Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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23 OUR UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE Annette MiUiken, ' 47 Did you ever slop to think how many times we converse intelligibly without speaking a word of English, French, Chinese or whatever lan- guage is native to our tongues? We have another form of expressing ourselves which might be termed the only common langu- age known to all men of the world. It consists of sighs, gasps, grunts, groans, — all the eee s, alt ' s, eek ' s, ha-ha s, yo-ho ' s, a-ha ' s, ugh ' s, oh ' s, or other inarticulate sounds we might utter in an otherwise speechless moment. Didn ' t the club held by the ancient caveman result in many a grunt or groan from the fairer sex? I ' ve also heard that Cleopatra caused many a sigh or ah in her day, as did Helen of Troy. The only utterance Napoleon could manage after Waterloo was ugh and I really don ' t think that was the Indian blood in the little general ex- pressing itself either. It was simply the bitter taste of defeat being ably conveyed. A bottle of rum and a hearty yo-ho represent one of the lustiest characters in our history, Captain Kidd. And I imagine when a mouse rustled the skirts and petticoats of any 17th century lady, a nice healthy eek followed, or perhaps an eee depending on how near the lady was to a faint. When near to collapsing, one might find it too strenuous to say eek and utter an eee , since only the vowel sound is used. Now, thinking this over slowly and clearly, we can understand that our bobby-soxers do not express themselves with any more originality than did the most ancient and wise philosopher. They are not acting like silly adolescents. They are just speaking the oldest and best known lan- guage existing on our earth. THE MUSIC FESTIVAL Donald McPherson, ' 46 This year, for the first time since the outbreak of the war, the annual Spring Festival of the New England Music Association was held in New Britain, Connecticut. Students from all over New England were chosen to attend the four-day meeting. Earl Merritt and I attended from the Scituate High School. At five o clock on llic day of our ai t ival llictc was a iiciicial mcclitig of llic six liuiiilrfd repre eiilalivfh in the immense high school audi- loiiiiiii. lliMC vvf were given a slioil iecliire on cundut t and curfew hours. Tlien the i ush be- gan. The band totaled one hundred sixty-three, and covered a stage about ten times the size of Scituate ' s stage. We practiced three times a day, our rehearsal time averaging about six hours daily. One of the hardest things the band as a whole had to learn was to play softly. Most of us were used to playing as loud as we could. Mr. Dorr, our conductor, was excellent; he knew just what he wanted and how to get it. By Fri- day afternoon, when we gave our first concert for the high school and grade pupils, we really sounded professional. I wouldn ' t have believed that such excellent music could be played by high school students. There was also a three-hundred-voice chorus and a full-sized symphony orchestra of one hun- dred twenty-five. We managed to hear a few re- hearsals of the two other organizations, and they were both excellent. The string section of the orchestra actually rivaled that of a professional symphony. The chorus was very impressive with three hundred voices singing a capella. For a full appreciation of the festival, it should be seen and heard first-hand. Words are entirely inadequate to describe the marvellous cooperation and spirit of the group. I shall always remember my participation as a wonder- ful musical experience. CALL ME A TAXI Alette Dolan, ' 48 Most people consider us teen-agers as jitter- bugging, line-slinging jabberwocks who ex- change corny comments over the soda fountain. Up to two weeks ago I considered this a legend; I certainly didn ' t know any of these people until . . . I walked into Joe ' s Drug Store one Thursday afternoon, and there they sat, their legs wrapped around the drug store stools. Shoot the dirt, Myrt, he said to his compan- ion. Well, it ' s this way, she related. Then glanc- ing up at me, she command ed, Grab a stool, fool! Feel like a coke? Sure, I replied, wishing to be friendly. Well, you don ' t look like one! she com- mented. Dccidiiii: llial Fd liavc lo s|)cm(1 my owti tiirklc. 1 aiowlcil Well. on can join nie in n (idass nf vvalcr. ' O. K. Bui }(iu jump ill iirsl and sec how deep it is.

