Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

Page 33 text:

beauty aiul f(Mtililv of the laiiHs l)ey()nd the mountains awoke new desires in hini. The race was on ! This age-old desire has meant something dif- ferent to each generation. To my great-great grandfather in the earl lOfh century it was rep- resented bv the Erie Canal with its towpaths and heavily-laden barges. When life along the canal became too civilized, great-great grandfather moved west with the Mormons. His growing family of nine boys became absorbed in the carving of a new frontier. The quest for adventure lured my grand- father to the land of cottonwood and sagebrush where he worked as an engineer to help reclaim land vvhich has since become the center of citrus production in the Southwest. Few viewing the lower Rio Grande Valley today would dream that only two generations ago it was the land of the pioneer. My father satisfied his desire for the new, the different, by going to sea. He was too late for the days of sail, but there were no seamen ' s unions to ease the way of the man in the foc ' sle so he suffered the common hardships of the seaman in the early steamship days. I, too. find myself dreaming. At present I see Alaska as the last of our geographical frontiers, but there always remain limitless frontiers to be reached through the medium of science, possibly even in other worlds. For the coming generations there are the prob- lems of atomic energy, the conquest of Antarctica, and the stratosphere. Such is the life-blood of a nation. A Thrill Elliott Barrett, ' 57 There we were, standing on the platform wait- ing for him to get it over with. He had us standing in rows, four abreast, waiting, just waiting. We hadn ' t committed any crime, but there we were herded up in a bunch like a lot of sheep. You may ask, Well, what were you waiting for? We were waiting for the man in the brown tweed suit to pull the trigger. He had said that he would if we didn ' t watch out, and now he was going to. In a gruff voice he said. Don ' t any one move an inch or you know what will happen. And then all of a sudden there was a blinding flash, and someone in front of me groaned. But I just laughed. We had finally got it over with. The class pictures were taken at last. First Date Joan Keltell, 50 I ' mbkellas danced ever where. Ladies ' red and green and plaid umbrellas bobbed in and out amongst the blacks and browns of the men ' s. Cold, wet rain(lro])s pelted against the soaking faces and dollies of the rushing, pushing crowds and then dripped oil liie ends of und)rellas. It was five o ' clock, just in the midst of rush hour. Bobo was trying gallantly to hold his mother ' s huge, plaid und)rella over his head while he clutched several bundles in his arms. On top of these purchases, a small oblong box with a cellophane flap was dangerously tilting against Bobo s nose, making him sneeze every now and then. But Bobo didn ' t care. From the top of his whiffled brick-red hair to his muddy shoes, he was a mass of thrills and excitement. In two hours and forty-six minutes he would be at Su- sie ' s home. He would talk to her mother and father while she fluttered and fussed. She would probably take little, sidelong glances at his sud- denly-handsome face while he ' d describe the latest technique of the city ' s star football player. The crowning moment would come when he ' d hand her the corsage, extend his arm, and escort her to the car, with an air of sophistication. How handsome, how devastating he ' d be! She would never, never guess this was his very first date! Overcome by the thrill of his dreams, Bobo didn ' t realize he had passed his car stop. The clang, clang of the trolley ' s bell woke him with a start. Realizing his mistake, he dashed over to the trolley which was a good distance away. The corsage box dropped once in a puddle, but the flower wasn ' t ruined although the feather stick- ing out from the brown bag was bent out of shape. He reached the trolley just as the last person dropped a nickel into the slot. While he fumbled in his pockets for the fare. Bobo managed to close the dripping umbrella and dump his pack- ages on the nearest seat. Then, after a few seconds of frantic searching. Bobo looked at the im- patient conductor and with a worried smile, said. Gee, mister, can you change a five? - ■ « In another part of the city, a grandfather clock in the corner of a well-furnished room was strik- ing seven. All was quiet. Except for the sound of Susie running water in the bathroom, of Mrs. Cranston washing the dishes in the kitchen, and of Bobbie banging away in the cellar, no noise disturbed Mr. Cranston as he read the evening paper. As the seventh chime died away, a shrill, muffled voice called from the bathroom.

