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

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Westbrook High School A ....... . I 1 - - i see her if she was able to have company. The teachers went to visit her often. It didn't make any difference who she was. But it is different here. I wonder why. I ask people, but they don't seem to know. New England people are different. That's all, I guess. They're so distant. If I try to join them-well, I just can't, that's all, I feel like an imposter. Is it me? No, other new students have told me the same thing. Students don't seem to mix here. They go in groups, and when these groups get together it seems as if they have hung up a no admit- tance sign. Maybe they don't feel that way. I wonder if they don't. It's probably just their way. I go to their socials, I join their clubs that are open to everyone, but I always feel like a visitor. They speak to me, yes, but then every- body speaks to a person. I wish I were back in my own high school, where I hated to miss school because I might have to miss being in the Dramatic Club plays. And even if it were a large school I had ever so many friends. There somebody came every night to get their lessons with me or go some place or make candy and dance. VVe always had a swell time together. It didn't make any difference who came. VVhen we had school dances, which we had almost once a week, everybody mixed, and danced, and had a Swell time. Oh, why can't these people be like that? NVhy must they be so distant and certain peo- ple make you feel like they're too good for you? VVhy? Oh, how I wish I could make everybody join together, like each other, and have parties where everybody comes and joins in the games and dancing. But here, what am I trying to do? Change these cold, seemingly heartless, distant people, who have been the same through generations, and will be for many more generations? I don't believe they could have a student mixer here because half would be sitting around the side lines, quiet and probably bored, not knowing what to do with themselves while the rest talk in a group, and a very select few dance. I'm so glad I was born and reared where people have such good times. If I had been born here, I would probably be the same. E. H. ToM GRAY: ONE OF MANY I am sad. Yes, indeed, I am sad. When youth should be for me the carefree, jovial and selfish period of my life, I sit by the radio listening to a three-men debate. And what connections have these debates with my sad- ness, you may ask? VVell! I'll confide in you. It may even relieve a little of my sorrow which is slowly strangling my youth. In school, they teach me to love my Amer- ica. I am constantly reminded of men such as Vllashington, Lincoln, McKinley, who con- tributed to their utmost to make their country the land of the free, the home of the peaceful, and the anti-chamber of the heavens. They labor, in classes, to teach me the phases of the constitution, which should lead my life to the betterment of myself and my fellow citizens. They- plead, in my courses, to instill in me prin- ciples of honesty, devotion, unselhshness with matters concerning my United States. I hear of respect for my president and his associates, notwithstanding the party to which they belong. Yet on the radio I get acquainted with facts of the day. I hear of Baruch, Mellon, Dupont, who have contributed to make their country the land of the slaves, the kingdom of the am- munition manufacturers, and the most vivid resemblance to hell ever depicted. I am told of proposed amendments to add to our Consti- tution, amendments destined to terrify and clishonor our generations to come. I am con- vinced by, facts and figures of the dishonest, heathen, and selfish policies of our plutocrats. Baruch appears to be the active president of these United States I love, while the one who should be has to give way to the wishes of a corrupt cabinet of politicians. These debates I hear may be exaggerated, but they sadden me. I want my America to be what the school

