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

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Neighborly Rivals Central Falls was having its annual church fair and all the ladies of the parish were eagerly awaiting the event. This was one occasion where they all had an opportunity to show off their pies, cakes, and needle- work. It is at this point that my story begins. Mrs. Cullen was considered an expert cake maker, and so was Mrs. North, her next door neighbor. These two women had battled over almost everything as far back as the neighbor could remember. It was arguments over their respective spouses and their jobs. Their children’s silly quarrels were magnified and fought over. Mrs. Cullen’s chickens crossed over to Mrs. North’s yard, and Mrs. North’s dog would chase Mrs. Cullen’s chickens all over the neighborhood. Oh yes, there was never a dull moment on Brackett Street. You could always depend on these two ladies to stir up’’ something exciting. It was the day before the fair and Mrs. Cullen and Mrs. North were in their back yards hanging out the family wash. Mrs. North piped out, I suppose, Molly, you’re all set to enter your angel cake at the fair tomorrow?” Mrs. Cullen was quick to reply, Oh no, Jenny, I think I will try something different this year. What are you making? The tutti-frutti” cake you entered last year?” Mrs. North thought for a moment and said. I have a new cake I have made several times and my family think there is nothing like it. It is something I have experimented with myself and I wouldn’t know what to give it for a name. Mr. North refers to it as the mystery cake.” By this time the ladies had finished hanging their clothes and disappeared into their houses with an air of triumph. That night lights were seen glowing from both houses. A mighty secret mission was going on in both the North and Cullen kitchens. If ever two women tried their utmost in the art of cake making, the credit had to be bestowed upon the ladies North and Cullen. The morning of the fair turned out bright and sunny. Mrs. North and Mrs. Cullen were seen leav- ing their homes dressed in their Sunday best, each carrying a large cake box under her arm. This was a sign for the rest of the ladies of the street to leave for the eventful fair. Late in the afternoon the judges came to the stage to announce the cake making contest. Mrs. Cullen ( 8 was on one side of the hall and Mrs. North on the other. Both ladies were glaring at one another. The long awaited for moment at last arrived and one of the judges was heard to say, Ladies, we have never tasted such wonderful cakes and it has been a very hard decision to announce the winner. We found two chocolate cakes, so exactly alike, even to the green frosting, that we have awarded two first prizes. Mrs. Cullen and Mrs. North, will you please come up to the stage and accept your prize money?” Ann Weckstrom, At) First Love She stood under the mistletoe just because some- one told her to. She looked so cute all dressed up in her new pink dress. Her soft golden hair just reached her shoulders. She stood all alone under the mistle- toe in the midst of a lot of people. Everyone was sitting near the fire singing Christmas carols, and no one paid any attention to her. But, unknown to her, one pair of eyes was upon her. They belonged to a boy. Perhaps she looked to him like a dream come true. As he walked toward her, she turned and met his eyes. They were full of love and admiration. He bent down to kiss her, and it seemed as if at that moment, everyone had a sudden desire to look in that direction. No one said anything because, after all, they were underneath the mistletoe. They looked like the perfect couple standing there. He held her so tenderly in his arms, and it seemed as if no one else in the whole world mattered. They spent the rest of the day together, trying only to see that the other was happy and contented. And when night time came, about 7:30 P. M., both little two-year-olds were tucked into bed. Barbara Mitzcavitch, ’52 Her First Game The afternoon was warm and clear as I hurried about the house putting the last few things in order. The game began 2:30 p. m., the first game I was going to see my son play in. He had gone faith- fully to practice every afternoon, only to be left sitting on the bench watching the others play for their school. At the end of every game he would come back home with a smile on his face, but tears in his heart. He had had to sit out again. But at last his chance had come. The coach was putting him )

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Literary Literary Contest To promote interest in the SCREECH OWL and to find new talent for its staff, the SCREECH OWL sponsored a literary contest. Of the many entrants the judges finally chose the following as winners: Short Story — First prize Loretta Iannarelh Second prize Ann Weckstrom Joanne Ayotte Honorable mention ' Barbara Mitzcavitch | Janice Morgan Essay — First prize Barbara Thumith Second prize Sara Baeske Honorable mention Barbara Mitzcavitch Poem — First prize Barbara Rich Second prize Henry Nowick I ' Paul Nelson Honorable mention 4 Helen Stokes Helen King Tomboy As Linda Carter, an attractive girl of sixteen, hur- ried home from school she told herself that she must do well at basketball practice that afternoon because she just had to make the team, not only because she enjoyed the sport so much, but also because she wanted to prove to Butch Blake next door that she was just as good an athlete as he. All their lives Linda and Butch had tried to out-do each other, whether it was in hanging by their legs from a tree or playing baseball on the corner lot. This had given Linda the title of the neighborhood tomboy. The two had known each other all their lives. They had been fighting from the time they were in playpens right up until now. Linda had always con- sidered him a horrid boy, but now her thoughts of him were changing. She began to notice how nice he looked when he was dressed up and a lot of other little things about him she hadn’t noticed before. Butch, however, as far as Linda knew, still consid- ered her a brat. ( 7 At practice that day Linda missed quite a few easy shots. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew she wasn’t as good as Butch, the star of the boys’ team. But she thought, if she could make the girls’ team she would at least keep up with him. The next day the names of the girls that were to try out for the first team were listed on the bulletin board. Her name was there. There were twelve names all together, six of which would be chosen for the first team, six of which wouldn’t. It all de- pended on the deciding game that night. The grandstands in the gym were full of students rooting for their friends as the game was about to begin that night. Linda noticed that Butch was there surrounded by a group of girls. She brushed aside a slight feeling of jealousy when the referee threw in the ball to begin the game. Linda played well, but she knew that some of the other girls were faster and better shots than she. During the last quarter of the game she had her chance to be a heroine. With but a few minutes to play Linda had the ball. A basket now would mean victory for her team and glory for herself. Breath- lessly she took careful aim and threw the ball. It missed the basket by inches and fell to the floor just as the whistle announcing the end of the game sounded. After a few minutes the judges came forward to announce the girls who had made the first team. Linda held her breath. She even prayed, but all in vain — she hadn’t made it. Hot tears of disappointment rolled down her cheeks as she fell into a crumpled heap on a nearby bench. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Butch. That’s the first feminine thing you’ve ever done in your life,” he was saying. Maybe you ' re turning into the kind of girl I thought and hoped you would turn out to be. Now dry those tears and how about seeing a movie We can still catch the late show if you hurry and change. How about it?” As she accepted Linda realized that Butch hadn’t wanted a girl that could out-do him in everything; he wanted one that he could comfort and help when she needed him. He wanted an average American girl. ) Loretta Iannarelli, ’52