Page 32 text:

30 Reflections Nancy Gilley, ' 49 All is still, except for The gentle lapping of the water against the hull: The distant cough of an idling engine; The soft murmur of a radio on a nearby boat; The distant moan of the horn of a passing car; The hollow sound of my heart beats as I fold my arms And lean against the mast. All is dark except for The lights from the town reflected in the still waters : The flashing beacon standing guard at the har- bor ' s mouth; The phosphorescence gleaming forth where the blackness of the water is disturbed: The dim lantern barely i lluminating the mast- head; The countless number of stars shining serenely down at me as I stand And gaze wonderingly back at them. All is peaceful, except for My mind, racing incessantly over The world And life And love. The Lonely Way Joy Hamlin, ' 49 The dog was beautiful. His coat of fur had been brushed carefully and it shone with good health. He lay obediently at the boy ' s feet, pant- ing slightly, ears cocked, his eyes glancing in- terestedly around him. The boy, who was about fifteen years old, sat on the park bench, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the feeble spring sun upon his thin, long body. Occasionally his hand reached out tentatively to pat the dog ' s head, as if to reassure himself the animal was there. In answer to the elderly woman ' s question, he replied courteously, by all means to sit down in the remaining space. With a sigh she placed her bundles on the ground and slowly relaxed. That ' s a fine lookin ' dog you have, she said with a friendly smile and a faint Irish brogue. ■ ' Thank you, replied the boy with a polite smile. Have you had him for a long toime? she queried. No, he said patiently, only a few months. After this statement, she seemed content to sit silently, watching the pattern on the cement path made by the rays of the sun shining through the leaf-heavy trees. Around the two quiet people buzzed the noise of the city, but each was obli- vious to the sounds. One was deep in a habitual shell, dreaming of something he would never possess: the other remembered and was glad for the happy and sad memories she cherished. In front of the bench was spread a playground which attracted many children. The mutter of their excited voices occasionally rose to shrill cries. At one particularly stridant outburst, the boy looked toward the playground, a little eager smile curving his lips. But when he glanced away, the patient, blank, almost lifeless, expres- sion had returned to mold his features into a strongly-matured cast. A football suddenly bounded up and stopped at the boy ' s feet, causing the dog to rise instantly, growling a warning to the strange object. At a motion of the boy ' s hand he sank to his haunches, watching warily. A youngster from the playground yelled, Toss it over here; will ya? The boy got up slowly, reached down and picked up the ball hesitantly. With a graceful sweep of his long arm. he threw it straight to the lad ' s impatient hands. With a thanks thrown casually over his shoulder, the little boy returned to the waiting players. The boy remained standing, staring at the playground. Beside him, the woman looked up at him. and with motherly curiosity, she asked, Why don ' t you go out and play with them, son? For a moment he made no reply. Then he an- swered, Guess I don ' t feel quite up to it — yet. Setting his shoulders in a proud, straight line, he said, C ' mon, Buck, let ' s go. As the dog rose, he grabbed hold of the harness and walked un- erringly to the nearby street curb. The dog turned, his body against the boy ' s legs and they both stopped. After looking to the right and left, he advanced slightly, telling his master the way ahead was clear. Advancing Frontiers Harold McAvenia, ' 51 Deep forests, lush grass, wide rivers, bounti- ful game — for these things man has always yearned. It was this dream of the perfect home which led the pioneer always forward toward new frontiers. In the beginning the eastern sea- board satisfied his craving, but one look at the

Page 34 text:

