Pemetic High School - Pemetic Yearbook (Southwest Harbor, ME)

Page 17 text:

GAME I have to watch every move Stevens makes now for I fear he will shoot me when I'm asleep or off guard. Our orders said for us to watch the console day and night and fire the bird when the signal comes. It's been one hundred thirty three days since the blast and contact was lost. All we do now is wait and hope for rescue. But the strain was too much for Stevens and he cracked completely, forgetting everything about our mission and route of retreat or escape. His mind is a complete blank concerning the key and its purpose. He, alone, was told by Com- mand the method of escape from this sweat- box under the mountains, and he has lost his memory. Stevens keeps asking me for my jacks, but I don't even own jacks, much less have some with me with security and clearance. But I play along with him and refuse him, hop- ing the frustration will jolt his memory. But it doesn't help because he has gotten progres- sively worse. He seems to be reverting into his childhood for he scratches flowers and animals on the walls of our main room. Three walls are filled and from the writing I believe he started a diary and slowly regressed to childhood thus losing all interest in it. My only wish now is to stay alive and try to help Stevens, but one of us will soon kill the other for there isn't enough food and water for two. If I could only make him remember the way out of here, to the upper complex, I'm sure we could find food and water for a lifetime. I have repeatedly tried to get Stevens' .45 away from him and the .25 calibre Beretta in his attache case, but to no avail. Some- times I rock him to sleep in my arms but he holds onto the handle of his .45 and the lock of his attache case won't open when I try to pick it. He has tried to get my .45 also. The .25 calibre Beretta, which I occasionally show him, is a trap which I have tried. It gives a slight electric shock when moved from its holster but, as yet, he's left it alone. At times it gets so hot down here I wear only trunks and Stevens stands there looking as if I were crazy instead of him. It gets so depressing here lately that I've started play- ing with my jacks and Stevens still wants them. But I won't let him because I've got a reason for not letting him, but I can't quite remember what it is. But he has his drawings sol don't think I'm being selfish. Stevens and I have been getting along to- gether much better lately and he's not crazy like I used to think. He was telling me a little while ago that I was crazy for a time but came out of it and I think he was right. We just had a great game of jacks and I won the first three and Stevens won the last one. He shows promise of being a great jacks partner. He showed me his paintings on the walls and they're beautiful. It is my turn to draw tomorrow and Stevens' turn to play jacks. I only wish I could remember something I was going to ask Stevens, but I guess it isn't important if I forgot it. Compliments of: MANSET MARINE SUPPLY CO. wholesale and retail Southwest Harbor

Page 16 text:

 ODE TO A SURFBOARD My heart sings to that mighty roar, The terrible, wonderful, surge of n'er ending power, Echoed with unceasing ferocity, and rhythmic Beauty, throughout immortal time. On the outside of serenity, lies that vast Wasteland in which so many poor souls Wretch with the pain of utter waste------ Useless, frustrated, misguided, NONguided drive, And yet with complete ignorance Of the plight of all time. TO EXIST IS NOTHING. In the limitless Pestle of being, of time, — unbounded By even the unlimited imagination of 'The Artiste', the minute, diatomaceous Existence of one man Is as the sigh of an insect. The decadent philosophy of 'Mans debt To society' is the RUIN OF MAN. For Instance, wrong though he may be, could The philosopher, whose life's ambition is Naught but to sit, twenty-four hours a day, And meditate, fulfill his ambition? Curse of the ages! He may not! The absurd impossibility of this noble Imbecile's ambition, leads him, nay, forces Him to join the mass. Hurry and scurry he Must, like the ant, and with equal lack Of ultimate goal, until he drops from exhaustion. But serenity------The music of that mighty Rumble, is peace. To exist is nothing,------ To live is life itself. And yet complete, Independent peace is never attained. For never to be a part -- but always A passenger — THAT is the fault. In that way, life can be lived, to Its fullness, only in Death. Compliments of: SAWYER'S MARKET Southwest Harbor

Page 18 text:

He seemed so much older this year. His beard was much whiter than I remembered it, and his snow white hair seemed thinner and less bushy. His hands had many more wrinkles and when he filled his pipe and lit it, they trembled and it took much longer. I always expected him to spill the tobacco or drop the pipe and I actually sat on the edge of my chair waiting, but he never did. His false teeth clicked but he still put away enough turkey and pumpkin pie to feed one for a week. As always, after supper he dozed off in the middle of the coffee hour, only this year he snored. THE DAY PEMETIC STOOD STILL (ALMOST) It started as an ordinary day, but soon became apparent that it wasn't. Strange things were happening everwhere. Why, Paul Walsh hard- ly said a word all day, and Brad Reed, Gerald Cummings, and Bill Thurston were the first ones in the hot lunch line. Things really looked bad when Michael Galbreath wrote out his name. The one person in the school most affected was Mr. Johnston. To begin with, his T V set wouldn’t work, so he missed his news pro- gram. That left him in such a state of shock that he left the front door of his house open, and all his pets followed him to school. What a field day Mr. Atwood's biology class had! Things came to a head just before school let out when a helicopter landed on the ball field, disruptingCoach's seventh period gym class. A tall dark stranger emerged from the heli- copter and went straight to the office where he asked for Mr. Johnston. This man was so important that Mr. Furtwengler wasted no time calling Mr. Johnston to the office even though there were only five minutes until school was over. Mr. Johnston was very worried when he saw the man. (He was afraid his past was catch- ing up with him.) The man introduced himself as a government representative and proceeded to ask Mr. Johnston if he liked Henry David Thoreau. Like him! declaredMr. Johnston, He's my IDOL! Just the manl've beenlooking for! said the government man. 'Tve been sent to find a man who really understands Thoreau. It's part of a major psychological study. You'll be famous! You can’t be serious! said Mr. Johnston. '1 can't be part of a psychological study. I've got a senior play to do, and NOTHING comes before the senior play!” M