Vergennes Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Vergennes, VT)

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14 VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL GETTING TO THE POINT By Frances Casey Michel looked every inch the slightly old maidish and well to do widower walking quickly through the hall. And behind him, the rich portieres fell behind his retreating figure; the gloom he left behind him harbored a defiant son. There he stood, in the square carpeted hallway, with one hand on the door watching in turn, the portieres on the left, the door before him and lastly. he switched his gaze to the stairs which wound dimly toward the upper rooms of the great house. His frown deepened. At length he glanced out the door behind him. where it seemed to be raining harder than when he came in. His momentary indecision vanished at the sound of footsteps behind the heavy portieres, for only one person stepped like that. Michel's son ran lightly up the stairs. “Why is it that he should make such a fuss over a little matter like that?” “The kid is making fuss for two reasons. First because it isn’t a little matter to him. Second, because he doesn't understand it” “Really, John, he shouldn’t be expected to understand such a thing at his age. He shouldn’t even think about such a thing as a philosophy.” “All my sons understood it when they were much younger than your precious William.” “Hum. Even you get roused, John. Why must a man your age snap me up at the mere mention of the subject?” “Well, Michel, you are excited yourself or you wouldn’t bring the matter up tonight.” “Sir! I will not have my son come home from school and ask me my philosophy. We ever imagined such a thing?” Michel’s guest did not answer but went on buttoning his coat. “It’s all poppycock! If he would learn the third grade number chart, it would be more profitable than to waste —completely waste—his time arguing Michel’s son rushed through the velvet portieres in an obviously pugnacious mood. In reply to Michel’s good-natured, “How much money did it take to get you through life today?” he growled, “It’s changed over from money matters to success.” “Now really.” “Why did they pop it so suddenly? I over his philosophy. “I suppose so. Good night.” He was gone then, and the portieres were falling back at Michel’s feet. Michel enjoyed his walk this morning more than usual. The mud he had stepped in didn’t seem to matter. He forgot that he objected to girls running on the street and actually hoped the one in red would reach the corner first because she was the smallest. He even caught himself laughing at the strains of “Pistol Packin’ Mama” which bel-ligerantly followed him down the street. Mittens, his hairy cocker-spaniel, was altogether too frisky for a sedate animal eight years old and misnamed “Mittens” by a bouncing dowager who loved all animals at a distance of ten feet. Michel had always disliked the name, mostly because he disliked the former owner. Yet when he looked at the fuzzy paws pattering pell-mell over the pavement, he decided the bouncing dowagr hadn’t been so far off after all. He really liked that dog. He remembered how bad he had felt the day a professional dog breeder said Mittens resembled a bow-legged bush. Later on, yesterdays rain came calling again in great, splashing drops. To be caught in the downpour worried Michel for Mittens always hated to get wet. Something must be done. Animals did catch pneumonia. So, much as he hated crowded busses. Michel waited at the stop determined to get home as soon as possible. But the bus was late and (when it did come) far too full to suit the fastidious Michel. That is how it happened that Mittens and Michel walked solemnly home in the rain.

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BLUE AND WHITE 13 to carry on and successfully turn out some singers and some musicians and complete three musicals. And it does take patience! To Mr. Zickler, for the ability to make each problem into some useful application. Also for his ability to see a joke and make one. To Mr. Gile. As a teacher of Psy-cology and Socialogy, two subjects which not only explain the actions of human beings, but also aids the student in adjusting himself to differnt types of people and situations. To the Clergymen: Rev. Davis, Father Ripper, Rev. Evans, Father Couture, for their voluntary and most appreciated work in the religion classes that are held each Thursday in the week. Having written this article, I hope you will remember your favorite subjects and let them help you choose a job. tb rb f HAVE FAITH IN GOD Eleanor E. Ringer, ’44 Two years have passed since Bud was home. “He has been missed very much’’ thought his mother. She held one of Bud’s latest letters and his picture in her hand. “ . . . am in good heath.” Bud always said that. She looked more closely at his picture. He was grinning. Always grinning. She smiled. She used to call him her fa- vorite son, even though she did have another son who she thought was just as special. Bud’s youngest sister came into the room. “Hi mom, have you got a etter from Bud?” “Yes, Bobbie I have. He sent his love to you.” Jackie, Bud’s brother, came into the room. “Did you tell Bud I’m going in the navy next year?” “Yes. He said he thought that that was a fine idea.” Barbara giggled. “You, in the navy!” she said. “They want men ... !” “Jack—Barbara! Be good children,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Ah, I was only teasing,” Bobbie said. Jackie grinned. Mrs. Wilson looked at her sixteen year old son and sighed. Having Bud gone was bad enough but with Jackie gone—it would be worse than ever. Well, she still had Bobbie left and Gertrude, her married daughter. When Mr. Wiison came in, they all sat down to supper. Home—peaceful home—Dad, Mom and the kids—foremost in sailor Bud’s mind. Several weeks later, while the Wilson family was sitting around the fireplace the doorbell rang. Msr. Wilson answered it and took the telegram from the messenger boy with great fear in her heart. “We regret to inform you that your son, David Lee Wilson, has been seriously wounded in the Southwest Pacific area . . .” She stopped with tear-filled eyes. Her Bud—her favorite son—her oldest and most beloved son—seriously wounded— maybe dying. For days there was an uneasy, uncomfortable hush over the Wilson househod and every night one could sense the silent crying of Bud’s niother and sister. No more telegrams came to tell them whether he was better or worse—and Mrs. Wilson who almost lost faith— imagined Bud dead. Then one night the doorbell rang again. Everyone looked up exepectantly, but this time no messenger boy’s grim face appeared—no, instead it was her favor- i.e son—Bud on a crutch—grinning just as he always did.

