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

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Westbrook High School Qs I9 He wants good authors! replied O'Rouke. Probationary Officer john O'Neil paced his beat. His jaws were firmly set. Each street lamp saw him pause and greet his new shiny shield. He wished his friends could all see him. A quiet beat, a dark night, but he was happy. Yet a shadow hung over him. He recalled the words of his superior: Look out, O'Neil. The commish' judges by his reports. Make yours fancy. Some- where a clock chimed two. Then in the big house on the corner he heard another sound-the crisp, tingling, bell-like tinkle of glass! Funny, he mused, no one's home there. For a few moments he considered his problem. N ow could it be goldfish ?i' he asked himself. Mebbe, he's rich. He'd have goldfish. Yep, guess it was goldfish. He stood gazing doubtfuily at the great house. Suddenly, he saw a light Hash brieliy behind the shutters of the first floor windows. Nope, he remarked, I guess it ain't goldfish. Guess l'd better look into it. His clumsy feet stamped along the pavement and swiftly carried him up the front steps. He peered through a crack in the shutter and beheld two men working in lamp light, on a wall safe. They were ponderous men with blue-black jowls. Tools spread out beside them included. O'Neil noticed, a 45 caliber revolver. John remembered the training school lectures on The science of apprehension of a night marauderf' but he also remembered his untimely naps. The instructor had said, Notify the headquar- ters, send for help, scout the situation. O'Neil tried to remember. He couldn't. Une large un- gainly paw slid to his hip pocket. He gave a low grunt of dismay! No gun there! He remembered --it was at home on his pillow 5 he had placed it there so that he wouldn't forget it. Suddenly his stomach felt empty. He peeped inside again. The men had the safe open now and were taking out jewels and papers. O'Neil filled his great lungs in one breath and quickly hurled his one hundred ninety-five pounds of flesh over the porch rail and plunged head first through the window. There was a splintering of glass and he rolled into the room like a great ball, blue for the most part, but red where the glass had cut his face. The men leaped back. One snatched up the re- volver and pointed its long snout straight at O'Neil. He could see it now in the faint light of the street lamp. He leaped to his feet. Move and I'll drill you!', the man barked. O'Neil moved. He plunged at the man with the gun. The gun barked! O'Neil's left arm felt full of hot needles, then numb. He drove his head hard against the man's chin and they went down in a huddle. The second man came into the fray and a heavy chisel cracked down on O'Neil's head. O'Neil's right hand grasped the man's throat: and, though his left was useless, his legs grasped the chisel wielder and tloored him. The light went on. One burglar struggled to get his gun into ac- tion, the other twisted and struggled that he might jab or club with his chisel. But O'Neil's grips, with arms and legs, did not lessen. Then he felt the man under him go limp. He wrenched around and his ponderous list shot out. Eight inches it proceeded, then abruptly it stopped- on his opponent's jaw. It was over. Probationary Oliicer O'Neil slowly pulled him- self to his feet. Laboriously and painfully, for his wounded arm hurt terribly now, he tied the two men together with his belt. He had forgot- ten his handcuffs. Then he sat down on his two prisonersg fum- bled in his pockets: got out his official notebook, moistened the point of his pencil stub: and, by the dark lantern's light, began to write. For the first time he groaned audibly, but not because of his Wound. His face was wrinkled in agonized concentration. He wrote things, erased themg wrote more and erased more. It was slow going with one hand. Early, gray dawn had come be- fore he had finished his literary labors. They found Probationary Officer O'Neil un- conscious from loss of blood, sprawled across two equally unconscious prisoners. His hand still gripped his notebook. There they read in his own childish writing: Seen berglers, arested same. H. M. L., '3?.

