Plainfield High School - Hermiad Yearbook (Central Village, CT)

Page 15 text:

THE HERMIAD 13 look overhead. The ice had disappeared! Without doubt the water was too warm for the long continuance of ice. Quickly I rose to the surface. A queer sight met my gaze. I was in the midst of a huge nrtillpondg crude sawmills of the variety known as portable lined the bank of the Arctic Sea. Looming up on the seaward side was what seemed at first to be an immense smokestack. Closer approach determined it to be a gigantic lag of wood-in verity the Pole! I had come just in time, for the enterprising Eskimoes had begun to convert this goal of explorers into frames for kayaks and frigidaires. Thousands of sword and saw-fish were harnessed into traces and forced to cut pieces from the huge oak lcg that formed the Pole. In turn thousands of enslaved walruses plied back and forth between the scene of the lumbering operation and the mill bearing on their broad baisks the strips of oak which their sea brethren 'had cut from the Pole. Small wonder that my flippered philanthropist turned back! He wished to save himself from the fate of myriads of his kind. At the moment when my astonished gaze rested on the Pole-a pole in truth-instantly I felt a sinking of iheart. I cannot be quite certain that I wept, for there was so much water around me. My cherished belief in myself was shaken. I was in error. For the first time in my life I had made a mistake. Slowly, sadly, and it must be confessed, somewhat absent-mindedly, I mounted the back of a south-bound whale and turned my extraordinary intellect to the benefaction of mankind. fEditor's note: P. T. Barnum claims that walruses do not have fiippers.j f-521 JUST 'ro BE A SENIOR fStanley W. Smith, 19311 Just to be a Senior! Is what the Freshmen say As they enter this School On their first terrible day. Just to be a Senior! Now the Sophomores cry When the second year beginsg How slowly time does Hy! Just to be a Senior! What a price to pay! This is the third hard year , All the Juniors bray. Just to be a Senior! No more can we say.

Page 14 text:

12 THE HERMIAD in June, I decided to go to the North to find cut tlhe truth cf the matter. On July 1, I set out on foot for the North Pole. I was young and had great powers of enduranceg I reached the first ice field in September. From that time on I made slow progress for I was not accustomed to walking on ice fields. My instruments were not so accurate as those of mcdern timesg yet by those I had carried with me, I figured that I was only one hundred miles from the pole by October 1. Hour by hour the weather becamegcolderg I had to move continually in order to keep warm. By the first of Ngvember I began to look for the Pole. My instruments would work no longer- probably because of the cold. For over a week I hunted for the poleg all I saw was ice and snow. Nzthing even resembling a pole was visible anywhere on the horizon. Finally I made a decision: I would go back home. This startling thought came to me as I was standing on an ice-flow. Suddenly the pinnacle on which I had taken my stand gave way and I was precipitated into the icy water. The sudden ifrmersisn was not unwelcome for my brain was heated by the excess of my thought-friction. I paddled about a bit, made friends with a forlzrn- looking walrus, and was about to investigate a seal's reception room, when out of the slowly cooling feverishness of my brain there emerged a thought. It was not predeterminedg I take no credit for it to my own judgment. Where was the opening through which I had fallen? With the remarkable originality that :has ever characterized my move- ments, I began to look about for another hole thrsugh which I could crawl to the upper ice-fiow. There was none. After several hours' fruitless endeavor, I became conscious of the increasing datrpness of my clothing. Again I made a startling guess: the water was soaking into my cl-thes! I acted with commendable judgment immediately, for I fcrthwith. dropped such of my clothing as I could disengage into the water and started on my lamg swim to the outer edge of the fiow. Quickly the hours liew byg they grew to days: that was the la'g2st How I have ever seen. At times I became exhausted, and at such ni-:ments the friendly walrus lent me the aid of his immense flippers. Ever since I have had a soft spot in my heart for mustaches. I made still another discoveryg a walrus has very attractive features, if one makes allowance for a certain mournfulness of expression. On we went, fast by night, slowly by day, for the rising temperature of' the light hours interfered with cur progress. Then one day came the disillusioning-a day when my ccnfidence in one whom I was always taught to believe infallible was shaken. Hour by hour I had noticed the moderation in the temperature of the waterg ilnally the walrus left meg he would go no farther. He cast one dejected parting glance over his massive shoulder, waved a ponderous Hipper, and swam slowly back cver the way we had come. Now the water was uncomfortably warm and slightly opaque. What could it all mean? On I swam. At last I chanced to

Page 16 text:

14 THE HERMIAD CROPS C Marion Wilcox, 1 93 1 J HERE had been a sudden and violent charge in the weather. The mercury had gine down below the zero mark. Steam heat had failed to exist. Water had frozen in the pipes on the way from the well to the house. The wind whistled around the corners and down the chimney of the old hcuse. Blue nosed and shivering, the boarders at Mrs. Hasheroft's gathered around the breakfast table and, for the sake of getting warm, sipped at the weak coffee which was set before them. Between sips and shivers the uncomfortable boarders proceeded to criticize the climate. This ccld weather is greatg you cught not to find fault with it , observed the philosophical boarder as he buttered a hot biscuit. And besides, it's gzod for the crops . That's the same old story , retorted the argumentative boarder. When it rains a week at a stretch, we're told we mustn't complain-because it's good for the crops. When there ccrres a snow three feet deep, we must bear it meekly, because it's good for the crops. You always have that alibi . . But I'd like to know what crap a cold wave like this is good for , questioned an enraged boarder. Why, the ice crop, of course , the philcsophical bcarder replied' clamly buttering another biscuit. With a deadly look at the philosophical boarder, the enraged loser rose hastily from his chair and left the rcom. 45+-D SOLVING THE MYSTERY fAlice Smith, 1934 J T WAS a typical blue Mcnday g outside it was pouring and no sane person would have cared to venture away from the warntth of his own Hreside as the rain, added to the snow, was succeeding in making it very slippery. Out doors was not the only place that was dingy, it was also dark and dreary inside. Ethel and Gerry Travis had found it a most unpleasant afternoong they considered it a whole day cf their vacation wasted, and yoi' know vacations go by fast enough without wasting them. At last, after wandering through all the other rcoms of the Travis homestead, Ethel suggested that they go up to the attic. There stocd in the ccrner of the dusty old attic a large, one-time proud