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

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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.

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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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Westbrook High School l'1 S3,fl I5 Be careful and not fall into any Poolefsj of water, she warned, you know it has been rather Reny lately. Lord, don't worry about me, I very seldom Tripp, I said Laflinly as I ran quickly down the path. It was a beautiful Day. The fleecy and Cot- tonfyj clouds floated around in the azure sky, and high in the air some Hawkes were gracefully circling around. It was a Whalen good day for a walk. I am a moderately fast Walker, so by noon I had covered a fair distance and found myself far out in the country. I had taken the state road for a path and you know how the macadam Burns your feet on a hot day. It had been rather ex- hausting climbing over the Hills and out of the Vallees, so I thought it would be restful to lie down on the grass at the side of the road. F ar down the road I saw a truck and some men who were filling holes in the road with a tarred preparation. After a while, when they had worked up towards me, I perceived that they were foreigners of some variety. Suddenly, I saw one of the men gesticulate vio- lently, waving his arms around, and shout: Makowski labreque boissoneau grigwer! I jumped up and ran down to see what was the matter, but one of the other workmen said that he was only singing Yes Sir, She's My Baby in Russian, and that I had no reason to be alarmed. At that, I considered that it was time for me to return home. I took a short cut through some woods and met a Woodman sitting on a stump singing a Ballafrjd. Strange pastime, I thought. On coming out into the state road again I en- tertained hopes of being given a ride home in some automobile. Soon my wish was granted, for Mr. Philbrook drove up in his new Jordan and I was safely taken home. It might add interest to the story to say that he only ran into one load of Hay, a Mason, a little girl's Dollfejy and three Chicks. G. W. F., '26. A CLASSROOM CLASSIC A PLAY IN ONE ACT By GEORGE W. FREIDAY, JR. Scene: A Classroom. Time: Gth period. Curtain rises CA sharp bell is heard and the class assembles. Whisperings and mild disorder are heard. Some laggard rushes violently into the room slamming the door behind him. General discussion among the students. The door is suddenly opened by the teacher, who evidently has been delayed in the corridors. She closes the door gently.J Teacher fsurveying the class angrilyj : Who closed that door with such a bang ? I Profound silencej Teacher fagainl : Who slammed that door? fMore profound silencej Teacher: Now, look here class! Isn't there anyone here who is man enough to admit that he slammed that door. I know it was a boy for girls don't run around slamming doors. I want to know who caused this disturbance. COne student applauds this speech. He im- mediately pays a visit to the principal.D Teacher f laying her books on the desk and seat- ing herself leisurelyj : Have you decided among yourselves who shut that door so vigor- ously? I A girl in the back seat giggles. She also goes callingj Teacher: If there is any more of this fool- ishness we will have a little noon-hour session. I am still waiting to hear from the one who banged that door. C Meaning glances are exchanged among the students. One boy whispers to the person seated across from him, You watch her keep me this noon. j Teacher: Miss VVinslow, are you chewing gum ? , Miss Winslow: Yes'm. Teacher: How many times have I told you people that I do not tolerate gum-chewing in my classes. Now Miss Winslow, you report at once to the office and until you promise me you will chew no more gum I will give you no rank. Syslenz is crystallized common sense.