Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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16 ratlliiig them as he passed. Since the sound of leaves pushing and scraping against one another is as dear to me as is the sound of Take Off Your Shoes, Baby, and Start Running Throuuli My Mind by Artie Shaw, I started to make my way toward the crest of the hill. Pausing a moment on the va up. I looked hack and surveyed my irregular path, which 1 had fondh imagined was straight as any Iro- quois ' . 1 had passed thickets of beautiful shinv thorns, which had emitted pleasant crunching noises as I struggled through, two patches of pine trees, which have a fond way of putting sharp, dry little twigs in your eye. and one delightfullv moist, little swamp, which made pleasant sucking noises as I alternately put in and drew out my feet. Continuing my trip up to the top of the hill, my feet squished and gurgled in my wet sneak- ers. Finally, reaching my goal. I sat down and looked out over the surrounding countryside. Sitting there. 1 was regaled by the melodious sound of mv father, who had found out that someone had lost the keys to the car and who was exclaiming over how he was going to use the car if there weren ' t any keys - !? Ah, what delightful sounds! I jumped to my feet and raced back to the house, eager to learn new and interesting phrases. Arriving at the house. I heard the arresting but not unusual sounds of a family in an up- roar. — drawers banging on the floor in search of the lost keys: a male parent ranting u]) and down looking frantically: the radio going full blast with ' The Shadow as a main attraction: the dog. who had forgotten the squirrel flving hysterically between everyone ' s legs looking for the shortest route between himself and a belea- guered rat — it sounded like home! PRIVATE U. S. AMERICA Rocco Foniri. ' 43 Why am I riding on this Iraiii ' . ' ' A voice from somewhere answers. ou re riding to a l)etter land, you know, to protect the rigiits of mankind. ou left home to join the fighting forces of freedt)m. Riding on the train I fall asleep. Sic p. a deej) sleep — and I dream of the past. 1 dream of the davs when I was in my teens. 1 dream of the hills, of the fields I used to roam. I dream of the friends I left behind me. I dream of the days when I played baseball, football, tennis — when I was young. In w inter I used to skate on the ponds that God gave man. In sum- mer I swam the ocean, where the waters we e its blue as the skv . All this I dream of the past. As I awake, I see men my age about me — I ding to destinations unknown. In their faces I see their hunger for freedom — the w ill to live, the will to die for the right we adore. Their eyes are filled with tears — memories of iiome. We lidc on and on. We see treeless. rreen alleys, large-acred farms, tilled for man ' s use. I get restless seeing land. sky. and field. My eyes get tired. As I ' m about to close them once more. I see a large enclosed area, a well-built fort. I become wide-eyed. I now get off the train. I rush to the truck filled with young men like me. We are taken to the fort that is to teach us of destruction, and the guards close the gates upon us. A group of men come over to the truck. The leader has a large tanned face. With grim determination I stand at attention, my heart beating fast. He tells us to go to be fitted for uniforms. At last my ambition has come true. I shall be a soldier. — not to fight to destrov the right of living, but to preserve and protect the demo- cratic ideals of the United States of America. FLOWERS Maijoric Hat tin. t ' i 01 all the wonderous things there are I he (lower surpasses all b far. 1 he lose that grows on bush and vine .Svinbolizes beauty divine. Daffodils in sunnv arrav Bloom at the dawn of each Mav dav. I licn there are asters bloomitig in fall Flowers thai stand dark, handsome and tall. The lilv conl(- - forth in purest while To give ilscif for onr delight. Of the manv olhiMs thai we know All give happiness uherevcr ihev grow. Dinner durst to Mi. All.insoii: Will (ni pas;, ih ' mils ' . ' ' Mr. Atkinson: es. 1 -upposc so. but I rcalh should flunk liiem. Boy: 1 think I ' ve got a flat tire. Latest Girl: ] think that makes us even.

