Petersham High School - Hilltop Yearbook (Petersham, MA)

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HIGH SCHOOL ORCHESTRA Robert Newbury, '40 When chorus begins on each Friday morn, Each member appears with some kind of horn. It may be a cornet, or alto, or sax, Or a long trombone tangled up in the racks. We hear many threats from the violin way, As they struggle and struggle to tune up that UA? The drummers are ready to start their tatoo On the drums in an effort to Keep the time trueg While there sits the leader in the center of the band All set to conduct us by a wave of his hand. And soon through the hall the music resounds As we whirl and swirl through marches and rounds. It seems as though we have hardly begun When recess has come and orchestra is doneg And I am sure that we all will agree That this is more fun than a symphony. CLASS OF '4O Robert Welch, '40 Our hale and hearty senior class, Without a doubt we all will pass, And shed a tear on that sweet day, When into the world we'll make our way. We've had some fun at P. H. S., And we'll feel sorry to leave, I guess. But after all we can't stay hgreg The tax rate would be raised, I fear. We're as smart as the average, I would say, And with the teachers we have a way. For us this school has been a cinch. We always seem to get out of a pinch. Kenney and Coolidge are the extremes. They both play well on the basketball teams, But George likes the girls and Arthur does not. Still they both are happy and no battles are fought Whitten and Newbury are the real scholars. Some day they'll figure their money in dollars. They're right with the class to do their part, And they usually finish whatever they start. in-I if' v ri Y

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Harriet and Mildred are two of our nine, And, as girls go, they're mighty fine. They giggle and laugh and try to act dumb, But we're lucky they're not as bad as some. Buell and Welch both play their fiddles, And think that girls are just like riddles, For when on their fiddles they play UThe Bee,N The girls all head toward the open sea. There's Bryant whose camera is always near To snap a picture of any dear, Or catch a teacher with a push of the thumb To see and remember when future days come. TO SEE THE GREAT WHITE FATHER Richard Moriarty, '41 Before a conical tent of hides on an Indian reservation, Idaho, stood two men looking toward the South. They were both tall and lean,but one wore a many-colored blanket and the other a wrinkled gray suit. A close view would have revealed that they were both Indians. The gray-suited one spoke, NWhy do you wish to see me, fathern? nLook, my son. To the South. The white men are coming. They are taking up lands in our reservation. In the night they steal our cattle. When we tell them to give them back, they laugh. The men at the agency, they laugh, too.W Wwhat must I do, fathern? NYou must go to the Great White Father, in the East, and tell him to make his people go back to their land to the South? WI shall go, as you say, father.u The young man turned without further ado, mounted a little black pony, and disappeared in the gathering darkness. Now this was no ordinary Indian, for in his coat pocket was his most prized possession,a bar examination and a congratulatory letter from the president of the New York Bar Association. So he had, of course, a good knowledge of what to do on this trip, and of the difficulties ahead. About two weaks later the same lean man walked upthe steps of a large gnvcrnment office building in Washington. Passersby remarked at his dark complection and at the ease with which he took three stops in each stride. He passed through the tile- floored hall and stopped before a large suite of offices marked HHouse Committee on Indian Affairs.n A particular door marked