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

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16 THE SCREECH OWL but still hesitant, he slipped into the familiar place. It was Billy, but a tearful, huddled form, so unlike his former pal. At the sound of foot steps, Billy glanced up, recognized him, but said nothing. To Melvin this was somewhat of a surprise. But at four years of age, there was never a great exchange of words, and they sat side by side, united by a touch of sorrow. Through a space of a few minutes, Billy con- tinued his sobbing, now and then lifting his fist, cold and red, to brush away the half-frozen tears. Here was real cause to run away from home; now he’d have company. He jabbed Billy on the arm. Wanna run away with me?” No answer. He sat still and then tried again. They don’t want me, and maybe your Daddy doesn’t want you.” Then Billy glanced at Melvin, gulped once, and fairly shouted, He does so, and I want him, and Daddy has to go away to war and leave us!” A fresh outburst of tears prevented him from continuing. So Melvin sat and stared at Billy’s anguish, and to his four-year-old mind came thoughts of his daddy; not of the whippings, but of the good times they had had together. In his silent company he sought to comfort Billy. His chum felt this, and they sat in the gathering gloom, quiet, two little men of the world. Then Melvin stood up. Gotta go now,” he muttered. See you tomorrow.” Partly recovered, Billy answered, Come in the morning.” Thus they parted, with little said. Their language was one of silent understanding; a steady flow of words wasn’t necessary. Melvin made home in record time, his mind constantly on Billy’s sorrow. With a cheerful greeting to his mother and dad, he washed up and presented himself for the evening meal. Who said anything about running away from home? Best place in the world, and even a four-year-old knows it. Gladys Novicki, ’4 5. Toll of the Sea The sun was coming up from the east, break- ing the dreary darkness with his bright dancing rays. As he looked down, he saw miles and miles of calm peaceful water. It was difficult for him to imagine the tranquil scene below had been an inferno of fury and destruction that lashed and destroyed ever) thing in its reach three days ago. Looking over to the south, he saw the remains of a pleasure yacht; pieces of wood were floating; a scrap of red cloth lay blazing in the morning light, and an empty box tossing gently with the waves com- pleted the scene of destruction. The sea had once more taken its spoil of lives and material. As he came closer to earth, the sun glanced away to the north to see if the two men who survived the catastrophe still remained on their small, crude raft. One of them was just open- ing his eyes Wake up, Joe!” he cried weakly. His com- panion did not move. Might as well let him sleep. There’s nothing to stay awake for. I don’t mind not having any food, but I wane water so badly. We must be near land! We have to be ! Oh, wake up, Joe ! I have to talk to someone,” he yelled as loudly as his parched throat would allow him. Though he shook his friend, Joe remained motionless. In despair he stood up and looked at the horizon, straining his eyes to pierce the end- less expanse of water. The sun had reached his peak, hurling his fiery rays to earth, but neither man seemed to notice. The survivor remained erect for a long time, silent and motionless. Suddenly an expression of joy spread over his face. He closed his eyes and looked again and again. Turning quickly, he flung himself beside his sleeping compan- ion. Wake up, Joe! We’re safe! We’re safe!” he exclaimed excitedly, Look. ' There is a lighthouse over there.” We’ll be there in sev- eral hours! Wake up!” Joe didn’t stir. He never would again. Joyous at the sight of the distant lighthouse,

