Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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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!

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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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THE PILGRIM 27 With a sickening pain I knew what he was doing. 'Straight upon the grenade he threw himself. Tommie, don't do it, don't do it, don't-. A deafening explosion, then darkness closed about me. When I awoke I was in the hospital, my head bandaged. Tom was dead. Of all the m-en in the classroom only he had deservedlto live. Why, why was he the one to die? Was it because only he was fit to enter the Kingdom of Heaven? No, I cried, it can't be, there is no heaven! And as I spoke those words, I knew I was lying, knew that for three years I had been deceiving myself. We started living anew, trying to be a bit like Tommy. Peopl-e think I'm insane when I say I hear his voice. But I do. I hear it in the sobbing tones of the organ, when the song of the birds fills the air, when the silent snow falls lightly, when I kneel at the altar. Yes, Tommy and I have be- come intimate friends. V ALBA MARTINELLI, '36 A MESSAGE TO TELL Th-ere are millions in far lands who ' ne'er have been told That Jesus, His life hath laid downg Which was precious, more precious than rubies or gold And to us will He give a crown If We only believe on His Name, in His Word- How we're saved from sin by His - Grace, And some day in His Kingdom we'll be H with our Lord, We'll gaze on His heavenly Face. We will serve, work and play, we will Q, 'A . laugh, praise and sing. ' Oh, happy, how happy we'll be! May the millions be told, may they not . miss a thing. O Lord, if Thy will, please send me! I ELLEN YOUNG, '33 THE BLESSED TOILER God gave me all- Days of 'ceaseless labor Drudgery-breaking my bones. Sweat and grime Upon my brow, ' ,',Q,,Drilling tirelessly -ffgln the black, damp mines. Yet-f-1. God gave me all. 'Nights' of peaceful rest 5 Cont-ented-in my solitude. Love and laughter JJ In my heart, A prayer to Him Who blessed me with Faith. In Him I trust. BRUNA GAMBINI, '33 SANS CENTS Why are you sad, O strange little boy? Is it because 'someone has broken your toy. In your gay, knitted sweater and cheery blue jeans You brinng to my mind my childhood scenes. Why are your rosy cheeks streaked with tears? Can it be the burden of all your years? You surely aren't more than three and a half- .. Just at the age to frolic and laugh. You want som-e candymand a stick of gum? Heavens! that shouldn't require any great sum. I've two pennies here in my purse, I believe- So there, little boy, don't you bother to grieve. LORETTA SMITH, '33 WELL, I'LL BE- MARTY O'Toole, six feet four inches tall, half as wide, and twice as thick, swayed gently in his tracks as he gazed pensively at the window just eight and one half fe-et, from the two massive extremities of his frame, which on ordinary mortals are usually called f-eet. For the past two weeks Marty had moved about the job in a trance since his first glimpse of the very attractive occupant of the room into which this window opened, had registered on his portion of a mind and left an achy, yet tingling sensation in the upper left-hand section of his torso. It was getting ratherflate and she usually showed up by nine o'clock. Marty sighed dejectedly. The voice of Callahan, four stories below, brought him out of his semi-conscious state. Hey, you big gorilla, we ain't paying you eight bucks a day to pose as a lily of the valley. Come to and earn your dough. Marty, who had signaled for rivets from his helper, sidl-ed over a couple more feet, directly over Callahan, and said, Aw, take your job and-Wow!- Ow!-Halp! Now it's an indisputabl-e fact that a white hot rivet dropped into a hip pocket may prove decidedly uncomfortable. Marty evidently found it so. With an