Rockport High School - Tatler Yearbook (Rockport, ME)

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crouched position. It's been quiet throughout the mission. You hope it stays that way. It does. You and Bob stumble into your familiar trench and glance at your matches. One-thirty. You're a pretty tired soldier as you make ready for some sleep. You lie back on the bank of the trench and stare at the sky. The stars seem to be playing tag in the once again clear sky, and in the background you can hear Bob giving 'ihrle details of your inventory to the Your day-dreaming is broken by the splashing footsteps of Bob going to his post further down the trench. He passes by you, stops and turns. HHappy birthday, kid, he says with a tired smile. Still starting at the sky you reply simply, Yeah l You doze off as the sound of Bob's footsteps drifts away from you, and his words echo in your mind. UI-Iappy birthday, kid. Sullivan, '55 THE MOST INTERESTING TRIP I'VE TAKEN My most interesting trip was a short jaunt to the moon, which occu- pied most of the week of August 16, ??74. This was interesting for sev- eral reasons, prime among which was that the infamous Dr. Schlitz, of De- funct University, and a most capable friend, accompanied me. Another valid reason was that we used his brand-new Annihilator Super Delux, Semi-Hard Top Convertible Space Ship, with the thermo-nuclear expan- sion-type motor, and even better, he furnished the fissiohable atoms and molten zinc, which are the rocket age equivalent of high-octane gas. We blasted off from French Equa- torial Zanzibar at about 1100 hours, at which time we would receive the most rotational thrust from the earth. Sailing along leisurely at a mere for- ty-iive hundred m.p.h., I began to THE TATLER 33 think wewould never arrive at Lunar Terminus. But to condense thirty- seven hours into two words, we did. Upon landing, we were surrounded by an enormous, gigantic, very big, huge, extremely large, quite stupen- dous, not to mention colossal, crowd of Luna-tics, called Monstrous Mon- strosities, who looked like people with measles, covered with glue. Quite taken aback by the voluminous ampli- tude of it all, I ran toward the port containing the Cosmo Special, 10,000 volt disintegrator ray cannon. This weapon had the dubious distinction of being as maneuverable as a good sized pachyderm, and about as power- ful as Junior's tricycle on glare ice without chains, but which no self- styled Captain Video should be with- out. Seeing me, Dr. Narragansett- er-Schlitz, grabbed my arm, and simultaneously uttered these choice, sparkling phrases, Don't shoot them, just feed them some bullets. Then if they start shooting off their mouths, we'll clear out. Picking myself up oif the carpet, I complied with his request. As the lunar Aborigines swilled down my ample supply of .44 shells, which I had wisely salvaged from the cam- paign with Admiral Dewey on San Juan Hill, near the Alamo during the Franco-American Spaghetti -- uh - War, knowing they would come in handy some day, I noticed a peculiar reaction. Lumps of assorted sizes, shapes, and hues started popping out all over their transparent little selves. They immediately grew very angry, some literally 'fblowing their tops. About this time a miraculous bit of tensile apparatus contracted, meaning that the main ingregient of our mo- tor, namely a rubber band, had caught on a branch of the local euca- lyptus family tree, and was drawing us in reverse fashion, like a pair of suspenders, back to our own native Afghanistan. We landed in the middle of the Indian Ocean which, as we had done our laundry there before leav- ing, was very soft water. Richard Cash, '54

