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

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NOVEMBER 1940 up here at all. He ' s gotten rid of me at every possible chance. At a ripple of understanding laughter, Betty look- ed at Helen apprehensively, saying, Hey, what ' s the matter with you? I don ' t think it ' s funny at all, and she began crying again. Then Helen told her what Frank had said only a few minutes earlier. Wonder, amazement, and doubt mingled in a smile of happi- ness on Betty ' s face. The day of the prom was clear and sunny and bright, as were the hearts of every boy and girl in Cartervilie. Betty and Frank went for a canoe ride on the lake in the grove at the edge of the campus. The uppermost thought in each of their minds was, of course, the prom. At nine o ' clock that evening, Frank and Jim ran up the dorm steps eagerly and took a last look in the hall mirror. They saw a pair of glowing, boyish faces, excited eyes, and beautifully groomed young men. They looked proud as peacocks in their new tuxedos and felt glad to be living indeed, for they were to meet the girls in a few minutes. Answering their ring, Helen ' s voice called out, Hold your horses. We ' ll be right down. But it was Helen alone who came down the stairs, and she and Jim left Frank waiting very impatiently for Betty. When she finally appeared at the head of the stairs, Frank had to look twice to make sure it was really Betty that he saw and not some unearthly angel, for she was stunning in a white flowing gown. But it wasn ' t the gown, or the beauty of her hair that made Frank catch his breath each time he looked at her — it was the sparkle and meaning behind the veil of lashes over her happy eyes. Frank made many tentative enemies that evening. To many boys, he refused permission even to dance with Betty. With others, he would permit her to go only a few steps, before cutting in again. But to Betty and Frank, the evening was a complete success. As Betty later told Helen on the train, I ' ve never had a more perfect evening in all my life. You know, we ' ve already made plans for the coming Thanksgiv- ing Game and Hop. It ' s wonderful! THE OYSTER AND THE BUGGY Mary Dirlam ' 42 Paul wandered down the street aimlessly, his eyes on the show window of the Elite Garage. The center of attraction was a bright yellow roadster, 1930 model. It had shiny black grilling and somewhat dilapidated red leather seats, but to Paul Barrington it was the most beautiful car in the world. He could fairly visiualize its glistening sides adorned with such witty and sagacious remarks as Hi, Kid! Pull Over!! and California or Bust! He could imagine himself, Paul Hubbards Barrington, as the proud pos- sessor, bringing forth gruesome sounds from a rubber horn. He sighed hopelessly as the sunlight gleamed on the yellow sides. What a jalopy! Everything about it, from the white tires to the protruding headlight, met his extreme approval. And as temptation overcame him, he formed a mighty resolution. By George, he muttered manfully, I ' m going to have that buggy. Then, the great decision having been made, he sauntered into the garage with utter nonchalance, and asked for the sales manager. He set about his mission by asking several ambiguous questions, and finally asked the price of that littie job in the window. I would be giving you a remarkable bargain, Mr. Barrington, said the nicely combed salesman, if I let you have that car for forty-five dollars. However, since your father is a friend of mine, I ' ll do just that. Yes sir, I ' ll let you have it for the ridiculous sum of forty-five dollars. Well, retorted the somewhat stunned prospective customer, I ' ll think it over. And in a daze he walked from the showroom. Outside, Paul, known to his intimates as The Oyster, chose the nearest lamp pest and decided to sit down and think it over. Now just where did he stand? Of course there was the ten dollars he was saving for Misty ' s gyroplane — and as for installments — well. Oh gosh, how could he save a dollar a week? Could he hope to keep up the payments? No, he said out loud. No, this is foolish. I shall not suc- cumb to temptation. Use your will power, Paul, old man. Rising to his feet, he strode off with deep determination, slowing down only when he passed the Elite Garage. Dared he? Oh well, no harm looking — he threw a furtive glance at the yellow roadster. It was too much. As it flaunted its glory before him, his good intentions fell to naught. Have that road- ster he must and should; and, walking into the show- room once more, he sought out the salesman. Mister, he said faintly, I ' ll take that buggy. Two days