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

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28 ' M. F. H. HAPPY DAY 'L Good morning, Pete, Miss Anderson, the English teacher, greets me. Sl'1e's beam- ing all over, like I'm her brother or somethin'. I answers without thinking, Yeah, ain't itf, and walks on. I've gone about two steps before I realize that somethin' is wrong. The whole set-up is screwy. I looks at my watch. Eight o'clock. Ilm twenty minutes early. I glances down at my clothes. Shoes are shined, pants pressed, flashy shirt and tie--hair combed. I ain't taken much notice of who spoke to me. Let me tell you, I turns around pretty quick. She's still there, smilin' at me. Oh--oh yes, I stammers. It cer- tainly is a fine morning. QYou hafta use the Kingis English when you're talkin' with the fakulty, just to let ,em know you ain't so dumb yourself.j, I beats it, scared she'll change her mind. I takes the corner too sharp. Then I looks down at the floor to see just who the guy is who bumped inta me. I am plenty sore. But I changes my mind awful sudden. The principul is a pretty big feller. Gosh! Am I scared! I almost pass out. Then he starts talking. Say, Pete, fwell for P P P -always before it's been Mr. Harrisonj will you please come to the office this morning in an hour? It ain't the cold March wind that makes me shiver. Wh - what for, I blurts out. Why don't he bawl me out now? Well, you've been doing so well in your subjects lately that I've decided to let you do a little office work now. Perhaps you may correct papersf' He ain't laughing at me, neither. I stumbles on in a daze. S. PILOT The science prof stops me on the stairs. He's got a butt in his mouth, dangling down like it belongs there. Have a weed, Pete,', he says. And passes me the pack. And lights a match. I don't say nothin'. I'm in the mist. I look around for the little guys in white uni- forms to come to get me. I whispers to him, It ain't allowed. 6' Ain't it? U He acts surprised. First I ever heard about it. He looks as though he means it. I canit catch on. What's your racket? i' I asks him point- blank, determined to Hnd out what's the answer. Why, er, - - U I guess he don't know what I'm raving about. I-Ie backs from me like I got the itch. What a funny light you've got in your eyef' he squeaks. And turns and runs. Gosh! Pretty soon Iill be getting scared of me, too. I pass the bulletin board. There's my name in big letters. Peter Harrison elected model boy. There,s some more, too, but I'm a too modest guy to go spoutin' about me. It does look pretty swell, though. I'm feel- in, good. I starts to whistle. It may be An Apple for the Teacher which I'm tweetin'. I dunno. I ain't much on this bird stuH. Comes a light cuff on the ear. I stops tweetin'. Somebody shakes me. I looks up. The principul don't look like he's very happy right now. I looks around. They're all laughin' at me. I looks down at me. Well, I'l be - - ! Say, how d'y suppose I ever got here at my desk? Sparky Score '42.

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M. F. H. S. PILOT 27 Through these we learn cooperation that may be carried over into the big union of our 48 states. Originally, when the thirteen states fought to preserve their independence and integrity, the problem was much simpler. Today we have three times that number, all of which, with their individual interests, problems, and loyalty, desire recognition. They are con- cerned with particular questions of com- merce, climate, traditions, politics, all of which tend to isolate them from the common cause, yet in the progress of civilization, there have also developed methods of communica- tion and transportation that tend to make us a nation individual. We have only to look at the E Pluribus Unum which we see every day on our money to remind us that we are, out of many, one H. The oneness of this nation is symbolized by the Flag of the United States of America, and every time we salute the Hag, we salute the whole country. Words cannot be found any more appropriate than those used in our National Anthem, The Star-Spangled Banner . O long may it wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. Liberty and Iustice and all that America means to us, come only through sacrifice on our part. Let us forever stand one for all and all for one , and with holy reverence remember when storm clouds gather far across the sea, let us pledge allegiance to a land that is free . Yes. God bless America. Americans must do more than just pledge allegiance, we must live it in every thought, word, and deed. All this helps to make our nation one that stands for Democracy, the one nation indi- visible . I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Gloria Harwood '44, THE BLIZZARD The storm had been threatening all day. The cold gray sky, the grim light created by it, the penetrating chill and the low moaning and creaking of the trees all foretold the coming disaster. It began to manifest itself more and more by midafternoon. The drab clouds seemed to settle even lower and the wind increased in force. About four o'clock the gale suddenly stopped and left the world as silent and eerie as a tomb. The unnatural light created a feeling of some awful happening. Then, as suddenly as it had stopped, the wind began again. This time it was accompanied by the minute, hard snowflakes that precede a long snowfall, and that sting human Hesh like fire. The wind increased until it became a whin- ing, shrieking wail that bent and swayed the trees until they seemed to be at the breaking point. The snow increased too, both in density and in the size of the Hakes. At the end of a half hour it was so thick, that to see more than tweny feet was an impossibil- ity. The darkness now closed in and obliterated all. There seemed to be no escape, no refuge from the gale and snow. It penetrated the thickest bushes, it swirled into the innermost recess of overhanging rocks, it pierced even the tiniest crack in the walls of the cabin by the river. Night passed and the bleak dawn finally came, revealing no let-up in the raging storm. The wind was just as strong and the snow fell as fast as it had the previous night. No living creature stirred about. The elements were raging so, that none could live any length of time without some protection. On the morning of the third day, however, the wind had abated and the snow stopped. By mid-morning the sun had broken through the last thick bank of clouds, brightening a new world now transformed beyond recogni- tion. Of the cabins on the river, nothing was visible but the roofs, the trees were so heavily laden with snow that they resembled huge piles of it. Beneath the trees lay the vast, unbroken expanse of snow, now sparkling in the bright sunlight. Edward Frost '4l.

