Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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 TWMBUNC TR.O'AE.Y-ES lOEUu MR. UD USOM its ute -n is-------

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Early in September of the year 1943 Mergetroid Dillyrimple entered Q. H. S. enthused by the prospects ol a high school education. For some strange reason, Mergetroid’s enthusiasm was short lived, and the next day found him walking gleefully down Fremont Street, approximately fifty feet in front of a last moving Mr. Burnham... . Thus it came about that Mergetroid, on his third day of school, started searching, not too gleefully, for Mr. MacDonald’s office, which was easily found, for on the door was the name MR. WILSON in brass letters. Now that Mergetroid had decided to come to school faithfully, he found it necessary to know who the head of the English department was so at once made himself acquainted with Miss Dawes. How surprised Mergetroid was to find that, in only one term of school. Miss Dawes had changed completely even going so far as to change her name to Miss Carville! But Mergetroid was no fool; he wasn't born yesterday; with but little thought he realized that somebody else had taken Miss Dawes' place. Mergetroid found that this unpleasant habit of teacher changing extended even to the Gym. He had no sooner come to love Mr. Bowyer and look upon him as a father than he found himself with an athletic step-father, so to speak, Mr. Alvino. As a junior Mergetroid felt himself more or less of an old timer in the build- ing and grew less and less startled at the rapid succession of teachers coming into the building. Of course, Mergetroid’s great love for the silver screen soon brought about his meeting with Mr. Wilson—whom for some strange reason he now found in the office with the same name. Mergetroid has often wondered since then why, with Mr. Wilson's arrival, no one put up a sign with Mr. MacDonald's name on it. Things were getting pretty bad though. Mergetroid had to show twice as many teachers where their rooms were as he did sophomores. Of course, this situation had a great many possibilities, but Mergetroid refrained, by dint of self control, from sending any of his erstwhile instructors in search of the elevator. However, aside from a few struggles with new teachers and the inevitable battle of the Second Floor Faucets, Mergetroid spent a fairly uneventful year. His senior year however was one to remember. Somebody, later discovered to have been one of the Gremlins from the School Committee, had run over flic school with a wet paint brush. Mr. Wilson now sat in a different office, and Mr. Anderson sat in the other office (which was no longer marked Mr. Wilson”). Mergetroid had language trouble, for it seemed that no one would stay put in the building long enough to let out with a good strong “Acht!” Miss Carville, growing tired of her job and her name, changed both. Even the Gym was dis- turbed again, for Mr. McLean came back from wearing out weary sailors and started grinding the bones of all of the prospective male geniuses of Q. H. S. Another naval alumnus came back to take over his old place in the physics department. Mergetroid suffered the change from Mr. Poland to Mr. Rayner, who has an aversion to telephones and who seemed to be getting a commission from the Laurence Slide Rule Company. Yes, it was a year of change, but Mergatroid weathered them like a trooper. But it’s all over now. Mergetroid just went down to Miss Dawes’ room, which Miss Carville had occupied, to say goodby to Miss Poland, went up to Mr. Poland’s room to say goodby to Mr. Rayner, bid adieu to Mrs. Campbell in Miss Kelsey’s room, then went downstairs and into Mr. Collin’s office to say goodby to Mr. Wilson and into Mr. Wilson’s office to say goodby to Mr. Anderson. James Major page twenty-six

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J'Jometoum They parked the car at the top of the hill. The sun was just going down over Jack's Peak, but they could still see the little coastal town through the Sep- tember haze and, beyond the town, the dark waters of the bay. Tomorrow they would be leaving town, they Jim Gillette and Hud Staie— who just that afternoon had been fishing up in the north fork of the Big Sur River. Tomorrow they would report to Treasure Island lor duty with the United States Navy. They viewed in silence the white houses on the hill, the lights oi the main street, the grove ol eucalyptus that hid the high school, and the lishing boats in the bay. Then, little by little, they gave voice to the thoughts that were racing through their brains. Last June seems like yesterday, doesn't it. Jim? I mean the graduation and all.” That was some night, wasn’t it. Hud? The awards, the mayor’s speech, the white diplomas. What we went through to get that hunk of white paper!” For about a minute they gazed silently at the panorama spread out before them. This time Jim broke the silence. Some town, isn’t it. Hud? It's got an atmosphere about it like no other place. Maybe it's a combination of sea, sky. and hills blended in with a lot o’ real swell people. Jim was thinking especially of Shirley when he said that. Shirley had been Jim’s gill ever since the ninth grade. He could see Shirley's house from where he was sitting, the little white one with the light in the window. Bud’s thoughts and eyes were on the ball park. He was thinking of all the games he had played there during the last four vears. He might not have been the best first-baseman in California, but he loved baseball, and he had plenty of the old light. He was thinking of a day last June when he had singled with the bases loaded to break up the ball game and give the league championship to Monterey. Wonder what it'll be like,' said Jim. Mis gaze had shilted out to sea. In a few months we may be out there—where the headlines come from . . .” They sat silently for awhile, each lost in his own thoughts. Then abruptly Hud started the engine, shifted into gear, and said laconically. 'I have to clean the car before I go to bed.’’ Stuart Haskins It still doesn't seem possible, but in just five more minutes he'll come walk- ing; no. I’ll bet he’ll run as he did on his furlough, right through the crowd. It still doesn't seem possible that after three long years there's only five more min- utes before our family will be one again, and Mom’s number one son will be home to stay. 1 wonder if he's changed much; of course, he’s twenty-one now and that’s a lot different from a high school boy ’thout a care in the world. Ilis letters didn’t sound different though so he can't have changed much. I wonder it I’m very different. A lot can happen to a gal in three years, especially when she loses her older brother who’s always been there to lean on and to give that oh so help- ful (?) brotherly advice. When he saw the picture 1 sent him last August, he said I looked like a grown woman. Of course, the light was just right and the background, so 1 guess it was a little misleading. The gate is opening now and he ought to be here any minute. Oh. it’ll be wonderful cutting the pie in six pieces again, having those long legs sprawled all over the living room floor, and even getting squelched” as only a brother can squelch” a sister. Here comes the train now—and there go my knees. Golly, he looks wonderful, so tall and straight. He didn't need a top sergeant to make him look like a soldier. I hope I look all right, just this once. Here he is—first Mom. she’s as close to tears as I am, then Dad; how can men always keep calm, and now—there go those tears. Darn it all. 1 said I wouldn't cry. Gosh, I guess we can go home now all of us. 'To- morrow I’ll help him dig his old blue suit out of moth balls, and then the war will really be over. page twenty-eight Ruth Fandel