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

Page 9 text:

Mother Nature. Then 1 comes to a bench tliat was a little distance away from the others. A guy was sit- ting on it and a lotta kids were running around him. I feel sorry for him, so big-hearted me .stops to say hello to him and his kids. He smiles up at me ■sorta grateful like, as if I was doin’ him a big favor. You like children.” he .sez to me. Yeah, I love little kiddies. I wisht I had .some of me own.” I’m making conversation, mind ya. Personally I can take kids or leave ’em and I’d just as soon leave ’em. Oh thank goodness!” sez the little guy. He kinda reminded me of a rabbit. Would you please watch the children for a minute. I have some business to attend to — I’ll be right back.” Then he jumps up before 1 can say yes or no and runs down the path, so there ain’t anything I can do but stay there with the kids. 1 have a sense of honor where wimmin and kids is concerned, so I sits down and talks to the kids. An hour later I’m yelling at the brats to shut up. They was tearing me and mother Nature apart. An- other hour goes by and 1 begins to think something fishy’s going on, so I asks the oldest kid what’s up. He don’t say a thing — just looks at me. Then a cop comes along reading a newspaper. This cop looks at his paper, then he looks at the kid in front of me, then he looks at me. I gets to feeling like a criminal, as if I had kidnapped all these little kids. You’re under arrest,” yells the cop and belore I can move, he’s got handcuffs on me. Come along you. Come with me, children.” We all follow him out of the park and he calls for a couple of squad cars. The cars come. The kids get in one and me and the cop gets in the other. I don’t know what’s up and everything I asks the cop he tells me to shut up. At the station I don’t see the kids no more, but I gets booked with a cell all to myself. It’s only the next morning that I finds out why I’m in this time. The cops don’t tell me; I reads it in the paper. They was big headlines saying, Children Kidnapped from Museum Tour.” The call was out all day until I was picked up with the kids. At the trial I tells ’em the whole true story but they don’t believe me. I can’t get the kids to tell ’em the truth either. So I gets sentenced for twenty to thirty years for kidnapping ’cause of what they calls circumstantial evidence.” ' I’his is my nineteenth year in the pen, sonny. Nineteen years for something 1 didn’t do, ami you wonder why I’m sour on life. Bakhara Farki r, ’47 CASES AT THE BAT How changed our family life is since the ba.seball season began and the Boston Red Sox started on the road to the pennant-ville! A year ago this time, our family was leading an ordinary life (if you call family life ordinary!). Anyway, we were all com- pletely oblivious of anything called baseball or any- one named Ted Williams. Then six months ago it happened. Life began to change. At first you could hardly detect it, but by the middle of May, the change was very apparent. Upon coming home from work, my father, in.stead of inquir- ing what we had done at school that day as he usually did, would say, Hey, boys! The Red Sox won again.” My brothers developed the strange habit of staying around the house afternoons instead of wandering off so far that it was impossible to find them by supper time. At first we had some heated arguments about the family’s one and only radio that works. I, still ignorant of the fact that the Red Sox were a baseball club and not a hockey team, wanted to listen to the 9:20 Club. However, it was 2 to 1 against the 9:20 Club, so I didn’t get my way very often. Finally my brothers convinced me that 1 ought to see the Red Sox play, and one Sunday toward the end of May they took me to see my first big league game. With that game my baseball education be- gan, and it has steadily increased with every crack of the bat. By the middle of summer, baseball was the only topic of conversation in our house. The radio was on constantly. Bump Hadley at 6:15 was a must” for all of us and at least one member of the family sat up till 11:25 each night to hear the final baseball results. I became such an ardent fan by the end of July that I even purcha.sed a portable radio so I could take sun baths and listen to the ball games at the same time. Why, even my mother learned not to say My, what a rough game!” when the radio announcer stated, He broke his wrists on that one.” (For ( 7 )

Page 8 text:

