Stoughton High School - Stotonian / Semaphore Yearbook (Stoughton, MA)

Page 20 text:

18 THE SEMAPHORE Walking in the Rain I HAVE ever been under the impres- sion that I am really a poetical soul at heart for I have always loved to expand in beauty as I once ventured to express it to myself. I can nigh well drive a listener mad, describing the White Mountains or Cape Cod, and some have even been known to walk out on my enthusiastic prattlings, about interpretive dancing, symphony orches- tras and modern paintings. Yet despite these distinct oddities I am afraid I fall far short of a true poet. An ' one with any literary aspirations whatsoever must at some time write a poem, ode, thesis or essay on the awe- inspiring, mind-relaxing, soul-expand- ing and spirit-soaring experience of walking in the rain. How delightful it is without hat, coat or galoshes, to sprint ecstatically about in a summer shower. What care you whether branches be crashing about you and your last wave lies limply on your neck. Upturn your thirsty face to heaven and feel the gentle rain from above stream your superlative make-up job redly off your chin. Shout and cry aloud, I love the grandeur of it all ! , while you bury feet in warm oozing mud. Laugh gayly as it brings an ill-deserved end to the pristine whiteness of your sandals. Tramp for miles and let the beauty of nature be absorbed by your soul and your starched linen suit ; let it trickle in rivulets of joy down your back, and if any say you are nuts, cry gayly I love to walk in the rain ! Nature is at its best; it is alive with poetry in the rain. If on the next day whilst sniffling de- jectedly in bed you can write a poem, ode, thesis or essay on your awe-inspir- ing mind relaxing, soul-expanding, and spirit-soaring experience you are a true poet and my hat, coat and galoshes are off to you. Priscilla Maltby Fifi and Madame f AN you imagine Madame, a beautiful lady of France and Fifi, Madame ' s pomeranian, dining together in the Cafe dwe L ' Etoile? Perhaps you can ' t imagine it — Tom and I don ' t have to for as we were promenading up and down that particular part of the Champs Elysees we saw it with our own eyes. Madame .stepped lightly from her blumont landaulet and followed Jacques as he strutted regally, nose high in the air, into the cafe, carrying Fifi ma- jestically before him, on a royal velvet pillow. When Fifi was settled comfort- ably opposite his mistress, Jacques left them and returned to the car. Tom and I stood staring at each other in the mid- dle of sidewalk and finally when we regained our senses we moved swiftly across the street and into the cafe tak- ing a table directly beside Madame. A waiter came to her table and between repeated bowing placed two menus be- fore her. She ordered her meal and then picked up the other menu and or- dered gourmandise maison for Fifi. I was puzzled and looked at Tom ques- tioningly but he did not see me, for he was staring wide-eyed and mouth open at the menu. As Tom turned to look at me his shoulders began to shake and he burst into a fit of laughter. I finally saw printed in large letters some French words which simply meant Canine Menu and my additional laughter must have disturbed Madame for she complained to the waiter and we were asked be quiet or leave. To ' stop laughing was impossible, and we were so weak that neither of us could think of leaving, so we continued to disturb Madame and Fifi until we were helped out. A big man took us by the coat collars and walked, or rather ran, us through the cafe, pushing us none too gently onto the sidewalk. In other words in good American slang we got bounced. I knew when I struck the sidewalk that we never would know what the dogs ate in that cafe, but I was wrong for Tom sat up and pulled from beneath his coat a menu for canines. He never told me how he brough it safely through the door of Cafe de L ' Etoile and I asked no ques- tions for we had what we wanted. We read it aloud : Regal de nica (consomme, carrots, minced meat) 12c. Dog vegetables, 18c. Bisca (white biscuit) especially recom- mended for puppies, 18c. Gourmandise maison (cereals and raw meats), 25c. This last canine dish was the one Madame bought for Fifi, and when we

Page 19 text:

