Warren High School - Hilltop Yearbook (Warren, MA)

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overlooked is Teddy Shy, who nervously laughs while shoving his hand in your direction for a flcety shake. I havelmet certain nervous people who shake hands several times, not realizing they had already done so. Another type is the one who holds on to your hand so long that you wonder if he has any idea of giving it back at all. This type could hardly be called bashful. We cannot help knowing by the friendly handshake of certain types that they are sincere and their grip is one that carries with it confidence. BARBARA HAYTON '40 THE STAIRS OF DESTINY It was a hot blinding sun that shone in on Ying Sue one sultry summer afternoon. She made a lovely picture as she sat there apparently in deep thought. Her silky black hair, drawn tightly back, revealed a high forehead and large dark eyes, which at this moment, gleamed black with a burning intensity. The long curled lashes above them were wet with recent tears, which threatened to overflow again at the slightest pro- vocation. The nostrils of the small tip-tilted nose were dilated, and the tiny rose-bud mouth was quivering. All of a sudden as if a bright thought had come to comfort her, she sprang up with a graceful movement and smiled wistfully. Going to a latticed window, she flung it open with a gay little laugh, that sounded like a tinkling of silver bells, yet had a note of sadness in it, and stretched like a tired kitten. The cool air that rushed in seemed to put more life into the lithesome body with its soft round curves. After a few minutes she walked softly across the room to where a low lacquered couch reclined against the wall. Sinking down onto the satin-coverlet, she recollected the events of the day before. After much persuasion she had finally gained the consent of her august father to accompany her old nurse, Armah, to the market-place. Towards late afternoon, loaded with bundles, Armah and she had started on their homeward journey through the crowded city streets. Turning a sharp corner, she had coll- ided with an old blind beggar. Among the staring crowd which had gathered was a youth who walked over and courteously helped her up. As he turned away and continued to resume his former course, she walked up to him, much to the chagrin of her sharp-eyed nurse, and earnestly said. lf it would not trouble you in any way, I would like to have you continue the rest of the way home with me. I'm sure my honorable father would like to reward you for your kind assistance to me today. Looking down at her with much surprise, the youth replied. I accept the kind invitation with great pleasure, but let there be no more talk of a reward. As they happened to pass under brightly-colored lantern near her home, she glanced up at him. His hair was a soft black, overshadowing dark level brows. I hope I may have the joy of seeing you again, he said politely. At the statement Ying Sue's eyes saddened. Before more could be said, however, they had reached her home, and Armah hustled her away, leaving the youth staring after her in bewilderment. Upon the arrival of Armah, Ying Sue was startled out of her reverie. Your honorable father commands your presence at once, stated Armah in her stilted voice. A uniformed servant announced her arrival as she came in and kowtowed low to her father. You sent for me, most honorable father, she said. At her question his austere demeanor changed but slightly. Yes, I sent for you. It is time for you to start your preparations for the morrow, which, if the Gods permit, will commence and end with success. That is all. You may go. At noon next day two of her women came and helped her don her scarlet wedding-gown. They then left her in silence. Several times she looked expectantly toward a delicately carved door on the further side of the room. Behind it ran a staircase of fifteen steps covered with red velvet. Her betrothed was to ascend these steps to see his bride for the first time. As she heard soft footsteps coming nearer, she stood up. The door opened and a tall, lithe form stepped into the room. With a gasp of astonishment Ying Sue recognized him as the youth who had brought her home the preceding day. At her sigh of pleasure they turned and walked down the stairs, unmindful of what Kismet or Destiny held for them in the future. LEONA REARICK '40 MY IOB One day when I was small boy, I sat on a pile of lumber and watched some men building a bridge. It was very interesting to me to see that big steam shovel or crane working. Being interested in the mech- anics of things, I was fascinated by the various machines. I then wished I were a workman on this bridge so that I could run all of them. With more joy than sorrow that day has come. The feeling towards these great machines has changed considerably. The first few days of my job I spent working around these machines. just as this task was becoming monotonous to me, I was transferred to the cement buggy. Oh, was I glad! When the plat- form is Ievel, this job is not hard, although it is tiresome. When, however, the platform is at an angle, each load of cement taken with these buggies is nearly a day's work. When one has pushed one of these

