Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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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

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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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55,4--mdk- ,-ivwgg A -- 0 THE PILGRIM agonized yell h-e took off into the great open spaces. Then, r-ealizing his mistake, he clutched frantically at the near-est object and hung on desperately. By this time the rivet had burned its way through his heavy overalls, a little beneath its point of entrance. Marty's first thought was that, if he lived through this, he would eat from the mantle and be courteous to ladies in subways for a long time. His next dis- covery was that he had grabbed the win- dow-sill of his secret idol and that he was hanging from the sill by the grace of God and the vice-like grip of his own two hands. The window above his head shot up. She was there. Breathlessly she gasped, Are you hurt-can you get up-shall I call tqhe fire department-oh! what shall I do. Marty beamed at her. I'm O. K., lady. Soon's I get me breath I'll be in to see ya. With a mighty heave he slid pain- fully across the window-sill. Turning, he gazed thoughtfully at the great, yawning abyss which he had just hurd- led, then down into Callahan's amazed face. He shut the window and turned to his still-fiust-ered hostess. Funny what a guy can do with the right inspiration, offered Marty. What do you mean ?f' she queried. Well, I been lookin' over here for quite a while and I didn't see you so I just dropped over. Why, what on earth, -the girl started in amazement. You were late, wasn't you? Marty grinned. Why, er-yes. My little boy was rather out of sorts and- What! you married? demanded Marty. Yes, of course. OW, groaned Marty sinking into a chair, and Wow! as he realized his error. Oh, you are hurt, aren't you? she asked. Well, I got an awful burn on-yeah, I sure got an awful burn, Marty re- plied as he ambled to the window. Lean- ing out he yelled, Hey! Callahan! Yeah ? Am I fired ? CKNaW-77 He balanced for a moment on the win- dow ledge. The girl shrilled at him, Don't, for heaven's sake! With all the precision of a cricket, al- though he more closely resembled a bula moose, Marty sprang, alighted, wavered, gained his precarious perch, and shuf- fled over to his work. Leaning over, he glared down at his helper.- Rivets hot? Sure, boss. Push 'em up. GILBERT HARLOW, '33 THE HANDS OF TIME She stood before the clock And thought: The hands of Time! These are the hands That tell off The years and eternitiesg The numbered moments Of Man's life- His sorrows, joys, Loves and hates- His victories and defeats! In the next year, or the next hour, The next minute-yes, Even the next second- O Hands of Time, Who knows what you Will bring to me ? CHARLOTTE BURGEss, '33 EMBARKATION B53.God's will we've reached the shore- me Of the great expanse beyond, And our bark will be all ready 'Fore another day has dawned. Hark! tempestuous waves are crashing On the hidden rocks below. ' Can we steer our precious vessel Through them, safely-? Who can know? Now we start, ship strewn with gar- lands, Cheers the crowd,-our anchor's free- Will our courage-then-be steadfast Lone and rocked on darkened sea? f When we're tossed by cruel billows, When we're plunged in deep abyss, When our trusted friends forsake us, Can our ship combat with this? God, we hope our ship is sturdy, For we've tried to build it so, And with Your kind blessing on us Fully armored shall we go. k M. E. WHITING, '33 The novice at trout fishing had hooked a very small trout. Excitedly he played it, reel- ing it in after a moment or two until it was rammed tight against the end of the rod. Glowing with the warmth of conquest, he turned to his instructor. I've got him! I've got him! he cried. Now what do I do? Climb up the pole and stab him to death, replied the disgusted instructor.