Wells High School - Crimson and Gray Yearbook (Southbridge, MA)

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8 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY Youth Hostels were organized in Germany about 1 892 by Ernest Schirrman, a school teacher. He frequently took trips from Berlin to the country. His love of the outdoors led him to take a few of his pupils with him. Gradually more pupils wanted to come; they wanted to go on longer trips, as well. Together they hit upon the plan which Youth Hostels now follow. This plan is to have hostels leading out from large cities so that the young people can get out into the country and enjoy themselves. The idea spread through Europe like wildfire until, in 1932, it came to America. In 1931 Mr. and Mrs. Monroe Smith were hosteling in Europe. They liked the idea to such an extent that they thought others, especial- ly the young people, would like it also. They sought for and obtained the approval of nationally known organizations end educators. In 1932 the first hostel was opened at Northfield, Massachusetts. The or- ganization immediately caught the fancy of Young America; and, in the season of 1938, more than 4,000 boys and girls enjoyed hosteling throughout the United States and Canada. MISS WALTERS As this is not a history but a tale of events, I had better get started in telling them. Leaving South- bridge August 1, at eight-thirty by bicycle, David Ohlwiler Gnd I arrived at Northfield, a run of about seventy miles, at four-thirty, slightly worn out. That evening, despite my plan to be left in peace, I was forced to join a group dancing folk dances. We danced until ten o ' clock, the hostelers ' bedtime. In the morning our party, which included two boys from Buffalo, left Northfield for points north. We had planned to go north into New Hampshire, but we altered our plans when we discovered that a four mile hill lay ahead of us on that route. We imme- diately crossed into Vermont thinking the mountain too stiff to be tackled by amateurs such as we were. We rolled merrily along on our tour, drinking in the scenery and every available drop of water. We gos- siped with the natives, learning of the scenic attrac- tions and the best swimming holes. If you have never swum in a Vermont marble quarry, you cer- tainly are missing one of the chief joys of life. The fourth day out we passed the Camel ' s Hump, the most striking of all Vermont ' s mountains. Its bald summit cone, its rocky shoulder to the north, and its barren ridge to the south gave the impression of a crouching lion. The fifth day we arrived at Stowe, the ski center of the earth. The celebrities who visit it, among these Lowell Thomas who broadcasted from here a few years ago, consider it one of the beauty spots of the world. David left me here; the end of his vacation had come. I was not alone for long be- cause hostelers are always friendly. On Saturday I climbed Mt. Mansfield, the high- est in Vermont, with a group of Germans. Despite our ignorance of each other ' s language, we got along very amiably. However, I found out that Germans are darned good mountain climbers. Mt. Mansfield is a world in itself. Arctic plants grow here — rare ferns, cotton grass, and many other plants of the heights. From south to north the mountain has the outline of an upturned face which can be seen for miles around. From Stowe I crossed over to Littleton to begin my adventure in the White Mountains. I decided to climb Mt. Washington while my bike was given necessary repairs. Starting from the base station of the cog railway, I started the ascent at one-thirty in the afternoon, arriving at the Lake of the Clouds hut at five o ' clock. Fog chased me all up through the mountains. Next day the huntsmaster forbade us to travel on account of a dense cloud which en- veloped the whole Presidential range; but on the second day we crossed the range, a distance of six miles, in seven hours. This is a feat which I never want to attempt again. On the third day it cleared perfectly and we were able to get some good pic- tures and views. We could see as far east as the Athntic Ocean and west as far as the Adirondacks. From Littleton I rode down to Wildwood through Sugar Hill to Meredith, taking in Franconia Notch end all its attractions. This almost broke me for I arrived at Meredith, 175 miles from home with $1 .25 in my pocket. However my finances did not prove to be a serious obstacle. Meredith is the cheapest hostel that I know of. I stayed here for sixty cents a day includ- ing my meals and a dance in the evening. The cheap rate was possible because the hostel was run as a camp which it formerly had been. Leaving Meredith, I met up with my first catas- trophe; I smashed the front wheel of my bike while avoiding a lumber truck on a narrow road. For- tunately I was able to get a ride into Laconia, bike and all, for repairs. The rest of the trip was down through the rolling foothills of southern New Hampshire through Con- cord, the capital, Keene, and then to Northfield. The next day I crossed Massachusetts down through the Harvard and the Yale Forests, finally crriving in Southbridge at four-thirty in the after- noon. The total trip cost me exactly $27 for three weeks. It certainly was a novel and inexpensive way of traveling, and I am hoping that I may go again to some other sections of the country. THE SNOW STORM Phyllis Swenson ' 39 We crawled out of our holes and looked around. Why, everything was white! There must have been a snow storm during the night! How deep it was. It tasted funny, too! Some of our braver brothers ventured over the first few mounds of the funny white stuff. They seemed to like it. Little by little, more of my brothers crept out and crawled around. What a gathering! The whole town was out, I guess, — or so it seemed. We never had this happen to us before. We ' re used to hav- ing hard, dry ground. In this stuff, our feet sank down. Oh! What a nice feeling! Eat all you want! (They soon scattered, however, when the house- keeper swept up the sugar spilled on the kitchen floor. The ants, (the pests) had crawled all over it.)