later, a check for the down payment having been written out, our hero mounted his fiery steed and charged down Main Street, hailing his friends boisterously. But it was at this point that an alarming thought entered his mind. Just what would be the opinion of his parents concerning this superb acquisition? Would they — horrible thought — compel him to return this choice possession — this sudden joy which had come into his life? Oh, disturbing thought! Oh, unkind world! With a quick lurch, he brought the roadster to a stop and pondered over his unforeseen problem. The sum of his allowance and paper earnings added up to $2.50. Of this, fifty cents was already dedicated to installments on an electric pencil operated by a miniature dynamo. Another fifty cents went toward paying his righteously indignant father for the $20 charge account he had run up at Alphonse ' s Spa. That left one dollar for his car payments, and with the other fifty cents he could — why he ' d get Misty Means to rent him the other stall of the Means ' double garage! How very simple it all was when one used one ' s head! As suddenly as he had stopped, he reached to start his motor. It did not move. He yanked the starter. No result. Visibly perturbed, Oyster looked at the switch-board. There was no more gas, and as for money to buy it with — well. Paul Oyster Hubbards Barrington stepped out from the yellow roadster, applied his two hends to the back bumper, and laboriously pushed it to the garage of one Misty Means. Friday morning loomed bright and sunny. All was well with Paul and the world. Misty had doubtfully consented to rent the extra stall, and his parents were in complete ignorance of his triumph. Happily, he sauntered down the street, when, his luck being with him, he met Marge Dickens. Hi ya there, Marge, old kid, he exclaimed in a jovial boom. Marge, old kid, smiled sweetly, whereupon Paul smiled too, a sickly grin. Within five minutes, his car ' s qualities having been somewhat exaggerated a date was arranged for the next evening. When the long waited-for evening arrived, Paul, clad in shocking fuchsia and yellow tweeds, emerged from his humble domicile at eight o ' clock. He sang, whistled, and was totally unprepared for the scene which greeted him. For the yellow buggy had been backed from the double garage, and on the running- board sat Misty Means — waiting. Gosh, Oyster, the lone waiter said, my dad ' s gone over to your house to ask your dad about that car. He smells somethin ' , I ' ll tell you right now. You better get out of here with that auty and don ' t bring it bock.

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8 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY THE DISSECTION OF A WATCH Francois Roy ' 42 Yesterday I decided to dissect my watch. A twist of a small screwdriver was enough to pry the back off. Another twist and the crystal fell to the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces. Next came the hands, which I broke off, for this seemed the easiest way to remove them. After removing a few screws, I learned that it is very painful to be hit in the eye by a snapping watch spring. By this time I noticed that the watch had stopped ticking. Unable to remove all the wheels and things inside, I decided to finish the job once and for all, which I did with the use of a hammer. That day when father came home, he taught me not to attempt to operate on things which I knew nothing about, and above all, to make sure that the object is my own and not my father ' s. THE STORM Frank Chipman ' 42 The storm did considerable damage in our neigh- borhood. All night a howling gale laden with sleet whirled around our house by the shore. It was pierced by the crash of falling trees, mixed with the thunder- ous roar of the surf pounding itself out on the black locks at the entrance of our inlet. Every few seconds one could see the light house standing out in the fre- quent flashes of jagged lightning. Then came the mournful wail of the fog horn as it rose and fell with the ocean swell, warning ships of the reef covered with the foam of breaking surf. Finally toward dawn the storm died down. The sun rose in the morning only to reveal desolation and wreckage where once before had been a beautiful Maine village, shaded by gigantic elms. BEAUTY IS AS BEAUTY DOES Jean Robertson ' 42 It was a mild spring day as Jim Barton and Frank Adams walked back from lunch hour to their classes at Carter College. As usual, Jim was trying to con- vince his friend that he should ask a girl to be his guest during Senior Week. Frank was president of the senior class, had the lead in the class play, and was an