Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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THE PILGRIM 25 Johnnie so soon? She patted her dress, her hair, and ran to the door. But it was only a messenger boy. She took the telegram and went back to her meal. Th-e song was still in her mind- Johnnie's coming home, Johnnie's coming home- She had finished her meal before she remembered the message. Then, with the hesitancy most people have about opening telegrams, she opened it and read: Madam: We are very sorry to inform you your son died this morning from acute alcoholism in the Westchester County Hospital. Please communicate with J. P. O'Brien, Chief of Police Westchester, N. J. For a long time she sat still, too dazed to move. Over and ov-er she read the aw- ful missive. How could that little slip of yellow paper have such an effect on her life? For hours she sat there, un- moving. Then she rose and started to clear the dishes from the table- FLORENCE ARMSTRONG, '34 WILLETT RAINER. sNoW RECONNOITERS WILLETT was born when it was hail- ing. They blamed that for his ap- parent lunacy although the hail was really not to blame. It was his brain. Many people said he had none. That would appear to be impossible, but even now there is a. question. He almost died. Th-e specialist said pneumonia. Maybe it was brain-fever. Who knows? Nobody but the doctors-and even they may not. He's alive now, though. He wouldn't have been missed if he had died. That is, nobody but himself would have known it. Perhaps he wouldn't have. The only way he could have found out was to have tried. He didn't try. Probably didn't know enough to if he had wanted. He fell downstairs once. That's what made him cross-eyed. He is, you know. The doctors couldn't straighten them. He didn't care- couldn't look any worse anyhow. Red- headed-his aunt was. She wasn't dumb, though. At least not so bad as he Was. Black-eyed-space-the unknown quan- tity. No, it couldn't have b-een the hail! Willett Rainer Snow, graduate of Detective Correspondence School Incor- porated, peered around the corner of the house. Nothing there-he wasn't sur- prised. H-e ran quickly to a tree, climbed up-resembled an ape in the branches. Jumped down-ran up the steps. Sat in a chair just as his red-headed aunt came around the corner-appeared not to notice her. She had seen his actions from a window. Two men entered. Willett and the men left to buy an ice- cream at the nearest soda fountain. Left in large covered truck, passed soda foun- tain, and continu-ed. Ended in padded cell. Taunton! JOSEPH SHAW, '33 TREASURES The greedy, grasping miser clutches his gold, and Presses it to his bosom with a cov-etous cackle. The actress, thirsty for fame, gloats over the Glamorous applause of her U admirers. The teacher smiles with satisfaction at the close of a long life Of continued service-guiding and aid- 1ng ' youth to learning. The scientist receives his long- desired reward- Recognition. The aviator realizes his dream- accomplishes the unprecedented feat- Spans the Atlantic. I I sit before the open fire Recalling happy memories, And thank God for friends- My treasures! .SHIRLEY M. DUTTON, '34 4 THE OLD MAID TURNS Happy birthday, dear friends say, Looking younger every day! Tell me Fortune smiles on me, 'Cause I'm forty, yet I'm free. Then their glances slyly stray, Note, Her hair is turning gray. 'Ads' that I have read declare Gentlemen prefer them fair. Should I, could I dye my hair? Well, I wonder, do I dare? Yes, I'll buy some Golden Glint, Greying hair shall give no hint-I'm forty! Please some man shall find me fair, Gazing on my gold-en hair, Though it's wrong to change rnvself, Gosh, it's lonesome on the shelf. A. COHAN, '33

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24 HW-wg Wm,-mm1w-1vi1'HE The game was over. Dancing had be- gun. Meanwhile, several big boys had summoned a little fellow from the front row, to whom Miss Somebody had tried to talk, and were now shamefully brib- ing the little boy to dance with Gwen- dolyn. After many refusals, the boy ap- proach-ed Gwendolyn, and she, unaware of the cause of his appearance, raised her head with a victorious air and left her seat. Down the steps which led to the dance floor she proudly walked with her partner. Could they dance? I was never to know. On the last step, terror suddenly seized the boy, judging by the expres- sion on his face. He looked at the dancers towering above him, at the smooth floor, hesitated a brief second, and then-. Up the stairs which he had slowly descended, he ran, deserting Gwendolyn. And she, a wave of morti- fication crossing her face, fled, disap- pearing through an exit conveniently nearby. IRIS ALBERTINI, '33 WORK OF THE STORM O'er the castle, black and gloomy, Thunder rolled in fearful crash, Lightning sprang, like some white steed Maddened by the battle's gore, Down to earth, with crash triumphant, Seizing, gripping those black walls, Tearing asunder gloomy dung-eons, Laying bare the farthest chambers, Crashing through the winding stair- - ways, Sending madness mid its splendor. Thrice it flashed, and thrice succeeded, Struck its prey and, loose once more, Soared to heaven. Thunder rumbled, Rolled, muttering in dying anger- Storm had left its prey to darkness. Far below the sky the ruins, Black and charred, with vast halls crumbled, Lay in majesty-the remnant Of the fire from heaven triumphant. Of the knights and of the ladies, Of the gorging banquet feasters, Of the yelping curs and beggars, Of the serfs and peasants lowly, None remainedg but in the darkness, In the charred and broken ruins Lay one thing untouched by fire, One thing left by storm unravaged- Symbol of a brave knight's courage- Sword! Unbroken, gleaming brightly, Yet you lie among the ruins, R-emnant of forgotten splendour! MARION E. MCGINNIS, '35 mlI,LQ,E1M. .,.., DISHES POR twenty-five years, she, Maggie McLeod, had placed those dishes on the table and then taken them oi. Twenty-five years, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, three times a day-it exhausted her to think of it. And now she would never have to do it again! oh! During those first few years, how she had loved it, planning for meals just what h-er William would like, and then afterwards carefully washing and wiping the shiny, new, pink and white plates! Som-etimes William had