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

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Help Wanted Every time our publication goes to press we are confronted with a lack of material. Students and outsiders have that misconstrued idea that the staff of our periodical only should submit material for publication. The writing of a school magazine is not limited to the staff but all members of the student body should take an active part. Although one drop of water does not make a river, every little drop counts. The same is true of our publication; one or two articles do not make up an issue, but if many articles are submitted we are better able to select the best.” Was this editorial written by your present editor? No! It was written by Editor Waino Sjoblom in November, 1928. Today, 22 years later, the same problem is confronting us. Don’t forget that this is not just a staff magazine, but a school magazine. Let’s not leave making up our magazine to the few, but let’s all do our part! Frank Sotrines, ’51 If Maynard High Could Speak Could you imagine what those long, somber cor- ridors and small square rooms of M. H. S. would say if they could speak? Let us journey into the land of pretense and see. As we walk in the front door we hear echoing from every corner a happy humming sound. This startles us for a moment, but then we feel better when we hear a gentle voice say, Hello, you look like a freshman. New class, aren’t you?” Yes, we are.” That’s fine; why don’t we sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk. You know that you are joining a long line of older brothers whose spirit and zest have made me proud to have sheltered them during their years of higher learning. If you are to become one of my numerous classes you must help to uphold the reputation that these classes before you have es- tablished. It is with their cooperation that I have become the ambitious, well-mannered, and respectable high school that I am today. I’m ambitious, not only in one field but in every field. Many of your classmates may excel either in scholastic or in extra-curricular activities, but in order for your class to shine in the future years you must work for a combination of scholastic, athletic, and social talents. In years gone by my athletics have been supported not by small groups, but by the entire student body. My social functions have thrived on the support of all, not just a few faithful friends. Will you con- tinue that tradition? Not only must you work for these characteristics which I have mentioned, but you must also think of my appearance. My corridors and class-rooms have always been kept neat and clean. My former pupils have endeavored to act dignified and keep commotion to a minimum. I like to hear the sound of your voices in my corridors, the happy sound of voices engaged in friendly talk. I like to feel you above me walking with your companions from class to class. But I shiver whenever I hear voices raised in anger or un- necessary outbursts. With your interest at heart, I am happy to watch you observe the rules of courtesy to your classmates and your teachers. Good manners are the mark of the well-educated, well-rounded, so- cially adapted person I want you to be. Please do not let me down now! Make me feel as proud of you as I am of your older brothers who have passed through my corridors since 1916.” Slowly the voice dies away. We tiptoe out, the words lingering in our minds as we resolve to pass along to you what we heard from the spirit of M. H. S. Frank Sotrines, 51 Marie Sawyer, 51 ( 3 )

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0 he creec W 0 wl PUBLISHED BY THE PUPILS OF MAYNARD HIGH SCHOOL, MAYNARD, MASSACHUSETTS DECE M It i: IK 1 « 5 O Table of Content PAGE Editorials 3 Literary 4 Picture — Candids 12 Activities 13 Honor Roll 16 Leo C. White Memorial Page 17 Sophomore Superlatives 18 Freshman Fancies 19 Picture — New Members of Faculty 20 Interviews with New Students 21 The Mailman 22 Alumni 23 Sports — Picture — 1950 Football Team 25 Picture — Sports Candids 26 Football 27 Picture — Sports Candids 28 Picture — Field Hockey Team 30 Field Hockey 31 Wise Old Owl 33 S« reet h Owl Staff. Editor Assistant Editor Business Manager Assistant Managers Photography Alumni Exchanges Activities I Vise Old Owl Boys’ Athletics Girls’ Athletics Art Senior Literary Board. Literary Department. Secretaries. Advisers. Frank Sotrines Marie Sawyer Barbara Prosper Philip Murphy | Veronica Janulewicz J Robert Johnson | Roger Murray Frances Cuttell | Lorraine Campbell ( Beverly Price | Patricia Wehkoja Angie Greeno Barbara Thumith Thomas Cocco Georgia Hatch Janet Gentsch { Roger Weaving | Larry Tower Janice Morgan Miriam Salmi | Nancy Warila Helen Stokes j Barbara Castrilli Henry Nowick y Raymond Connors Jeanne Jokisaari Barbara Thumith Loretta Iannarelli Barbara Mitzcavitch Sylvia Hili Carol Novick Dorothy Statkus Minnie Toretsky Beverly Price - Carmella Napolitano Joanne Ayotte Florence Hansen Wanda Jasielonis Mary Cirino Miss Dorothy E. Marsden | Miss Margaret M. Hogarty