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THE SCREECH OWL 15 Oh, Sandy!” Her voice shook now. Well, that is, nearly. I passed everything. My papers came today. I report in ten days. Isn’t it grand, Char? I’ll be doing what I’ve always wanted to. I’ll learn to fly a plane!” He tried to squeeze it all in one breath. Char wasn’t looking at him now. Her eyes smarted as she spoke. I’m glad you got what you wanted. It’s great.” I wish you’d help me tell Mom and Dad,” he said earnestly. Of course I will, if you want me to, Sandy,” said Char. Together, holding hands, they went. They’d miss each other, the skating parties, the old swimming hole, and their picnics together. As they walked hand in hand, they weren’t just Char and Sandy, but the average boy and girl of their age, all faced with the same problem of waiting and dreaming of tomorrow. Veronica Nowick, ’48. ❖ The Skunk That Didn ' t Smell Samantha T. Skunk was a — skunk. She was a beautiful glossy black except where a broad, snow-white stripe ran from the tip of her nose down her back to the tip of her tail. Her hair was long and silky, her eyes shiny. But in spite of all this, Samantha was bitter against the world. Samantha didn’t smell! Ah! You don’t know what bitterness this lack of smell caused Samantha. Samantha was almost entirely friendless except for her mother. Being so lonely, she spent all her time trying to learn how to smell. Samantha had bottles of perfume that made her smell, but not the right way. Samantha ate a lot of onion and garlic that made her smell, but still not the right way. At last she gave up, said goodbye to her mother, and left home. For years Samantha lived by herself, experimenting, but she did not succeed. One day she was sitting alone in the woods. At last she became tired, so she got up and walked away. While Samantha was walking along, a strange odor was wafted on the breeze. She sniffed again, and at last the thought came to her — she smelled ! ! Joyously she retraced her steps till she came to the spot where she had been sitting. There, wilted and odoriferous, was a crushed skunk cabbage. Later, after many experiments, Samantha succeeded in concocting a liquid from the skunk cabbage which made her smell. Then happily she set off for home with a gallon jar of her private joy juice.” When she reached home she shouted to her mother, At last I smell!” and lived happiiy ever after. Barbara Parker, ’47. ❖ ❖ Fugitive He didn’t have to stand for that kind of treat- ment, and with a determined tug at his trousers, Melvin set forth doing something about it. By now he was a good two blocks away from home, and each step forward gave him a new sense of freedom, overshadowed, however, by a slight feeling of loneliness. He tugged at his trousers again. Dad certainly packed a lot of force into that punishment. He’d be sorry, and Mom would be, too; they’d see, he’d show them they couldn’t treat him like that! Twenty minutes passed and Melvin seemed in no haste. In fact he was only a block further, so deep were his thoughts. In the distance he heard the 4:30 train whistle, and realized with dismay that he was getting hungry. Then the flood of memories quickly overpowered those hunger pains. He thought with satisfaction, Won’t they be sorry when they see me starved to death.” He was near Billy’s house now. Billy had been his playmate when they had lived at West 42nd Street. Suddenly his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of sobbing. There was no one on the street; the sound floated out from the stairs leading down into the garbage alley. He stopped, put his hands in his pockets, and peered into the dimly lit alley. A little curious,

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TH E SCREECH OWL 17 he did not realize what fate had befallen his friend. With every remaining ounce of energy left in his body, he used his own hands for paddles to reach the remote shore. Hour after hour he paddled, getting weaker each moment, but the thought of safety kept him going. Sud- denly as it appeared, the lighthouse had van- ished. His imagination was playing tricks on him. Thoughts of cold water, delicious foods, and a comfortable bed danced in his mind. These also disappeared quickly. Hopeless and exhausted, he fell upon his dead companion. The sun was retiring for the night, leaving the sky once again in a coat of darkness. Hours later the rays of morning were com- ing up from the east, breaking the dreary dark- ness with bright dancing beams. As he looked down, the sun could see a young man on a small tramp ship straining his eyes to see the strange object floating about four hundred yards from the boat. Advancing closer, the men made out the figures of two sleeping men upon a small, crude raft. Reaching it as soon as possible, he saw he was too late. Both men were dead. Old Sol nodded his head wisely and sadly. The sea had once more taken its spoil of hu- man lives. Marian Bell, ’45 ❖ Success I struggle on and upward to attain the peak Of the mountains named Success” I so tire- lessly seek, The path is rocky, the way is dim, My only hope is to have faith in Him. No goal is worthier; God’s by my side. How can I fail with such a guide? Shirley Bain, ’45 For These Things That I live in a country that is free, That our land is a democracy, That I do not live across the sea, For this I am thankful. For the birds whose gay songs fill the air, For the right to speak freely without a care, For the right to join in public prayer, For these I am thankful. For the rivers, lakes, mountains, and hills, For the land that the farmer plows and tills, For the flowers and trees and all the thrills Of living, for these I am thankful. Ann Marie Morton, ’47 Franklin Delano Roosevelt I disagreed with his views, I argued against him, I said I disliked him, Why then did I feel my heart sink when I heard of his death? Shirley Bain, ’45 Cycle of Life Birth Spring — Life begins anew With every tiny bud That shoots through The earth, to grow to glorious heights, Childhood Summer — Bud grows, stalk forms, Flowers; in beauty blooms The young plant. Life’s storms Have yet to hit the young life. Adult Life Fall — Turning leaves Of every hue; red, gold, Some falling, some piled in eaves, Others, still against a fading sky of blue. Old Age Winter — Last bit of life Defying North Wind’s might, Weary plants give up the strife For sleep, to rest in eternai night. Isabella Koski, ’47