Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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15 Prize Winning Story A SHORT STORY Abbie Barnes, ' 42 Rain, rain, go aivay. Come again on a school day IMOTHY TUCKER was desperately chewing what was left of the end of a pencil. Of course, if it hadn ' t started raining at three o ' clock in the morning, he could have been playing in that final baseball game instead of racking his brains trying to write a short story. Ordinarily a short story wouldn ' t bother him because his mother wouldn ' t know he had to do it. The usual procedure was that he would write it at his leisure and offer excuses to the teacher until it was done. But this time the teacher would be his aunt and accordingly, dear Auntie would tell Mother all about Timothy ' s wonderful school work. Thus he was under the watchful eye of his maternal parent that rainy Saturday afternoon. Timothy, came his mother ' s voice from the living-room, come here a minute, please. Now what, thought the boy, going to see what she wanted. He had been interrupted only about ten times that afternoon. What do you want? he asked. Would you go and get the card table set up, please? All right, he answered, discouraged at everything in general. When he came back, he sat down, wrote a few words, drew pictures all over the paper and finally threw it away. Darn the luck, he thought, as he doodled with his pencil. Why does a guy like me have to get stuck with an aunt for a teacher? Dog- gone! It ' s bad enough to have any teachers at all, without making matters worse by having your own aunt. Course, you wouldn ' t mind so much if it were someone else ' s aunt. Gee! I s ' pose the rest of the fellers haven ' t anything to think about except how to get on the best side of their parents just about warning card time. Anyhow, being my own aunt, she ought to know about how I ' d write without going to all this bother. Oh, oh, guess I better sharpen my pencil. If I keep — . Timothy. If 1 keep on sharpening my pencil, he thought, unheedful of Mrs. Tucker ' s voice, why, she ' ll think I ' m trying awfully hard. Wonder what the boys are doing! Timothy Tucker, came the sharp voice, you come here this minute. Do you hear me? Yes ' ni, I ' m coming, answered Tim. For heaven ' s sake, how do you think a person can write a story, if you ' re going to keep interrupt- ing him? Now what do you want? I ' m sorry I keep interrupting you; I ' ll try not to anymore. The girls are coming over to play bridge this afternoon, so why don ' t you go up to your room where you can concentrate better? Guess I ' ll have to, with you women playing bridge. While you ' re about it, will you take these magazines up in the attic for me? Uh, huh. Timothy went up in his room, and after a bad case of restlessness, threw his pencil down, ripped up the paper, and tried to think of some- thing pleasant to do. The rain was still coming down in torrents, more bad luck. Oh phooey! he exclaimed. I ' m not going to bother with any old story for anyone. Oh my gosh! he said after a few minutes ' silence, the magazines. He went up to the attic, deposited the maga- zines, and began rummaging around the trunks among the old things that people like fo save. All was quiet up in the attic until fifteen min- utes before dinner. Then Mrs. Tucker heard a pair of feet hustle down to the second floor and hustle back again. Just before they were ready to eat, Timothy came triumphantly and noisily down stairs. Here, Mother, read that, and if it isn ' t any good, I ' m not going to write another one. Whew! What a job! Well, she said, after she had read it. I thought you could write something if you ' d just get your mind off baseball and football for a change.

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14 |)l() ed. mam of ihcm well (|ualifu ' il hut un- needed in our [Jieseiit sickh slate of society. We note that able men in all political parties be- lieve that governnienl aid in this matter of em- |)lovment will be necessar y for a long time to (■onr There is the suspicion that here is a chronic disease requiring permanent treatment. We hear of others who have faced long delays and discouragement before getting a job in pri- vate industry — a job that often paid but half a wage after it was secured. Beyond all this we are disturbed by the harshness of many fortunate people toward the sincere seeker who has not obtained work, and most of all by some authori- ties who assure us that the whole question is over- emphasized. The latter remind us of the genial generals who pat the soldier on the back before sending him into an extremely doubtful battle. For those who are going to college, there is a respite from the world economic and military struggle. But, even within the cloistered walls of college, must be heard the clamor of political and economic contention. A few years in college should mean a better preparation for the in- evitable issue that has been postponed but not escaped. For. perhaps no preparation, no matter how excellent or thorough, can protect us if in- justice is at the root of present-day society. It seems likely that we must eventually stand or fall together and that a new world must be built when the present storm is over. These questions are of more immediate im- portance to us if we are not going to college. In that case, our need for a job is imperative now. We cannot wait for a new world order. We must eat from day to day. I realize that with youth on our side most of us will get a start. It will possibly be in a field we would not ordi- narily choose, a field that is not too over- crowded. That must be our dominating thought. It is likely that our children, a generation from now, will graduate into a world that has once more been stabilized and restored to sanity. We are not afraid and we shall contiiuie to hope, but we have some misgivings as we look through the high school graduation arch into a grim world of war and economic unrest — a world that may be filled with promise, but has hidden its rainbow under a smoke screen. If it happens that the future should turn out much better than we might expect from present conditions, well and good, that would be our wish. But to ignore the dark portents of the pres- ent would be to lack in observation. We do not have to despair or cringe before the fierce coun- tenance of circumstance, but we can be forgiven for wishing that we might graduate into a sunny world of security, peace, prosperity, and plenty. TIME Vitjiinia