South Paris High School - Chronicle Yearbook (South Paris, ME)

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,W MW 9 Lnerury Editor: Carol Thompson - '58 . Turrell 60 M. Whltman 58 im , LL,A L, ,fb X. ff M ? .J M M. MccGown - '59 M. Nurmi - '61 J. Simpson 59 Artis? ff, v . 'SL .'-U U W. '- 1. se i -X Q Q 'I All ..,. 1-9 I L u. ' U v'oY' Hliierufure is the fhoughf of ihinking souls. ' - Carlyle

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FRESHMAN CLASS OFFICERS AND ADVISORS Standing: Ernest Thayer, President. Seated: Jackie Denney, Student Government, Sondra Payne, Secretary, Alton Swan, Vice President, Mike Haley, Student Government, Mrs. Stetson, Mrs. Jackson, lAbsent, George Viles, Treasurerl. M.. Wt.. ,....... . I PID itll 9 I Fin! low. T. Foster, D. Goddard, D. Yates, B. Foster, N. Gay, J. Ladd, S. Bennett, L. Russell, B. Whitley, W. McKenzie, L. Conant, C. Merrill, C. DeCosta, T. Healy. Sotand Row: B. Gardiner, B. Bates, B. White, S. Gray, C. Aldrich, N. Carey, L. Brewer, B. Bennett, G. Ellis, D. Everett, G. Smith, K. Wilson, A. Hapgood, M. Nurmi. Third Row: P. Averill, P. Sawtelle, L. Record, R. Hatch, R. Paradis, A. Hammond, R. Nickerson, C. Whitley, C. Lombard, N. Jackson, L. Merrill, S. Coffin, R. Smith, R. Nason, A. Mclauglin. lint low: L. Durgin, D. Bragg, L. Mitchell, E. Gatcholl, J. Ladd, F. Smith, J. Burgess, G. Hatch, S. Ed- monds. Second Row: I. Piirainen, S. Houtari, A. McKeen, S, Sturtevant, M. Newell, J. Danksewicz, P. Kearney M. MacDonald, C. Johnson, S. Reynolds. Third Row: P. Komulainen, R. Haines, C. Cummings, M. Barrett, B. Farrar, S. Abbott, R. Strout, J Gammon, C. Curtis, E. Day. Setting out well is a quarter of the iourney- Bohn

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.sjfuolenf Sedcfion THE LAST CAST All his life James Turner, I3 years old, had wanted to win a prize in the annual town fishing contest. Now he was standing at the foot of the long deep stretch of water that ran in back of the old farm that was his home. He had tried for three years to land the mon- strous brook trout he knew stayed there. Four times he had hooked him, only to lose him be- cause of faulty tackle. Twice his leader had parted on the first powerful surge of the splendid native. Two other times the hook had straight- ened or pulled out. Now the shadows lengthened as the sun crept nearer to the horizon. The contest officially closed at sunset, and the determined boy had been casting for nearly an hour, landing only two small trout. He had time for only one more cast. The line whipped back and forward as the tiny fly lit delicately on the still surface. Suddenly the world exploded beneath the fly as an arched shape flew out of the water with the fly in its laws. There was no need to strikep the fish had hooked himselfl The boy could only hang on as the fish surged back and forth, cutting through the water like a knife. Time stood still, until finally the rushes became shorter, the jumping less frantic. At last the fish was within arm's distance. A last futile thrashing and he was lifted from the water, drip- ping and gleaming in the waning sunlight. There was no doubt that this fish would win. The boy trembled as he held him up to admire him. Then the boy stooped down and' put him back into the water. Somehow this beautiful fish couldn't be killedl It lay there without moving for over a minute, and then slowly glided out of sight in the quiet water. The sun had set as the boy walked slowly up the path. He glowed inwardly, for he knew that the conquered would live to fight again. Martin Nurmi-'61 LUCKY SEVEN I think that for the most unforgettable day of my life I can draw a circle around the 28th of November in '57, That of course was during the remaining week of deer hunting, and me being an ardent hunter, I took to the woods once more in a desperate but determined effort to conquer the elusive white-tail. Now high on the side of a mountain I was waiting with frozen anticipation as to when the moment would present itself with a tail bouncing down the mountain side. Previously I had exchanged weapons with Dad, since I would have the stand which represented the best long- range shooting visibility. So here I was waiting with .300 Savage in hand and all of six cartridges which Dad said would be ample. Dad trotted off in a circle around the mountain with the l2- gauge shotgun that I had always considered as my own personal deer slayer. Thirty min- utes passed and shortly thereafter opportunity knocked-but loud. There in the estimated dis- tance of 200 yards flew a sizeable doe and a bigger buck, headed on their downward trip on the brow of the adioining ridge. I squeezed off five shots in the course of thirty long seconds with trees running interference for these lightning targets. By the fifth shot the deer became slightly confused as to my where- abouts. The buck took to the mountaintop with the doe heading my way. After breeching my final shell I took a flying shot at the doe, spotted her in the hind quarter, and knocked her around. As she stood there I frantically searched for a single cartridge to clinch my expedition, but my search was fruitless. No more rifle shells were to be found in any one of my I4 pockets. The best I procured were some I2-gauge shotgun shells. The doe stood frigid now, I could see the blood dripping from her hind-quarter which put an- guish in my heart for I would rather shoot and miss completely than be in a situation such as this. Well, we stared at each other for at least five minutes, until finally I threw the rifle on the ground in disgust only to look up and see my ex-prize disappear over the ridge. I tracked the animal but to no avail. Anyway I went home suffering from defeat and humiliation. My heart thumped even heavier when I thought about what Iucky seven could have brought me in- stead of plain ol' turkey on that Thanksgiving of '57I Gary Shute-'59 An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. - Shakespeare