Mechanic Falls High School - Pilot Yearbook (Mechanic Falls, ME)

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24 M. F. H. S. PILOT THE SPELLING BEE Some folks may think a Bee is fun But Sophs feel better when the thing is done. One day our prof had a bright idea- Not even thought of the panic and fear That would surely come to each timid heart- Named Friday P.M. as the time to start. Back from Assembly t1'ooped classes four, Each inwardly vowing they'd have the gore. The teachers drilled on many a word That even the Stars had never heard. Recess was the time for hot debate Whether Webster meant 'a' in the word 'sep- arate'. All too soon the time flew by. Each heart stopped beating-we know not wl1y- When Friday P.M. the appointed date Arrived to decide the classes' fate. The teachers had arranged the bout But the Sophs and Seniors must fight it out. With bated breath and shaking knee The victims approached midst the Freshies glee And stood on opposite sides of the stage. I They couldn't conceal the ire and rage They felt for the foe who might spell down And win for their class the vif'tor's crown. Here comes the Prof. All hope is gone. All noise is hushed. The fight is on. 'Amanuensis'-Oh, for some brains! Senior 1 tries it with infinite pains. Some one show mercy. Throw him a line. Once there were ten. New there are nine. 'Stereotype' for the sophies' side. The Seniors try their joy to hide. With halting voice the Soph replies, I ean't think whether it's 'e' or 'i'.'l So down goes Sophie number 1. While the Seniors feel that the crown is won. So down through the ranks the words are Hung. Each victim answers with halting tongue. At last with only two minutes to go. There 's little left of that once brave row- Two wilted Seniors and one lone Soph Remain to carry the honors off. Words never heard of nor dreamed of before Fiendishly picked from unknown lore. But Hush! What is it we clearly hear? The bell! Oh well! Decision is near. Out steps the Prof with extended hand To claim the attention of all the band. The Seniors had won by one lone vote Thus dashing to earth the Sophies' hope. Still in the halls we hear the roar Of battles .like that in the days of yore. For the Sophs are shouting with fearful din We may be down, but we won 't give in. 7 Iola Chase, '33 'PHE HOUSE UNDER THIE HILL The house that nestles underneath the hill With pine trees green to frame the picture well 3 It seems to me to be a house to fill With children who make merry laughter swell. The rock beneath the tree would make a seat Fit for a king to sit on while he reads. The hill behind the house is such a treatg A sled is all the romping boy needs. The barn is just the place for boys to playg To jump from beam to beam and back again And trample in the sweetly smelling hay, And watch the sunbeams lengthen in the lane. When I see all the beauties of the place It makes my troubles easier to face. Ruth J. Thompson, '31 THE JUNIORS WORRY The Juniors all look forward To the prize speaking day, Why are we compelled to speak? Why are the rules this way? We worry about our pieces, first And hope for the 'very best, And when the time comes to speak- But then you know the rest.

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M. F. H. S. PILOT 23 set up properly, and I'll hand it to you when it comes to doing a job right. The printer felt proud when he thought that a man like Jones had stopped to drop a word of praise in his direction. After the printing was finished, he went out for lunch at his favorite cafe. He fe l t inclined to spread a lot of joy himself, so, when the little maid served him, he looked over the order with a smile of appre- ciation, and, as he started out, he spoke to the proprietor of the place. You've got the nicest place in this city , he said, and the best waitresses. I never go anywhere else, and I always recommend it to my friends. ' With a feeling of pride the pro- prietor watched his busy waitresses serve his customers. The printer was right. he did have good help. He would reward them for their remark- able service. He called them together and, to their surprise, told them that he was so well satisfied, he was increas- ing their wages. The waitresses thanked the boss but none seemed quite so happy as Annie Keith. She started home with a light heart. At the corner she ran into the cripple boy with his bundle of papers, and stopped to buy one. I'm not selling many this after- noon , the boy said in a discouraged tone. Oh well, you will , Annie answered cheerfully. It's early yet, and I am only one among many who have learned to depend on you always being on this corner with the evening papers, just call 'em and wait patiently. The little newsboy's face beamed with pleasure. Why-why, I never thought about it that way. I am glad to be of some use in the world, even though I can- not walk and work like other boys. The girl went on, but her message lingered in the heart of the crippled lad and his cheery voice attracted more buyers than usual. That night he told his blind mother of the beautiful lady, who had stopped to speak to him. The man who started the little word of praise to rolling had no way of knowing how far it went, but it's well to remember always that a little bit of praise goes a long way, and to give the bit of praise in every case where praise is worthy. Rudy Waldron, '31 POET'S CORNER THE FRIENDLY WIND Of all the voices of the outdoor world To me the voices of the wind are best. The wind that rushes free with wings unfnrlenl To toss the branees bare-ne'er to restg The balmy breeze that whispers with the pines And tells of darkly glowing skys at sunsetg The wind that in the evening howls sometimes When by the cosy fireside we sit. And let us not forget that mighty breeze, The ocean breeze that blowing fresh and cool To make the waves roll on in pounding seas And tells of realms where storms and tempests ruleg From raging tempest to the welcome breeze Of summer days-what better friends than these? Frances Carter, ' 31

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M. F. H. At last we are upon the stage And then we start to speak, Sometimes our voices quaver Sometimes we scuif our feet. At last the thing is over And we get a weak applause, And then we hurry off the stage You bet! we do not pause. Then before going to our classroom We get into the line, Then we say, How was I? And some good friend says, Fine! But does he really mean it? NO! I think that he does not, S. PILOT 25 But say, why doesn't Mr. Pottle Cut out allfthis rot? C. Courtney Pike, '31 A SHOP WINDOW In a window not far from my home, Lived a host of goblins and a gnome. On a whiskered broom a witch rode high And carried her cat up into the sky. A' bat on a background of yellow and black. Looked down upon a grinning old Jack, And five eager children looked in with glee To see how many lanterns they could see. E. B., '32