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IS HOMEWORK A LA MODE Frances Williams, ' 43 | yrxa ||I EAT iiivenlioii. the radio. I think as |ip =4 I turn the aforemenlioned on. having |l til already sharpened my pencils and col- lecled niy books |)reparatory to doing fjm homework. I am hoping lo hear some II I music, but no luck! As the sounds grow more distinct, what do I hear but someone extolling the merits of the corn cereal. Korny. Maybe the product is corny, but it has nothing on the announcer. 1 think savagely to myself as 1 turn the dial. The sound of nuisic strikes my ear. liopefulh 1 adjust the dial lo bring the station in more clearly. This lime 1 hear Anton Dvorak ' s Hu- moresque as played by the New York Philhar- monic Orchestra, no less. Grindy I go on turning the dial. Soon I am given explicit directions as to how to get the most for my money by buying Sud-z, the new improved soap for washday. Buy some TO- DAY! In this same harsh, raspy voice I hear the usual plaintive queries: Will our friends return safely? Does Maggie Snoop find her lost lover? Listen tomorrow to ' The Life of Maggie Snoop ' and find out. With great disgust I turn the dial to yet an- other station. My ears prick u|) (figuratively, of course) as I hear Glenn Millers orchestra. Blissfully I settle back to enjoy it and start my homework I never can do anything unless I ' m listening to the radio I . Now it ' s all fixed, not so soft that I have to make an effort to listen to it nor yet so loud that I have to make an effort not to listen to it. Did you ever try to concentrate on The House of Seven Gables while listening to In the Mood ? The picture of Hepzibah and Clifford hearing such music strikes my fancy. I chuckle silently to myself, still automatically turning the pages, but. strangely enough, missing half the story. I am brought suddeidy back to my senses by a call equivalent to Come and gel it! Will I. I think, and fall half way downstairs in my frenzied attempts to get to the table. Supper over, dishes done, once again I turn m thoughts to homework. Again 1 ha e the same diflicullies wilii connnercials. Why were they ever invented? That sounds like I Love a Mystery ' — I must listen to that. Neverthe- less, 1 pick up Cicero, determined to do or die. Soon I have Jack and Doc fighting. Mithradates and Cicero all mixed up in a bear trap. So 1 leave Cicero where he is and turn again lo Jack and Doc. After they have finished their exploit; for another week. I try my luck with math. Soon the telephone rings. 1 pull busily down, oidy to have some innocent soul ask how tht- math problems are done. I chase upstairs to find my math book, tripping over everything in sight, not to mention the things out of sight. Victo- rious. I again arrive at the phone. Not having llie first idea how the problems are done, I sit down and start explaining, hoping the inspi- ration will come. As usual 1 end u|) taking th- direi lions. Math s all done. I sing trium- phantly to myself. Upstairs again 1 think. There s an essay that really should be written tonight. Il ' s two days late already: still belter late than never. I sit down, pencil poised just ready to set my inspira- tions down. There ' s just one thing wrong, — I have no inspirations. Accordingly I think. A few more days won ' t matter much. Again I turn to the wireless. Just as another commercial comes on, I fall asleep. Yes, yes! Great invention the radio. SOUNDS Maria Mansfield, ' 43 Foreword: With all due respect to Henrv David Thoreau s appreciation of homely, wood- land sounds. I give them a different interpre- tation. 1 have spent a day and a night in ap- proximately the same surroundings that he describes. » » -» Mv house was on the side of a hill, a few yards from a beautiful pond, slightly stagnant to be sure, but covered by soft, luxuriant scum and encircled by slimy logs, briers, and small holly trees. The delightful stillness was punctu- ated by the sneezes of my brother, whose ha - fever was irritated by the goldenrod, and th ' mournful but delicious sound of a dog. howling and barking at a squirrel that he had treed. Thrilled by these delightful woodland sounds. 1 wandered idly to the shores of the pond. As I looked out upon its smooth, scummy surface. 1 heard a plop, as if a wet dish rag had been thrown in a dish pan full of soapy, greasy water. It was an entrancing little turtle with orange spots on its back. Continuing along the path thai bordered the pond. I encountered one of the aforementioned little dirtv wet dogs. As much surprised as I, he scuttled off in the bushes,

