Old Lyme High School - Lymen Yearbook (Old Lyme, CT)

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BAND First row, left to right, Elizabeth Simpson, Patricia Nichol, Ann Small, Bonney Stark, Nancy Stanhope, Ann Clilforcl, Paige Bryan, Lucius Stark, Mr. Mellinger, Director. Second row, Wesley Chappelle, John Stone, Norman Carlson, Donald Anderson, Carol Noyes, Merrily Pfeiffer, Penelope Tripler, David Speirs, Alan Jonason. The High School Chorus and Band perform frequently during the year at many school activities. These groups are organized to develop a desire to serve others in the school and community, to develop the con- fidence and enioyment that result from a iob well done. This year the Chorus and Band both did well. Their performances were well received by students and faculty, and membership in both groups increased as the year progressed. Membership in the Chorus reached 40, and the Band to- taled 27. MR. JAMES MELLINGER 22

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Mr. Steele has written many books and is a famous short-story writer. A few of his books are: Full Cargo Diamond Wedding Their Town Way of the Gold SENIOR DIVISION MR. WILBUR DANIEL STEELE COMMENCEMENT Tiny hand. It goes out in the dark of nothing- ness. Tries to go, but can't. What's that in the way? Some thing. Now there's another want, an anguish. What is it? Emptiness. You're hungry. Now in the silence there's a new intrusion. What? Sound. A wail. But presently it will be stopped by an heavenly stopper, shape of a nipple. What's that for? Fill you up, so you'll sleep. No? Eyes is it? Try them, then. Go on, open them up. You try it with one of them. Startlementl What's that? Light. In seemingly no time, look what a huge whack of fudamentals of human learning you've got hold of . . . Out of nothing, some- thing. Silence, sound. Emptiness, fullness. Dark- ness, light. In the light, moreover, there's the world. World of arm, soft shoulder, face with eyes in it bent over you. And you're startled, What's that? - it won't take you long to learn you didn't mean what, you meant who. Didn't mean that, you meant you . . . Who are you. You can't be expected to remember back to that, on this your first Commencement Day. High school, of course. The one which will stand vivid- est of all in the memories of you and the class- mates around you here, their faces grown and strange of a sudden, so that wordless within you there echoes the question, who are you? You and you and you, whom I've known through heart-throbs and heartbreaks, you and you and all of you, way deep down who are you? And iust as wordless in each and every one of them the selfsame question of each and every other. Way down deep, who are you? And iust as word- less in each and every one of them the self- same question of each and every other. Way deep down, who are you? Perhaps it's a sense of a mystery lying hidden amongst them that scares them off from framing the question in another way, actually a shorter way by three letters, but the way, live they long enough, they'll have to frame it in the end. And funnily enough, precisely that is the heart of the mystery itself. Mystery more enor- mous than all other human mysteries put to- gether. And here it is again, another Commence- ment, all you college Seniors, wordlessly, you and you and you, deep down, who are you? A few years more, and scattered amongst new faces and new futures, it's different. Who is no longer the word. It's how nowadays: how are you, fine, great, and how are you, great, iust fine, be seeing you. Words bereft of mean- ing. Few left to speak even bereft words to, by and by, and fewer to speak them to you, as Time gets on his horse and gallops the years away like months and the months like days, across the loneliness. Time, with Mystery grown a giant up behind him, on your traces. Where will you turn for help? f Where is the word these times, now and again you speak it into emptiness, where are you, where are you, any of you.l Why not call it a day, call it a last Com- mencement Day, beat Time and Mystery to it? Ask the answer. Ask it now. As who can know but that a tiny hand was asking it long ago when it went out into the dark of nothingness who am I Wilbur Daniel Steele