Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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Mmes 21 The silence inside was disturbed only by the occasional refueling of the wood stove. Some of the police were asleep in the chairs. One was sprawled on the floor with his coat drawn over him to escape a draft that came in through a small hole in the wall. Stella sat in the corner with her eyes glued on the floor. She thought she heard a rustling; sound out- side. Was it the wind, or was it Edouard? Straining her ears, she heard the sound again. Then there was a feeble knock on t ' .ie door. Al- though half asleep, the soldiers heard it, and the leader jumped up and went to the door. He opened it cautiously, and Edouard fell onto the floor — frozen to death. MILITARY OBJECTIVE William Bradlee, ' 42 The man gazed longingly to where his son and the boy ' s dog lay sid? by side. The boy stayed quite still, and the dog never attempted to move, two symbols of innocence in a world gone mad. Not long before they had been playing in the afternoon sun. They were harming no one, not even thinking of any one but themselves. Sud- denly the sun was blotted out by huge bombers which cast monstrous shadows on the two at play. A bomb was released from one of the death birds. It blew the playmates ' home to bits. A huge piece of timber struck the boy full on the head. He fell as a sack of sand might. The dog ran barking to his side. The boy never moved. The death bird laid another egg to be followed by several more. One struck the little Scottie dog which stood faithfully by his master. Yes, the boy and the dog lay quite still. They had not seen the headline of the paper as the father had. They had not read the report of the bombing of ' military objectives as he had. Softly the man muttered, Some one shall pay for this, and then I shall join you. H you should go through a small town in Finland today, and if you should pass near the cemetery, you might see three graves there. It would not be the beautiful sculpture on the stones that would make you stop and think. It would be the inscriptions on the stones: on the first, A. Benderson, Jr. died January 17, 1940 . . . Military Objective ; on the second, Floppy Benderson, died January 17, 1940 . . . Military Objective. The third somewhat more impressive, ran, A. Benderson, died February 22, 1940 during heroic action at his post of anti-aircraft defence in which he shot down four enemy planes. The three lay side by side none attempting or wishing to move from his eternal peace. ON NEWSPAPERS Robert Holland, ' 40 A newspaper is one of our American institu- tions. It is composed of pulp from New England spruce and a large amount of printer ' s ink. Take the average metropolitan newspaper. It has a daily issue of approximately thirty thou- sand, and an average cost of two cents per copy. The editorial and printing offices must be located in a central part of the city and must be in direct contact with all parts of the globe, by telegraph, telephone, radio, teletype and tele- photo machines. In addition to reporters on the main staff, there must be foreign correspondents and connections with such institutions as the Associated Press, as well as special dispatches sent in by reporters in different cities in the United States. The editorial room close to press time looks to the uninitiated like an insane asylum. The editors are listening to about four telephones and an interoffice communicator at the same time, while reading proof from the copywriters. Office boys are running around waving tele- grams and carrying messages. Copywriters are pounding frantically on typewriters. Reporters are dashing in with last-minute news of a big fire or robbery. Someone else is rushing to the tele- type machine and rushing out again, waving a piece of yellow paper with news of the war in Europe. Finally, fifteen minutes before press time, the proofs go to the chief editor. He hurriedly ocans them for mistakes, and, in ten minutes more, they are on their way to the presses. When they start to roll on time, everyone draws a breath of relief and lights up a cigarette, con- gratulating himself on having once more beaten press time. The first papers off the press are brought in by an office boy and are read, still damp, bv cjveryone in the office. Each reporter finds his jtory and looks to see how much space it got. In a few moments the newsboys are shouting: • ' Wuxtry! Wuxtry! Read all about it! ■ ' AH about the big robbery on street! ' ' News from the front, hot off the press! ' Paper here! And all this from a few spruce trees cut in the freezing northwoods by Swede axemen who probably can ' t read English, and a few crystals of a black substance, discovered by some for- gotten chemist, called printer s ink.

