Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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DCS 23 as to lift tons of water from the ocean and make them into a whirling column — that was the sit- uation in a nutshell. It wasn ' t long before the spout was within a half-mile from the Olympic. With apparently no relief in sight, the men abandoned themselves to their fate and started saying goodbye to each other. The ship ' s clock struck eight bells, mid- night, the zero hour. It won ' t be long now, said Captain Craw- ford; the Olympic was a good ship, and I hate to see her go. At least I can go down with her. Many a good year have I spent on her, said Simpson, the mate; she ' s practically a sister to me now. It cost me a lot of money, Torrey said, but it was worth it. Sparks was silent. He stood motionless, gazing fixedly at the spout. All at once it seemed to drop down to the sea and disappear. That was, indeed, the case, and before long, the wind subsided, the Olympic was safe, and her four occupants fell to their knees and thanked God for their safety. In another hour, the seventy-two foot schooner yacht Olympic slipped along quietly before a quartering wind away from a glorious sunrise. THE DISSECTION OF A MUSICIAN ' S HEAD Jean Cole, ' 40 After reading Addison and Steele ' s essays, The Dissection of a Beau ' s Head and A Co- quette ' s Heart, I began to wonder what would be the contents of other heads were they exam- ined. Now although I am not a surgeon, and do not even profess to be interested in the science of surgery, it was soon my good fortune to be called in by a friend of mine who was about to dissect a musician ' s head. Having been asso- ciated with musicians all my life, I was very curious to see what strange things were in their craniums. It was with great interest that I watched my friend remove the top of the skull and reveal the most fascinating sight. Little musical notes popped out and filled the room with their tones. We tried to capture them but they eluded us. Inside the head were many little pockets. These were filled and overflowing with everything musical. I saw G strings, A strings, gut strings, and wire strings. Out of one little pocket, a di- rector ' s score for a Haydn Symphony protruded. G clefs, sharps, flats, and naturals were carefully concealed in another little niche. Scales, appeg- gios and exercises — all were tied up in a neat bundle, ready, I supposed, for some future use. Then there were four or five pockets with min- iature musical instruments of all kinds in them. One was full of woodwinds — clarinets, oboes, and flutes. Another contained the string section — the violins, cellos, violas, and big bass viols. The brass section occupied the next pocket with tiny cornets, trombones and horns. Baby drums, cymbals, and a piano also could be seen. The owner of this head had obviously been a symphony orchestra leader, for last but not least, we found a diminutive baton tucked away in a crevice. This is the most extraordinary head I ' ve ever examined, exclaimed my friend. Suddenly I noticed a little inflamed place on one side of the skull. As I pointed it out to my friend, he gave it a quick glance and then gave a shout. That ' s what we ' ve been looking for! That bruise is where swing music has worn on the nerves of this real music lover! It has worn so constantly that at times he must have been quite violent. Poor man! How he must have suffered! Every time he heard swing, this place must have given him a severe headache. This will prove what we have been trying to prove — that swing music does have an effect on the real music lovers of this world. The investigation was over. As I turned to go, my friend said, You must come over again when I have another interesting head to dissect. I made a mental note to be on hand at the next dissection and bade my friend Goodbye. AT THE FIRESIDE Edward Anderson, ' 41 At nightfall by the firelight ' s cheer My little daughter sits me near, And begs to hear of things that were When I was little, just like her. Oh, tiny lips, you touch the spring Of sweetest sad remembering; And hearth and heart flash all aglow With ruddy tints of long ago. Again I by the fireside sit Youngest of all who circle it. And beg him to tell me what did he When he was little, just like me. FIELDS IN MARCH Cornelia Leith, ' 41 Rows of dead cornstalks, broken and bent. Go marching like soldiers through the mud. Through the mud. past long-forgotten snow. Into the mist they go, to hide their broken shame. Long, brown corn fields stretch to the horizon. Wet and sodden, cold and bleak. Yet imder the mud, the ice and the snow. Lies the seed of new grasses, and the green of a new spring.

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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

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24 DCS Class of 1941 Robert Spear N THE fall of 1939. the Class of 1941 returned once again to the Scituate High School to resume its studies. Needless to say there was a feeling of importance among the pupils at having reached the third milestone. The class established itself in the study hall, and immedi- ately settled down to another one hundred eighty days of routine school work. Shortly after becoming acquainted with school life once more, the class held its annual election. Charles Jarvis, who incidentally was a new- comer to the class, was chosen president. The job of vice-president was placed on the shoulders of Jerome Crowley. Mildred Taylor was elected secretary, and Douglas Willett, for the third successive year, was chosen treasurer. In order to have someone to fall back on, should our able powers of self-government fail us, we selected Mr. Stewart as class adviser. When we were completely established as the Junior Class, we noticed other newcomers in our midst, Edward Anderson and Kenneth Vin- ing. As time passed, the season of hockey and fool- ball came upon us. The hockey team could certainly not have got along as well as it did, if it had not been for the Juniors on the team. Those who received letters. Mildred Taylor, Polly Sylvester, Eudora Bartlett, Doris Ander- son, Eleanor Jenkins, and Sally Leith, could well have made up a complete team by them- selves. The football team, as you all know, also had a very successful year. We cannot give too much credit to the Juniors in the lineup. William Schultz, John Fallon, Edward Anderson, Jack Shone, and Robert Whittaker. Manager, received letters for upholding the prestige of the Scituate High squad. As the last cheers for the football eleven died away, the Juniors busied themselves preparing for their dance, one of the important social functions of the year. This event was held on December 15 in the gymnasium. Sweet and swing music was furnished by The Esquires. The committee deserved the praise it received for putting it over so well. After the Christmas vacation, the main topic of discussion was basketball. Mainstays on the boys ' team were Alden Mitchell and Robert Whittaker, while the girls ' team depended on Polly Sylvester, Eudora Bartlett. Mildred Tay- lor, and Constance Wade for many of their wins. (Continued on page 35) I