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

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12 THE SCREECH OWL You can make an excuse Or you cannot make an excuse; If you make an excuse, You still have two choices: You can make it good Or you cannot make it good ; If you do not make it good, You still have two choices: You can go to the office Or you cannot go to the office; If you go to the office. You still have two choices: You can be scolded Or you cannot be scolded ; If you are scolded. You still have two choices: You can make up the work Or you cannot make up the work ; If you do not make up the work. You still have two choices: You can be expelled Or you cannot be expelled; • If you are expelled. You still have two choices: You can be sad Or you cannot be sad; If jou are sad. You still have two choices: You can commit suicide Or you cannot commit suicide; If you commit suicide. You still have two choices. Helen Ketola, 46 . My Dream Boy Tall gruesome, with so very touseled locks, Baggy pants and wrinkled gaudy socks. Oversized jacket with shoulders thickly padded. Topped off with a large bow tie, flowered or plaided. Posture is atrocious — he’s very thin-looking, With quizzical looks as if to say, ’’What’s cooking?” But all of this is soon forgotten when he croons a tune I simply drop everything and swoon and swoon and swoon. Some scoff and call him a passing fad; When I hear this I feel quite sad, For even though he’s run-down and lanky I still think there is no one like ’’Frankie.” Shirley Bain, ’ 45 . Shoes Much has been written about the hats that the fair ladies of today wear. They have been laughed at, scoffed at, and criticized. But now would you be kind enough to stop staring at the odd creations on their heads and take a glance at what is on their feet? In his time Mr. Webster’s definition of a shoe was a low covering for the foot, usually made of leather. If he only knew how wrong he is today! Last week I happened to enter a shoe store to purchase a pair of men’s brown shoes, the same style I have worn for the last twenty-five years. The shop was quite crowded, so it was some time before I was waited on. The clerk was speaking to the young lady next to me. ’’May I help you?” ”I’d like to see a few of your styles please,” she answered sweetly. The salesman left and returned with these results — red ones, green ones, purple ones, blue ones, and brown ones. There were empty toes and heels, no straps, low straps, high straps, no sides, high heels, low heels, Cuban heels, French heels, baby toes, square toes. Dutch- toes, high insteps, low insteps, laced, or not. They were trimmed with bows, buckles, French pompoms, artificial fruit, vegetables and flowers, sequins, dishes, tassels. Loafers, oxfords, pumps, spectators, saddles, sandals, and wedgies were set before her. After considerable scrutinizing, I was horri- fied to see her choose a pair of red lizard shoes with an enormous bow.

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I THE SCREECH OWL 11 right angles to the river. It was slow, hard, back-breaking work. The farther he dug the farther he had to drag the sand back to put it in the stream. His hands were bruised and deeply scarred, and the constant darkness has almost completely taken his sight. For two terrible years he dug. In that time he aged as a man would in fifty. He was no longer the young, handsome, ath- letic man that he had been. He went ahead at a pace of about fifty yards a year. Then suddenly, after twenty-four tedi- ous months, the digging became much easier, almost a soft mud. Perhaps he was at the banks of a stream or swamp. As he burrowed up- ward frantically, the mud caved in, pinning him in up to his chest. He was partially free! If he could only get clear of the vise-lik e grip of the mud. He lay there struggling to no avail. He could see the mud moving slowly in front of him. He could not make out what it was, perhaps a frog or a turtle. As the mud cleared and he heard a horrible bellow, he realized that he had come out in a pit of croco- diles. Later, when the head jailer’s pets were being fed, the guards saw some clothes in the pit. Immediately they discovered that Pierre was not in his cell, and found the tunnel. If he had gone eight feet more, he would have come up outside the wall. Joseph Walsh, ’44. Hi jH The Three Bears Once upon a time there were three bears, and they all lived together in a little house on the outskirts of a little town. One bear was a brunette and she worked on the day shift at Lockheed. One bear was a blonde, and she worked on the swing shift at Lockheed. The third bear was a redhead, but she kept house and did Red Cross work. One day they happened to be eating their dinner together, but it was so hot they couldn’t eat it. The Bears decided they would go for a walk while their food cooled off. Now the plot begins to thicken! While they were gone, a lady burglar named Goldilocks jimmied a window open and got in. Now Goldilocks had lost her ration book and hadn’t had anything to eat for three days; so the dinner on the table was a great temptation. She gave in and gobbled it up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Then she sat down in an easy- chair to smoke a cigarette and look at a maga- zine. Slowly, slowly her eyes closed; slowly, slowly her hand dropped. All of a sudden Goldilocks jumped up — she had set fire to the chair with her cigarette! Like a demon she worked putting out the fire and she succeeded ! The frame of the chair still stood, blackened and charred. Goldilocks, exhausted after this excitement, went upstairs to take a nap. Meanwhile the Bears came home from their walk. They opened the door and walked in. The dining room window was open and a bag of burglar’s tools was underneath it! There wasn’t any dinner on the table! In the living room they saw the burnt frame of the chair! They stared openmouthed at each other. Upstairs!” cried the Bears in one voice. The Three Bears raced upstairs. There on one of the beds lay Goldilocks, sound asleep. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her shoes. Slowly and quietly the Bears surrounded the bed. On the count of three they jumped at Goldilocks and tied her up. While one phoned for the police the other two sat on Goldilocks. The police came up on the street to the bears’ house and took Goldilocks away to jail. The moral of the story is Never go to sleep while you’re robbing houses.” Barbara Parker, ’47. m Two Choices You get your assignment. You have two choices: You can do your homework; Or you cannot do your homework; If you do not do your homework. You still have two choices:

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THE SCREECH OWL 13 Finally the clerk came to me, looking ex- hausted after the ordeal. Cheer up, old man, I just want a pair of plain brown shoes in a size ten. I have been wearing that same style for twenty-five years. With a sigh of relief and thankfulness in his eyes, he left to get them. Marian Bell, ’ 45 . Hard-Boiled He made a forlorn figure standing there in the grey twilight. He paused wearily, looking back along the deserted road for signs of a car. His features lighted as the faint headlights of an approaching auto cut a golden swath into the fast-darkening night. Stepping into the road, he waved his thumb in the direction in which he had been walking . The car slid to a stop beside him and a voice asked, Going my way, bud. ” Yeah,” he answered, and in response to an invitation to hop in, he slid casually across the seat and slammed the door shut. The car started with a smooth whine of power and they rode in silence for about half a mile. The driver examined the expressionless face of his new-found companion in the light of the dash. He noted the worn garments, the shabby but clean shirt. He thought with amusement that somehow the hiker did not seem to wear his clothes but looked as though he were hiding in them, they were so large. A look at the face of the hitchhiker restrained him from men- tioning it. The driver decided to try another track. Where are you going. he asked. Marquisville. The hiker spoke without turning his head. Next town, isnt’ it. ” Yeah. Not very communicative, the driver thought. Have much trouble getting rides . The passenger turned and looked at him. Yeah. Most guys are kinda leary of pick- ing up hitchhikers. Scared they’ll get robbed. Something to that. I’m usually pretty care- ful, but you looked okay. Can’t tell by looks. Calmly. ’Course we usually pick out some guy with a swell buggy. In heaps like these there usually isn’t enough dough to make it worth while. Say, you sound like you go in for that sort of thing. I’m telling you now, I haven’t got enough cash on me to make it worth while. I’m just hardly getting along myself.” The hiker looked at him insolently. Take it easy, bud. Stickups aren’t my racket. The driver breathed somewhat easier again. Er — what is your racket. ’’ The calm blue eyes looked at him again. Questions like that ain’t exactly healthy, bud,” with accent on the next to the last word, but you look like a right guy, so I’ll tell you if you can keep your lip buttoned. Having been assured of this last statement, he went on. My name’s Reilly, Black Mike Reilly. I’m one of the Notlad boys. No.” The driver breathed his awe. I’ve heard of you.” Yes,” the hiker expanded, We’re the toughest mob east of Denver. We don ' t bother honest guys, though. We make our money from crooked politicians and racketeers who don’t dare squeal to the police.” Sort of like Robin Hood. ’’ the driver cut in. Robin Hood! That guy was a sap. Run- ning around with bows and arrows. Strictly small time. We’ve got a paralysis ray that’s quicker and easier. A paralysis ray, the driver said. Why, with that you could go in any bank. I said we don’t bother honest people. Right now we’re doing a little job with the F. B. I. We’re cleanin’ up sabatoors and spies. There’s a fifth columnist by the name of Curt Heyd- rich in Washington right now. He’s trying to overthrow the government. Masquerades as a big business man, but actually he’s an inter-