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

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Westbrook High School I .. 23 was popularly known as a rattle trap or puddle jumper. I am thinking especially of a 1920 model that could run on its looks. It is because of this car that I am such a capable mechanic for the age of seventeen, for I drove it before I was old enough to have growing pains. But to get back to the subject, I know that car had a soul because it was such a familiar thing. It never went past a filling station that it didn't have to back up and get acquainted. And what a woman hater! I am inclined to believe that car had a natural prejudice for women. To get it to have a flat tire when a man was present was an impossibility. Many are the hours I have perspired over the air pump. There was something else queer about it, too. It had the funniest ideas about running out of gas halfway between the two extremes of very, very high hills. If induced to travel over twenty-five miles an hour, it had a queer Way of hopping, and the only safe way of going down a hill was to put on the emer- gency. I will give it credit for being a very modest thing, for it hardly ever took advantage of anything else. Was I embarrassed the day I was putt-putting along and a wheelbarrow passed me! Lizzie moved so slowly the dogs wouldn't even chase it. One day I took a long trip of five miles, and maybe I wasn't surprised to meet myself going, as I was coming back. As Lizzie grew older, we didn't even bother to put the sides of the hood down. We found it more convenient, when we were obliged to stop and tinker, to find them already up. There were all the conveniences of a modern garage to be found under the back seat, from a few extra engines to toothpicks. We used the toothpicks to plug up leaks in the gas line. We found it necessary when going anywhere to return the same way so that we could pick up the parts we had dropped. It simply refused to run with more than four aboard. I distinctly remember one day when we offered to give the preacher a ride home from church. He squeezed in on the back seat and we departed from the chapel at the top of the hill. We coasted down as nicely as you pleaseg but when we got to the bottom, Lizzie, realizing the extra weight, stopped. With much embarrassment we had to ask the minis- ter to dismount and tag along beside. Speak- ing of weight, shall I ever forget the day I gave a fat woman a ride on the back seat! Proud as a peacock, the little car just ran through town on the two hind wheels. As all things must some day meet their fate, so did Lizzie. Her working days were over. VVe scraped the paint off the one mudguard that was left and sold the rest to a tooth paste factory recently to be ground up and used as a grit base for a new tooth powder that had been perfected recently. If by any chance you find grit on your tooth brush sometime in the near future, think nothing bad of it, for it may be the remains of some intimate part of Lizzie. F. K., '36, CAN THIS BE I? You might, if you had been looking for it, have seen a very little girl crying her eyes out because someone was playing the piano or the graphophone. Poor little girl, she just couldn't be calm and collected when she heard music, her feelings ran away with her and took her off by herself somewhere to cry. Water running down the drainpipe from the rent upstairs also sent this little girl scurrying for shelter and protection. Mother has a picture of her little girl with her arm around a cunning little baby calf. The little girl looks happy and unafraid. Neighbors often saw a young person coming along the sidewalks with boxes in her hands. Little Girl was taming grasshoppers! They were taught to walk along their oWner's fin- gers and were kept in grass-filled boxes. Little Girll' and her friends used to don overalls or play suits and stage Indian Wars. She was General Pershing to a large group of youngsters who obeyed under threat. She played baseball and even football. She came in all torn and muddy and heard, Look at that

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The Blue fa- White 22 Restaurant, the New York Sun Life Insurance Building, and many others. I watched a whole nation of people pass byg I may have seen jimmy Walker himself, for all I know. But of my uncle I saw no trace. The best thing to quiet jangled nerves, which you may be sure I had by this time, is a good din- ner. In New York they call it luncheon, but I made a whole meal of it. Then I felt I needed a quiet spot for my siestag so I treated myself to an afternoon at the theater. 'Twas in the Fox Theater. Shall I ever forget the place! As I entered, the vaudeville was on and the small-town boy's eyes popped wide open. It was magnificent. Came time for the news, the comedy, and finally the feature picture itself, Daddy Long Legs. I was having the time of my life. That is until-l Oh, yes, until. That's where Big Ben comes in. Up to this time I had felt at ease. In the dark of the theater no one could see my swelled-up pants pocket. I had taken a seat away from everyone else so that the click, click. click wouldn't be noticed by anyone save me. The persons near- est me were two negro girls of whom I could dis- tinguish only the pearly white teeth. But sud- denly disaster struck. While Warner Baxter was so charmingly making love to Janet Gaynor on the screen, a soft ringing noise was heard in the theater. Then the din grew louder and louder until it almost shook the roof, it seemed. A burst of laughter rose. The love scene was forgotten. Even Warner Baxter and Janet Gaynor seemed disturbed. Needless to say, it was my alarm clock which had been causing all the rumpus as it rang with a triumphant bellow. The clear ringing sound changed to a brr, brr, brr, when I succeeded in covering the clock with my hand. all the while trying to find the check alarm lever. By this time an army of ushers were pointing their flashlights in all directions, trying to find the cause of this untimely vaudeville act. But I was down on the floor, all in sweat, holding the infernal device with one hand through the cloth of my suit and with the other hand pushing back the lever. Fox Theater was once more silent. The stars of Daddy Long Legs regained the attention of their audience. The ushers dimmed their spot- lights and the laughter ceased, although not en- tirely. I waited for a few minutes while lying on the floor. Then I plucked up enough courage to sit down once more. My face and neck were of a burning red in the dark. My hands were moist with sweat, my heart beats rivaled the din of the click, click, click of Big Ben in my pocket. The picture lost all its allure to me and I decided to leave. I tried to be brave, I braced myself to ap- pear nonchalant as I walked out of Fox Theater. The head usher faced me, barring the exit. I knew I was caught. To my surprise he graciously handed me a folio, listing next week's pictures. I stumbled back to the apartment along the streets and avenues of Brooklyn. First it whispers, then it shouts. If this can't get you out of bed, then you need a Big Ben Loud Alarm. I'll always remember one which had the three effects all in one, loud alarm predominating. A. F., 236. THOUGHTS OF MISS BETTY VAINMORE If Greta Garbo can become famous, I also should become famous. I have a perfect figure, And my feet are not too large. My talk, although it has no foreign accent, Draws people to me like a magnet. My features need no altering. My hair will need no bleaching, And my dramatics are inspiring To even a college professor. I could even pass as a foreigner To make me more romantic. With all these characteristics I should become an actress. F. A., '37. ,-it-1-1 HENRY'S MECHANICAL WOMAN Good old Henry Ford! He is the only man who has yet succeeded in creating for the benefit of the public a real mechanical woman. I mean a mechanical woman that besides being able to walk when one button is pushed and stop when another is pulled, and bow, and shake hands, and kick, has a soul not unlike that of a human being. I refer to none other than that species of Ford car which a few years ago

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' The Blue fr VVhite 24 dear little tomboy. Only half an hour ago she was clean and whole. The youngster was a Broadway producer of plays and dancing attractions. These were produced in a large, airy, and clean abandoned henhouse. Now this little girl is about ten or so years older. The most enjoyable-occupation or pas- time to her is a musical concert or any musical event. No more scared runaway, only beauti- ful thoughts for all true music. No longer does she wear ragamuflin clothes. She tries to be as clean and neat as possible. The sight of a cow anywhere except behind a strong fence or tied in the barn is enough to merit a wild dash for safety. She still thinks a little calf is cunning, but they grow up so quickly. A grand exhibition could be staged by chas- ing her with a grasshopper. I really think she'd faint from fright. They're so crawly. She is willing to help her clubs and friends, but would rather not be chief producer, except on the side lines. Mother and father often remark about the changes in their children, and after hearing about this little girl's different stages, I don't wonder. