sixteen years old, in blue dun- garees. She stretched her arms and took a deep breath of the salty air and a feeling twinged through her body — a feeling that made her glad to be alive in such a beautiful world. Boots then walked down to the shore and gazed across the cove. A slight breeze arose and made ripples on the blue surface. Today was the big day for the young mariners of Dover and surrounding seacoast towns. Every year the Workshire Boat Club held a sailboat race amongst the boys and girls of Workshire County. The race started at the harbor of Dover. Salem Sands, twenty miles down the coast, was the destination. This was Boots’ first year of competing. Her brother, Bing, had won the cup last year, and now Boots was to be his assistant, to have the thrill of the cold, salty spray on her face, the wind through her hair, and to see the sails above her swelling in the breeze. She sauntered back into the house, where her brother was eating breakfast. You’d better hurry, Bing,” said Boots. We’ve only got four hours before the race begins and we’ve still a lot of work to do.” Yeh, and if the breeze doesn’t grow stronger, we’ll probably be stuck in the harbor for four more hours,” grunted Bing. At last he finished his oatmeal and they started off to the harbor. Already there was much activity on the small sailboats that dotted the bay. Boots and Bind boarded the Elizabeth,” christened that after their mother who had died the year Bing’s father bought the boat for him. Hi ya, Lucky!” called Bing to a fellow across the way. You’re going to need plenty of your name to beat the ' Elizabeth’.” Aw, you don’t know what competition is until you’ve been up against ' The Spray’,” yelled back Lucky. Boots and Bing set to work preparing the Elizabeth” and were ready just in time for the starting signal. The sails filled and they started out the har- bor. Boots could hardly believe that she was really here beside her brother at the wheel. Look, Bing, the sky is clouding up and the wind is so much stronger!” They had been so busy working that they had not noticed the sudden c hange of weather.

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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.”