Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

Page 29 text:

THE PILGRIIVI 27 tired and scrappy you of yesterday may have been a symptom. The day on which you first get the grippe is begun as usual. You come down to breakfast feeling at odds with the world. After one look at your Weary face, someone feels your forehead and says rather decisively, Better stay in bed to-day. You don't Want to be sick, you know. In vain you listlessly remonstrate about the amount of work you'll have to make up if you're absentg nev-ertheless, it's rather a relief to go off to bed. Once there with a pile of books beside you as a sop to your conscience, you lack even the ambition to pick them up. You lie too Weary eve-n to look at anything. Your head seems about to split. All in- terest or anxiety concerning the work you'1l miss flies. For a few days you li-e there, not even eating, for who wants to eat when he has the grippe? After two or three days, you recover, or so the doctor says, and sit up weakly in a chair. By this time you really feel as though you could read a few pages and nibble at some food. After three days of this, you decid-e that you'd better return to school or the work you've missed will be too much for you to conquer. Lacking ambition, you return. The make-up work and your regular work almost send you back to bed. You struggle along, going to bed at eight o'clock every night and doing almost nothing. Yetslowly you recover from the attack, like th-e Irishman who was sick sixteen days after h-e got better. ELIZABETH BELCHER '36 THE KNITTING I-IABIT IT'S sweeping the country! Perhaps it is more appropriate to say it's wind- ing its way. Have you a ball of yarn in your home? If not, hasten to your favorite store, even the drug store will do, and get your supply now. Don't you know that it's very smart and ultra- modern to knit? Perhaps your ability dictates a five-inch pocket-book, but it serves its purpose. On wintry nights, gathered before a hot stove with faces burning and feet freezing, the feminine sex is repre- sented by all ages. Thirteen-year-old sister is making a tam like the one that Greta Garbo wore in her latest picture, while her older sister, who is th1irty-five- Well, perhaps thirty, is making one like Shirley 'Temple's to obtain that youthful effect. When they have finished, the re- sult will probably not be at all like the original, but that doesn't matter. It is the satisfaction you get from being able to say, I knitted a tam. So, get your yarn and begin now. It's never too late. ELSIE IVIONTI '36 SECURITY Gazing at the moon, I fell asleep And dreamed. And in my dream Was horror- I knew not why! I woke Trembling with fright, And saw In the heavens above Serene and calm The moon. And seeing, Slept, And dreamed no more. IXIARY GODDARD '36 THE WIND'S CHALLENGE Un a summer's night it whispers of moonlight on murmuring lagoons. It breathes a tale of pulsating life, Of a heav-en laced with gold. I must gog let me follow you! On a stormy night it thunders of foam- ing seas and life's adventures. It beckons, the tumultuous spirit leaps high. But I am afraid- I must stay at home and envy you through my window. VIRGINIA WooD '36 SUNRISE A long line of golden light divides King Neptunels domain From th-e vast, immeasurable skyg Like a hungry flame, the sun creeps up into God's firmament To blaze down upon the turbulent sea. The white caps glisten like diamonds Under the rays of Nature's to1'ch bearerg The boisterous East Wind dashes the emerald waters Against the rocks along the beach, Throwing high a shower of spray- A glorious new day has come! PR1sCILLA MCCosII '36

Page 28 text:

26 THE PILGRIM MMIUNIOR OPINIONS I On A Variety of Subjects WINDOWS HOW significant are the things seen at windows by passers-by! Signs of life are emitted from every window from early morning to late at night. Bedding and curtains flap wildly from the open Windows. Flower boxes filled with colorful blossoms make ornate the sills, and now and then a child's tousled head can be seen peering curiously over a window-sill. Two women leaning from their windows gossip merrily in the morning sunshine with, perhaps, a rug or a mop in hand. From other win- dows come shrieks from radios or the sound of quarreling children or their gay laughter and chatter. A cat basks in the sunlight, while an ice card is perched at an angle above his head. Oc- casionally a trilling and chirping is heard from a pert canary. As one goes on into the shopping dis- trict, various displays in windows im- mediately catch the eye. Perhaps there is beautiful finery or delicious edibles, both attractive to the eye. Passing a factory, one sees people in- dustriously engaged at machinery, working steadily and unceasingly. As one glances upward, he catches a glimpse of a dentist's uniform and thanks his lucky stars that he is on the outside looking in. ' As twilight gathers, the last pink rays of sun are reflected in the thous- ands of windows, and, as darkness arrives, twinkling lights gleam from every window signifying at least life- be it sad or pleasant. DOROTHY PERKINS '36 SHOES WE don't think of them often, unless they happen to be too small, but they offer an interesting train of thought to the one who does stop to think about them. When the first cave man wrapped a skin about his foot, he started the de- velopment of one of our most necessary articles of apparel. What costume would be complete without footgear to complete it? Likewise, much can be told about a person from the shoes he wears. In the thirteenth c-entury, shoes were soft and pointedg the longer the points, the higher the social position of the wearer. In fact, the points of th-e ultra-fashion- able soon grew so long that they had to be tied to the knees to prevent the per- son from tripping over them. Though these extremes are no longer seen, shoes are still an index to social position. For instance, in a subway car, facing the opposite seat which extends the length of the car, I can tell something of the people across th-e aisle even though most of them are hidden by newspapers. This tired pair of dust- caked broughans indicates a day of hard work well done, while the quiet, low- he-eled, black pumps beside them suggest a shop-girl who has been on her feet for hours. Th-ey keep crossing and uncros- sing,trying to find the least tiring position. Next in line is a tiny, frivo- lous pair of patent-leather pumps with extremely high heels. We know without further thought the type of girl to whom thes-e belong. A sturdy pair of moccasins is next. The woman who wears these has no patience with the French heels and paper-thin soles of her neighbor. She has sacriiiced style for comfort and is the better for it. This meticulously-shined pair of Oxfords looks much like many other pairs be- longing to business men, but what dif- ferent stories they could tell! Last is a pair of broken-toed, scarred shoes that are sprawled wearily in a cor- ner of the car. These shoes havetramped the streets daily and propped thems-elves on park benches nightly for a long time. Shoes must hav-e pleasure, too. One can almost envy the old pair that sinks into the fragrant, j ust-thawed earth of the garden in springtime, and dodges the inevitable puddles that come in the loveliest time of year. There are the sandals that bury themselves in the fine sand of the beach, and the moccasins that sink into the forest's aged carpet of pin-e needles, not to mention the slippers that are toasted before the fire in the -evening when the day is dying. Yes, shoes must have pleasure, too. PRISCILLA ROBERTS ,36 ON HAVING THE GRIPPE THE gripp-e, as you probably have dis- covered, is one of the pointless afliic- tions of a human being. Even the joys of being lazy in bed are dispelled by its headaches and weariness. It comes on suddenly to most people, although the