32 Papa, is that seven o ' clock already? No it ' s not seven now. It ' s forty-five seconds after seven. Don ' t be funny at this crucial moment, please, Papa . . . Owwvvw ! This water is hot ! Do some- thing for me. Papa? Ask Mama where she put my new gold sandals. And my long slip she was supposed to iron . . . Did you hear me? Yes. Don ' t shout so loudly. You ' ll ruin your voice. With a grunt, Mr. Cranston pulled him- self out of the easy chair, pushed Bobbie ' s stray train cars away and went into the kitchen. Mrs. Cranston was just putting away the last of the pots and pans. In the corner, over a chair, hung a freshly-ironed white slip. Take these things up to Susie, will you, dear, and tell her to hurry. Her escort (1 believe she said he had red hair I will no doubt be popping in any time from now on. The way Susie spoke, he must be something like Cary Grant or Glenn Ford. And tell her not to be too nervous. And, oh yes, tell her that 1 said she could use three drops of my Black Magic perfume behind her ears. Upstairs Susie Cranston busily prepared her- self for her date. Steam rushed from the bath- room as she dashed to her room. The first thing she saw was her white organdy dancing gown, a shimmering mass of white loveliness. With a fling of her arms, she waltzed around her room in time to the music being played on her radio. Papa Cranston returned to his easy chair and began to think. This was one of his favorite pas- times. He thought about Susie, about his business, about Joe O ' Connell, the neighborhood butcher, whose meat shop had been robbed last week, and other things. But his thought kept returning to Susie and her new date. Really, it wasn ' t only her new date, it was her first date. Would she handle herself properly or would she em barrass the unlucky boy by spilling punch on his new tie? Oh, fiddle, f addle! It will most likely be that boy who will make the mistakes. Bobbie, stop that terrible racket down there! Don ' t you know your sister is concentrating on being beautiful for that boy tonight? Having yelled these final words, Papa Cran- ston stalked across the room and switched the radio on. Dear, how are you coming? called Mrs. Cranston. Is your hair dry enough to be taken down? If you 11 wait one minute, I ' ll be up to help you with your dress. She walked into the living room and slowly climbed the front stairs. Mama, I ' m terribly scared, moaned Susie. What if 1 run out of things to say? How will I know I ' m not just a bore? And when we dance, I just know 11 step on his toes. Oh! I wish I were in Arabia, now! Thus, for the next half hour, Susie and her mother brushed and tugged and fastened and combed. . . . Somewhere, a bell tolled eight times. Robbins Ceasar MacGillicutty, alias Bobo. was trying to park his father ' s new Buick. but without much success. The sleeves of his father ' s tuxedo kept rubbing the wheel while the starched vestee made a crackly sound when he leaned forward. Bobo slammed the car door with a bang. It took skill- ful maneuvering to skirt the mud puddles. In his right hand, he held the corsage box. Full of con- fidence, he crossed the porch and rang the bell. Silence. Well. well, the lights are on. but nobody answers. Bringgg. Ahhh, that ' s more like it. He passed a hand over his slicked-down hair just as Mr. Cranston was saying. Come in, boy, come in. You must be Bobo. We ' ve heard a lot about you. Here, have a cigar. Thev ' re White Owls. My favorite brand. Huhhhh? Nooo, sir. Well, that is — ummm, 1 mean, 1 — 1 -er don ' t care for one now. Excuse me a minute, young man. Why not go in and sit down. She ' ll be right down. Papa went to the head of the stairs and yelled in a loud voice, Susanna, Susanna. Ceasar ' s here! Ohhh, Papa, oh, all right . . . Coming. In the livingroom. Bobo winced when he heard Ceasar. Suddenly, his collar became too tight, his face felt like a hot poker from the shaving soap and his neck turned bright red. Poor Bobo! He and his famous speech. Just then Susie entered. Helloooo, Bobo, she cooed musically. H-h-iii ya. . . How ya been? Here, I hope you like them. Silence. They ' re just lovely, Bobo, so beautiful. Now, 1 think we ' re read) . Good night, Mama. Good night. Papa. Good night, Bobbie. . . Why, thank you, Bobo. As he held the door. Bobo thought to himself, And 1 thought I ' d be suave and tactful. Boy, what a night I ' m in for. My first date — but never again. She ' s awfully pretty, though. Susie, to herself. My heavens, did I ruin the effect! Now he ' ll never like me. I ' ll be the laugh- ing stock of the whole party. I ' ll dance on his feet and I ' ll probably forget to pin the corsage on right. But he must never know that this is mv first date. Never. I ' ll just take a peek at him . . . Why, he ' s blushing too!