Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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29 WEBS Josephine Miles, ' 48 All lhat was ugly and grim about the city was so altered by the falling mist that everything around her took on the exciting, enchanting (jualities of a mystery . . . She lifted her face unresistingly to the falling rain as if searching there for some answer to the wild, surging joy she experienced in the sudden freshness of the moment. She felt that she must know how the parched earth feels with the first spat- tering of rain on its face ... its thirst hardly quenched by the little drops, aching, craving, for more. She knew what it must be like to gaze from the bottom of a pool through the rain-drops dotting its surface, into the rainbow above . . . for the silver drops fell into her unclosed eyes, splashing against her eyeballs and sending the images of little lights afloat, as if the tears of heaven had come down and replaced her own. Lights sent sparkling paths across the pave- ment. Black rivers were flowing everywhere, and across them the paths of a hundred moons lighted her way home. Light on the cobblestones made a shining web, as if some monstrous spider had spun the wretched alleys with pure silver . . . Fresh, and washed clean, breathing the mys- terious dew of night, she made her way through the labyrinth of alleys, and then, turning abruptly, fled up the stairs of her dank, foul apartment . . . The Old Cape Codder Stanwood Briggs, ' 48 I met him just as he was climbing into his skiff. It was early morning and the sand was cold and damp from the night. Wait a minute! I called as I ran over to him. He stopped and looked up at me. What can I do for yuh? he asked, wiping his nose with a big red bandanna. With one glance of his keen blue eyes, he appraised me. For my part I saw a tall, slightly-stooped old man, perhaps sixty-five or seventy years old. He wore an old flannel shirt and faded blue over- alls. He had on old tattered rubber boots and a long-visored fishing cap. Would you hire me for a couple of weeks? I asked him. I want to learn how to fish. All depends, he replied, a twinkle in his eye. Depends on what? I asked feeling helpless. On whether or not you are a cap ' ble seaman. The town that 1 come from is on the ocean and 1 own a skiff there, I replied, anxious to make a good impression on the old man. I ' ll give you a chance today. Climb aboard and shove off, he said and lit his pipe. I jumped into the stern and i ushed off. The old man rowed. My name is Joe Basset, I offered by way of conversation. Mine ' s Bob Nickerson, he replied. We rowed to the fishing boat in silence, my companion puffing on his old battered pipe and 1 watching the gulls overhead. The fishing boat was just like the owner, old but neat and clean. 1 watched while he got the old model-A engine running. Cast off the bow line! he shouted above the unmuffled roar of the engine. 1 hastened to obey, and soon we were chugging down toward open ocean. Can you take the helm? I have some hooks to bait, he suddenly demanded. Sure, I answered, glad of a chance to prove my worth to the skeptical old man. Keep ' er to the starboard. 1 did as I was commanded. Not so far over, he shouted. Do you want to run us aground? So it was all day. I never did anything right. At least nothing was right as far as he was con- cerned. Take the matter of pulling the trolls. First I ran the boat too fast and then too slow. He shouted at me constantly in his funny Cape Cod drawl. I was afraid he would not hire me. On the way to the dock he was silent. I didn ' t know what to do or say, so I just sat. Although I had made many mistakes, 1 loved the sea and wanted a chance to make good at my first real job. 1 wanted to tell him just how much the job would mean to me. but the words wouldn ' t come. There were several men loafing on the pier as we came in. As we tied, the old man took his pipe out of his mouth, spat with accuracy on an old piling and then cleared his throat. Boys, he drawled, I want you to meet my new crew member. Wh at ' s your name again? Joe Basset, I choked out and my eyes filled with tears. I tried to thank him. but all he said was to unload them fish.

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28 of the Hall. I began looking for the House Cham- ber. I found it without too much difficulty I by following the crowd I and took my seat in the first section of the Chamber. I had been selected to serve on a committee of fifteen senators and representatives whose duty was to escort their Excellencies Governor Bradford and Governor Nichols into the joint session. After returning to our seats, we heard addresses from both Governors, Speaker of the House Willis, and Senator Sumner Whittier, who was responsible for the bill which made Good Government Day a law. At 10:30 the Committee on Ways and Means met to consider Governor Bradford ' s Budget Recommendations for the fiscal year 1949 begin- ning July 1, 1948 and ending June 30, 1949. As a member of that committee, I joined in the dis- cussion concerning various appropriations for such services as the Highway Fund and the Port of Boston Authority. Committee hearings were held at 11:00 o ' clock to discuss the bills which were to be taken up in the Legislature in the afternoon. I attended the hearing which dealt with House Bill No. 3 Resolutions memorializing Congress in opposi- tion to universal military training. After hear- ing the pros and cons of the important issue, the committee voted 9 to 6 against the bill. We dined at the Boston City Club in true governmental style. After the completion of our meal, we returned to the capitol to take up the burning issues of the day. The students took over the Governor ' s office, the various departments of government, and the Senate with dignity, decorum and delight, to say nothing of intense interest. However, the de- corum was lacking in the House where the largest number gathered, and where the going was the roughest. The interest was burning, and we representatives had strong opinions on uni- versal military training and wanted to express them. It was a scrappy group of parliamentarians that faced House Speaker Miss Patricia Daly of Lowell. She proved quite capable of pounding us into submission, forcing a vote on L . M. T., and then railroading through an adjournment. To bring the whole affair off with some semblance of order, she finall) had to throw over her advisers. Speaker Frederick B. Willis and House Clerk Lawrence R. Grove. She also had to ignore a parliamentary nicety and handle the whole affair like a woman — in her own way. The resolution sought to memorialize Congress against universal military training. Thus, if one voted for the resolution it meant that he was against universal military training, and if one voted against the resolution it meant that he was in favor of universal military training. The con- fusion was infectious. Throughout the afternoon. Miss