Norwood High School - Tiot Yearbook (Norwood, MA)

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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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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.

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20 YEAR BOOK the brook. I can always depend on him As the camel is to the desert traveler, to understand me because he just lets so is Butch to me, and for nothing on me rave on and on while he purrs away earth would I part with him. with that I know how it is look in his Dorothy McDermott '37 eyes. Q A MEMORY Underneath the ocean, Down below the sea, Resting on the pebbles, Lies a memory. Part of it is laughter, Part of it is song, Some of it is happiness- All of it is gone! Forgotten by the ocean surf, Forgotten by the land, Forgotten by the screaming gulls- just resting on the sand. Barbara Rathbun '38