Newport High School - Live Wire Yearbook (Newport, ME)

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22- Y - - V Yrff - H -W--nf--4, W-he--in We-f-+l THE LIVE WIRE but always by that same one, Martin. Always he had gone on, hoping that sometime he might speed past Martin in that last stretch of a mile, and hear those cries of praise which always greet a winner. Now the last chance had come. He had trained as he had never trained before until now he was in the peak of condition and his hopes the highest ever - - until - - today Coach Morse had called him to his office and said, Dick, tomorrow is the National Championship meet. If we can take the mile we've got a very good chance to win. Now, I've been looking over the competition and it's pretty tough even for Martin. Now here's the way I've got it figured. If you were to run and set a very fast pace, it would be necessary for the whole field except Martin to stay with you. Thus Martin would be able to conserve his power to the last quarter mile and as the others are exhausted from following you, he could win the race easily. I realize this race means a lot to you: therefore you can do as you like: but if we lose the mile its foutsb for us. But as I said before, make up your own mind, and don't do it if you really d0n't think it's the best idea. Of course he had agreed, but with it had gone his last chance. What an end after four years of struggling! The next day dawned warm and pleasant. The field which was so quiet last night now was filled with a milling crowd of spectators fighting their way to the fast filling bleachers. Dick sat slouched on the bench, mech- anically watching the events until the call came. First call for the mile! Slowly he rose, removed his warm-up suit and took the usual warming-up exercises ending with one slow lap around the half-mile track. Last call for the mile! the an- nouncer called outg and a group of men representing colleges all over the nation took their respective positions at the starting line. After the usual confusion of arranging the runners, the starter raised the gun. On your marks: get set, and they were off at the sound of the gun. The crowd roared hysterically as Dick sprinted out for a twenty yard lead and set a killing pace. At the quarter mark, he led thirty yards and at the half, by fifty. Then, as if some of those muscles of his shapely legs had run out of fuel, his pace began to slow and the length of those bouncing strides shortened. At the three- quarter mark his lead was even less. His lungs burned like two furnaces within his chest: the muscles of his legs pulled and knotted in pain from overworkg and a pain like the cutting of a sharp knife ran through his right side. Behind him he heard, a- bove the distant sounding cries of the crowd, the pounding of feet. Soon Martin would speed by, winning again. Dick cast a glance over his shoulder and what he saw sent a tingle of surprise through his body. It was not Martin! It was Jones from Boston! He must run, not only for himself, but also for dear old Trilon. Ahead loomed the finish line: behind him the pounding of feet drew nearer and nearer. The pain in his side grew sharper and sharper. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes to fight it off, yet, with each step the pain grew greater. Then something with- in him seemed to snap: the cries of the crowd seemed to fioat away into

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NEWPORT, MAINE A- -?.sA.-..-s..s. . I .-21 telling this tale today. The name on the gravestone was Frankenstein The Monster. I was paralyzed. My fingers refused to move. My eyes popped. I stared at the stone. The engraving became luminous. I noticed a movement in the crease of one of the letters. A drop of glowing human blood splashed to the base of the stone. The light faded and I saw no more. When I came to, I was looking at the luminous hands of my watch. It was twelve thirty. I lit a match and noticed the engraving on the stone. I realized then it wasn't a dream. During the last dying flicker of the match I glanced at the gravestone opposite me. The letters on it were of the same fantastic design as on the one back of me. My match died. I continued staring at the dark outline of the stone. A silvery glow slowly formed at the middle ofit. The name Dracula appeared. Memories of a man who was dead in the daytime and alive at night came to me. Dracula could change himself into a wolf or a bat and killpeople at will. He was finally killed by driving agolden spike into his heart. And here I was sit- ting on him. For the next half hour I perspired beads of cold sweat. I didn't dare move. I heard weird sounds. Cries of agony. Peals of insane laughter. Screams of frenzy and even the howl- ing of a lone wolf. Suddenly I froze. A bat crawled up my sleeve toward my throat - - thoughts of Dracula - - I saw a hugh illuminated shadow walk slowly by - -thoughts of Frankenstein, Right there I awoke. I couldn't stand it any longer. I shook the bat from my arm and ran for home as fast asIcould go. One fact was settled in my mind. I'd rather not be a Future Farmer than go through with any more of that initiation. Warren Brawn '42 The Last Mile The warm spring air was still, ex- cept for the rhythmical click-clack of the track spikes as they tapped lightly on the cinders. It was late, nearly time for supper at the dorm: yet, one solitary figure still remained here on the track. The ease with which those long even strides carried him forward showed the perfection which comes only from years of practice and de- velopment. And such it had been. For seven springs, three in high school and now the fourth in college, Dick had been dreaming of what would really happen tomorrow. To- morrow at the inter-collegiate meet Dick would run his last mile before he hung up his spikes and entered, as his father had so firmly insisted, into the business of banking. But he was not pleased, at least not as he had dreamed of being. He had always dreamed of Winning: but now he would not wing that was certain. Never before had he realized the change it would be to settle down to the life of banking. Now, all these things sped through his troubled mind as he ran. As he lay in his bed that night, tossing in restlessness, once more that picture ran through his mind. All those meets in the last four seasons seemed to drift before his eyes. Each time, he saw himself, as he had been beaten, sometimes only by feet,

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NEWPORT, MAINE Y Z.. ig 1 23 silencep and everything went black. It was the end. Everything around him seemed to swirl and go black. He took a few faltering, stumbling steps and fell to the ground with a numb thud. His last thoughts, as the pain in his side seemed to pull his weary body into knots of pain, were that he had at least tried. Although Dick would never know, those last stumbling steps had carried him across the finish line. He was the winner and establisher of a new national record for the mile run. At Trilon they no longer use the cry, Do or Die for Dear Old Trilon- In memory of one who did both, there stands a marble monument in front of the Memorial Gymnasium. Leon Gray '42 ...i Villll Out Where The Daisies Grow Last night I thought I'd take a walk Out where the daisies grow. The moon was shining brightly down: The field was white like snow: And as I tiptoed softly round With shadows at my side, I saw the little fairies run To find a place to hide. One little fairy lost his cap QA little golden thingl Another fairy in his haste, Dropped a dusty wing. I picked them up and brushed them off, And tucked them both away Until some night that I'd return To watch the fairies play. And then I gently tiptoed off To let each daisy rest And let each little fairy climb Out from his daisy nest. And when the morning comes again, Each daisy will arise And lift her little dewey head And open wide her eyes. And then each little fairy runs To find a daisy white, To sleep all day beneath the shade And wait until the night. Then out again each fairy comes Beneath the moon's bright glow. It's really very beautiful Out where the daisies grow! Alice M. Whittaker '44 Long May It Wave Our dear old starry banner Floats high above the trees, The redg white, and blue banner A rippling in the breeze. So high above the ocean, So high above the land, Waving out our liberty For which the Americans stand. Over peril and disaster It stately holds its place Among the high and mighty, In honor and in grace. To wave above our freeland The home of the brave The Star Spangled Banner Till eternity shall wave. Bertha Russell '43