Westbrook High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Westbrook, ME)

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Westbrook High School Ei1 33' . I3 AROUND IN THE BOSTON ART MUSEUM Little Miss Cecila Green was a debutante. No doubt about thatg and a very pretty one. You know the type I mean, pretty, insipid things, with a guiding mother who relieves them of all think- ing. Oh, yes, very nice to look at, very nice to have around but, well, just dumb. She was just the sort that flittered thru last season's affairs, the sort of things where Bertie Van Bibber, Hallo- well, Reginald, Clive and others hang out. Sort of a market place where these fellows are cap- tured by the mothers for their Debs. You really should meet Bertie. the life and death of every party. Bertie was it, Hostesses listed him as desirable and the girls didn't object to him by any means. And his name! you haven't heard all of it, let me see: oh yes, here goes, Bertie Fitzwater Canterbury Van Bibber, the genial old soul himself. Well: to the plot of this thing: it seems that after Mrs. Cathaway's tea: and a sojourn at Page and Shawsg and after old Bertie was anchored to her arm, this young lady was strolling up Huntington Avenue and the next moment was tearing for shelter from a few drops of rain to the Art Museum. As soon as Bertie had ad- justed himself to the situation: that is, changed his foolish expression to one even worse. they de- cided to ,look around a bit. After a minute the numerous halls got the better of the two and they were separated. Bertie going down into the Egyptian Room where he became absolutely dead to the world in gazing at the mummies only slightly more dead than he. As for Cecila--prints, wa- ter-colors, sculptures, oils, charcoal portraits and the usual museum pieces were too much for her. Arriving at the collection of old masters at the end of the second floor, she sat down on one of the benches and looked around. Satisfied that there was no one looking she decided that it would be useless to cry. So on until five o'clock and closing time. And then, and only then, a friendly guard united the two and allowed them to depart, Bertie draped on her arm, in Kas he called itj utter exhaustion. Cecila remarked a few days later that she had never been inside the museum and Bertie, well, just another blank sheet. Not very dumb, eh? WILLIAM L. VALLEE. THE WINNING PLAY Harold Evans was unhappy. The cause for said unhappiness lay in the fact that he was forced by circumstance to recline in a steamer chair with his right ankle bandaged till it looked like a joint in a furnace pipe, while through his window he could see the Stanton hockey team practise on the neighboring pond. His team, of which he was captain! It was a Friday and in one short week they would play Jarvis High School for the championship-and he must be an onlooker at best. Truly it was maddening. That very morn- ing he had asked the Doctor if had had a chance of recovering sufficiently to take part in the game and Doctor Harris had replied, Certainly not. You will be able to walk about the house by Wed- nesday but-no more hockey this winter. Hal's pleas were futile and the parting words of the Doctor kept ringing in his ears all that afternoon. Remember, no more hockey this winter. Down on the pond, the team was resting after an afternoon of frantic practise. The boys were standing about leaning on their hockey sticks in various attitudes of discouragement. Seems as if we can't do anything since Hal dropped out, said Paul D-itson. And this ice is so soft we can't play a fast game anyway-and every one knows our one advantage over Jarvis is our speed. Ice! You don't call this ice, do you? It's mush! It was Don Roberts speaking and he voiced a dismal truth. The ice was softening up. The sharp blades of the hockey sticks cut through it sending up little showers of water and sprays of Haked white. Occasionally a player tripped, even falling, and Hal in his window watching them sprawl and dive, groaned, Hockeyl Looks to me like they were learning to swim. A pair of water wings might help out some. The surface of the pond might be soft but it was not soft enough to make an agreeable landing place and it was a bruised and sodden bunch of It is usually uphill work that lands one at the top.