helped her, but not often, b-ecause he was so liable to break her precious dishes. -Then during the first years of little Johnnie's life, she had enjoyed cooking for her hungry husband and her growing babe. How the baby used to gurgle as she fed him from the little mug with the kittens on it that his Aunt Ruth had sent him! Poor little Johnnie -they had striven so hard in the old days to give him everything. She had been happy to make sacrifices for the baby. And then the night that William was killed- Her vision blurred and she stopped her dreaming to wipe her spectacles. Time had dulled but not killed the pain which seized her heart when she re- called that horrible night-th-e strangely ill-at-ease man who had tried to explain to her that the train had jumped the tracks and William was dead. At first her numbed brain had refused to be- lieve it, but finally- Well, no use to bring back those mem- ories now. She hadn't minded getting the meals and washing dishes for Johnnie, but all too soon he had grown up and left her-to make his own way in the world, he had said. After that only force of habit made her prepare the three light meals a day for herself alone. Gradually the once-loved task had become hateful. But now she was to be alone no longer. Johnnie was coming home- coming home to take her away to meet his wife and to live with them. Johnnie was rich now, he said in his letters, and she would never again have to wash dishes. Humming to herself, she prepared h-er meal and ate it. A boiled egg, a cup of tea-that was all she required now. Her mind formed a little song-John- nie's coming home, J ohnnie's coming home-she would never be alone again. How had she endured it all these years? The doorbell rang. Could it be

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39, . . I.- AA . THE PILGRIM H AND . WE SCOFFED WITH awe and r-everence intermingled, I stood gazing up at the queenly, ivy- covered buildings that were to harbor me for four years. College, at last. All my hopes, my fears, my very future lay there. Some strangely sweet, foreign feeling crept into my heart, a salty tear slid from my eye. Act your age, I sternly admonished myself. Can't, sobbed a voice 'way down in- side me. Striving vainly for a nonchalant air, I drew in my quivering breath and strode into-my Future. I passed through the various stages of humble freshman, hopeful sopho- more, and lofty junior. I soon learned to adjust myself to college life and its highly modernized ideas. From my classmates I learned that honesty is practiced only by those who would never get anywhere, that it is doubtful if there is any God, that I should take all life and people offered and give nothing in return. . At first I was horrified when I heard the deformed, twisted ideas of scofling, incredulous youths, and I burst out with rage to defend all the ideals which were sacred to me. Many students exchanged pitying glances and their mocking titters cut into my heart. It was the fear of being labeled queer , of being avoided by my classmates, that finally drove me to accept their conceptions. Gradually I became foremost in the ranks of those condemning idealism. That we might be wrong never occurred to our blinded reason. Like beings grop- ing in the dark, we refused to open our eyes to sane, practical logic. Only one of our great numbers remained un- changed. Tom Smidt was by no means a shin- ing student. Rather he belonged to the plodding legion that trudges cheerfully on its way, day by day, year in and year out, never quite reaching the goal. Tom was an idealist from the bottom of his huge feet to the tip of the fair hair waving defiantly from the top of his head. He listened respectfully to our ar- guments but accept our conceptions he would not. Perhaps it was because he was so impassive to our onslaughts, per- haps a thousand things, anyway Tommy was popular among us boys despite his strange standards. How Fate was to twist our lives and his was unforseen. If we could have but known! It was the custom at our college for each boy to attend a military camp for six weeks training during the summer. We all felt the thrill that comes with the handling of instrum-ents of destruction. How proudly we bore ourselves in our uniforms of olive drab! Indeed at times we wished some one would start a small war that we might display to our admir- ing countrymen our knowledge of death- spitting cannons, destructive bombs, suffocating gases that turned a man's face green and blinded as they killed. No one obliged us with a war and so fortu- nately or unfortunately our lives were saved. ' Our classroom was a great pit in the ground with a slanting sheetiron roof and strong concrete walls. There was but on-e entrance which was Worked by a combination lock that only the in- structor knew how to open. During class this door was locked. These pre- cautions were necessary, for the pit was a veritable arsenal where army muni- tions were stored. One morning we began the absorbing study of learning to throw a hand grenade. The instructor demonstrated how to pull the plug and estimate the time in which it explod-es. We clus- tered eagerly about him to see the work- ing of this wonderful impl-ement. Tom alone stood back, horror and revulsion stamped on his heavy features. These days were torture for him. He hated war with an intensity that frightened me. At night I heard his whispered pl-cas, saw the tears which Wet his face, saw the bruised soul shining through his ey-es. The instructor went on in a calm voice trying not to see the awful look on Tom's face. Across the room some careless student dropped a gun with a loud clatter and the instructor hurried to see what damage had been done, leaving the gre- nade in a stud-ent's hand. I can't recall exactly what happened then. In some way the plug had been accidently pulled! Mr, Daley ! shrieked the panic- stricken student. Stark terror gripped him. He threw the bomb from him. As in some horrible dream we heard it clatter on the floor. One man only could open the door to safety. Even he could not do it in the few seconds of life that were left. Eyes dilated, shivering we waited. Somehow I found myself praying, pleading with the One I had forsaken. Nearer and nearer came Death. Hysterical cries and sobs rent the air. Death was nearly up- on us. .Suddenly a body hurtled by me. Tom!