Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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patient. Joey was due at seven thirty and by eight I began to get mad. At nine I headed for my room completely miserable. But after a certain telephone call I had more reason to be mad. But this time it was myself. You might be wondering what happend to Joey. Well, of course, he had to help out at the church supper! What else! A SAI) STORY Evelyn Ells ’58 It all began one afternoon when my charm- ing sister Doris swiped my peanut-butter sandwich. Happening to see her out of the corner of my eye while I was getting a quart of milk, I quickly slammed the refrigerator door and also closed Benjamin Alexander Hamilton Ells I’s tail in the door (Benja- min is my cat who always runs to the re- frigerator door when it’s opened). In my haste I left him there and went tearing up- stairs along the upper hall after Doris, who reached her bedroom and slammed the door in my face. Hearing a faint “meow,” I re- membered Benjamin and zoomed down the hall towards the stairs, slid down the ban- nister, and landed on a pillow left there for this purpose. I jumped up and reached Ben- jamin in two seconds flat. He was cared for promptly. Since I needed something to do to keep my mind off the sandwich, I trailed upstairs to my room and tried to pull out the table drawer in order to get Chlorine’s fish food. As luck would have it, I pulled the whole table over. The gold fish bowl on top smashed to the floor and Chlorine disappeared down the register. When the supper bell rang, I again flew down to the kitchen. During the meal I choked on a chicken bone and Doris, seizing the opportunity, pounded me on the back un- til I was black and blue. After supper and an unsuccessful attempt to steal out without doing the dishes, I pain- fully climbed the steps to my room to tackle my German. I though I was playing football and tackled the ink bottle on my German book. Angrily I snatched up the “Radiator,” flopped on the bed, and fell asleep reading a “Sad Story” by Evelyn Ells. THE FIRST SNOWFALL Joanna Michel ’58 He will not mind me stopping here To wotch his woods fill up with snow. From Stopping by Woods By Robert Frost Walking along on a chill November eve- ning, I glanced at the bare, upstretched arms of the trees which only a few short months before were covered with leaves. I thought how gaily the colored flowers had bobbed their dainty heads in the warm summer breeze and then how slowly they had withered with the coming of autumn. As I gazed about me, I realized that Nature was getting ready for another season — winter. One morning soon, people would awake to find that Nature had performed one of her most splendid works. They would behold the first snowfall of the year. The roof tops would be covered with snow against the pale blue sky. The whole town would be wrapped in a blanket of sparkling whiteness. Afterward, children would be heard as they gaily enjoyed sledding, skating, snow- balling or skiing. The youthful artistry of freshly built snowmen would soon be evident. As I was returning from my walk, all these things came to my mind. Then sud- denly to my amazement, I realized that while I was walking, tiny white flakes of snow were starting to fall. Though I had not noticed it before, the upstretched branches of the trees were no longer bare but were slowly being covered with glistening white snow. Yes, the long months of anticipation were over — the first snowfall of the season had come! Eleven

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stars. The giant moon keeps a silent vigil over this peaceful scene from its home on high. Homes across the whitened fields seem like mystic castles—touched, transformed by fairy wands. Silently, as if in a trance, I don my coat and hat and step out into this wonderland of darkness. As I stand there, intoxicated by the enchanting splendor of the night, I hear a host of voices from above, “Peace on earth, good will toward men . . . ” THAT’S LIFE Annette Thibeault ’58 “Buzz Walker, don’t you ever speak to me again!” “Gee whiz, Joan, what did I do?” “Oh, nothing, you just about ruined my life that’s all!” “But I don't understand,” he said with be- wilderment. “Don’t bother to call for our date tonight, because I never want to see you again.” “Joan, calm yourself. This isn’t the place to pick a fight. Maybe if you’d tell me—” “I’m ‘Miss Freeman’ to you from now on,” she interrupted. “Good-by, Mr. Walker.” With that she left Buzz staring after her very confused. “I wonder what’s got into her,” he mut- tered, as he headed for home. “I wonder if she’s sore because I paid more attention to the movie than her last night, or maybe—” “Hello, Dad,” said Buzz sullenly. “I didn’t see you coming.” “No wonder, why so glum?” “It’s Joan. She started fighting with me and I don’t know why. Did Mom ever act this way? I mean before you were married?” “Sure, lots of times. It got so that every time she did, I’d go out and buy her a birth- day present.” “Gee, Dad,” beamed Buzz. “Maybe that’s it. May I have my two months allowance in advance?” That night Buzz went to Joan’s house. He looked like an entirely different person. He had a box of candy in one hand and a little package in the other. A minute later, Joan answered his knock. At first sight of him she cried angrily, “Buzz Walker, I thought I told you—,” then sweet- ly, “Oh, are those for me? How nice! You remembered after all. Come in!” “Gee, Joan, as the saying goes, ‘It’s better late than never.’ Happy Birthday!” “Birthday! My birthday isn’t till next month. This is our anniversary!” “Anniversary? But we’re not married!” “Silly, you don’t have to be married to have an anniversary. Just one year ago today you first smiled at me, remember?” “Oh, for goodness sakes! Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? Two months’ al- lowance gone out the window—just because I smiled at her a year ago! Oh, well that’s life!” POOR ME, I’M ABUSED Carol Amann ’58 Isn’t it true that someone is always forc- ing someone else to do something? Mothers, for instance, can create a real big problem! It seems that whenever a poor teenager like me wants to do something, there’s always something else to do at home. Take for instance last year when our junior dance was coming. It was two weeks before the dance and I didn’t have a date. Well, I invited Joey Brown to my house one night to hear some of my new record albums. Of course it was one of those big conspiracies that women plot when they want something and I had it all planned. My new sweater was laid out on the bed all ready to put on. Then, Wham! My mother decided I had to help her at the church supper that night. What could I do? The supper wouldn’t be over until about nine. You know how after the meal they always ask someone to say a few words. Well, if I got out by nine I’d be lucky. So I made a few telephone calls, and about five calls and my new sweater later every- thing was settled. Janie was to help my mother at the church and I’d at least have my chance. The night came and I began to get im- Tcn

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A FAMILIAR EXPERIENCE? Judy Helmund ’58 Dashing into the house and waving a slip of paper in her hand, Lee crashed loudly into the table. “I got it, I got it!,” she cried “Oh,” said her father with a look we miglit interpret as crestfallen. “Isn’t that lovely, dear,” Mother managed a little more enthusiastically. Her look was only vaguely apprehensive. “Oh. Dad, can’t I please take your car to- morrow, please, please, P-L-E-A-S-E ?” “Well, ah, I really don’t know. . . Oh, all right, I suppose so.” Next morning Lee dashed out proudly, dangling the keys of the Mercury from her red-tipped finger. As she slid behind the wheel, she surveyed those sharp, pointy, vicious fins. “Glad I don’t have to back out of the garage,” she thought. The motor turned over smoothly and soon she was sailing down the busy street. Sud- denly it dawned on her that there was no one beside her to tell her what to do or to use the dual control, if necessary. “Oh, doggie, don’t run out in front of me, P-L-E-A-S-E,” she murmured, as a little dog ran unconcernedly out into the street. “Oh, darn! I would have to come out just when those little kids were getting out for lunch. And, of course, there’d have to be a train going through. O-hhhh, what made me stall right here? Look at that whole line of traffic. A-h-h-, finally. Oh, please sir, stop blowing your horn. This street is so busy and I simply hate to cross it in Dad’s new car. Oh, all right, here goes. E-e-e-k! Whew! That was a close one. Now, that I’m on a nice quiet street, I can relax a little. O, good grief! Fire en- gines!! Now I should pull over to the right until they pass. But there’s no place! Ah, here’s one. What? Oh, that’s where the fire is? So sorry. A-h-h-h, just around the block and I’ll be home. All I have to do then is put the car in the garage. Oops! hit the hedge. There, I guess I’m okay now. Wonder if I’ll make it by that door. There! Well, that’s over. Wonder how I ever got a license? Hi, Mom, I’m home.” “Hi, dear, how was your ride?” “Oh, just wonderful! — not a bit of trouble.” CLEAR THE STREETS THEY’RE COMING! Edythe Fishman ’58 Noticed any bent stop signs lately? Per- haps our new car is to blame (or should we say the driver). In this two-tone blue 1958 Nash Rambler Somerville High School stu- dents are learning to drive. Mr. Gerald Dona- hoe is in charge of our Nash, while Mr. Paul Giroux teaches with the Chevy. Once a week the pre-driving groups meet for a class in 307 to learn the principles of driving. They also get the opportunity to apply these principles by getting behind the wheel itself. If you happen to see Mr. Donahoe or Mr. Giroux at the close of the school day, they might be discussing the incidents which happened while they were teaching. To quote Mr. Giroux: “Ruthie’s a girl musically inclined. The pedals of the car not hard to find. She used to drive staccato style; Now she operates with cunning and guile. Efficient Margie, the way she drives, Her instructor will never get the hives; She turns around, goes down hill— Her driving ability abounds in skill. Marilyn drives deliberate and slow. Along College Ave. to the rotary we go. Now this circle is round we all agree, But to Marilyn sometimes it seems not to be. Peggy McQuaid, I dare say, Has added to the instructor’s head of gray; She always stops the car on time But why, Peggy, on a dime?” The others taking the course have their faults, too. However, we are sure that in due time they too will turn out to be effi- cient drivers. Twelve