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BLUE AND WHITE 15 never heard of it. If you act up. they say, ‘That's no way to be. What’s your philosophy ?’ ” “Terms like that are used in different ways. I think it’s all bosh or else a snappy comeback for something they can’t explain themselves.” Michel was vague and rather cautious. “Well.”—a short pause— “Dad, what is a philosophy of life?” “I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Michel flippantly. “But, I am serious.” “Unfortunately, you are. Forget it.” But. after a moment Michel sobered off and turned sharpely around. “Sit down, young man, and tell me what's the row between you and the dictioanry. I might get the general idea.” “Well, it all started over at school, you know. They said we ought to have a philocophy or think about getting one on the double. Think seriously, they said. What are we here for and so on? It seems a bit far fetched.” People can't be perfectly happy. Something’s always happening. They said Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote Summa Thologica but I don't get the connection. There’s something wrong, you know.” Michel didn’t enjoy that morning walk thsi time. He felt like shaking Mittens for being so happy. And when Mr. Morris said good morning he merely growled at the sidewalk. Matters rapidly went from bad to worse. Not only did Mittens get into a fight with the barber’s moth eaten terrier; he lost the fight as well! Gentle natured as he was, Michel felt mortified at this failing in his pet. To be licked by that bony terrier was too much for Michel, who had harbored a groudge at the barber and his dog ever since the barber had cut his hair too high on the left side. Furthermore, losing Mittens in a reviving door made the poor man doubt the vaunted intelligence of dogs. It as a truly bad dav for Michel and Mittens. So when eccentric Mrs. Hutchins who carried an umbrella for no reason in particular, poked his hat off, Michel indignantly headed for home. I say the man and his dog headed that way. They didn’t get there in any way so’s you'd notice it. For Michel’s troubles with his growing boy and dog were far from over. Mittens almost drowned himself in half an inch of water; Michel himself lost both rubbers; next they met the bouncing dowager who had formerly owned Mittens. She thought he looked poor and told Michel that the poor dog was thoroughly soaked, although Michel himself had realized that sad fact for some time now. Soon an escaped tricycle collided with Michel. Recovering from that. Michel and Mittens decided that they really had to follow the fire truck, especially since the rain was letting up. Thus, it was some time before the pair got home. Dinner as over; Mittens was curled up at his feet; Michel yawned as he watched the cigar fumes swirl toward the ceiling. Suddenly the portieres were rudely shoved aside and his son dashd in to collapse on the nearest ottoman. “Dad,” he began, “It’s bothering me. you know. There's something wrong like I said yesterday.” “Now, son, listen. Don’t get heated up about this philosophy stuff. They ask you your philosophy out of the blue and you don’t fall. You’ve got one but just don’t realize it. The way you have been trained to live, completes your philosophy. You don’t have to read Cannon law to get it, nor will you get it from snappy cracks unless you know what’s back of them. It’s simply that you’re here to serve God in this world and be happy with Him in the next. Unless you realize this, all the philosophy in the world will be no good because you have missed the nucleus and are just swimming in the froth. Now I’d stop worrying about Here the boy interrupted with—“But it—”