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Literary An October ' s Nightmare The sun was setting on one of those cool, clear October days as Martin Garnet, an industrious farmer, was plodding home from a hard day’s work in his fields. Though he longed for that comfortable easy chair beside the fireplace he paused a moment or two to enjoy the beauty of nature which surrounded him. He was spellbound by the beautiful color blendings of the trees. As nightfall approached, Martin, while securing his supply of water for the night, suddenly perceived a streak of light flash in the sky and land in one of his fields. Thinking it a small meteorite of some kind he advanced quickly towards it. It ejected such a bright ray of light that he was compelled to close his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them again the light had disappeared, and wffiat he beheld was terrifying! It did not appear to be a meteorite, but rather an unearthly type of living creature. It was living, for he heard the heavy thumping of a heart. It was of spherical shape with one weird, piercing, green eye at the top, and its color was a pearl-white. Since it weighed approximately thirty pounds and was composed of a jelly-like substance, Martin had a difficult task in bringing it home. Thinking it too late to notify the police of his strange discovery ' , he carefully placed the weird being in his barn for the night. The next morning, completely forgetting about this creature, he was horrified when he read the fol- lowing newspaper article: Five persons were mysteriously murdered last night. Officials were unable to determine the cause. The victim’s arms and legs were torn to shreds, and their eyes . . .” Martin stopped abruptly, for he instantly thought of his eerie discover) ' . Dashing frantically to the old barn he found it gone! Searching everywhere he was unable to detect any trace of the formidable thing. Returning to the barn again he suddenly noticed a piece of parchment in the place where it had been. Picking the paper up nervously, he turned white with fear as he read the following passage in a strange and peculiar handwriting: We, the people of Mars, have been constantly sending soldiers down to earth for the past hundred years in preparation for the invasion which will soon occur. What you saw last night was one of those soldiers. You will completely forget this incident and reveal nothing, for if you do you will only be thought insane. There are others in the same situa- tion as you, so have no fear.” Who knows, dear reader, but that you may be one of those unfortunate individuals! Richard Turner, ’51 Sweet Sixteen The date was December 3, but nobody seemed to realize that it was anything more than just another day except Penny Morris. Even her parents had for- gotten. She could excuse her friends, but not her parents. You see, today was Penny’s sixteenth birth- day, an event which she had waited for all her life, a day which she had thought would be filled with happiness and pleasant memories. But instead of that, nobody besides Penny even remembered it was her birthday, not even Joan, her best friend or Buzz, her one and only. It wasn’t that she had expected much, just a few friendly Happy Birthdays” from the gang, a few cards, a few inexpensive presents, and that gray fleece coat which she had dreamed and prayed her parents would buy her. But now it didn’t look as if she was getting anything from anybody. When she got up that morning her father as usual kissed her affectionately and her mother talked as she did every morning, about nonsensical, meaning- less things. When nothing was said about the birth- day Penny decided they had forgotten, and so she dropped a hint or two. Does anybody know the date?” she began inno- cently. Why yes, dear. It’s December 3,” her mother answered. Is it any special day, I mean holiday or ... or somebody’s birthday?” There it was out! Penny had spoken her piece and if they didn’t remember now, well . . . Her mother thought for a few minutes and then said, No, dear, I ' m sure it’s no holiday and I don’t think it’s anyone’s birthday.” ( 4 )