outstanding member of the football squad. He was a typical college boy, tall, with curly brown hair that never stayed in place, broad shoulders, and a captivating grin. But he appeared unusually serious today, and Jim knew that he had nearly won his point. But don ' t you know any nice girls back where you came from? he queried. Oh, sure, Frank replied, but I don ' t think I ' d want any of them up here all week. Why don ' t you write to your sister? She ' d know plenty of nice girls, and since she ' s coming up any- way for me, she could bring along a friend. Frank thought over this helpful advice in silence. Then as firmly as he had before refused, he replied, That ' s exactly what I ' ll do. I trust Helen ' s judg- ment and she ' ll know whom to bring. May 27, 1940, the day that marked the begin- ning of Senior Week at Carter College, dawned clear and warm. All Carterville was in a state of subdued excitement, for tonight was its grand senior play. Frank Adams was no exception. Only the evening before, he had received a telegram from his sister asking that he and Jim meet the 6:40 train. She would say no more, and Frank was constantly won- dering whom she would bring. The two boys fairly flew down to the depot at the appointed time and, within two minutes, had travelled the mile and a half leaving a trail of dust in their wake. The train pulled in on schedule, and out pour- ed a stream of babbling girls who had also been in- vited to Carter by their college boy friends. Frank was the first to spot Helen and rushed forward eager- ly to greet her. Jim was not far behind. Helen had brought a small but beautiful girl with her, who had the most golden blonde hair either of the boys had ever seen. Helen explained that Betty Fuller had just recently moved to Japlin and had just completed her senior year at high school. Betty was a perfect contrast to Helen who was a dark haired, blue-eyed Irish girl. Frank was enthralled and scarcely took his eyes off his date all the rest of the way home. That evening at the play Betty wore a brown dress, just the color of her eyes and was the subject of much conversation throughout the campus. They say that she ' s Frank ' s girl, isn ' t he lucky? I always thought that Frank ' s sister was pretty, but who ' s that beautiful blonde with the brown eyes? The play was a complete success, and at the in- formal dance following, both Frank and Betty were surrounded by a crowd of people. Frank thought that never in his life had he had a more enjoyable time. But their tennis date was not kept the next morning, for Betty was swept away by a crowd of admiring young men and Frank was en- gulfed in a surge of feminine admirers. Nor was their theatre date a success. They seemed always to be swarmed by a crowd of human bees. At the restaur- ants, they were surrounded by visiting friends. At house parties, they were the center of attention, as well as at dinners, the baseball game, and even around their dorms. Frank was getting sick of all this attention and had begun to wish that Helen had brought up a girl who was a little less becutiful. H ' s sister, noticing his glum expression the day before the prom as he was sitting alone under a tree by the river bank, quietly inquired, I ' m sorry you don ' t like her, Frank, but you ' re so popular yourself I thought that Betty would have a grand time up here, as well as make you hap- py too. Oh, it isn ' t that, Helen, her brother replied heartily. It ' s just that I like her a lot, and I haven ' t seen her alone since you arrived. Right now she ' s out canoeing with Bill and Ted. I guess she ' s just too pretty for me. My only hope is that I can give her a good time at the prom. I ' m sure you will, Frank, Helen answered cheer- ily. Ever since I first showed her your picture back home, she ' s been dying to see you and was very hap- py and excited to be able to come up here with you. She thinks you ' re tops. Gosh, really! Are you sure she said that? Say! Don ' t you think that she ' d like orchids instead of just gardenias tomorrow night? Just you wait and see if I let any of those fellows get near her tomorrow. Gee! I ' d better go up to my room and get my things laid out. Tell Jim where I am, he flung after him as he ran up the dorm steps. Helen laughed joyfully as she watched his mad flight and turned happily back to her own house to get her own affairs straightened out. Expecting to be alone, or at least to find Betty with a swarm of boys, she was frightened when she found her sprawled out on the bed, her hair mussed and rumpled, her eyes swollen and red with tears. Why Betty dear, what ' s the trouble? she cried, I thought you were having a good time. Quietly the younger girl sat up and sniffed mourn- fully, Nothing. Of course I ' m having a good time. Wonderful, in fact. Then defiantly, And I hope he ' s happy. Every single day, he made dates for me with other boys. I guess he never really wanted me