Page 30 text:

I PILGRIM Zfjww ---Ag, g pp p pg ,gm A NEW LITERARY GENIUS? KAY, have you ever heard of Ger- trude Stein ? No, I don't think so. She isn't that new torch singer with Whitermanfs is she ? You don't know anything. Why Gertrude St-ein is one of the foremost writers of the day. She's even consid- ered a genius by many of her readers. You think only of jazz orchestras. Well, what does she write ? Oh, she's marvelous-listen! 'What has my life in America been, it has been the doing of everything that I never have done. Never have done, never could have done, never could have done again, that is the way my life in America began and is begun and is go- ig on.' What do you think of that? Terrible-put on Rudy Vallee. No, its about time you became in- terested in good literature. And, Ger- trude Stein beingone of the best, we shall begin with her. Now will you listen? 'I cannot beli-eve that America has changed, many things have come and gone but not really come and not really gone but they are there and that per- haps does make the America that I left and the America I am to find different but not really dif-l' Stop! What is she trying to do? Make up her mind ? Certainly not, stupid. She means that she finds America different but not really different. 66011 !77 Stop interrupting and listen and s-ee if you can tell me what this means. 'And then it began. The doing every- thing that I had n-ever done, and the liking doing everything everything any- thing that I had never done. That be- gan. And this is the way it began.' What does it mean? You're hopeless. It means she's go- ing to begin something. Well, why b-eat around the bush a- bout it? Begin began I b-egun and began what begin to begun! Why all the cere- mony ? Because anybody can say 'I will be- gin', but not many can say it the way she does. Why, that's art. Yeah? Well, I give up. Turn on Rudy Vallee. No, I'll make you appreciate this if it takes years. Listen. 'And that is what America is, is and is and it is beautiful, beautiful in the American way, beautiful just in this way.' Oh! Is it? Then why all the repeti- tion? Because repetition is an art. There aren't many people who can use repe- tition and not bore the reader. And you think Gertrude .Stein can do it? Well, I don't. And don't you think I'm going to listen to more of that art . I'd rather read Homer. Maybe I'd get something out of that. All I get from Gertrude Stein's writing is dizziness. Now will you please turn on Rudy Vallee? Now I give up. R. BONGIOVANNI ,35 THE DERELICT MARY Suber, stooped and middle- ag-ed, earned her meager salary standing in half-lighted doorways in darkened slum districts gathering in- formation about the narcotics traffic. Her sallow, wrinkled face with its pierc- ing black, sorrowful eyes that once had been sparkling and happy, her pale, sneering lips, and her hollow cheeks which had long since lost the ruddy glow of youth were nearly hidden by a tangled mass of stringy, gray hair. She cared little for life. Some people thought Mary peculiar- at least those did who thought of her at all. A little gone up here! they would exclaim with derision, pointing an un- kempt hand in the direction of their heads. Her income should have been larger, for her services were invaluable, but all Mary Suber wanted was just enough to live in the simplest way. Frequently she went to federal headquarters or to police stations with her reports, but the occupants of the boarding house sup- posed that she was on parole-as many of them were. Consequently they asked no questions when no explanations were offered. Some day, boys, she often remarked to the police, I'1l get mine. This sure is a dangerous game. Mary Suber was bitter, hard, cynicalg the world had been ve-ry cruel to her. Once she, too, had been happy, unbeliev- ably happy. It had frightened her to have had so much-a fine husband, a sturdy little son all their own, a modest home, and the prospects of a gloriously happy future. M'ary's husb-and had been employed in the same business in which she now found herself. It hadn't seemed very dangerous theng in fact, he had Continued on pgae 30