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

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NEWPORT HIGH SCHOOL THE RETURN OF A HERO ' Pamela could hardly wait until Saturday. Here it was already Thurs- day. She and the whole town expect- ed John home on Saturday. There was going to be a formal dance in his honor that night, and, like most girls, Pamela didn't know what she was go- ing to wear. After much fussing and shopping, she found a dress and the necessary things for a formal. Of course, everybody in town knew she was John's girl friend, but Pamela knew all the other girls would be after him. Pamela was certain of this, because every girl in town was shopping. Saturday morning came with a gleam. Pamela had her hair waved, and everything was ready for the evening by 2:00 P. M. They expect- ed John on the 3:00 P. M. train. On her way to the train she saw Patsy Jo standing beside the drug- store. Patsy Jo and Pamela never got along very well, because Patsy J o wanted John. Pamela went over to Patsy Jo and spoke to her, Hi, Jo! What ya doing? Patsy J 0 answered in a very digni- fied manner, Not much right now, but in a few minutes I'm going to the station to see J ohnnyf' Pamela tried not to seem hurt, but she had a very large lump in her throat. How about coming with me? I'm going that way. Patsy Jo turned to her laughing, I'd rather not. Pamela walked on to the station. The whole town of Winterport was out. The band was playing, and everyone was talking at once. It seemed ages before the train rolled around the curve. Everyone pushed l Pamela aside as John got off the train. Pamela started for the road, because she thought John had forgot- ten her with everyone else congratu- lating him. With tears in her eyes, she stumbled down the road. Someone called her name, and she turned around. It was John. He ran quick- ly to meet her and said: Why the tears ? Pamela wiped her eyes and replied, Tears of joy. John never knew the real reason for the tears. Pamela knew now that no one could take John from her, not even Patsy Jo. Joyce Sheridan. DOORWAYS ' What is a doorway? Webster says, a gate, or entrance of a house, means of access. I prefer the latter. I prefer to see something more, to let my imagination create something more vital than the physical proper- ties of a hinged portion of a sidewall created to provide entrance into a building. To the outsider approaching a large white house with magnificent green lawns, the massive oak door with the polished brass knocker rep- resents a barrier which only his im- agination can penetrate. But should that doorway be that of our home, we wildly rush upon it and throw it wide to greet our loved ones within. To the shut-in, a doorway, may provide the only means of contact with life outside. A tap on the door will instantly bring a smile of expec- tant warmth-of sociability. To a prisoner, a doorway would be a hated shackle that represents only a means of escape to freedom. To the 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

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THE LIVE WIRE merchant, a doorway means his live- lihood, and yet, when desired, it can provide protection, and safeguard the interior from theft and pilfering. To Jane, a doorway now had a new meaning. She felt powerless to an- swer the sharp summons which had brought her to the portal. A moment before she had peered through the thick fog which had settled that af- ternoon, condensing in large droplets on her window pane. It was time for the p0stman,and his uniformed figure was visible in the distance. Would there be a letter from Jack? It was nearly a year now since he had been called to the service. Slowly she set aside the tiny sock she had been mend- ing. My, how little Bobby did go through his things! How proud Jack would be to see him in his 'drst year in school! He was the man, now that Daddy had to be away. A knock came at the door. Strange! The postman had never knocked be- fore. Here at the door she stopped as the dawning of realization left her powerless to continue. It might be a registered letter! The crushing thought filled her mind that it might be a government letter concerning Jack! Had it happened? Had her Jack been-? No, it couldn't be? Not Jack! Not the laughing, robust, fun- loving boy who had Won her heart, only to be called away after their few short years of happiness. A second, more insistent, rapplng tore her from her fears, and slowly she turned the latch. Instantly the door flung open. Come on Small Fry, came a booming laughing voice. Make way for the Army! Don't you let even your Hubby in ? If you really want to know some- - I time, ask Jane, who was over-joyed at her husband's surprise furlough: What is a doorway? Theo Wiers. PATIENCE BRINGS SUCCESS John Stalworth walked slowly home from school. His books seemed to weigh a ton, and his weary mind was nearly bursting. Baseball sea- son was coming, and the coach had said he would pitch for the school team if he could find enough time to practice. John lived in the country, and it was at least five miles to school by the road, he went through Mr. Jones' back field, into the woods and across the narrow brook, Which was very deep. From there he went on to the main highway and on to school. This way it was only two miles, and he had managed to find time to practice with the team until yesterday morning. He thought of it with hatred in his heart. John had been walking across the field when he saw Mr. Jones coming, waving his arms and shouting for him to stop. John was in a hurry, but he waited patiently for Mr. Jones. What's the idea, running 'cross my field? Can't your lubknock head tell you that you're spoiling my clo- ver? You git of'en my field, and don't let me see you go 'cross it again! John tried to apologize, but Mr. Jones stalked off. John's only hope was gone. He couldn't pitch his last year in high school. When he told his mother, she was not disturbed. Things didn't look very bright when she said, Just have faith my son, and everything will turn out all right. l