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DECEMBER 1938 SUMMER MEMORIES NANTUCKET Price Burgess ' 39 Approaching the wharf from Main Street, we pass quaint antique shops, a Chinese laundry, a restaur- ant, a gasoline station, an office building, and an ice plant. These things are typical of the waterfront of Nantucket where the old mingles with the new. Walking down the wharf, we pass two large lum- ber sheds. Soon, we become aware of a very power- ful odor which arises from piles of scallop shells which line the roads on both sides. These shells are pro- ducts of the shell fishing season and are stacked in the open until they are cleaned by the elements. Then, they are used to surface private driveways. By the shell heaps are located the fishing shanties. These are used to stow gear, to provide a place for the fishermen to gather and talk, and to give a place for opening shellfish. Contrasting with these ancient shacks, we find, further down the wharf, a gasoline station and a coal shed. This gas station differs from its cousin on the mainland in that it disposes gasoline and oil not only to automobiles, but also to boats and sea planes. The fishing boats that tie up on the further end of the wharf are distinguished by their smell and invariable dirtiness. On the other side of the wharf, we find the many small power boats of the shell fish- ermen. These are tied up four or five abreast and cause people to wonder what happens when the man on the inside wants to get out first. The answer is simple — he very rarely does. On the extreme end there is a large boat house which seems out of place by the great oil tanks near- by. It is here that the shiny motor launches of the wealthy tie up by the trim craft of the Coast Guard Service. Also we may sit on conveniently located settles and look out on the harbor. The harbor is usually filled with all classes of sail- boats, from the diminutive Rainbow to great schooners, power cruisers, racing speedboats, skiffs, and occasionally, a huge steam yacht. Thus, in walking from Main Street to the end of the Island Service wharf, we get the flavor of Nan- tucket. We find contrasts here as in other parts of the island. No matter how many modern develop- ments and by products come in, the salty flavor of the island cannot be erased. Nantucket as a result combines old-fashioned charm with modern con- veniences. GLOUCESTER Louise Gregoire ' 39 Like a faithful sentinel watching over the rock- bound harbor of old and picturesque Gloucester, stands the impressive fishermen ' s memorial, pictured in Captain ' s Courageous, depicting a weatherbeaten fisherman standing staunchly at the helm of his ship. G R E E T I N G S F R O M C E C In the lines of his face and in his steady, narro wed eyes can be read the whole history of the courageous and rugged seafarers who built up the meager colony of Gloucester into the chief fishing port of the United States. Such a quaint little village! Its narrow, winding streets all seeming to lead to the ocean. Its pic- turesque, nestling little cottages with their inevitable blue blinds, its bronzed and booted fishermen, and its horde of scenery-seeking artists cannot fail to leave Gn indelible memory on any visitor ' s mind. These details fade from one ' s memory, obscured, by the majestic and ever-changing panorama of the ocean at its front door. On a clear, summer morning the ocean, a deep mysterious green near the shore, shading into a warm and intense blue near the horizon, sparkles in the sunlight. The lobster nets, spread by fishermen the previous night, make dark patches on the glittering expanse, in sharp contrast to the silver sails of the fishing schooners. This is the time of day when the sea is in her most appealing mood; and every be- witched, sunlit ripple seems to beckon mockingly to all staid and settled landsmen. MISS POULIN MISS BIRTZ On a dull, misty day the ocean wears an entirely different aspect. Its waters are cold and gray and icy, and melt imperceptibly at the skyline into equally dismal skies. The only sounds that break the oppressive silence are the weird tones of the fog horn, the regular reverberating clangs of the bell buoy, and the beating wings of hundreds of soaring seagulls. As the tide comes in, the water boils and seethes, and the spray flies high, while the waves crash thunderously against the massive, towering rocks along the shore. Then it is that the ocean asserts its terrifying might and grandeur, and inspires a feeling of awe and wonder in us puny humans. At night the ocean is calm, restful, and, above all, beautiful. The moon casts lights and shadows on its undulating surface, and moonbeams ride the crest of every wave. Specks of fluffy foam flutter around like wind-rocked flowers in a black meadow of ocean, and the soft, whispering splash of the surf against the sand adds to the glamor of the ocean at night. It is with a reluctant heart that a visitor leaves this sublime sea-spectacle, and when he pauses once more on his way out of the village to read the inscription on the fishermen ' s memorial, they that go down to the sea in ships , it is with a deeper understanding of the fascination and allure the ocean holds for the Gloucester fishermen, who call the sea their home. AMERICAN YOUTH HOSTELER Albert Bouvier ' 39 To help all, especially young people, to a greater knowledge, understanding, and love of the world by providing for them youth Hostels (inexpensive over- night accommodations) in America and by assisting them in their travels both here and abroad over bicycle trails, foot paths, and highways is the pur- pose of the American Youth Hostels of which I am a member.

