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

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8 THE SCREECH OWL Davey took his hands from the wheel and wiped the sweat on his pants. His face was white. Davey had innocently got himself involved in this, without knowing what Smokey was up to. He knew now! And he also knew that if he started the car and fled, Smokey would probably shoot him down. Smokey had done this thing in twelve states before, and this was the thirteenth. Poor Davey was sick at heart and mostly frightened. The thirteenth, Davey suddenly thought with alarm. Wonder if that means bad luck.” The heavy bark of an automatic broke the silence. One, two, three, maybe four shots. Davey wasn’t too sure. Then running foot- steps approached the car. He glanced through the darkness to see Smokey’s fat frame waddling to him, and in his hand was a small black bag. The other hand held an automatic and that’s what made Davey slink in his seat. Smokey pushed the gun in the back of his neck and slammed the rear door. Get outa here! came his tense words. We gotta scram outa here — had to bump th at dumb flatfoot off!” Davey ' s foot grew heavy on the accelerator, and gears rattled as the big sedan raced through the night. He glanced through the rear-view mirror. Smokey was counting a heap of green bills. One thousand, two thou- sand, three, four, five thousand bucks!” ex- claimed Smokey. Some haul, eh, kid. Just play along with me and life suddenly looks green, like money! Ain’t you glad I made ya come along Smokey hesitated a moment and no answer from the front was heard. Maybe Davey was too interested in his driving, or maybe he hadn’t heard the remark. What’s the matter, kid. ’’ Smokey asked. Lost yer voice . ” Davey’s answer was slow but packed a wallop that Smokey couldn’t mis- take. Did you have to kill the policeman, Smo- key } Did you have to shoot him like you did } Maybe he’s got a wife, a kid. Cu t out that sob stuff!” broke in Smokey’s hard voice. You’d think coppers were good guys to hear you talk.” Smokey leaned closer to Davey. He stopped chewing on his cigar and slid his hand into his coat pocket. Smokey’s face was red, except for the scar across his face. That scar was white with anger. Listen to me, Davey,” he went on, and don’t get me wrong. You can make money if you string along wit’ me. And if you ever cross me, you make nothin’ but the East River — savvy He settled back, stuffed the five grand into the bag, and continued smoking the cigar. Now get driving for those mountains. We gotta reach the state line before morning. And don’t forget this gun is aimed at your lousy head.” Davey’s foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. The engine whirled like an airplane and raced up the winding road. Tires screeched shrilly as they rounded sharp banks on the mountain. Color hadn’t come back to the kid’s face. He could still hear the death chatter of Smo- key’s automatic, the running feet. He could still see a cop sprawled flat on the pavement, maybe with his chest torn open by hot lead. Davey shouted, Look, Smokey!” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. I — ” he blundered for a second — I think they fry you in this state for murder. I didn’t know what you hired me for. I don’t like it. I’m getting out. You drive the car.” Again he glanced through the mirror. The scar on Smokey’s face stood out like a piece of iron being smelted. The cigar had fallen from Smokey’s open mouth, and his dark eyes reflected murder. Get this straight, you dumb cluck,” stam- mered Smokey. In the first place a witness saw me kill the copper, and my name’s mud if they ever catch me. And I don’t do this for fun. I’ve got five grand, see, and I’m keeping it. Except, of course, the cut you get for the chauffeur’s job!” He laughed as he sputtered the word chauffeur.” Davey said nothing. He was thinking how