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1 The Blue fu- VVhite 20 happy smile. You enjoy pleasing your friends with your patter. You consider it a pleasure to be called the class comedian. Do you lie awake nights thinking of good jokes? Do you obtain your witty remarks by listening to the radio? Your life is just one big playground, to all outward appearances, but I know you well, Pat. I know how easily you are affected, how you look into the future and plan to be a suc- cess, how you and I talk of the past, and how sober you can become. You believe in con- cealing your true feelings and emotions-so do I, but not in that fashion. How different we are, Pat. Should I envy you? I-I. M. OSCAR VVILSGN : JUNIOR I was seated on a bench outside the princi- pal's office, waiting. I was waiting for my friend, who had been caught along with myself for skipping school the day before. I was a junior and it wouldn't be long before I would get bawled out for the third time in my high school career. I was feeling pretty gloomy as I knew I would get suspended for the rest of the week. As I sat there, I looked up at the bust of George VVashington, on whose head someone had put a felt hat. I thought to myself, I'd sure like to be like you, George. You never told a lie. I haven't yet, but probably shall have before the whistle blows again. Gosh, George, but I'd sure like to be under your hat! VVell, it won't be long now .... My friend came out the door. As he headed for the coat room I knew what I would get, probably deservedly. C. T. SENIOR: AGED SEVENTEEN Once I was inspired. These very walls seemed to urge me on. They said, Young lady, where are you going? 'Tm going to college, walls, said I. Then my life lay mapped before me, brilliant with success. High school was an insignificant age through which I was passing. Bigger and better things loomed be- fore me. I was going to college! I worked hard in preparation for all that was to come, pour Ina grande education. Then came the crash, the blow that ruined everything. Today I walk the hallways, once luminous with inspiration, now barriers of despair. My books seem heavy on my arm. And I say to myself, just where are you going ? I answer me back, To work, of course. To work, where I'll earn that 'heap big moneyf I know I'm down, but I'll work my way out. If Dad did, then so can I. I'm not afraid to labor, if that's what I must do. After graduation I'll get a job. Big things then will start coming my Way. ' But will they? I review conditions as they have been for the last few years. In my imagi- nation, I can see lines of young men and wom- en at the doors of every employment agency. They're hungry. They want work. But there is no such thing. Work must be a thing of the past. Behind the headlines is news that never reaches the press: suicides, murder, robber- ies- characters of college men are broken be- cause they are hungry and cold. And they all utter the same complaint, No work. So I say to myself, Just where am I going? F. K. ALLAN BLAKE: A STRANGER IN A NEW ' ENGLAND HIGH SCHOOL I always thought it would be fun to go to a new school and meet new people. Of course, I hated to leave my old friends but I expect to see them again. When new people came to our school, everyone tried to see who could be the nicest to them. NVe invited them everywhere we went. We accepted them with a welcome they never would forget. VVe had student mixers for them to get acquainted with every- one. Teachers made things easier for them by kindness and a great interest in everything they did. If a student was sick, it didn't make any difference who she was, we always sent her round robbins and cards and flowers. VVe always made certain that someone went to

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A The Blue fr White 22 teaches me, yet I must admit that my America is enslaved by a few. So, as many others like myself are interested in the United States of mine, I ask: America, what is your destiny P R. F. ONE DROP - - VVell, I'l1 see you later. Okay, in school tomorrow. S'long- Good-bye. After bidding his friend, Ted Vfilliams, good-bye, Bill Steward bounded up the steps and into the house. ls that you, Bill? his mother asked. Yes, it's only me, Maw, said Bill. 'Tm going down cellar until supper time. He threw off his hat and coat and went down the cel- lar stairs. Bill was an amateur chemist of no little ability. He had his lab in the cellar, out of harm's way. There he put on a rubber apron and at the same time switched on the lights. A weird glow came from one corner of the cellar. He walked over and pressed another switch and a sharp, cracking voice issued from a corner of the bench, where a blue fire leaped and danced between two electrodes. He smiled a satisfied smile as he was pleased with the performance of this strange apparatus. Eagerly he moved over to another part of his long bench, where he began conducting an experiment which he had read in a science magazine. The article had stated that one should conduct the experiment in a fireproof place as the mixture was likely to explode if handled carelessly. This fact did not bother Bill in the least. He went right ahead with his work, confident that nothing would happen. lfVhen he had mixed half of the ingredients, he jumped back suddenly. Poof! A cloud of smoke and a tinkle of glass. It had exploded. VVhat an experiment! Then Bill gave way to anger. -?! 'D -??!-, he whispered. Before long, he cooled off and decided to try again. This time he was more cautious. He tried to be careful, but in doing so he made a slight error. He added the wrong substance. VVhen he had finished the mixture, he placed some of it in a beaker, which he placed on the edge of the bench. He lighted a match and tossed it into the mixture. Silence, no ex- plosion. Some explosive, if it didn't explode ! His experiment a failure, he decided to quit the laboratory until after supper. He went up the stairs and sat down at the table. During the course of the meal he was quiet and said little. After the meal was finished, he started down the stairs once more, this time accompanied by his mother's cat. He went over to the bench and picked up the beaker and absent-mindedly began to stir the contents. Carelessly he splashed some of the liquid onto the floor. The cat, who had been under the bench, saw the liquid dropping and investigated. A drop fell on her outstretched paw and then .... oblivion. The cat was dead. Bill, glancing down, pinched himself to see if he was awake. There was no doubt about itg the cat was dead. One drop of the liquid had the power to kill. Impossible, thought Bill, and yet it was true. Bill whistled softly in amazement. Then visions began to flash before him. Visions of power and money. Just think, he said, Master of the world, ruler of all mankind, Armed with this liquid I could do anything. He sat down and tried to think what he might do. Then suddenly he jumped up. Shivering and shaking with the thought of what he might have done with such a compound, he slowly and methodically poured it down the sink. f'There, that's gone. He breathed a sigh of relief. P T. C., '36, ONE-ACT PLAY OF AN ELOPEMENT fflpologies to S hakespeare j SETTING: Prospect Park West, outskirts of New York City. TIME: Present, 19355 Night, 7.45.