Paris High School - Chronicle Yearbook (South Paris, ME)

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'TH E CHRONICLE 31 TOO LATE It was raining again. To John Ma- son it seemed to rain continually with- out any sign of ceasing. He turned up the frayed collar of his coat against the cold and tried to remember when he had last seen the sun. His head whirled as the memories returned. He thought of Bermuda with its sun- ny beaches and starlit nights and he recalled his honeymoon and the hap- py hours there with Jane. He felt sick with longing as he pictured her again. She had been dead ten years now, or was it eleven? It could be even more for he had not kept track or time. He could o-nly remember the day he had been called to the war- den's office. Jane had died of shock shortly after he had been imprisoned. He fought to stop the past from returning and raised his head into the rain. Ahead were the lights of a shabby diner. How long it had been since he had eaten? Somewhere in the night were the noises of the peo- ple living in the delapidated apart- ment buildings. A wife yelling at her husband, a child crying, and other noises that echoed through the clutter- ed alleys. The memories returned and his thoughts wandered to the trial. He remembered the headlines scream- ing of a young lawyer's dishonesty. Life had been full before that and the future had looked even brighter. Then came the bombshell. He was ac- cused of embezzling more than one hundred thousand dollars in company funds. Everything was against him. He had ready access to the Fullbright Sz Laughton Law Firm. The books were also available to him and they had obviously been tampered with in an effort to cover up the crime. He had spent many hours working late at the firm alone and he was held responsible. The trial was quick and was follow- ed by a sentence of ten to twenty years. After eleven years he was re- leased but ruined and he looked to the bottle for consolation. Now he walked slowly through the slums in hope of finding a meal somehow. A pain in the pit of his stomach no-w added to the constant pain across his chest and he decided to find a place to rest. It was still raining when he sat down on a vacant stoop. The pain was sharper now and he closed his eyes as if to shut it out. If he could only see the sun. This thought brought a smile to his lips. How stupid could he be? It was night and he co-uldn't even see the stars. With this thought he fell asleep. In the morning a bright sun was shining down on the stoop where John Mason lay. A look of peace and con- tentment was on his face. Not even the yelling of a newspaper boy awakened him as he shouted, Extra! Extra! John Mason cleared in Em- bezzlement case ! The article went on to say that the firm's bookkeeper had been caught in absconding with more funds and had confessed to the first crime. It told of efforts being made to find the lawyer who had been miss- ing since his release from prison but as yet, no trace of him could be found -David Irons English IV, THE REASON WHY He died because someone must die. Whenever wars are fought. Because in war someone must lie, And bleed in pain and rot. 3 Ask him for the reason why, Ask any of his sort. They will not tell you, but they might If dead men could but talk. Robert Moorehead '56 l

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30 THE CHRONICLE Wait! He seemed to be moving. Yes, He was! Suddenly Jesus was in the room standing beside her bed and looking upon her with great compas- sion in His eyes. And He said unto her- Come Debbie rose from her bed and they walked out of the house together into the sunshine. As they walked slowly down the busy street, they noticed a sign boldly advertising Ben's Bar . The sound of loud vo-ices, thick from an over abun- dance of liquor reached their ears. Two men were discussing which wife would nag the most when they return- ed home. A newsboy called out. Ex- tra! Extra! read all about it. Five guards. murdered in prison riot. Worst riot in history of state, governor de- clares. Debbie heard a heavy, dis- couraged sigh escape from His lips and His eyes were filled with a great- er pity than she had ever beheld. Only He and His Father could, know the destiny of these people who were so stupid in sin. J W Just ahead of them, a great crowd was pushing and shoving, yelling an- gry threats back. and forth to each other-. A -man was standing on a wob- bly platform fashioned from orange crates preaching that he was God, that he alone was to be worshipped. Jesus quickened His steps until they were out o-f hearing. If only they could learn the truth. If only someone would tell them the truth! Turning the corner the signpost read Roosevelt Promenade. Large well-kept buildings with spacious lawns and fancy shutters lined both sides of the street. Neatly trimmed hedges and freshly-painted fences separated each house as if one family- wished not to associate with its neigh- bor. Nursemaids in white starched uni- forms were strolling the sidewalks with cute little babies whose mothers were too busy to be bothered with them. Jesus whispered, Oh, Father, for- give these people. Send someone to help them find the Paths of Righteous- ness. Walking on and on they came to the slums. Rickety, old drab houses leaned against each other for support, tired of the sorrow, ignorance and poverty they had held for more than a century. Children played along the filthy trash- filled streets, screaming curse-words to each other because it was all they knewg it was all they ever heard. Just then a police car roared past with its siren screeching to the world that someone had broken a law. How noisy the world would be if a siren blew everytime one of us disobeyed o-ne of God's laws, Debbie thought sadly. My Father, My Father, forgive these wretched people for they know not how to live! Jesus cried. Send someone to guard them from Satan's evil power that they may someday be with Me in Paradise. Debbie opened her eyes with a start. Someone next door had slammed the cover on a garbage can. She look- ed around expecting to see Jesus standing beside her bed. Yes, He was there! He was sitting on a' bench in a beautiful flower garden with three young children gathered around Him. Mrs. Koscubannia entered the room. A strange sadness deepened the lines in her face. Mother, l'm going to walk again. Debbie whispered softly. Carlene Lary English III

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32 TH E CHRONICLE SCHOOL DAZE Oh, June of 1957, I hope you'll soon be here. I'm tired of education, For I've studied many a year. In math I've worked to solve for X, Or maybe Y or Z, Though what can be the use of it Is more than I can see. In French I've tried to parlez-vous . Mistakes made my face red. A Frenchman would be mystified To know what I have said. Those essay questions in hist'ry Were really my great despair. I've thought and thought and and writ, But much of it's been hot air . writ My English I thought was easy. It never caused me much fright 'lill during my vacation A poem I had to write. When it's June of '57, And I think I'm through with kno-wl- edge, I'll find it's futile after all, For I must go to college. Stephen Hicks '57 JUST LIKE A MAN! Quote: A man may work from sun to sun, But a woman's work is never done. Up at dawn to do the mopping Hurry home - from my shopping. Dust the tables, lamps and chairs. Lightly scrub the cellar stairs. Make the beds and shake the rugs. Flit the crevices for bugs. Plan a menu. Start the meal- Always those darn vegetables to peel! Set the table and - oh, yes! Not to mention bathe and dress. I dare you, husband dear, again to Say, What'd you do today? Carol Moffett '56 COMPLAINT Ah, that I could take a thought And hold it in my hand And turn it into shining words! No one can understand The aching of this heart in me Because it cannot build With simple, commo-n well-used words A poem! Learned and skilled In the art of making verse Though I'm supposed to be, Can no one teach me how to turn Verse into poetry? Anita Chase '57 oH, swam LIFE Alas, this grim portray of life, Of dull routine and mortal strife Has ceased. It will no longer be. The man is dead, his soul set free. But he has not yet found the peace, With which his death he hoped to lease. For he, poor man, was led astray, They save for him, another day. He will be born to live again, To earth, this poor man they'll send. He'll moan and groan and sigh and Cry, For it doesn't pay to ever die. Robert Moorehead '56 SNOW The snow is falling through the air, Among the trees and everywhere, Covering roads and creeks and lanes, And peeking in the windowpanes. It trims the gray fence rails in frills Turns the haystacks into fleecy hills, Gives all the posts round wooly caps And fields white aprons for their laps. Janice Reynolds '57