Orono High School - Crimson Crier Yearbook (Orono, ME)

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THE TRAGEDY OF THE SOPHOMORE LATIN STUDENT Aso by The Second Year Latin Class phomore went to his Latin class, lfAmo , amare , amatusj And heard of a test he needs must pass 1fPorto, portare, portatusj He hurried home with fastest gait, 4IEgo, egere, actusj And called his girl to break their date. Y 4. He g Frango, frangere, fractusj rasped his book, and with a sigh, 4fArmo, armare, arrnatusj Hev owed he'd learn those verbs or die. 1lCapto , captare , captatusj rn Co e dine, come dine, his mother cried 1fGusto , gustare , gustatusj III can't lose time, the boy replied. lfClamo, clamare, clamatusj The moon rose high, the moon sank low, 4IPlaco, placare, placatusj Before the lad to bed did go. 1fPatior, pati, passusj S0 w 1K This 'I The ll III ell he knew his every verb, Celo, celare, celatusj Latin test could not disturb. Probo, probare, probatusj teacher stands before the class, Paro, parare, paratusj pe that each and all well pass, 1ISuadeo , suadere , suasusj To day we shall not conjugate, 4fFallo, fallere, falsusj Today we shall but sight-translate. 4fScindo, scindere, scissusl Ole t us weep our sophomore's plight, lIFlamo , flamare, flamatusj For he could not translate at sight. KDAMNO, DAMNARE, DAMNATUSQ 66

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How I wanted to grab just a bit of that glory! And, of course, I thought that had I been able to run I would have taken second place, saving the day for O. H. S. I noticed, also, that the starter had allowed an Old Town man to make a false start without calling back the hurdlers. I wondered if Old Town always tried that trick and consoled myself by giving that as the reason for their success. Well, next week we'll see, I said. By Wednesday, after two days of easy workouts, I felt like trying the hurdles again. However, the coach said Work some of that energy out on a fast quarter mile with Jones, and leave the hurdles alone. Jones and I did our quarter mile. In fact we did quarter miles the next day, too, because the coach wouldn't let me get near a hurdle except for slow form work. Came the day of the big meet and I hadn t even so much as raced over two hurdles in a row and certainly wasn't any more sure of my pace than I had been on that previous fateful day. At 1:30 Saturday after a sleepless night and restless morning I was in the locker room nervously lacing my spikes. I was listening to and watching the athletes from the four neighboring high schools dressing for the meet. They all looked like Jim Thorpes to me, and I couldn't understand why that darn shoelace kept jumping out of my fingers. Once outdoors, the bright sunshine made me feel better, and I thought how pleasant it would be to be a spectator. The coach informed me that I had more to occupy me this afternoon, however, and soon I was jogging a few warm-up laps. He wanted me to run in the quarter mile, which came somewhere between the hurdle trials and finals. The booming loudspeaker made my heart beat faster when it announced that all hurdlers were to report to the starting line for the low hurdle trials, the first event. We drew our positions and took off our warm-up suits. The kinship of racers at the starting line has always interested me. Each boy, whose stomach was probably also turning summersaults of nervousness, was futilely chatting small talk. Take your marks, the starter barked. I hope he watches for false starts today, I thought. Get set, came the command. This is it, thought I, looking ahead. A split second before the crack of the gun the Old Town man surged forward. The thought of that pace and a half advantage made me forget my form. With no pace and no kindness in my heart for that starter, I crossed the finish line in third place with the grace of a one-legged jack rabbit. The fact that I was able to squeak out a place in the quarter mile a few events later didn't console me either. As the afternoon passed, the outcome of the meet became more and more unpredictable. When the last event, the hurdle finals, came up, we needed a first and second place to win. I repeated this to myself as I took my place at the starting line. I knew we could count on Beyer for the first place, but I had no idea I would be able to cross the finish line second. On your marks, thundered a voice. Oh, why hadn't I been able to get that pace. Get set. For Pete's sake, run! Bang! I ran then like I had never run and couldn't believe how easily those wooden frames passed under me or how bright that second place ribbon flashed in the sun. 65

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