Chipman, ' 40 Perhaps of all the essays I have read, the one that seems most likely to be imprinted in my memory for keeps, is Arnold Bennett ' s — How to Live on Twenty-four Hours a Day. It set me thinking of the various activities that tiie )()uth of toda) try to cram into one single twenty-four hours. In one sense of the word they accomplish so very much — and yet they barely touch upon the more important things of life. For the majority, school plays a major part and consumes approximately six hours of the day — or one fourth of the time, for five days out of seven. It is not a matter of choice but rather a routine followed because — just because it is compulsory. From nine to three you forget the outside world (at least the ambitious students do) and figuratively speaking, put your nose to the grind- stone. By three o ' clock you are dashing for the bus with enough homework to keep you from having too much sleep. But now comes the prob- lem for some master mind — and he ' ll need more than paper and pencil to figure it out on. It ' s Monday night — ; you have a theme for English, twenty history questions, six pages of Gregg, and a chapter of economics. If you were at all lucky, )ou got as far as dusting the cob- webs off your books before dinner. Then some- one suggests a bit of assistance with the dishes I the joy of living exemplified) — and you very cheerfully splash in the dish pan. Next, your puppy demands his daily meal, and your young brother his favorite radio program. Time is fly- ing fast — and at last you settle down to your books. The telephone rings at fifteen-minute in- tervals, — and you converse over the activities of the day. About then Dad comes home — and you just have to glance over the headlines and the front page news. It isn ' t long before someone reminds you of the time — and you do have to get up in the morning; s(» with your homework half completed you climb the stairs. Your day is ended, and again you have ' nt found lime for letter writing, that special committee meeting, the sweater you are knitting, and that book you started reading months ago. Your schedule just doesn ' t agree with your time, and you ask yourself why. You are told never to put off until tomorrow what you can do today — but you find yourself contiiuially lay- ing aside so very many important things. It is very necessary to budget time and use it according to a planned schedule, for as Arnold Bennett says, Out of it you have to spin health, pleasure, money, content, respect, and the evo- lution of your immortal soul.

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16 Mondax morning Tim went to school with a light heart. Everyone had to read his story and when Tim started to read his, the teacher seemed surprised and was about to say something, hut she didn ' t. That night Tim s aunt came over and had quite a talk with his father in privacy. Timothy was about to go out-doors when his father asked him to come into the library. Now wliat do )ou suppose he wants? thougiit Timoth) with a choke as he entered the room. Timothv. ' said his father ' s stern voice, ' did ou happen to find an interesting story in the attic Saturday afternoon which was so good that you went so far as to copy it word for word and pass it in for a mark at school today? Oh my gosh, thought Tim, if he knows. 1 might as well tell him. Aloud he said, Y-yes, but how did she find out? ' ' Do )(m think that was exacth right? N-no. sir. l)ut how do ( u know, auntie? Well, Timothy. replied his aunt, I might never ha e known except that when I was a girl in high school. I happened to write it. Jumpin Juniper, wouldn ' t you know it. wit ' i your own aunt for a teacher! Of all the luck! Prize Winning Essay DON ' T MOVE! CLICK! Helen Poland, ' 40 |i-tjX ji|E are all more or less familiar with the intriguing business of having our pho- ll f I tographs taken. The coming of the photographer to take the seniors ' grad- k uation pictures at school is an event i long anticipated and long remembered. On the appointed day the girls appear with their hair in soft lustrous waves or perhaps with it pasted into ringlets from a too-recent hair set. The bovs are decked out in their Sunday best, never seen in school except on this date and per- haps the first day. Those who have always be- fore seemed rather plain somehow manage to be beautiful for a day. It ' s a pity we don ' t have our pictures taken more often ! The teachers are most disconcerted by the ab- solute lack of concentration on anything so trifling as studies. Everyone watches his ap- pointment come nearer with each tick of the clock and wonders which of the expressions he tried out in front of the mirror last night would look the best. At last my time comes. I approach my doom with something of anxiety. The sight of the many and varied lights and machines and instruments is, to say the least, intriguing, and just a bit terrifying. The sickish smirk of the girl having her picture taken before me doesn ' t help much. Finally the photographer is ready. I am led in among the maze of instruments and placed in a tiny chair. He surveys me from all sides with a critical air and then proceeds to get me into the right position. Put your chin forward and your chest back, he demands. He insists upon this until I begin to feel like a giraffe, meanwhile assuring me that this is how the movie stars have theirs taken. It can make a homelv girl look beautiful. he adds, which is verv comforting. Now, don ' t move! Don ' t move! Shut! This seems to be the signal for his helper to do something very important for he savs it as if it were. Ready! Aim! Fire! Now. for some reason or other photographers work with all their might and main to achieve a grin on their subject ' s face. To this end they resort to all sorts of supposedly-funny jokes and puns which they have obvioush used since thev started in the business. Somehow these don ' t affect me as they are intended to. On the con- trary, they make me determined to be grim just for spite. He tries these tactics unsuccessful!} ' for a while, winning only one teeth-showing for his efforts. In desperation, he murmurs, You must put your soul in it ! Although not meant to be funnv, this achieves the desired effect. After repeating these maneuvers innumerable times, he announces that that will be all, assur- ing me that mv pictures will be fine in spite of everything. Did I sav it is a pity we don ' t have our pic- tures taken more often? I take it all back — it is a blessing from Heaven! I