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17 TRAGIC DAWNING Patricia McLean, ' 43 X ||T WAS a dilapidated street; census- Ipl takers described it as Hoodlum Center, and its appearance more than upheld J . title. Never was there a busier little EIbSto ' thoroughfare, with trucks, wagons, and horse-carts, ancient automobiles and bicycles perpetually bumping a long up and down the narrow space between the untidy side- walks. Papers, cans, garbage, and all manner of filth stopped up the gutters and lay strewn over the tiny spaces of lawn in front of the tumble- down, three-storied houses. The broken steps and shattered windows, the grimy, scanty washes on the lines, the dirty, tattered curtains, if the inhabitants were fortunate enough to afford this luxury — all shrieked aloud of poverty in its most pathetic form. Nothing but a dead-end road, but it wasn ' t so dead that the city folks didn ' t rise up and demand of the mayor that something be done about the condition existing there. The little urchins who inhabited the crowded, dirty flats were unsafe even on the sidewalks. The cause of the hustle in this insignificant alley was the dump a little to the left at the foot of the street. This was the destination of nearly every truck, wagon, and car that turned off the main road down this dusty way. As a mere matter of duty, the mayor had ridden past the-street-without-a- naine. glanced at the rows of forlorn-looking buildings standing like veterans of the last war, and gone on his way with barely a second thought about it. Three weeks later the only improvement was a shiny new sign at the en- trance reading: Not a through street. Many an accident had been witnessed here. Just because the people were poor, the drivers seemed to care little whether or not they ran them down. At the dump where the little boys went to watch the big trucks emptying their loads, many a little fellow left, half-blinded by dirt which flew in all directions from the spin- ning, skidding wheels as the trucks backed up and turned around. On that |}articular spring day, for spring dared to venture even into this foul place to try to brighten it up, a Sun-kissed Orange crate, rolling along on four baby-carriage wheels, mingled with the rest of the scurrying traffic. It dodged in and out among trucks and cars, missing each pair of wheels so closely it made one gasp, and yet ignoring the honking horns and curses of the motorists. There were two men in this unusual contrap- tion. You ' re wondering what two men were do- ing in an orange crate cart? Well, perhaps they weren ' t quite men yet. for the elder one had just recently arrived at the ripe old age of nine years. His face, however, appeared to be wrinkled and careworn by the furrows of dirt turned over by tears which had definitely not occurred within the past hour, for there was no trace of melan- choly in his face at that moment. He had blond hair which looked as though it were comb-shy, and blue, determined eyes whose resoluteness didn ' t quite conceal the boyish humor and dev- iltry in them. His mouth was set in a tight, thin line, intent on steering, and when his lips parted in a too-infrequent smile, a perfect set of teeth was revealed. Despite his wishes to the con- trary, a very pronounced dimple was visible in each thin cheek. Although he was scarcely more than a mass of skin and bones, defiance was stamped in every feature, and every movement of his skinny little body appeared to be a chal- lenge to the world. This isn ' t a customary or a pleasant thing to see in such a little lad, but Laurie lived in a world where he had always been pushed around, and he had learned, even at this tender age, that the only way to get along was to push back. Laurie ' s companion on this ride was a boy two years his junior, a fact which automatically appointed Laurie chief order-giver and manipulator of the wagon. Their destina- tion, along with that of all the others, was the dump, where they were going to make their daily haul. It was wonderful, all the interesting stuff little boys could fish out of the pile at the end of each day. Having arrived at the dump. Laurie pro- ceeded to back up. while his partner stood in back of him, frantically waving his arms and shouting directions. It was very realistic. With a little stretching of the imagination, one could almost see two rough men matieuvering a huge truck up the banking. This laborious task ac- complished, the boys passed a solid hour rooting among the trash and selecting the choice articles. They loaded the cart with their treasures and started down the banking again. Not q uite at- tentive to his driving now, Laurie turned his head to exclaim. Chee. ain ' t that a classy gun! And in that fraction of a second, four gigantic wheels, speeding backwards with murderous in- tent, crushed the sturdy little cart as if it were