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in the game. It was good to hear him go around the house whistling. As I entered the field my heart beat faster. What if he was hurt and carried off the field? What would I do? Oh, heavens, this was making a nervous wreck of me. As I crossed the field, I noticed the op- posing team trying out. Then all at once I saw a boy who must have weighed at least three hundred pounds. Good Lord, if he ever hit my boy, he would surely make a mess of him easy. This was going to be awful. There goes the kick off and our team has the ball. My poor boy is going to get his uniform dirty. The team is running down the field now. For heavens sake, the boys don’t even know how to stand up. Why, they are falling all over one another! I simply can’t keep my eye on the ball. Then here I am with my eye on the one boy running down the field with his arms folded, and all the while the real ball is being carried over for a touch down by an- other boy. I just can’t make heads or tails out of the game. The final blow came when my son, mind you, got the ball. There he was in clear field running faster lhan anyone had I’d ever seen. Why was everyone screaming? He must be doing exceptionally well! I was so proud of him. But little did I know that he had become so scared when he got the ball that he had run the wrong way and had crossed the wrong goal line. There isn’t much more to say except now he’s trying out for cooking classes. At least if he mixes the wrong ingredients, he has only himself to make suffer. Betty Hatch, ’50 Goodbye Wearing a black suit, and a rather forlorn smile, the little man moved quietly out of the house. People were sitting and talking on the front steps. Trying hard not to appear sad and troubled, the little man made his way through the crowd to the sidewalk. While the row of long, black cars was forming, he glanced sorrowfully at the leading limousine and sighed heavily. Finally the line of automobiles started, looking somewhat like a winding snake creeping up on its prey. The procession stopped at an ivy-covered church, and the little man stepped out of his car. Are all the, er, details taken care of?’’ he quietly asked a tall, thin individual at the head of the stairs. Quite, sir,” answered the long blue suit. People were beginning to arrive, looking under- standingly in the direction of the little man. From the choir loft, the soft strains of the organ could be heard faintly from where he was standing. Taking a deep breath, the little man entered the door. He could see the faces of his friends turn ex- pectantly toward him, as he led his only child, a beautiful daughter, down the aisle to her future hus- band. Marjorie O’Connell, ' 50 He Fell For Me Janie and I were unusually boy-crazy. This was all right except for one thing. No boy would take a second look at either of us. One Saturday after- noon we decided to drown our sorrows by taking in our favorite pastime, horseback riding. When we got to the stables, we saw a boy whom we knew, on one of the horses. But, as usual, when he saw us he started riding off, without even speaking. Janie and I yelled to him, but he didn ' t even turn around; he just started riding all the faster. Quite disillusioned, Janie and I saddled our horses and started off. What is the matter with us?” we asked each other. Did we use the wrong tooth paste? Did we wear the wrong kind of clothes? We just couldn’t figure it out. As we were riding along we saw a horse prancing up to us. It looked like Jim Baker’s horse. Yes, now I was sure it was. But where was Jim? Was he hurt? The whinnying horse and our com- mon sense told us that something had happened. We followed Jim’s horse until we came to a secluded spot where Jim was lying unconscious. It looked as if he had been thrown, and he was in serious condition. Noticing his injured leg, I said, Gee, Janie, I think his left leg is broken, and look, he’s got a big scratch on his head.” Yes,” said Janie, we’d better get him to a doc- tor.” But by the time a doctor gets to him he may be dead,” I reasoned. You ride up to the stable and call an ambulance. In the meantime I’ll administer first aid.” I ripped my sleeve into strips and then bandaged and splintered Jim. After what seemed an eternity, the ambulance arrived. Jim was taken to the hospital and was said to be in critical condition. In a few days he was getting better, and, to my sur- prise, asked to see me. One day while I was visiting him, the head nurse complimented me on my quick