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I8 Q: tr! The Blue 6- White Sorts of horrible ideas of them. Now I realize I was mistaken for during the short while I was at this old Mormon home, I found the true Mor- mon. Mormonism really originated in New York State and not in Utah as many people believe. Salt Lake City has been their headquarters only since 1847. In the western part of New York, near Lake Ontario, there is a large, treeless hill. This hill is named Cumorah Hill after the Mor- mon prophet, Cumorah. Every year the Mormons in that vicinity climb this hill and hold a religious service on its summit. Our party visited the hill and it was really very interesting. After viewing the hill. we continued to the real object of our tour. VVe were going to visit the same house that Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism, occupied in the year 1807. Vlfe were all greatly excited at this prospect, but we were more excited when we were told that we might visit the sacred grove where it was said that Smith had received a divine revelation while he prayed. VV hen we arrived at the Smith Homestead C' some of Smiths direct descendants live there stillj, we were warmly received and invited in to look at the house. The house was much the same as in Smithis dayg a few small changes had been made but they did not affect the antiquity of it. VVe explored the building from attic to ground fioor. IVe learned the meaning of old oil paintings, what they represented and what connection they had with this religion. I happened to discover Smith's old musket with which he used to repel the attacks of Indians, which were not uncommon in his day. There was also a bullet mold and a box of leaden bullets which he had made himself. We visited his study where he is said to have re- ceived several messages from prayed. Vile visited the sacred grove in which Smith received his first revelation. To get to this spot we had to go through a farmyard. It seemed un- iitting that for one to reach a sacred spot one had to pass hens scratching in the dirt and cows in the fields. This is exactly what we did and not only that but we crossed a small brook and had to Walk quite a distance through a grain field. It Heaven when he really took almost all of the romance of this ad- venture awayg yet when We finally did enter the quiet woods and followed the winding path into the grove, I could almost see Smith there praying. It was a beautiful spot, but we did not stay long as it seemed almost a sacrilege. It reminded me of a pilgrimage and it was-for our Mormon guide. Back at the homestead we talked a while with the native Mormons and then left. I, for one. had a more thorough understanding of what Mor- monism is, who founded it, and what it means to its followers. L. HBERGLERSM or CHDUMB COPPERHJ The dumbest cop we ever had here, said the Police Lieutenant in charge of the rooky school. Forty-five inch chest, three inch skull and a paw like an ape. Today in an exam I asked: 'What would you do if you saw an armed burglar enter- ing a store ?' Look at his answer. Sergeant O'Rouke bent over the paper. Gawky, childish letters sprawled across the page which hore sweaty fingermarks and the signs of many erasures. John O'Neil, candidate for the force, had scrawled out: If I seen a bergler I wood arrest Same. The idea is O. Ku said O'Rouke. Yeh, but I've told him forty times how to spell 'burglar '. VVell, his cousin is Alderman Gray. I know. The force's got too many cousins already, growled the Lieutenant. Aw, pass him and give him a shield, said O'Neil. Put him on a quiet beat where he can't do any harm. Suppose I've got to, or Gray will raise Cain around the station. But you'll see. Someone'll steal his uniform or he'll fall into an open man- hole. What will the commissioner say then? He wants good cops.

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I A4 ' The Blue fr VVhite 20 CROOKED PASTURES As the dimming hush crept over the valley of the river Maas and evening covered the little village, which nestled close under the eaves of the mountains, Hergva watched the faint, Hicker- ing lights below and the people, dimly outlined, hurrying about to their tasks. Soon the village would be blotted from sight and he, Hergva, must spend a restless night on the mountain. But in the morning he could travel down to the tiny village and seek his mother, his small brothers, and his beloved Cria. Ah, what a pleas- ant thought was Cria. Hergva could picture her as he had seen her last, but alas, that had been five years ago. And oh, good Hergva, what changes can take place in five years! His thought wandered back to Cria. Does she love me now, or has she forgotten me P During the sleepless night Hergva formed a plan. I will change my appearance and my manner. He smiled and slapped the trunk of a great tree. Then we shall see. XV hen the early rays of the August sun began to glitter through the mountain trees and tlirushes, and orioles flittered from the wild mignonette to the scarlet poppy, dipping their bills in the dew drops, Hergva sat on a mossy ledge, munching his loaf of brown bread and some hard, cold beans, which he carried in his pocket. He watched the village, far below, as the sun picked out each white cottage with its green thatched roof. The sun, searching longer, found new houses which Hergva had never seen and patches of flowers sparkling with dew. Long did Hergva sit silently enrapt by the green fields dotted with clumps of wild roses climbing over huge boulders and up steep ledges, where timid orchids hid in the shadows of tum- bling fences. Only when the cows were brought to the stony pasture, did Hergva move. He combed his hair back over his head and rubbed the oil of crushed acorns on his face and hands. Then he started down over the mountain. The way was rocky and crooked and the trees had grown so thick that Hergva nearly lost his way. Suddenly he came upon the little, well-worn, dusty path up which Cria had driven her goats to pasture many times. Hergva stopped and gazed about: then with a sigh of relief he started on the path and came at last to the village edge. He was stared at by both the children and the elders for he was a droll figure. His face was very brown and oily and his hair stood away from his head. He carried his coat on his arm and a pack on his back. He walked slowly through the streets for it was hot and he was tired. Finally a bustling housewife came rushing out into the street and grabbed a chubby boy by the ear. She was about to return to the house when she spied Hergva. He recognized her at once as his mother and he started forward, but remembering the role he was to play, he paused and looked about him. You seem tired, my lad. Come in and have a bowl of soup. The woman took him by the arm and led him into the kitchen. She placed a steaming bowl of pea soup and some corn bread before Hergva: then she drew up a stool and sat down near the traveler. I welcome every stranger who comes to the valley of Maas because I think that someone might have chanced to see my boy. He looked like you somewhat, only his skin was much lighter. The sun has been very hot, said Hergva. My boy has been across the mountains five years, continued his mother. Five years is a longtime, said Hergva. I knew a boy who came from this village. He called himself Hergva, It is he: it is he, cried the mother, catching Hergva's face in her hands and kissing him vig- orously. Oh, my boy! Sigurd! Rulph! Come. She stood in the doorway waving her arms. Two tall, lanky boys came running to her. He knows of Hergva, she cried to her young sons, pointing to the young man bent over the bowl of soup. Tell us of him. VVell, replied Hergva, smiling broadly, he is a handsome lad and is doing great duties for the king.