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22 The next two weeks were busy for Dannie, and they went much too fast. After Dannie had left and after his first few weeks of complete lone- liness, Tuff came to like the other boys at the Home, but best of all he liked Pat. Pat was also seven, but unlike Tuff was very dark, quiet and serious. They would often talk about Dannie and Pete. Pat ' s older brother. Pat understood how Tuff worshipped Dannie, and they often talked about how they wanted to join the Army — TufTie, the Tank Corps like Dannie, and Pat the Air Corps, like Pete. Whenever a letter arrived. Miss Davers. the nice lady as Tuff call- ed her, helped Tuff with the hard words and then he would run and read the letter with Pat. One day Tuff received an unusually thick let- ter from Dannie, only it was from France, not New York! He ran quickly and told Pat the news. Pat, where are you? Pat! Come quick! yelled Tuffie. Here I am, over here by the swings. What ' s the matter? replied Pat. Tuffie ran quickly over and said in short breaths. ' Dannie, he ' s in France with his tank. Golly, he ' s where all the Germans are. Wow! I ' ll bet he ' ll be a hero! Don ' t cha bet. Pat? Boy, I wish I was there with him. Maybe he ' d let me drive the tank; don ' t ya think so. Pat? He says he ' s sending me something! ! Gosh, what could it be? Maybe it ' s a shell or something, think so? Or a rifle, or jeepers! — maybe even part of a German uniform! exclaimed Tuff. Gee. I don ' t know. Tuff, but I bet it ' s some- thing nice if Dannie sends it. Here ' s hopin ' it comes soon, said Pat. Boy, I hope so too, but come on ; lunch is re ady! Tuff suggested. Tuffie had been at the Home for three vears when the news about Dannie came. At first Tuff couldn ' t believe that Dannie was gone, but Miss Davers had tried to explain it to him. He couldn ' t understand, however, and went to Pat. Say, Pat, what Miss Davers told me wasn ' t true: was it? It just means that he ' s gone back to where I used to live and wants me to meet him, doesn ' t it? Golly. Pat. maybe I ' d better go now, said Tuff, his mouth trembling. Go ahead. Tuffie. I ' ll tell Miss Davers after you ' ve gone, and then she won ' t find you until you get to Dannie, suggested Pat. Tuffie found a way to run awa) from the Home during the night. He reached the old gloom house and ran (|uickh up the rickety stairs. TliP followint nit ' iil. Miss Davers found Tuff at iiis old tciiemeiU house deep in the shuns. He was asleep in Dannie ' s old chair, and his tear- stained face was strained from exhaustion. In one hand was an envelope that he must have re- ceived just before he had run away. In his other hand he clutched the long-waited-for en- velope labeled SURPRISE. Miss Davers gent- ly took the large envelope from Tuffie ' s clenched fist, and opened it. A large photograph, a pho- tograph of a tank, fell out. and lettered on it clearly was Tuffie I. On the photograph Dan- nie had written, Dear Tuffie, — The fellows and 1 have decided that Tuffie is a well-earned name for our tank as we have found it can be de- pended upon almost as well as I can depend on you. We are all proud of you. Tuff, and don ' t forget to stay where you are. I ' ll come back and get you soon. Love, Dannie AN AMERICAN CEMETERY May Manning, ' 46 The sound of taps comes sweet and clear on the evening breeze. The sentry takes his ap- pointed post. This is not just another routine da in an armv camp, for the men out here will never again heed the sharp, clear notes of reveille or the bark of the sergeant ' s voice. Their job is done for- ever. They are the American dead. They fell in battle on this very spot. And here they will re- main, forever, all united in the one common bond of death. These men who lie here did not die in vain. They died for an ideal, the ideal that all men are created equal, no matter whether they were born to the splendor of riches, the average middle class, or to lowly poverty. In their hearts a fire of freedom burst into flame, and that flame carried them into battles that led to death. There is no racial prejudice to mar the sad- dening beauty of this place. As vou look down into the valle . the rows upon rows of white crosses are etched against the deepening sky. Men from all races and walks of life sleep peace- fully here; Brown, the kid from the rolling farm lands of Iowa, who had never been to a beach in his life except when his assault boat landed that early morning not so long ago; Spinelli, the kid from the west side of Chicago; and ly- ing between them Goldberg, the boy from the ghettos of INew York. His cross is different from the rest, for on top of his rests the star of David. If ye break faith with us who die. we shall not sleep. That ' s how the poem goes. If we break faith, the hosts of gallant dead will rise from llicir liallowi-d ground and poini their a (Usin; ' lingers al n--. a hs ucuk anrl sirive lo hold ((111 newly-vvon pt-ace. Lei us never foj- gel what they died for, or we shall be forevej danuied lo the living hell that is known as war.