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32 THE TATLER ly she gave a cry of alarm. One little duck was missing. However, Mrs. Duck could not leave fourteen babies to go look for one. No, she must stay and protect the babies in the new nest. She settled down on the leaves. And back by the beech tree, the lost duckling walked feebly through the leaves, too cold and hungry to cry very loudly. Its body shivered. After a while the little duck tucked its head under its wing and went to sleep. And there it was found by the greedy fox, for this is the way of the woodland. Shirlene Heath, '57 HILL-903 It's your nineteenth birthday, Bill Morse. It's a cold, wet birthday. It's your first birthday away from home. You're in a position that you wished you'd never be in, at the bottom of hill-903, North Korea. It's been quiet all day and, now that night has set in, you have time to think. Time to think of war. The stinking, rotten war! You've been a family boy all your life, and it's hard to get used to the tortures of war. You feel that if the enemy doesn't get you, the Weather will. Boy, what you would give to be home where you belong. You should be playing base- ball instead of running around a little piece of land, back and forth, over the same territory at least a dozen times a week, getting shot at for something you didn't start in the first place. You get up from the muddy bank of the trench you had helped to dig and splash over to where Bob is sit- ting. Bob Roberts is your best friend in the outfit. He is older than you, and seems to understand. Things al- ways seem all right after talking to him. He is sitting on a rock with water all around him, eating up the con- tents of a can of beans. He grins as you sit down beside him, placing your' MI on your lap, with a heavy sigh. Cold, isn't it Y you ask, tunn- ing your back to the wind. You won't be cold long, Bob answers, tossing the empty bean can over his shoulder. The LT. is taking out a scouting party tonight. You and I are included. We're just lucky that way, Bob says with a laugh. You tilt your helmet to one side and stare at the black overcast sky. A scouting party. What a birthday present! A long, wet, fearful walk into enemy territory. You figure you'd better get some shut-eye. You are wakened by a nudge in the back. It is Bob. Let's go, kid, he says. The rain has stopped and it is getting colder. The party gets briefed on the objective and you're ready to go. The job is to get a line on the enemy strong point a mile up the hill. You check your MI and keep close together as you enter enemy terri- tory. From here on in each man knows anything can happen. You're plenty warm now, Bill Morse, all warm except your hands. They are numb from the cold and sweat on them. You're at the top of a ridge now. Below you to the left is the objective. A well-lighted supply camp with plenty of supplies. The LT. splits the group into twos. You and Bob are to- gether. From here on in, no talking. You must depend on field signals. You finally stop on a crest overlook- ing the southern end of the supply camp. Bob hands you a pad and pen- cil. You both crawl as far as possible to the edge of the crest. Bob surveys the camp with binoculars and begins whispering the amount of tanks, troop trucks, artillery, and big guns on hand, as fast as you can write them down. With the inventory taken on your assigned side of the camp, you proceed back to the meeting place and wait for the rest of the party. It isn't a long wait and soon you are advancing back to your outfit. Your MI becomes heavy and your back be- gins to ache because of walking in a

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34 THE TATLER THE MOST INTERESTING EVENT OF MY LIFE Seven thirty a.m., April 9, 1940, peace was shattered in Oslo, Norway, by the invasion overhead followed by sounds of machine guns and anti- aircraft guns on land. The windows in our house were shaking so they had to be barricaded. My father calmly went out after a loaf of bread just as if it were an ordinary day, much to the concern of the rest of us. He was considered lucky to get back alive. Evacuations were being carried out. We lived in the suburbs so we had twenty people staying with us. Some remained there even after we left. We had the radio going continuous- ly for news. The Nazis had taken con- trol of everything, including guns, so everything was quiet for a while. Then British planes bombed day and night to rid the city of Nazis. This went on until the end of the war. Oslo surrendered at three forty- flve p.m., April 9, 1940. Six hundred British and French planes and many battleships were busy. The radio was entirely under German control. If we wished to listen to other programs we would have to do it in secret. Every- thing was in a continual blackout. The patients in all the city's hospitals were turned out, no matter how sick, to make room for wounded Nazis. Everyone was under surveillance of Nazi guards. People who didn't co- operate were tortured and shot. I was two and a half when we car- ried out our plans for escape. There were about thirty Norwegian Ameri- cans in our group. We escaped from Norway and traveled to Sweden by train. From there we went to Ger- many by boat which was a dangerous journey because the waters were thickly infested with mines. At the customs house in Germany we were met by German officers who let us through without any red tape because we were American citizens. From there we went to Genoa, Italy, to catch the ship that was to takf us to the United States. We rr ian. -d in Italy eight days. We arrived in Am- erica May 28, 1940. Astrid Thorvaldsen, '56 MY SCHOOL DAYS Gee, how I dislike going to school! I would rather go out skating. There wouldn't be any homework to do, And nights I could be dating. Some of the strange things I learn in school To me are still a mystery. Daniel Boone couldn't even spell Bear, Yet he went down in history. I have to rise early in the morning And start along the way. I wouldn't mind going once a year, But why go every day? Deanne Arthur, '55 SKATING When winter comes and the ponds all freeze, We dig out our skates from under the eaves. If the ice is good and the crowd gets to- gether, We have loads of fun in spite of the weather. In the daytime the sun shines brightly above, Our hearts overHow with friendship and love. At night moon and stars twinkle high overhead, And young and old soon forget about nearly to bed. Sara Simonton, '57 BAD WAITRESS It was back in the summer of '53 VVhen the boss of the restaurant came to me. You're fired! he said, he was very brief, I tried very hard to conceal my grief. He bellowed my faults loud and clear, And out of my eye there dripped a tear. I tried my best, was all I could say. t'Once too often you've dropped a tray. You sit and be lazy, he said to me, While the other waitress works like a bee. You see, as a waitress I'm just NO good, I guess my head is made of wood. Joan Norwood, '56