STOUGHTON HIGH SCHOOL 17 and here comes his very lovely daugh- ter, the Princess Anne, or Alice Dunk- erly. That Alice did a fine piece of work is putting it mildly. Her sorrow was our sorrow, and her joy reflected in our hearts. That ' s acting. What more could one say except for the fine way of — ah — clinching with Frederick Granton. But — oh! Quiet please. May I pre- sent Her Majesty, Queen Martha — or if you would have it — Dorothea McDon- ald. A high and mighty Queen — you ' ll have to admit it. How can I find ad- jectives to describe Dorothea ' s per- formance. Let ' s say it was par excel- lence. Who ' s this? Why Frederick Granton, the hero. Doesn ' t he look handsome? His name? Why Joe Copello, of course, could any man play the hero better? I say no. Congratulations on a swell piece of acting Joe. Why, hello General, how ' s the artil- lery? My what a rough answer. He ' s dictator. Yes ! Walter Gorday alias General Northrup. A real forceful character brought to life by the superb acting of Walter. Another star, I say. Lord Berten, his ally, did a great job. He certainly looked the part with that little goatee. Who ' s that snob coming in the door- way — head in the air? Oh! Phipps — Joe Martin — the King ' s butler and partner in checkers. Phipp would nev- er cheat. His performance was a smashing hit. Great work, Joe. Here ' s Major Blent — snappy com- mander of the palace guard — devoted to his King. Pat Griffin certainly made a fine appearance and put zip and sparkle into the most thrilling episodes. We all remember Blent ' s aide — Robert (sand bag) Jackson — a new recruit — but Bob gave the audience a laugh — and also the cast — which had a difllicult time getting back to normal. And here comes his Royal Highness Prince William of Greek — the dashing young man who didn ' t like the Princess Anne — he didn ' t like her a bit — and he told her so quite frankly. Alfred De- Salvio is the gentleman and his accent made a big hit and he was well received. What ' s this tough, looking hombr ' -J doing? Oh! It ' s Taker— the dirty anarchist and everyone agrees that Al Kwedar threw himself into his part and meant every word he said. He was great. Could anybody but Kwedar shake a fist in front of Gorday ' s face like that? Come — Dr. Fellman — or Harold Fow- ler — the eminent college professor (in the play). Harold did a fine piece of work — displaying considerable talent. The three pretty ladies-in-waiting — Doris Sarrey, Bro. Wasilewich and Jesselyn Innes, added considerable color to the performance, as did Bar- bara Lutted, who acted as the Queen ' s chambermaid. Barbara Howes acted as prompter. P. S. — Many thanks are due to the efforts of Jimmy Hansen, Al Kazlouski and Al Stripinis for the tremendous am.ount of work that was involved in building and erecting scenery, etc. ; and also the property managers: Priscilla Maltby and Ania Carlson. Miss Clark and her salesmanship class deserve credit for handling the business end of the affair. Last, but not least, we thank the di- rector. Miss Dorothy Arnold and assist- ant director, Miss Ruth Dainty, whose untiring efforts were largely responsi- ble for the play ' s success. Jos. G. Quill PROJECT S DUE A project ' s due the twenty-fourth, Said teacher to her class. And so that means on Sunday To the bookcase I must dash. And go through all the magazines And through the papers too, For it is Sunday, the twenty-third And tomorrow my project ' s due. Then with scissors, crayons and ink, And with the aid of a httle glue, I try my best a way to think To get this project through. Now mother ' s books are all cut up. The latest magazines too, But what care I, it ' s the twenty-third And my project, it ' s all through. Isabel Butler

Page 21 text:

STOUGHTON HIGH SCHOOL 19 read it we started laughing again. All this time we were sitting on the side- walk and people, dogs, bicycles, baby carriages and everything imagi- nable was passing us. A baby carriage didn ' t quite miss Tom, running over his fingers and it was his exclamation that cleared my mind making me remember where I was. Standing up I searched for Madame, but she and Fifi had fled with Jacques in the blumont landaulet — out of our lives forever. A. Packard The Smile That Won HIS Honor, the Mayor of Minnow- ville removed his pince-nez, blinked, raised his eyebrows quizzically and looked at the spectacle which was coming down the street. The third sec- tion of the annual Prize Day Parade had obtained an addition in the form of a tattered boy whose cap sat well down on his ears. His Honor giggled and then coughed lest his associates shouM suspect. Perhaps, at last, his ambition was to be realized. Perhaps, perhaps he would at last see Harold Harry Hammerhurst, the haughtiest of the haughty drum major ' s smile. To under- stand this odd desire one must be aware of the esteem in which Minnowville holds their mayor. Every third Sun- day a parade is given for his approval. On the other Sundays the mayor usually is in demand as a judge in out-of-Min- nowville parades. And in his long rather tiresome career, he had yet to see a drum major smile. He would have given his bottom dollar to have heard the conversation going on between the gold-braided Harry and the ragged, much becapped Henry. Ssssst-Sssss Mister, Mister, stage whispered the urchin, twisting his el- fin face in an attempt to gain high-brow Harry ' s attention. Go-away, kid. Scram, said calm Henry in a tone which spoke in years of experience in talking while whirling his baton and without moving the huge overgrown fur muff perched on his head. Lookit me, Mister, Lookit me. Ain ' t I grand, screamed Henry over the rumble of drums. Truly he was a carbon copy of Harry without the re- splendent glory of the red and white uniform and the superior dignity of the height. Go away, growled Henry without flicking an eyelash or twitch of his white gloved fingers. But the little scamp was persistent and seizing at the stick which his puppy pal and bosom companion, Skippy, had brought him, he continued his imita- tion with the air of a professional. Look, Mister, I gotta a stick just liko yours — almost sorta. Skippy got it fer me. He ' s a plenty smart dog. This, muttered the strutting major as he gave his gold headed baton a twirl, is a baton. No, kidding, jeered Henry, mine is a ' batony, ' too. Go away and take your dog. Hurry up before he gets to the judge ' s stand sternly commanded Harry turning his head one-tenth of an inch because of his rigid collar. Naw, I like marching on front of a parade and Skippy likes it, too, re- assured Henry with a wide grin reveal- ing a wide gap in front of his dental apparatus. For the love of heaven, scram, gasped Harry at a loss to express his feeling. They were almost at the judge ' s stand. In one last desperate ef- fort Harry turned his head two whole inches and wagged the plume on the top of his enormous hat piece. Out, scram, go away. I ' ll give you a quarter — scram. Naw, I wanna see who gets the first prize. Me and Skip, we ' ll stick around, confided Henry as he calmly pocketed his grimy hands. Please, kid, be a pal, be a man. Go away said the exasperated Harry like a drowning man. And to show what politeness does Henry vanished in the crowd with an O K, Mister, anything to oblige. The company halted before the judg- ing stand and a huge very round in- dividual His Honor, the Mayor, in striped pants and a cut-a-way coat bounded down the stairs. He raised his plumb hand and got the desired silence immediately after five minutes. Hold- ing one ' s hand aloft for five minutes is fatiguing work so His Honor drew Continued on Page 22