Union High School - Reflector Yearbook (Union, ME)

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Matty's eyes did not open until the big man had completely risen from the floor and tenderly laid his huge hands on his shoulders say, Mr. Clemmens, don't you recognize me? You weren't at my meeting last night. Matty stared full into the face of the man with light of recognition coming over his face. The man whom he had nearly killed was the minister whose services he had usually attended each Saturday night. A sudden surge of hate poured through Matty's veins as he watched the stream of red trickling from a gash in the poor old minister's forehead. It was a hate for himself and a far greater hate for the liquor which had so long ruled his life. He realized however, that it would require a mightier force than his momentary hate for the evil bottle to put an end to his drinking habit. Matty solemnly related the story of the horrors of the last hour which he had under- gone. Upon hearing the story of the prison break which Matty had seen from his bedroom window, a puzzled frown fell upon the minister's countenance, and he explained that there had been no break, that the whole affair must have been illusions created by hisliquor-drugged mind. The old minister related how he had passed the Clemmens' house from his regular Saturday night service and had seen Mrs. Clemmens trying to gain entrance through the front door. She had explained to him that she had returned from her mother-'s home on the twelve o'clock bus, as she had failed to hear from Matty last night. She was extremely fearful that he had been drinking and injured himself in some way. Upon not being able to raise him by pounding on the front door, the minister continued, he had accompanied her to the back door and had entered the house. As they approached the living room, they heard Matty release the horrible scream from the hallway. Thinking him injured, Marie had gone for a doctor while the minister had gone to Matty's aid. After hearing the true story, Matty was too horrified for words. I-Ie could scarcely believe that liquor would make a strong-headed man put in a night the likes of which had just happened. The next morning Matty attended his minister-friend's church. After the service the preacher invited Mr. and Mrs. Clemmens to the parsonage for Sunday dinner. These invitations were extended Sunday after Sunday as Matty unfailing attended the services at the church. As time went on, the old minister became one of Matty's best friends, but far more important he also became the conquerer of Matty's liquor habit. xl Ronnellow Moore Class of 1951 2.3

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his breath, he heard the back porch door open and close. The sound of heavy footsteps and the tone of lighter footsteps were heard approaching the living room. Wasting no time, Matty bounded to his feet like a frightened deer. Upon reaching the front hall, he began to fumble with the night lock with shaky, sweat-drenched hands. The stealthy footsteps drew closer. Suddenly Matty threw back his head and released a mighty howl of despair as would a wild beast when in the jaws of a trap. He whirled and bolted the length of the short hallway into the den, slamming the door as his hideous cry died behind him. When he reached the pitch dark interior of the damp and unheated den, he began fumbling for the lamp switch. His trembling fingers connected with the cold plastic of the switch and began to snap it as if they bore no strength. As soon as the flood of golden lamplight filled the small room, Matty made his way to the old fashioned mahogany desk and tried to open the upper drawer. After yanking at it violently, he concluded that the drawer was locked. Frantically he began throwing the papers about on the desk top in a desperate search for the key. He interrupted his searching long enough to listen to the voices coming from the kitchen. A man with a heavy, booming voice was saying he thought a man had run into the room at the end of the hall.and that he would investigate. Very much like an animal in a trap, Matty was making his last attempt for freedom. His face was contorted with horror as he drew up his huge, hairy fist and smashed it through the locked drawer in a shower of splinters and blood. His torn hand darted into the desk, grasping a 4-5 Army automatic in which he always kept a couple of slugs just in case of such emergencies as a burglary or a prison break such as he supposed had occurred. The door knob turned abruptly as if whoever turned it .meant business. Matty ceased trembling and became exceedingly tense. The big hand steadied the muzzle of the 45 in the general direction of the yet-closed door. For awhile the door did not open. This meant to Matty that the man outside must have been listening for a sound within. Suddenly the door burst open, revealing a huge man, clothed in some sort of a dark cloak which Matty naturally took as a disguise to assist him in his prison break. Unnoticed by Matty, his own finger was becoming tighter and tighter on the trigger as he stood tensely surveying the hulk of man which silently stared at the weapon. The automatic roared. ZZ

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MY FIRST SAIL Since the first day I set eyes on the Lady Mars , I had wanted to go sailing. I was very small then but the longing was great. Then and there I resolved that someday I would go sailing and it would be in this boat. I had a long wait, during which the owners of the beautiful boat changed. There was a while when the Lady was drydocked, and I prayed for the day when the sails would billow again. For three years Crawford Lake did not see my pet. The the glorious day came when the sails were patched, the hull received a new coat of paint and she glided into the water with the grace of a swan. All these things I had in mind one windy Sunday afternoon. It was a warm day, in spite of the breeze, so I decided to go swimming. As my friends had their own plans, I went alone. Soon I noticed that the sailboat was being prepared for an excursion. I asked permission to go, and immediately I was rowed to the boat. The sails went up and the boat left the mooring with a sudden burst of speed. After that it was smooth sailing and lthrilled with excitement as we sped across the waves like a fairy boat in a dream. Once we dipped to one side too far and the water splashed over me. As we wove from one side of the pond to the other, working downstream with the wind, I tended the jib rope, this being necessary at every turn. I was proud that I might help, even in this little way. At times I was sure we would crash on the rocks, so near we did go. Perhaps it was this flirting with danger that intrigued me so greatly, yet I had great faith in the skipper. All too soon we headed for the mooring where a small boat was waiting to carry us to shore. I hated to give up the good time: it was worth waiting for. Sylvia Farris Class of '51 Z4