Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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

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alls There was once a very strong wall, A high, but a violable fort. . . . Stone by stone it was built With time's heartbreak and downfall, Higher and higher through the years. Stronger and stronger with falling tears: 'Til at last, on reaching its peak. It tumbled to ruin, piece by piece. Now stands another: a wall of turmoil. This too is a violable fort. Soon to be o'erthrown by endurance and toil nd every strength man can and will import. When this wall comes tumbling too. New strength will help us build anew With prayer, the ever eternal flame, That peace we hope will always reign. Doris Marshali Oh, lazy high school days, Forbidden dreaming out the window. Mad scrambles loi a seat at lunch, English themes, assembly hall, and lunches on the cool green lawn. Hamlet, the murderer. “To be or not to be,” French 2. problems ol discrimination, tolerance, Couples idly loitering in the corridor, Christmas plays, and horseback-riding in the spring, Notes exchanged, Class Day, and graduation Our high school days have nonchalantly tiptoed by. Barbara Lawson page twenty-nine