violent kick in the shins, provided that you don’t know the person, that you don’t miss your target and kick his partner instead, and that your partner doesn’t see you. II. After dancing with a girl, it is customary to thank her for the dance and escort her to her seat. It is not advisable to ask her where she wants to sit and proceed to give her a violent shove in that direction. III. When asking a girl for a dance it is ex- tremely inadvisable to whistle or to beckon to her from across the hall. Besides, the wrong one might come and you might be stuck with Lena-the- H)ena or a reasonable facsimile. W. During ladies’ choice, if you have the mis- fortune to be asked by a girl whom you do not particularly admire, it is considered bad taste to a.sk her in a sarcastic voice, Are you kiddin’?’’ V. If a girl asks you to a dance which her club is sponsoring, do not, under any conditions, ask her, When’s the funeral?” If you can’t wriggle out of going with her, submit like a gentleman. Neither will it be considered polite if you need a day or two to make up your mind, hoping to get a better offer. The girls never do ! ' VI. If you accidentally step on a girl’s feet, do not ask her if those are her big feet upon which you are stepping — even if they are big. VII. At a dance one is expected to dance, not march around in time with the music. Many a mile has been paced in that auditorium and been passed off as dancing. VIII. You will be forgiven if you don’t arrive at dances on the stroke of eight. You’ll be allowed a few minutes longer to put on your tie and suit coat. Your willingness to arrive on time and to start dancing is commendable. But we’ll allow you the few extra minutes in which to finish dressing. IX. If you meet a girl at a dance whom you would like to escort home, ask her. If she says no, don’t follow her all the way home, stepping on her heels at every step she takes. You may wind up with a black eye if she really doesn’t like you. If she does like you, — well, we’re getting off the subject. Norma O’Neil, ’49 A DREAMER ' S LIFE {DeJicaleJ to toy self) Strange — how my eyes grow dim again as blurred visions cross my face. And once again I leave this earth to fly out into space. I spread my wings and dip down low in salute to all sights I see. Gazing at each object til it becomes a phantom, drifting hopelessly. I want to tarry along the way just long enough to be A lovely ballerina — - or a sailor out at sea. But first I’ll be a senorita listening to my senior play An enchanting little violin to which I’ll swing and sway. And then I’ll visit England, walk out along the moors. Or maybe be a King or Queen, and throw gold upon the floors. I won’t forget to go to France and visit gay Paris, To listen closely to such chants. As, ”Voila la belle Julie.” The visions are getting dimmer now so I must fly once more Through heavy layers of floating clouds Back to my own front door. So another dream has ended, and I must settle down to be A funny little person Whom you all know as me. Julie D’Amico, ’47 H ' NEVER AGAIN Never again ! Nope, never will I help other people out. I used to be kind, nice to people and all that, but no more. I learned my lesson. The milk of human kindness is sour in my stomach and I’ll tell you why It was spring, the little birds singing, the flowers was growing. The old world was coming to life and I was walking through the park communing with ( 6 )

Page 10 text:

ttiose ot you wlio have not been bitten by the base- ball bug: He broke his wrists on that one” simply means in baseball terms that the batter bent his wrists as if to strike at the ball and then changed his mind at the last moment. See how much I ' ve learned ? Ah, yes! Our family life has certainly changed! Elinor Case, ' 47 ODE TO A PENCIL STUB Ah, what things thou hast done In this weary world of cares! Thou hast made more journeys Than any mortal dares. Thou hast heard intimate conversation.s. Thou hast written many a theme: Thou hast composed notes romantic Causing many an eye to gleam. But now thou art so weary And bruised and battered too; Thy life on this fair earth Is very nearly through. So hail to thee, a martyr, Though now unknown you be; Some day this fickle world Will rise and cheer for thee. Barbara Barker, ' 47 AN EQUESTRIENNE IS BORN Fourteen years ago, in the small, practically un- known town of Stow situated in the sylvan stretch of land between Hudson and Maynard, I was born. It was on a wintry day in the month of February, the date being Friday the thirteenth, nineteen hun- dred thirty-two, that the population of the United States was increased by one. No one realized, looking at my then chubby, twenty-two inch frame, that I would grow to the height of five feet, eleven inches within thirteen and one half years. But, unbelievably enough, I did. That is perhaps the reason why my mother could always find me in a crowd. My life, from the time I was born until I was eleven years of age, I consider uneventful, until on a beautiful day in September, a few days before school was to open, something wonderful happened which was to change the whole course of my life and make me forget about everything else. I went horseback riding with a friend for the first time. I had been riding before, but I wouldn’t consider being led about on a pony really riding. That Saturday I felt like a queen. I learned to con- trol my horse and post, which is a very important thing to learn if you are riding a horse with an English saddle and do not want to sit on pillows for a long while afterward. For two hours I had the most wonderful time in my life and realized that horses were my ideal. From then on it was horses, horses, I couldn’t concen- trate on my schoolwork; movies became very boring, and everything else in the world became a blur. I went around in a daze, dreaming of horses. My new interest was thought by everyone to be just a silly infatuation. Then one day in the Daily Record I read of an art contest which was being sponsored by that paper. For three long years I tried in vain to win a prize. Then, on the last day of the contest in the fourth year, I hurriedly sent in my entry. My hopes had long since deserted me and all I could do was to pray that I would win a prize, even if it were not the pinto horse. Some days later, while reading the list of winners, I noticed a name that resembled mine. Yes, there It was: ’SECOND PRIZE— NORMA MARTIN- SEN.” After looking again to make sure, I joy- ously announced the good news to my parents. The following Saturday, with one of my friends, I was on my way to the rodeo with the two box seat tickets which had been given to me by the Daily Record. And when Roy Rogers presented me with the second prize, a beautiful Stetson hat auto- graphed by him, and shook my hand, my heart fairly jumped for joy. Finally my love for horses grew to such heights that my emotions were uncontrollable. I wanted a horse as I had never wanted anything in this world. Closely I scrutinized the horse ads every Sunday and planned how I would earn the money to keep my horse once I got it. I gave up horseback riding and spent many an hour talking” to the horses on Red Acre Farm in Stow, a rest home for horses run by a group of very kind-hearted people. Soon I became acquainted with the lady who lived in the large white house near the barn. I told this woman, one of the organizers of Red Acre Farm, of my love for horses, and she, being very under-