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November night a buzz of planes was heard. The enemy, of course! Every one else was in a dither, but those under the illuminated Red Cross were snug and secure. The bombing started, the next day members of a neighboring first aid station looked out. Somehow the sky-line was altered. They walked around: since it was their first experience with air-raids, they were curious. They came to a tree, it was decorated with legs and arms of human beings, well splattered with blood and pieces of clothing. A nightmare but true. More Americans bite the dust. This incident was related in the memoirs of an American nurse who was in the nearby first-aid sta- tion. This mere story will not impress many people. lwasn't much impressed, at first, but through personal experience, I have profited. ln Worcester State hospital there are the shell-shocked veterans-the after- math of beautiful manhood. The American Legion Auxiliary of our town visits the hospital every year with an entertainment. There was music. One vet sat there rocking back and forth, going through the precise motions of reloading a gun. When you get home, you are startled by the stark injustice of it all. In Rutland are the gassed remnants suffering the horrible agonies of tuberculosis. The Auxiliary goes here at Christmas. One visits the very sick men with cigarettes and Christmas presents. Some are so bad that they can scarcely talk out loud. They are appalled, two comrades had died that day. As the months go by, more and more die off. The overseas men who are not shell-shocked, who do not have tuberculosis or who have not lost an arm or leg or two, or their eyesight, have very bad nerves. I have seen some go almost hysterical if you should drop a pan cover-memories. Overseas men never talk about the horrors-memories again. I have never heard my father boast of his service, nor have I heard him say anything of the terrors over there . He was in the army in l9l4 and went to Mexico with Gen. lohn I. Pershing-and so overseas. He will revive all the funny stories but nothing of the horror of it. Not everyone has the opportunity to get the precious little of that awful battle as I have. A good friend of our family went crazy a few weeks ago-too heavy a strain on too sensitive nerves. He was a vet . Up the street, a few houses from us, lived a shell-shocked man from New York, who suffered the ravages of tuberculosis as a result of gas. He died last july. He suffered. He would always pace the floor, the street, wherever he happened to be standing, with a wild look in his eyes, an indescribable look of hunted pain on his face as he strained every muscle upward as if to draw away from that ever-present dread. Twenty long years of suffering! Each one a beautiful creation, subjected to that long time! l'd much rather die on the field. Flanders Field was in vain. If it had insured the world's safety for Democracy, we'd overlook the lossy but on the twentieth anniversary of the Armistice, we find the world in just the same condition, if not worse. Instead of Democracies. dictators grew out of the Warg depressions followed. What a hopeless dilemna. ln the event of another World War, I do not believe that our American boys will fight on foreign soil to be blown to bits, snatched right off the face of the earth with no mortal trace of their existence, for that is what it amounts to. We cannot afford to go to war and be among the rest to acquire a dictatorship. What we want is freedom, peace, and democracy, now and forever. We do not want another manslaughter. Flanders was in vain!! GLORIA HAM EL '39 M I RACLES Though the earth slowly revolves, there is never a day that passes without revealing to us the various majestical beauties of Nature. The long icicles, like crystal daggers, hanging down from the trees, the ice- covered lake. sprinkled with snow-diamonds, the sweet incense of newly-budded trees: the gentle waving and tossing of downy pussy-willows in the breeze, the faint chuckles and gurgles of a streamlet trickling through a meadow, the moon, like a silver-robed shepherdess, guarding the winking stars: the trees, in early autumn, waving their brighlty-colored tresses to the world-all these show that beauty is everywhere. FRANCES IURALEWICZ '40 PERSONALITY IN THE HANDSHAKE How few of