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M. F. H. S. PILOT 29 POETRY DE THE MASQUERADE Everyone has been to a masquerade Where many queer characters are on parade. Streamers and lanterns deck the hall, It's really a gay and jovial ball. 'Dhe guests are disguised with small black masks, To guess their identity is quite a ta.sk. They change their voices, manners and ways. The costumes date back to by-gone days. First there's a Robin Hood with Little John, Next there's Lady Guinevere with a wig on. Old tramps and pirates dance around, They fill the room with a variety of sound. A prize is given to Rip Van Winkle, The bell for refreshments begins to tinkle. The guests assemble and partake of the lunch, They all start homeward, -an odd looking bunch. G. S. '43. There once was a young girl named Jean, Whom everyone thought was a dream. Until one fine day, She happened to stray, And since then she hasn't been seen. Dorothy McMoran '43. A dear little girl With a golden curl Was bidding her daddy good-bye, He was going away, For a year today, And a tear showed in 'her eye. The time would seem long To her, while he was gone He had been her very best pal. She breathed a short prayer As they parted tlhere, That God would keep him well. In his khaki so neat, He marched down the street To the music of the band g But her heart was sad, As she watched her dear dad, Who was going to defend our free land. Leola Paine '42. There was a young fellow named Jack, One day his brain he did wrack. He wrote an essay, But it didn't pay, And his paper was all he got back. Glenna Whittemore '43. PARTMENT To kill,-or not to kill,-that is the question, Whether 'tis fairer to let him live, through The joys and sorrows of another year, Or to take up arms against this noble soul, And by murder, dispose of him. To live,-to die,- If, to die,-no more will bother him The heart-aches and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. But death to him is Far from the present. To live,-to die,- If, to live,- perchance for years, that is mercy, But, if, through life, he be not happyg then kill, As is usual on each Christmas day, the Poor and noble turkey. Carleton Quinn '42, To bum, or not to bum,-that is the question, Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The thoughts and trials of staying home, Or to take up arms against a sea of gossips, And by opposing ignore them. To go, - to stay,- To go, and by going to hear when back The wagging tongues and a thousand disliked stories That tongue is heir to,-'tis an ending Not to be wish'd. To go,-to stay,- To go l there's our conscience! ay there's the rub, For when we're there-there come thoughts which we dislike And we may wish ourselves at home, Our conscience bothers us. Elizabeth Tees '43. To marry or not to marry, -that is the question 3 Whether 'tis better in the end to accept The freedom of a ba.chelor's lonely life, or- To enter in the .bonds of matrimony, Thus ending loneliness. To wed-to unite,- And by a union to say we join our lives Together- to end the struggles and natural problems That bachelors are heir to,- 'tis a consum- mation Devoutly to be wish'd. To marry, -to unite, - To unite! to yoke together! ay, there's the rubg For what may come when a man is yoked to a wife Who has a lashing tongue and high ambitions, Must give us pause. Wallace Andrews '42, Once there was a young lad from Nebraska, Who met a young lass from Alaska. She 'helped him shuck corn, While he blew his thorn, But the question he never did ask 'er. John Trinward '43. There was a young teacher named Ioan And her ink, she always did loan. 'Til it went to her head, And one day she said, Why don't they buy some of their own?