Daly ruled the rambunctious, raucous but deadly eager and serious students as we sought, almost without exception, to get the floor. Finally as the clock reached 4:30 p.m. the question on the resolution was put to us. We voted in favor of the resolution against military training. Madam Speaker, one young man yelled, leaping to his feet, we don ' t even know what ' s going on ! It was decided to hold the vote over. Then the trouble began. If you favor military train- ing, you will vote for the resolution, Miss Daly began. There was a roar of protests. She called a recess. Mr. Grove, the clerk of the House of Representatives, stepped up and took the micro- phone. He explained very carefully that this was a negative resolution, and that we had to be careful. We listened attentively. Mr. Grove then proceeded to get mixed up. There was more noise. Miss Daly took command. She called the House to order and said loud and clear into the micro- phone, Everyone in favor of military training stand. There were some protests. Speaker Willis started to step forward to explain that she wasn ' t taking a vote on the resolution. But he saw that Miss Daly was determined on a course of action and was not to be crossed. The shouts persisted from the floor. We stood and were counted. We had voted for the bill by 137 to 86. I voted with the majority. Some faintl) tried to challenge the vote on the question of parliamentary procedure. It is too late to challenge the vote, Miss Daly declared, and pounded for order. Somebody shouted for a motion for adjourn- ment. Miss Daly caught it among the other shouts, called it to the attention of the House, called for a vote, declared that the ayes had it, — and the session was over. Never had the house been filled with so many legislators, nor so many spectators. The press gallery was packed. Some state representatives had strung out along the walls to coach the stu- dents: others just to observe. The entire program was sponsored by the Massachusetts Civic League and financed b the Moses Kimball Fund for the Promotion of Good Citizenship. Continued on page 36

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30 Stars Brooke Durant, ' 48 Did vou ever lie on your back and gaze up on high. Toward the bright heavenly bodies far up in the sky. And wonder how large the speck may be That ' s shining down at you and me? Have you looked at one star with its endless glimmer To wonder why its rays shine and shimmer? Did you ever wonder if these dots bear life? Whether people there have hardships and strife? Or if from these dots life be extinct How to the universe is our earth linked? And then a white snake is made by a star, — The number of miles is just how far? Then what of this celestial sphere? The thought of it may turn to fear. As you think what ' s beyond the stars in the sky. The thoughts are endless of the Powers on high. My Most Unforgettable Characters Alette Dolan, ' 48 I ' ve met a lot of characters in my life, people that have made me laugh or weep, or that have moved me to pity or disgust. But 1 shall forget many of them. The only real people in the world, those whose character you can never forget, are children. Only during childhood is the true personality of an individual evident. After years of hearing, People won ' t like you if you do that, dear . . . Nice little boys don ' t say such things . . . Please show your best manners at Sunday School, and all the parental admonitions that go with a good bringing up, nearly all of us are worn down to the same pattern. That is why unforgettable characters are so rare among adults that when one is finally discovered, his admirers go to great lengths publicizing him. Of course, the sobering phenomenon that accompanies growing older is necessary. The salt of the earth would certainly lose its flavor if we all retained the marvelously uninhibited tem- peraments of our childhood. But if ) ou ever decide that life is dull and humans are duller, run out and really get acquainted with those little people playing in your back yard. The first time that I was confronted with a large group of children, I was not aware of each little individualist and the remarkable manner- isms that were his. and his alone. 1 was more occupied with exhibiting my new dress, and my new haircut, and my patent leathers, which were surely worthy of such a great event as my first day in the first grade. But even during that year and the succeeding ones, before I learned to appreciate children, there loomed an unfor- gettable. I can see Tommy now. his face covered with freckles, where )ou could see through the dirt, and topped by a tangle of brown hair which was badly in need of cutting. He wore a pair of grey corduroy knickers that bagged nearly to his ankles, bought with room to grow into them. He sloshed along in a mud puddle, happily dis- daining the sidewalk, stooping now and then to pick up a wriggling angle worm and pop it into his pocket. Here was a 1936 Tom Sawyer. I ' d call him a real American boy, but the teachers and the good mothers of the neighborhood had other names for him. Tommy loved to collect things, and never seemed to be without a mouse, a snake or a toad in his pocket. Somehow he never caught the usual childhood diseases. He bothered only with small pox. And once he broke his leg by scaling a six-foot wooden fence and landing twenty-six feet below on the other side, in a newly-excavated cellar. When we were in the sixth grade. Tommy got a new bike for his birthday. 1 never saw him again, for I moved awav two weeks later and Tommy was in the hospital at the time. He ' d had a little accident with his bike. People talk about children being frightened by their teachers. I was thirteen when I first attempted teaching Sunday School, and I was never so terrified in my life. At this point another character whom I shall not soon forget reared his impish little head. He announced that his name was Sherbie, and would I please tell him how to spell antidisestablishmentarianism ? While 1 nervously sought to regain my com- posure. Sherbie regaled the class with the latest moron stories. He had electric brown eyes, and an amusingly short brush of straight black hair. While most second graders were content to chant Ohh aaah oooh , Sherbie sang his hymns like a man. He loudly caroled, Bring forth the royal diaphragm, and crown Him Lord of all. I ' ve never seen anyone more naturalh alert than Sherbie. He seldom missed an opportunity to display his wit. Once he was sent to get a large manila envelope for our collection money. He returned with a small pink one. They didn ' t have any manila, he apologized. So I got strawberry. Perhaps the thought of a teen-ager writing about children amuses you as much as Joan amused me this evening. I was reminding her how she used to say her ABC ' s — ABCDEFG. HIJKLMN. OP. QRS. and TUV. WHDH. Bos- ton! Joan laughed. I used to be funny when I was a little girl, huh. Let? Joan is three now.