us realize that many distinct types of people are identified by the manner in which they shake hands. First is the type who nearly crushes your hand. Surprising, but true, this handshake is not generally given by a large person, but is used by very energetic ones. Then we next notice the other extreme whose handclasp is almost clammy, giving you the feeling of having contacted something nearly lifeless, indicating a very timid type. Probably held up to most ridicule is the so-called society handshaker, who insists on grasping the tips of your fingers and lifting them high in the air before shaking. This is very formal and leaves a feeling of insincerity. A type not at all popular might be called the pumper, who after getting a firm grip on your hand, starts shaking furiously in a perpendicular manner. Then we sometimes meet the person who from a sense of superiority condescends barely to touch the finger tips. Not to be

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buggies loaded for about three hundred times in one day, he begins to tire. Not one single minute is wasted. The other workers as well as I use every spare second to rest. These spare seconds are not numerous. For two weeks or so I could be found in the forms puddling cement. This is more than a strenuous task. Fatigue cannot describe the weariness we suffer, but can we complain? We are never made to rush, the pace is automatically set. We must keep up with the pace of the cement mixer. My present job is that of a cement puddler. That is working the cement in the forms or mixing the trap rock with the sand and cement. The hardest part of this is to walk in it. Everyone knows how mud will pull his rubbers off when he steps into it. The suction pulls them off. Then you can realize the pull on my legs to be knee deep in this liquid cement. After seven or eight hours of this, I am fatigued beyond belief, but I still have to drive home and do another two hours' work. After this I crawl to bed and stay there until morning, enjoy- ing every second of sleep I get. Working in the afternoon enables me to learn a trade, and at the same time complete my high school education, which in the economic world today is almost a necessity. Although it is hard to do both at the same time, l shall be greatly pleased to know that I already have a job the day I graduate. ARMAND LACHANCE '39 FOIBLES OF AMERICA: CHARLIE McCARTHY Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. This is the National Broadcasting Company presenting the one and only Charlie McCarthy, coming to you on the air every Sunday evening at 8:00 o'cIock, giving each and every one a full hour of fun and laughter. Hello, Bergen. Good evening, Charlie. Why aren't you doing your homework? Oh, I was admiring Claudette Colbert. You know what, Bergen? She must like me. She has come regularly since I came on the air. Oh-oh! I don't doubt it, Charlie, but let's get back to more serious matters. What do you want to be, Charlie? l'm going to be a doctor and cure Colbert's heart trouble. You can't be a doctor if you neglect studying Latin. You must know it inside and out. Well, I don't think I'lI be a doctor. I might not even get a chance, as that profession is over- crowded anyway. What are you going to be, then? l'm going to be an architect and design CoIbert's house. You must know your arithmetic to be an architect. Well, I don't think I'Il be an architect, either. That profession is overcrowded. Make up your mind, Charlie. You should prepare early in life. I think I'II be a loafer. ' That profession certainly is overcrowded. Bergen, do you like Mortimer IBergen's new dummyl better than you like me? No, Charlie, I like you better. Then, why do you make me study, when you don't care whether he does or not? Because you have brains, and he hasn't. Why, surely, I can plainly see that. Yes, Charlie, l'Il always like you better. It will always be Bergen and McCarthy. Yes, yes. It will always be McCarthy and Bergen. Charlie McCarthy will come back to you on the air next Sunday at the same time. This is the National Broadcasting Company saying Good-night. FRANCES IURALEWICZ '40 THE AMERICAN SCENE I left the jolly Thames and the Atlantic behind me as I strolled leisurely down the gangplank into that crazy, mad atmosphere called New York. To think that I have heard so much about America, and am now actually about to delve into the midst of it. But probably, I mused, I shall be very much disappointed because Americans can't enioy all the queer things I have heard they do. But I was destined to think differ- enly soon. I reached my hotel exhausted and slightly sick to my stomach after twenty minutes of trying in vain to stay on the seat while the driver slammed on his brakes and sent me careening against the front seat. The