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10 THE CRIMSCN AND GRAY Paul Hubbcrds was shocked. Deeply shocked! Dis- mayed, he stepped into the leather seat and pulled the starter, for it seemed expedient that he leave quickly, pick up Marge, and beat it. Brrrr-zip! Prrrr- scyzzzz! The motor would not start. In a horrible moment, Oyster remembered that he had no gas. What to do! What to do! His woes increased. He re- covered himself quickly, however, on the helpful recommendation of Misty that he pay a visit to his own garage and drain a tankful out of the pleasantly well-supplied Barrington automobile. Consequently, with some difficulty, he sneaked back to his home unobserved and filled a coal hod with gasoline. In doing this, he let a large blot of petroleum fall on his starched shirt. With the idea of concealing the stain, he buttoned his fuchsia tweed jacket to the neck. Then he crept slowly through the bushes with his precious hod and reached the Means ' home in a state of extreme elation. In the meantime, however, Mike O ' Grady, the policeman on the beat near the Barrington home, had observed a suspicious character with a sinister appearance lurking around the property. Ordinarily, now, Mike ' s was a quiet beat, and the possible ex- citement muddled him considerably. Forgetting all he ' d learned at night school, and quaking in his patent leather boots, he ran to call up headquarters. Happily Paul managed to start the buggy before the police arrived, however, and to set out for Marge ' s house. In the car mirror he could vaguely discern a stocky form running behind him, and he heard one or two retorts of a pistol. Huh, fresh guy! thought our hero and stepped on the gas. After these many trials and tribulations, he finally arrived at the Dickens ' cottage, only to be told that Marge, tired of waiting, had gone ahead to the dance with Harry Mendell who had dropped in about fifteen minutes ago. At this point, decided Oyster, there was only one thing to do, and that was to go on to the dance, and at least have the pleasure of flirting with every girl except Marge. Why, he ' d show her! The little two- timer! The highway loomed broad before him, and in his deep emotion he raised the speed of the car to sixty miles. (As he had told Marge, it was a speedy little job) . His thoughts were rudely and un- ceremoniously interrupted, however, when the siren of a motorcycle reached his ears and he was firmly told to pull over to the curb. Complying, he looked behind him to see two burly officers glance first at him and then at the number pldte. Well, whaddya know, Harry, said one. This is the car that headquarters is on the look-out for. Right you are, retorted the other. Bub, ad- dressing Oyster, you ' d better come back with us. Paul, rather exasperated, explained very gently but firmly that he had to go to a dance, would take a ticket, but would not go back to town. In a manner just as firm though hardly as eloquent, he was in- formed that return he would, and quickly. At this, Paul Hubbards pulled frantically on the starter, but the jalopy wouldn ' t go. There was no more gas. Two hours later, having been pushed back to town by two dour officers, Barrington was lined up at night court, listed as a suspicious character and charged with speeding on a state highway. He was standing before the judge, when his father, red and indignant, came storming in. What ' s this about a car, Paul Hubbards! bel- lowed the wrathful parent. What are you doing here? Explain? You ' d better explain! Thereupon, very meekly, Paul explained. He ex- alted the car, touched upon the gasoline episode, showered hatred on Marge, and hinted that had his allowance been larger the mishap would never have occurred. He received, in turn, a severe reprimand from the judge and promised horrors from his father. On the whole, he decided, it had been rather an eventful evening. It was two weeks later and Paul, strolling by Jack- son ' s Hardware, noticed a bicycle with bright red stripes, a Johnson siren, and a portable radio operat- ed by the friction caused in pumping the bike. Be- sides this, its electric tail light flashed in red neon, Buy Your Hardware at Jackson ' s. He was en- tranced. For the moment that masterpiece was more important than all the world. His whole heart coveted it. By George, I ' m going to have that bicycle, he muttered manfully.