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DECEMBER 1938 FLOOD AND HURRICANE FLOOD AND HURRICANE Our memories of 1938 will always include the hur- ricane. We have printed excerpts from the many papers written about the experiences of M. E. Wells High pupils. One could imagine the ancient Goddess of Wind blowing to conquer her rival, the God of Rain. Wa- ters rumbled and roared over dams and reservoirs taunting Wind, who soon crashed in, destroying trees with thunderous commands for Rain to watch her methods .... The Universalist Church steeple teeter- ed back and forth three times. The fourth time it crashed into the driveway in a mass of broken and splintered wood (John Beverage.) Main Street, the pride and joy of Southbridge, was a swirling river. Water poured out of cellar skylights in front of the Edwards Company and Woolworth ' s Central Street was a miniature Niagara Falls. Police and firemen rushed madly and helplessly about. Store owners and managers gazed pitifully at the water that poured from their cellars, carrying hundreds of dollars of merchandise with it (Alvin Greene.) Candid camera fiends were in their glory, dashing here and there snapping pictures (Bob Girard.) The steeple of the Elm Street Congregational Church swayed and dip- ped with the wind, when there came a snap, faint above the wind. Then suddenly there was a much louder rumble and down came the towering mass of brick, wood, and twisted steel (Bill McCann. ) In Stur- bridge the old Revolutionary cemetery was covered with massive trees fallen and uprooted (Clarence Drew.) Dresser and West Streets were masses of wildly racing, yellowish water (Bob Hofstra.) Trees scratched and tore at windows as though they were intent upon destruction (Sally Cheney.) The disastrous flood and hurricane that swept over Southbridge cost the town over one half million dollars (Silvy Tobia.) MR. DION For His Skating Rink EXPERIENCES OF A PAPER BOY Philip DeAngelis I had started to deliver my papers when I saw a boy open his umbrella in the middle of the storm. The wind did a topsy-turvy with the umbrella and finally turned it upside down. That boy probably saw the first part of the hurricane produced by Mother Nature and the latter part right in his home produced by Papa. I kept on delivering for fifteen or twenty minutes but upon seeing a tree uprooted too close for security, I went home and decided my life was more precious than my customers. I might well have gone on ped- dling, however, for I had not time to change my wet clothes when simultaneously a giant tree in front of the house gave way, the two chimneys on one roof scattered like so many peanut shells, and the tin on the roof was whipped off, crumpled and blown away and only stopped its journey when a barn near by got in its way. The sum of all this I consider an afternoon- mare which could not be equalled in a dream! MISS HEBERT PERSONAL EXPERIENCES I thought the first Reservoir was the most unusual scene created by the flood. To see just an empty hole made us ask, Where shall we skate next win- ter? .... I liked the hurricane for two reasons: We had no school and we had no lights, and I love candle light (Rita Adamick.) It rained cats and dogs and what not all day (Ernest Nordman.) I went into the store and headed for the cellar. The sight that met my eyes was one of those things that even in the middle of disaster are comical. Boxes, bottles, and other miscellaneous articles floated in about a foot of water. Clinging to a cardboard box in the center of the mess, and crying their hearts out, were three little kittens. But on top of the box was Pixie, the mother of the three — sleeping soundly (Alvin Greene.) We rode forth into the whipping rain which beat on the windshield like a jitterbug drummer in a swing orchestra (Patricia Smith.) My mother called the Hur- ricane a hustle-breeze but I called it a Corrigan Wind because it was really headed for Florida and it hit the New England states instead (Dorothy Hitch- cock.) I saw something that looked like a house turn a couple of somersaults and then break up. The next morning I found out it was a garage and, be- lieve it or not, not a single pane of glass in either window was broken (Robert Olson.) On and off went the lights in the theatre, until the management an- nounced the impossibility of continuing the show. What a disappointment, for we were anxiously await- ing the moment when Marie Antoinette would lose her head in the guillotine (Bob Gatineau.) I thought how strange it was that water, so necessary to us, should actually turn upon us and destroy life and property, and how helpless we were to relieve the suf- fering caused by it (Doris Girard.) The storm left scars that will never be erased even by time .... All the survivors looked into changed surroundings, the fortunate looked forward to re- construction and repairs, the less fortunate to loss, depression, and heartbreak (Barbara D ' Arcey. ) And then when Mother Nature came and smoothed the ruffled feathers of her children, the Goddess of Wind and the God of Rain, they laid down their swords and slept (Phyllis Whiteoak.) MISS BRODEUR For Christmas Party