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24 ®Hme§ Then her friend, finding a victim, said, I guess you don ' t know what time it is. No, I bit. What time is it? Ten to. Ten to what? Ten to your own business! In mortification I busied myself with my coke while Myrt shot the dirt. It seems that some goon, a really slow Joe, asked Emma to the rat race, she related. She really hankered to go with that mellow fellow. Jim Daniels, so she ditched the hitch and missed the pitch and now she has the blight for the night. As Myrt ran down, her friend picked up the conversation. What a tearful earful. he com- mented. But don ' t look sick, chick. Have some gum. chum. ' He must have looked up at me then, for he added. Don t stare, square. Leave your chair and take the air! And so I staggered out, before the loony lin- go of this gruesome twosome swept me off my feet, but reet ! FEATHERED FRIENDS ]ean Tohin, ' 49 Have }ou ever stopped to look at the birds around you? And have you noticed how they are marked? Only Mother Nature can produce such beautiful effects. Take a common bird like the starling, for instance. You might say he is not pretty, but have you ever seen him in the sun? 1 bet you haven ' t. One of the prettiest birds I have ever seen is the evening grosbeak. He is a large, rather fat, short-tailed bird, about the size of a starling. The large bill and the yellowish color make him known at once. He flies like a finch with the characteristic up-and-down flight. The gold- finch also flies this way. The grosbeak is some- times known as an over-grown goldfinch. The evening grosbeak is different from the pine grosbeak because he has a much shorter tail. Large, white wing-patches are revealed when he flies. The snow bunting is the only oth- er northern finch showing so much white. Until about three years ago, the evening gros- beak was never known to be found in Massachu- setts, that is, in any great number. You can always tell when he arrives, for he comes with a bang. One usualy comes alone and then he leaves; ne [ ihe whole group comes. Tliey are rather nois birds, especially on Saturday morn- ings when one likes to sleep. They stay around luilil about Apiil and then they start back north. These birds are the worst sunflower eaters I have ever seen. They come in groups ranging from twenty to forty each day. One day I count- ed sixty. During the three or four months they are around, they will eat about one hundred pounds of sunflower seeds. An article in the paper recently mentioned their eating salt. They never seem to eat the salt I put out for them. The evening grosbeaks are such interesting birds that I enjoy having them on my yearly bird list. THE FAMILY CAR Robert Devine, ' 47 The immortal body of steel that goes on through the ages, suffering, straining, pursuing a life of service to its master, — that ' s our family car. When it was a young body just germina- ting from the seed of raw iron in the huge Ford factory, it was something to be proud of. Gradually it developed into a deluxe model of man ' s most modern road-traveling vehicle. It provided boundless joy when the young man of the family drove to school dances and to other meeting places of the younger set. or when the family proudly displayed it going to work or church. But, alas, as the years have passed, it has slowly, reluctantly succumbed to the feeble- ness of old age. Dont laugh, but just look at that surface finish. It was once a radiant blue-black with shiny chromium in contrast, but now it ' s just a conglomeration of indefinable colors and com- pounds. The window s I except for those in the front and rear ) that were once of the purest glass have since been replaced by cardboard, bearing various trademarks and color prints of soap and cereal adv ertisements. The seats, which were once of multi-colored straw-, are now drab: and protruding from various points are bunches of hair-filling. The heater is nice to have, but we never did get around to having it connected. The radio is a fine addition, and if it performed as all good radios should. I ' m sure more than just static would be produced. Deprived of a gasket, the car doesn ' t produce much power in operation. Minus a generator, inexcusably not replaced, it frequently has a change of batteries at no little expense. The windshield-wiper runs continu- ously, with a loud hiss — except in rainy weath- er. The headlights cast a huge black shadow inslead of iheir siipposed-illuminaling beams. Kegar lle s of lliese iiandicaps it will doiibl- le?sl go uii through the ages, contiiuiing lo hold il proud place upon the highways. Long li e the indomitable famils car!