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I2 The Blue f-r VVhite LU-lwklfikkie .. IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE Old Nabonkis was fond of telling of the past glories of his people, the once strong and power- ful Chicoots. He could usually be found in his hut at the edge of the lake, where he lived in her- mit fashion, depending upon the kindness of the people who visited him to furnish him a meagre existence. It was here that Kenneth Harlan had gone. The English teacher in his school had assigned for the coming Friday, a short story, and Kenneth had searched his brain for ideas, but none had issued from that seemingly void region. I wondered if old Nabonkis could give me an -idea, he questioned himself, and as the thought came to him he set off to call upon the old Indian. Nabonkis was sitting before his fire, smoking his curiously wrought pipe, and as Kenneth came in he only nodded his greeting and sat im- passively smoking. Kenneth explained his errand and Nabonkis looked wise and secretly felt Hattered that his stories were appreciated. He drew a few more puffs of his pipe, as if in the clouds of smoke he could call up vision of a dramatic narrative. As the smoke cleared away he settled himself comfortably and began his story in the picturesque and poetic Indian manner. In the early days of my people, in the days that were prosperous, good and peaceful, there was a warrior by the name of Ableetah, son of Seehowah. A brave and valiant warrior was this Ableetah, handsome and brilliant was this son of Seehowah. But the days of peace and plenty did not last for always. A pestilence came upon my people, the no-ble Chicoots. A pestilence in the form of a pack of ravaging wolves saddened my people. Numerous and evasive were these wolves, killing cows and sheep by the hundreds, vanishing in the darkness of the midnight. Frightened and cring- ing were the brave Chicoots for marry of their men who had been hunting for these messengers of the Evil Spirit, came no more to their wig- wams. Their wives and children were sad and gloomy for a pestilence has come upon my peo- ple. But from this drear and dreadful turmoil arose the brave and valiant Ableetah, the saviour of this people. Thinking hard and rightly he had formed a plan, a plan worthy of his brilliant mind. He would start a banded hunting party. The banded tribe of Chicoots would face the pestilence so hateful as was this. They hunted in a body, well-armed with bows and arrows. Ableetah led the party, led to victory the brave Chicoots and in the forests, in the dark and gloomy forests no more ruled the messengers of Evil. Nabonkis ended his narrative, puffed his pipe and again surrounded himself with clouds of smoke as if to form a group of misty phantoms of the brave and noble Chicootsf' 4 GEORGE FREIDAY, JR., '26. Your work is your best advertisement.

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I4 The Blue E-r White players who waved at Hal as they passed his house on their way home. All that next week Hal watched the practise anxiously. Two things were against Stanton. First the ice was so soft that the fast team could not use its speed to any advantage and it also raised havoc with their brilliant style of playing. On bad ice the best of teams cannot help making mistakes. Secondly, the loss of their captain had the effect of disorganizing the team. Hal was their best man and they all depended on him for leadership. Thursday afternoon, Hal ventured down to the pond to watch proceedings. He was hailed with shouts of welcome and news of the coming game. After watching them play for a while he turned back to the house already feeling defeat upon him. The puck skidded through water and the sticks were more like oars than what they were originally intended to be. Certainly it was not an encour- aging outlook. Friday, the sun shone down impartially on the blue of Stanton and the crimson of Jarvis. Both schools were loyally represented and the colorful uniforms of the players, the gala attire, the flut- tering banners and pennants of the partisans, made a never-to-be-forgotten picture. The referee dropped the puck between the sticks of the two players facing off. As it struck, the whistle blew and the cheering was deafening. Once more the old rivals were engaged in an historic encounter. Hal, standing on the sidelines beside Coach Frazier, anxiously watched the game. It seemed unthinkable that he should stand passively by and watch his team go down to defeat without mak- ing an effort to save it. The championship game, too. The end of the first fifteen-minute period came with the score a blank. The Stanton boys seemed to have lost their punch. Their reputation here- tofore had rested on their lightning-like speed. But today the ice was against themg it played queer tricks with the puck, taking it away from their sticks. And always on them, wherever they went, was a Jarvis man. But if they could not score for themselves, they at least kept Jarvis from doing so till the middle of the second period. Then they caged a goal. The period ended with Jarvis one point in the lead and fifteen minutes to go. Hal could stand it no longer. Pull that man out and give me a chance, he said to Coach Fraz- ier while strapping on his skates. I'l1 be all right 3 that ankle is as good as new. Go ahead, call him out. Frazier was only too glad to do so. At the beginning of the last period a deafening roar rose from the Stanton lines as they saw Hal race down the court carrying the puck before him, darting swiftly with it to the right or left, evading all opposing players, now halting for an instant, to finally send it flying over the ice and cage two goals in quick succession. That was enough to win but just before the pistol sounded ahthird was driven in. It was some time before one could make anything recognizable out of the din that followed. Hats, pennants, everything movable was in the air and the sounds were nothing that belonged to civilization. That night the old banquet hall echoed to the Stanton call of victory. It was taken up and hurled in acclaim upon the air. But most thrilling of all was: Evans, fellows! The long school yell for Hal! Make it big! And big it came with all the enthusiasm of four hundred loyal students paying homage to Hal. Ala-Rah! Ala-Rah! Ala-Rah! Rah! Rah! S-T-A-N-T-O-N! Evans! Evans! Evans! TIIELBIA WHALEN, '26. AS YOU TAKE IT It was a very hot Freiday morning in Septem- ber. The realization that school would begin the next week dawned upon me in the awful gloom of an impending tragedy. I grew uneasy and to relieve my mind I thought a walk out into the country would be beneficial. Howe long will you be gone? my mother asked, as I went out the door. Oh, I will be back before Knight, I answered, reassuringly. Vision sees through thingsj grit sees them through.