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

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NEWPORT HIGH SCHOOL his arms around me. You're just the girl we want. You just come along with us without making any fuss, or we'll have to use forceful means. They led me behind some buildings and across a vacant lot. A dim light showed from an old house. I knew they were taking me there. Sure enough, they led me, or rather pulled me, into the spooky place. By now I was so frightened that I could hardly walk. Three other equally evil-looking men greeted me. In the center of the otherwise empty room were a long table and several boxes. They looked up at me saying, Oh, boy, it isn't going to be as dead to- night as I thoughtf' Oh, shut up, said the guy hold- ing me, and help me get her ready for the noose. For the noose ! I shouted. Yes, for the noose, said the other. We'd better explain boys, so as to ease her mind. Well, we are black marketers, he said. Every stranger that comes into town we hang so not to interfere with our business. We don't like to take chances. I had an awful struggle, but five men being stronger than one girl, they succeeded in getting me tied to the scaffold. How that rope choked me! Just as they were letting me drop to break my neck, I woke, with my neck aching from leaning over the back of my seat as the conductor was saying, N ext Stop, Boston. That is what trains and ration books will do to you on a busy day. Ethel Henderson. I INVASION The Americans were just invading an enemy held island. As they step- ped foot on land, the fight really be- gan. Shells were bursting every- where, bullets were going over their heads and hitting the-ground in front of them, and planes, tanks, and trucks could be heard all around them. There was only a small group of soldiers, but what there were knew what they were there for, and knew that it would be either they or the enemy that would be lying dead on the ground after the battle. The night was dark and murky, and the ground was muddy and rough, yet these soldiers cared for nothing. Their job was to take the island and to blast the J aps out of the world forever. These soldiers took no chances, for, if they did, it would mean certain death. As they advanced, the battle got worse, and instead of its looking like night, it looked more like day with bursting of shells and the firing of tracer bullets. Every once in awhile a bullet would find its mark, and an American soldier would die for his country. Some were wounded, yet they fought on until the last drop of blood dropped from their bodies. A soldier, while advancing, got both legs blown off by a bomb. Immediately he shot a Jap Zero. Then, as the Zero came down in fiames, he died from lack of blood and weakness. Many died this same way, yet when the battle ended, the Americans had captured the island with a loss of men and supplies far less than that of the enemy. ' While these soldiers were fighting l

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THE LIVE WIRE this calamity is over. You know how I feel about it. I'd rather be there as we planned when last together. Lee reminisced. She and Dick were clinging to each other in Pennsylva- nia Station in New York. Little had they known that this would be the last time they would be together until the World again was at peace. They had planned to meet in sixty days in Massachusetts, Dick's base. Tragedy had struck Lee's family. She had moved to Ohio, still continu- ing to write to Dick. Because of this unfortunate experience they decided to meet in thirty days. Lee had most of her wedding ap- parel bought-nothing elaborate or fancy, for this was War-time. As she carefully packed each article, she thought how wonderful it would be to live in Massachusetts and be near enough to Dick so that they could be together as much as possible. At last all arrangements were com- pleted, and she was on her way to be- come a Navy wife! Lee had been in Massachusetts for three weeks now but hadn't heard from Dick. Then one day the postman blew his whistle. Lee dashed down stairs for her mail. A letter! A letter from Dick. Yes, Lee thought this was the irony of war. Dick had been transferred ahead of schedule. He was now some- where in the North Pacific. And so, my darling, until our plans can really come true, keep pray- ing that this mess will soon be over, and that we will be together again. Goodnight, my love, may God bless you, Dick. Shirley Darling. I A STRANGER IN TOWN As I got off the bus at Oakfield, my watch said it was 12:30. The night was pitch black, and the air was cold and damp. I was the only passenger who had alighted, and the bus was already pulling out. I suddenly felt lost and wished myself on the speed- ing bus, now quite a ways from sight. A stranger in town, I began looking around for someone to tell me where to go. Not a person was in sight. What a dump! I declared, as I started walking down the dark street to find a hotel for the night. As I stepped from the side street, a dark form strode from behind a group of store houses. Before I had a chance to ask him to show me, he had slipped across the street and behind another group of store houses. I knew he saw me. He looked startled when he saw me, as if he hadn't expected to see anyone step from that street. I walked rapidly down the street where I thought the stores Would be, but the face of the man was still fresh in my memory. I thought I heard someone cough behind me, and, as I turned, my arms were gripped by two firm, steel-hard hands. I looked into the eyes of the face I had seen but a minute before. Behind him was an- other short, stout man, With a cap slouched over one eye. I was so frightened that I couldn't speak. The short man laughed, We've got her, Pete, he said. We've got her. By this time I had gained my voice. What does this mean? I stammered. Surely you don't want me. Oh, yes, we do, said the one with l

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THE LIVE WIRE and dying, they had no chance to kick about the rationing and what was go- ing on at home. They had to fight and like it. So would those same people at home have fought, if they had been there with the soldiers. L. Chadwick. A PRISONER It is strange how a mother can re- member incidents of years past- little things that have clung in one's mind as if they were of yesterday. It still seemed a hideous nightmare, that telegram from the war department which read: We deeply regret to inform you that your son, Pfc. Ivan Tower, is reported missing in action over Italy, February the 14th, in the year nine- teen hundred and forty-four. Yes, a fragile piece of paper, but holding words which could tear down a secure basis for future happiness. Ivan, her son, a perfect duplicate of Big Ivan, who had been killed in a plane crash carrying mail from Chi- cago to Los Angeles, when Ivan was but a baby. It had been born right in young Ivan-this love for planes- the same feeling he possessed when he was flying or piloting a plane as his dad had had. Now young Ivan was gone. Per- haps he was a prisoner in a Japanese or German prison camp, or perhaps he was lost in a desert 3 the sun blind- ing him, and he himself suffering from the agony of thirst. There were many possibilities. Must she always be tortured with the terrible dread of the unknown, or would some word come to her of his capture or his death-anything to release her from this feeling of suspense-of waiting? I 'Then it did come, a dirty, torn, but readable, piece of paper from her be- loved boy, a letter full of hope and longing, of loneliness, but not of fear. It read as follows: March 26, 1944. Dear Mom, I realize you're probably wonder- ing about me. I'm fine, even though I am a prisoner of the Germans. Yes, Germans, Mom, not J aps. I have God to thank for that. Joe wasn't as lucky, Mom. The Japs have him. At least the Germans are human to some ex- tent. I had your picture in my wallet, Mom, when I was captured. They let me keep it. I looked at you last night, Mom, and you smiled, a smile full of hope and courage, and it gave me new strength. Your lips moved, and you said, I'm praying for you, son. Soon you'll be home. Never lose faith or courage. I'm always with you. A tear slipped down your cheek. I couldn't bear to see you cry, Mom, so I placed your picture beneath my pil- low, close by me always. That's the way I want it. Keep praying for me, Mom, and I'll come home some day when it's over. I know Mom, I feel it. Your loving son, Ivan. Yes, son, I'm praying. Some day you'll come home, the same small lad of yesterday, but with an older face, worn by hardships suffered, and blood, sweat, and love shed on the field of battle-love for comrades never to return, and blood and sweat for revenge paid the enemy for those like Joe. I'l1 wait-I'll pray. The day will come-SOON. . D. Soper, '46. l