Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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A MIRAGE Honorable Mention Frances L. Carlson Today the wind caressed me with A softer touch than yesterday; Its freshness, rare and sweet, like wine, On phantom wings bore me away. It breathed a hope brim full of life; It whispered tales of love and June. It lured my fancies into dreams Of sunny days, when joy is rife, Of nights, in which a mellow moon Gilds ev’ry rose-cup with her beams. Then, all at once, I came to earth; The wind was cold, the sky, austere. My ravishing mirage was gone, —Had faded, vanished in the air. TRIADE Honorable Mention Charles H. Frome These shall be three sad things— The call of war— The realization of a lost love— And the death of a friend.

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they were already anticipating for their objective game with Middletown. The Middletown players, moving with speed and unison, continued the wide swath they were cutting through the competition with an efficiency that prophesied no good for Bayview. As the day of the key game approached, the fruits of Red Baker’s in- struction became evident. Ripley played well, and the accuracy of his shoot- ing was a joy to behold. The coach placed a great deal of hope in him and matched it with a confidence in Bill, when the starting lineup was posted the night before the big game, by establishing Bill at a forward post. Dressing for the game the next day, Ripley vowed to push himself to the utmost and not hamper his teammates by his lack of experience. The referee’s whistle started the game shrilly, and at the tap-off, Bill leaped in towards the center. But before he could lay hands on the ball, tripping himself, he fell flat on the floor while the play went past him. This caused his undoing and he went completely to pieces, snarling up the attack of the hoopsters so badly that he was taken out before the end of the first quarter. As he walked to the bench, a wit among the spectators shouted, “Back to the bush leagues with him!” The ripple of laughter this sally brought rankled in Bill’s mind as he dully watched the game proceed through the third quarter. Bayview’s situation was desperate. By dint of extraordinary play they had held Middletown to a fifteen point lead, but now the rain of baskets was unnerving them. Nevertheless, as they lay panting on the floor in the rest period, they tried not to appear discouraged. The coach knew their feelings, however, and acting on an impulse born of necessity, he called sharply, “Get in there, Ripley, and fight with all you’ve got and try to keep your face off the floor!” The fourth quarter of that game is history. Bill, apparently temporarily demented, and certainly impervious to all shouts from the stands, played like a regiment of tornadoes. He was everywhere; taking a pass and, with his deceptive motion, converting it into a score; blocking a Middletown shot, and generally playing with a skill and polish that enabled Bayview to overtake the opponents and knot the score at thirty-two all. With less than a minute to play, Bill, in midcourt, received a pass and, gathering his fleeting strength, hurled it basketward. Up, up, it soared, between the rafters and, dropping like a plummet, won the game for Bayview when it swished through the basket, In the midst of the tumult which arose from five hundred voices, only one shouted phrase lingered in Bill’s ears, “No bush leagues for him, he can have a whole major league for himself!!”

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IN THE DEPTHS Honorable Mention Avis Walker 0 recover the bodies of the S-40’s crew and salvage the submarine £ was no easy matter, for she had sunk bow first after the Sea J Queen had struck her amidships, and buried her nose fourteen feet into the mud and clay that formed the ocean floor. Neither was it a very pleasant job hunting dead men on the bottom of the sea. Tom Evans, one of the five divers on the Ellsworth salvage ship, was seated on deck, his diving suit about his waist, busily soaping his wrists before attempting to wriggle them through the tight wrist bands of his rubber suit. When he had forced his hands through the cuffs, his tender lifted the heavy breastplate and put it over Tom’s shoulders, button-holing it to his suit after smoothing down the bib inside. As soon as the lead shoes were strapped on and the weights hooked up, the tender tested the radio set within the helmet and screwed it to the breastplate. With the aid of two sailors he reached the stage. His headgear and breastplate weighed heavily on his shoulders as the stage swung up and over the side. He heard a tap on his helmet—the signal that they were go- ing to lower away. Down he dropped until the water swirled about his shoulders and covered his face plate. A steady stream of bubbles rose above him. All about was the yellow-green water in which there darted many-colored fish. The stage came to a halt at twenty feet. Tom grasped the descending line nearby which was moored to the submarine. “Off stage. Lower away!” he called into the transmitter as he started downward, hand over hand. Above him his life-line and air-hose faded out of sight, and below, the line also disappeared. It was like climbing from nothingness to nothingness. Deeper and deeper he dropped, opening his air valve to increase the pressure within his suit to cope with that of the water which grow with the added depth. His helmet no longer weighed up- on his shoulders, for the compressed air bore it up. A dark shape appeared below and a minute later he heard a dull clang as his heavy shoes struck the deck. “On the bottom!” he shouted, his voice thick and lifeless under the in- creased pressure. Evans waited impatiently for the second diver who was to help him. Finally he saw a pair of lead shoes take form above him and soon Phil Andrews was standing close by on the sloping deck, a powerful light hooked to his belt.