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THE SCREECH OWL 7 days he dwelt upon the subject of an arrange- ment by which he could walk around in safety. He thought so intently and so hard that one day something snapped in his mind. Suddenly he jumped up to set madly to work on a com- plicated device. It wasn’t long before he had it finished completely enough to walk out to the fields safely (or so he thought.) High up in his haven the god of lightning laughed louder than he had in a long time when he saw Jonathan strut forth to the fields. Bug saw the dark, menacing clouds roll up and he shouted, Come and get me if you can! The lightning god gathered himself together and with a hissing roar struck with all the blazing fury of hell. He withdrew gloating while Jonathan lay stretched out, dead as a salted herring. Now the lightning god could be happy for another million years, content only to damage property and pester people. When the neighbors found Jonathan, whom they had always regarded as a harmless idiot, they saw on him a complex maze of belts and wires which led to two cables that dragged along the ground. He must have sought to ground himself like a lightning rod, but in his mentally unbalanced state he had forgotten that the lightning in passing through his body to the ground would kill him. So ended the saga of Jonathan Bug. Edward Ledgard, ’44, School in May In the merry merry month of May.” This is a familiar line, but does it signify any cause for merriment to us in Maynard High.? With every coming day the boiling mercury climbs skyward to add blistering heat to our dreamy minds. We ask permission for a sip of water for our parched throats, but are definitely dis- couraged by the teacher’s favorite reply, NO. Our minds are constantly wandering off to the old swimming hole and the cool, bubbling brooks in vacation land. Illustrations in the magazines of Room Twenty carry our thoughts to cool breezes and refreshing ocean sprays. We open our algebra books and the numbers and symbols are transformed into illustrations before our dreaming eyes — illustrations of amusement parks at beaches, cool soft drinks, and a dip in the ocean water. Truly, the month of May is devoted to dreaming and not to efficiency at work. J. Zanceuwicz, ’47. We Freshmen Down in the corridor of Maynard High We Freshmen all trooped together; Every one of us shook in our shoes Despite the warm fall weather. A Senior who was passing by Looked at us and said, Don’t worry too much today, you know, There are many more days ahead. One room was here, another there; We thought we would never remember. We finally got it all straightened out — By this time ’twas November. The days passed quickly after that. With homework and sports and tests. And we began to love our school As well as did the rest. Although we were frightened on that first day, And thought that we would die. We all are full-fledged high-schoolers now As we cheer for Maynard High. Ann Marie Morton, ’47. One Came Back Moral: Davey wasn’t much on killing and robbing. He just wanted to be honest, but sometimes honesty can get a fellow in trouble, and sometimes it can keep him out. Just sit tight, Davey,’’ came the little man’s low words. I’ll have that dough out here before you know it. And when you see me coming outa that doorway, get ready to scoot, fast!

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THE SCREECH OWL 9 he had been tricked into a job driving the killer. Smokey was thinking too. Thinking of five grand in one man’s pocket. It would be simple to do away with the kid. Already night shad- ows had come down and the higher they got, the foggier it became. He’d ask Davey to stop the car for awhile, then when Davey wasn’t looking — blam! Smokey would have the five grand to himself, and no worries. When you get to the top of the mountain, stop and I’ll give ya your share,” Smokey said, with this thought in his mind. But Davey appeared too dejected to read the grim meaning behind Smokey’s little speech. It’s a good spot to ditch this hot gun,” Smo- key explained to calm the kid’s fears. The fog was so thick now that Davey’s headlights were useless. He slowed down and pulled the heavy overcoat about his neck. We must be getting near the top,” he said. It’s getting kind of cold up here, and I can hardly see the road in front of me. Gosh! What a blanket of fog we rolled into!” Smokey gripped the automatic in his pocket. A light shone in his eyes, and the scarred mouth looked ugly as he smiled. He tapped Davey ' s shoulder. Maybe we better stop, kid,” Smokey said, half wondering if Davey had guessed his in- tentions. Once we get our bearings, we can start again. Maybe we’re half off the road right now, and besides, we should be near the top.” What next. It would be best if they were out of the car so that no signs of the murder would be left. He could ask Davey to look around the rear of the car, while he took the front. He could explain that this was to see how close they were to the edge of the mountainous road. Yes, he pondered, that would send Davey to the rear, then when his back was turned — ! Smokey felt the cold steel of his revolver and grinned. It was only about three miles to the state line and Smokey wasn’t a bad driver. There was no sense in paying the kid anything. Besides, the kid might well be waiting for a chance to turn him over to the cops. Okay, kid,” he said, we’d better get out and see where we are. If the fog gets any thicker, we’re going to have to camp here till morning.” Smokey heard Davey stumble out. He couldn’t see him too well. He couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. Careful, Smokey,” he heard the kid say. Don’t stumble over any of those rocks. One slip up here and it’s a long way down. Smokey looked toward the source of the voice. Ah! there he was! The killer could barely make out Davey’s tall figure. The soup was thick. Suppose he missed. Suppose Davey made a rush for him and re- covered the gun } He was only a kid but strong as a bull. First I’ll act like I’m looking around,” snorted the killer to himself. Can’t let him get suspicious of me. He might jump me, but he’d have to be next to me to get this gun. Well, I’ll try up here fast.” Wish I could see better!” He raised his voice then. Hey kid, how does it look. Are we near the edge. ” Since he couldn’t see Dave, he’d get him to speak and then aim at the voice. Looks as if we’re pretty close,” Dave re- plied, and his voice seemed right behind Smokey. Smokey lifted his gun, whirled around, and stepped forward thinking he had Davey trapped, but no shot sounded, only a long death wail! Smokey!” Dave yelled and raced to the front of the sedan. Smokey!” No answer. He shouted again and again. He inched his way down, stumbling once or twice. Then he got to his knees and felt his way with his hands. A shiny blue object lay before him. He touched it! It was cold and damp! He leaned against the front tire, swung his