Pembroke Academy - Academian Yearbook (Pembroke, NH)

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Dear Jim- by Jeanette Demers You and I grew up together. We were next door neighbors after I moved to the little town of Clear- dale. I guess it all started the day I fell into the river and you came to the rescue. We had such good times in those days before anyone ever thought there would be another war. Swimming, dancing, long walks, and bowling were Just a few of the many things we did to- gether. After high school you went on to college, and I got a Job. We didn't see each other again for four years. I hadn't forgotten though, and I don't believe you had either. Hbw proud I was at your graduation. You got a Job near the office where I worked, and we re- which by then newed our friendship had grown deeper and stronger. We planned to be married the following May but Fate intervened, and you went away. You enlisted the day after Pearl Harbor because you said that you wanted to help preserve the things you held sacred. It was then that we had our first real quarrel ,that left me in tears. I would not relent because I thought that the least you could do was to wait and be drafted, Now I see that I was terribly wrong. You went away with your faith in me ut- terly destroyed. But you fought hard, because that was the only thinn that could ease the ache in your heart. I didn't write because my pride wouldn't let me. I'll pro- bably never know the many dmos- you waited for mail that never came, and how you tried to smile and en- joy the bits from the letters that your buddies got from home. Oh yes, I kept busy while you were gone. First Aid classes, nur- ses aide, Red Cross work, and many other things occupied my hands, but they didn't occupy my thoughts which were on you continually. Yes, I've regretted a thousand times over the things I said during that quarrel. You tried to make me see it your way, but I refused to. Yesterday a telegram came. It was from your mother. I read these five simple words with sobs that tore the very heart from me. 'Jim is missing in action.n that froze my Five simple words heart within me. I cried the rest of the night, and now there is a feek ing of numbness and emptiness that comes with the realization that I'll probably never see you again. I don't know whether you're living or not, Jim, but somehow I feel that you know what I'm saying. Wherever you are, Jim, I want to say that I'm terribly sorry for what happened and, God willing, we'll meet again-won't we? M U D Arthur H. Fowler Here's to some mud in your eye, When I go recklessly by. Look at my Jeep: it's a mess I'll have to give it a bath, I guess. Here's some more mud in your eye. I'm waiting for the darn stuff to dry. If spring doesn't come pretty soon, I'll ride in the stuff till mid-June.

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THE. gcAo-zMlA.,u rig., had to work also. Louise what her mother said was knew that true , but she also knew that there was a boy living a couple of miles down the road who was nearly twice as old as she, and- who was looking for work. She had heard that no one would hire' him because he drank and was unbelievably lazy, but, at that time, it had seemed as though her father hadn't hired him so that he would have an excuse for making her work. Louise remembered, too, that her father had often been gruff in the evening-snot cross, but, just not saying much. Her mother had told her not to bother him, because he was worried about making both ends meet. Her mother needn't have men- tioned it--Louise never would have bothered him. There were numerous little things that made her dislike her father more and moreg but soon af- ter her sixteenth birthday the fi- nal blow came. Her mother had become very ill, and her father had gone for the doc- tor, leaving Louise there alone with her mother. Before her father had returned, her mother had died. Childlike, she had to blame someone and the blame naturally fell on her father. The next day, Louise had left home. She had been very lucky in finding work, end, as the years passed, her anger and hatred lessen- ed. Now, five years later, she could look back more impersonally and see her own mistakes. She remembered now how kind he had been. Now, for the first time, she recalled the day he had given up a trip with his friends to take her to a birthday party. She remembered now, what an interest he had always taken in all her success- es and failures. S16 had long since realized,how unjust she had been re- garding her mother's de lh. She came out of her reveries to find herself at her destinations She still had a long walk before her, but she sta ted out brisk w How well she remembered every field, every house, every turn in the road. At last she saw the house before her. Running up to the door, she opened it and spoke. Father I Father 3 where are you? Then she saw him. He was sitting at his desk with his head on his arms. Louise ran to him and.lifted his head. As she did so, she noticed her letter, partly open, in.his hand. As she looked in his face she was startled. His face was white and his eyes staring. Suddenly, Louise remembered the meaning of that look. Once more she saw her mother as she had looked that night when father had returned. She calls ed the village doctor, and, after he had examined her father he said, WHe can't have been dead more than an hour or two. He must have died while reading that letter. WNQ, m'am,U The doctor shook his head. UHe wasn't reading that let- ter. He's been stone blind for three years.n

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THE ACADEMIAN , A -ii A STRANGE DISASTER , . C. D. Stevens, 'Twas a hot, sultry day in June when I first met Burns in a friend's back yard. He was sunning himself beside his newly built home at the farthest corner. He wasn't very big for his age but he had great ambitions, his greatest of which was to be buried in the briny deep. I thought it rather funny for such a small young- ster to have such an ambition, but rather than discourage him by paint- ing horrible things that might hap- pen to him after he had seen the salt water awhile, I helped him all I could by inducing him to eat more of the right food so that he might become big and strong. Only those who are large and healthy ever get the salt in their veins. With these words of advise I left him, for my business called me to my office. Burns didn't seem dis- turbed to see me leave though we were the best of friends from the start. He didn't even bother to wish me luck or, as I remember, even to say good-bye.. I didn't mind though. He was probably a- sleep before I was out of sight. What a life, eating, sleeping, and having a good time doing it. How I wish I were he for a day, As I said, my business called me away, clear to San Francisco, in fact. I went, of course, but I kqn thinking of Burns' ambition, Why should I care? He was nothing to me. I'd never met him but once, but somehow I hated to see him do it. when a youngster gets en idea in his head, though, it doesn't pay to try to change it. I finished my work for the day and went to my room. Somehow I wasn't hungry when it came supper time. Could it be that I was think- ing of Burns? I didn't know, but he was on my mind when I finally went to sleep. After what seemed years, I re- turned home and rushed to my neigh- bor's to see Burns. Yes, he was what a change had He had nearly there alright but come over him. reached his goal. Just a few more weeks and he'd be there. Somehow I hated to see him go, but I hadn't the heart to tell him for he was so proud. I told him I'd be around to see him leave. As the day drew-near, it more than visiting a dentist, I dreaded but when it finally came I found ny- self drawing nearer Burns' home. Something seemed to tell me I'd never see him again, but I kept going. As I rounded the last corner a shot was fired. Something made me feel as I'd .never felt before. Things grew black: I couldn't go on. I have no wry of knowing how long I lay there, but gan to wonder Burns? Had he cou1dn't bring anyone, but I when I came to I be- again. was it poor achieved his goal? I myself to ask it of found out the worst about a week later. As I walked by a meat store, I noticed these words on the window, 'Ask about the Burn- sorian Special, today only, native salt 'pork, twenty-five cents a pound.W Uhat's this got to do with the story? Well I'll tell you. You see Burns had achieved his goal, for he was a persistent Bershire pig and, like many other pigs of his neighk borhood, had been buried in the deep salty brine of a pork barrel.