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20 ®[li]SiMe§ THE TERROR OF RUSSIA Elmer Burrows, 41 TELLA BOKODOFF was a poor Rus- sian peasant woman. She and her hus- band. Edouard Borodoff. who had l)een a Russian spy during the World War, lived in a little wooden hut that had been standing since the Russian Revo- lution. They had only two rooms: a kitchen, and a bedroom which also served as a storeroom for the meager provisions the poor couple could gather together for the long bitter winter. By December, a supply of wood and a few boxes of food took up half of the bedroom space. The old, rusty, double bed filled the rest of the small room. In the kitchen Stella was talking with Edouard. Edouard, why do you expose yourself so much? You know the O.G.P.U. will arrest you the min- ute you are seen by their agents! I need you. my husband. The winter is going to be hard. I know how the winters are near Petrograd. Ah, Stella! Be not so frightened! I will take care. Do you not realize how great is our need for food? But yes, Edouard; yet I would rather have you than all the food in great Russia. Love for her husband showed on her peasant face every time Stella addressed him. It is right that I go, dear, but I will take precautions. Do not fear. We must go to bed now; it is very late. Edouard was asleep soon, but Stella could not close her eyes for a second. She thought only of the O.G.P.U., the terror of Russia. Suppose some one should come to take Edouard away? Would she survive the terrible hardships of the winter? And what of him? Stella meditated for over an hour; then she sank into slumber. When she awoke the next morning, Edouard was out of bed. Pulling a faded blue robe around her, the little peasant woman walked into the kitchen, which was warm from the wood fire in the stove. Edouard wasn ' t there either. On the table she found a note, written in his poor, clumsy hand: My Stella, Please do not worry about me. I have gone to Petrograd for more food. Your Edouard. Stella was in a frenzy of fear all morning. Noon came, and still Edouard had not returned. She was preparing a small portion of mutton broth when suddenly a knock sounded at the door. Stella ' s heart jumped. Here is Edouard now, she thought and went to the door with a smile on her face. She was greeted, however, by a strange group of men who wore uniforms. Stella gasped — uniforms of the O.G.P.U.!! A tall man who seemed to be the leader stepped forward. Does Edouard Borodoff live here? Yes. Where is he? His sharp eyes scanned the room for a sign of Edouard and then fell on the table, set for two. He — he is away. He is not here. Then why have you two plates on the table? Tell me the truth, or we will find out some other way! Stella tried in vain to think of an excuse with which to trick the soldiers. Getting no reply to his question, the officer ordered two of his men to search the bedroom. Since they could find nothing, he gruffl) told Stella that they would wait; and together, the police seated themselves in front of the warm stove to begin a wait which was to last a long time. Stella was trembling all over, worrying, wait- ing, and praying for her husband! She knew that the O. G. P. U. — the secret police — would remain until Edouard returned. They were de- termined to get him for some reason that Stella did not know. What could she do? It was agony waiting for that door to open and to see Edouard walk into the clutches of the waiting men. Suddenly Stella remembered the pistol that her husband had used in the war. He always kept it under the straw mattress that lay on the bed. She would drive them out of the house with it; and, if they did not go, she would kill them — every one! While the police were laughing and talking near the stove, Stella crouched in a corner and formed a plan in her mind. She gathered the details together and then sat down to wait. The hours dragged by. The sun went down and the moon came up. It began to get colder as the winds howled around the house.

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22 THE ZERO HOUR Robert Spear, ' 41 fl HE seventy-two foot schooner yacht Olympic was slipping along quietly before a (]narlering wind into a glori- ous sunset. I don ' t like the looks of it. Sir, I said First Mate Simpson to his super- ior. Don ' t like the looks of what? snarled Cap- tain Crawford, who was leaning against the wheel, gazing blankly at the horizon. That cloud formation to the south ' ard, Simpson answered. It looks to me like we ' re in for something. It does look queer at that, ansAvered the captain. Hustle for ' ard to the radio room and get the weather report from the cjast. Aye, aye, Sir, snapped Simpson as he hur- ried on his way. The captain resumed his stanc at the wheel and looked at the clouds. It was not long before Simpson returned wit ' i the report and a long look on his face. What does it say? inquired Crawford. It says that the tornado that just whipped across the Keys is headsd this way — fast! ex- claimed Simpson, which means a waterspout, out here! That ' s bad, mumbled Crawford, that is — it ' s bad if it hits us. I know that, returned Simpson. Remember the Georgic? Her deck and topsides were ripped right off of her by a waterspout! Tell Sparks to keep us posted on it, ordered Crawford. As Simpson departed, the ship ' s clock struck one bell. What ' s up, Joe? inquired a new voice, that of the owner of the Olympic, Herbert Torrey. I heard you and the mate, and I wondered if anything was wrong. Everything ' s all right — at least now. an- swered Crawford. I don ' t know how it will be a little later. The coast just reported a tornado ' s headed this way. You can see it to the south ' ard now. It doesn ' t look any too promising. Wouldn ' t it be exciting if we did get tangled up in a waterspout? questioned Torrey, quite a landlubber. It ' s begiiming to blow, remarked Crawford. It won ' t be long now. We belter batten the hatches and clear the decks. Not yet. answered Torre) ' . We may not get it at all. Torrey wasn t much of a seaman when it came to a real emergency, but he was stubborn and Crawford knew better than to argue with him. It ' s his own funeral, muttered Crawford as Torrey sauntered for ' ard. He ' ll learn — in time. By five bells, the wind had risen in pitch and sounded with high crescendo over the dark, whitecapped sea. It was growing much darker now, and the moon was hidden behind formless, shifty clouds. By seven bells, the waterspout could be made out by Crawford, Simpson, and Torrey as they stood grouped around the wheel. As the ship nosed into a heav) sea, a shout from Sparks, the wireless operator, emerged through the hatch and Simpson went to see what it was all about. The radio ' s gone on the blink, shouted Simpson to Crawford. With no contact with the coast, the Olympic with its four occupants seemed like a piece of paper on a heaving sea. The Gulf Stream, a stiff wind, and a waterspout all combined against the small craft to make a formidable foe. Besides the fact that the radio was dead, they were thirty- four miles from shore, the nearest port being Miami. The waterspout could be plainly seen as it approached, headed straight for the Olympic. Batten the hatches! ordered Crawford. Simpson immediately carried out this com- mand. What will happen if it hits us? inquired Torrey, a little uneasy. Oh, began Crawford, Plenty! ejaculated Simpson. A waterspout isn ' t a very healthy playmate. Well, what had we better do? asked Torrey. There ' s nothing you can do, returned Craw- ford, only hope and pray it doesn ' t hit us. Les s than three miles away, by now, the water- spout held its course. Four helpless men on a small yacht, against a force of nature so great