Norwood High School - Tiot Yearbook (Norwood, MA)

 - Class of 1937

Page 20 of 114

 

Norwood High School - Tiot Yearbook (Norwood, MA) online collection, 1937 Edition, Page 20 of 114
Page 20 of 114



Norwood High School - Tiot Yearbook (Norwood, MA) online collection, 1937 Edition, Page 19
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Norwood High School - Tiot Yearbook (Norwood, MA) online collection, 1937 Edition, Page 21
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Page 20 text:

I8 0 THE WOODS IN SPRING YEAR BOOK There is no end of happiness in spring, When in the woods the robins sing all day, Their melodies are sweet and not less gay Than are the songs the fairy-creatures sing ln deep, dark woods at night. A golden ring Of daffodils shows where the fairies play ln silvery moonlight, near the trees that sway, And o'er the wood their inky shadows Fling. And yet, not only when the sun and moon Shine on the wood, do peace and beauty reign. But also when the wood is pierced by showers Which often leave-on stopping far too soon- A rainbow in the sky, and near the lane, A richer host of fresher trees and Howers. Joseph Pazniokas '37 0 FOG The Reverend Lyman Smith walked moodily, with head down, along the glistening, deserted street. A wet fog and the night obscured his vision, but just ahead he could dimly see the rails on the bridge over the muddy East River. The Reverend Lyman Smith had a destination. He was not out at that hour for the exercise, because, if he had been, he would not have allowed his step to drag as he approached the bridge. He would not have appeared so nervous as he peered through the fog behind him. It was almost as if he feared pursuit. A The sudden detection of a man hug- ging the shadows close to the railing startled him. l-le stared at the man's back for a long minute, and then under- stood. The suicide statistics on the bridge were rather high. The good clergyman placed a hand on the stran- ger's shoulder and turned him about, Young man, said the Reverend Smith, as he looked kindly into the young face, ul understand. l see your thoughts very clearly. But you are Wrong. My advice to you is to go back and face it. Go back and fight it. Your back may be to the wall, but fight back while you still stand. You have no right to destroy yourself. What happened to you was caused to come about by One who is greater than us all, by a Will that rules us all. You have no right to dispute that Will. Go back and face what you seek to escape from. Fight it. If you can, forget it. If it is a loss, make it good, Go back. Though we fail to see it, there is always a purpose in everything he does. The dull, tired eyes stared at him.

Page 19 text:

CLASS OF I937 I7 anese peasantry, and, for that matter, the Japanese worker, have become in- tolerable. Finally, there exists in Japan a military-naval clique whose influence is extremely great. They are restless men, whose ambitions are unlimited. It must not be forgotten that this power- ful section of the japanese leaders has a fanatical belief in the power and in- vulnerability of Japan. ln the last forty years they have fought three victorious wars, against China, then against Czar- ist Russiag and then against the Cier- mans at Tsingtao in 1915. That the China they defeated before the end of the last century was a mere shell, appears to escape them. That the Russia they defeated in Nlanchuria was utterly corrupt and inefficient, without adequate transportation facilities, and with comparatively small forces, does not enter their calculations. They for- get, too, that the small German colony at Tsingtao was very different from the Kaiser's armies which stormed through France in I9l4. Therefore, they have an incredible confidence in themselves, and it is this fact that makes the present situation so dangerous. It seems that war is almost inevitable in the near future-on one side, Japan, impelled by many motives, and, on the other, Russia, firmly determined to resist japanese aggressions. There is no further need of dwelling upon the dangers of war. These are evident, But what progress have the nations made towards peace? Through all the centuries of conflict, Europe and Asia have struggled against their tragic heritage of war. The struggle has not beeim without war. The arts and sciences, now Hourishing, now languishing, have survived. lmperishable contributions to the progress and enlightenment of man- kind have defied devastation. But the Qld World builds its temples in the intervals of peace, and rains destruction What hope may there be that Europe and Asia will not always turn from progress to killing? There is no hope. That hope is in America. It might almost seem that the Creator, despair- ing of the future of civilization in the hands of nations never far enough removed from war to know its futility, set apart another continent where men might learn to live in peace and security. Christianity, the greatest force of human happiness, appeared first in Asia and would have died there. Europe nourished the Christian inspiration, and preserved it for the guidance of future generations. But, Europe failed to free mankind forever, from the darkness of the feudal ages of which war is a relic, and thus failed its destiny. America is today what Europe might have been and may still be. America has become the greatest nation in the world, made so by the merging of races transplanted from a continent, Where it is the purpose of man to kill and be killed, to a land where men are content to live and let live, America is a new world, indeed-symbolical of new hope for the older nations of Europe. Europe must turn eventually from war for con- quest, war for revenge and war for the aggrandizement of relentless dic- tators. Europe must live as America is determined to live, free of hate, of jealousy and free of war! William Shyne '37



Page 21 text:

CLASS OF 1937 I9 For a moment he hesitated, then he turned quickly, and with renewed effort in his person, strode, almost ran, back. As the fog closed around the re- treating form, the good Reverend Lyman Smith followed it with his eyes. Then, once more alone on the bridge, he stepped quickly to the rail and threw himself into the water. Roger Flaherty '37 . REFLECTIONS om THE LIFE OF MY cm I call him Butch. When I first be- came aware of his existence he was a rolly-polly, amber-speckled ball of fur, lapping up milk from a shallow pan around which were several other kit- tens. The moment I set eyes on the animal, I was determined that before long he would belong to meg however, I soon found out, and to my sorrow, that his opinion on the subject was in direct opposition to mine. After chasing him around the barn, up trees, through rose bushes, and in every nook and cranny in which his feline instinct informed him that he might receive protection, I became so exhausted that I sat down and cried. When I thought of the ridiculous situa- tion I had created and brought to a climax by admitting that a dumb ani- mal had out-tricked me, I roared with laughter at my own stupidity. Because he had lived in the barn with the other animals since he was born, I might have known that he was as wild as an Osage and just as savage. So one night, when I knew he'd be asleep, I came back and bagged him. That was five years ago. Since that night Butch and I have rung in many crucial moments, but there is one which willlalways remain as fresh as wet paint in my memory. My Aunt, who never liked the cat very well, showed him the door one night on the pretext that he had shown a yellow streak. Now, I was willing to stake a brand new jack-knife in Butch's interests, but as I had no actual proof, I realized that I must uncover some pronto. Two weeks later, I was drying my hands and watching the sun rise, when I suddenly spied Butch in the onion patch gazing peacefully into space. But what raised my hopes to heaven and made me so happy that I wanted to shout for joy, was the sight of a malicious-looking, battle-bound tom, striding pessimistically between two rows of cornstalks. In a split second the inevitable hap- pened, but not before I had called my Aunt to witness the battle. Since that day, Butch has been allowed the privi- lege of eating beside my chair at meal- time. Being a faithful side-kick, Butch fol- lows me and my friends everywhere, dodging behind bushes and trees when autos approach, only to reappear when they have whizzed by. When I am deep in the depths of des- pair and melancholy, I go to my room and open the window and yell for Butch. Sooner or later I hear a faint answer and catch a glimpse of a yellow streak racing up from the direction of

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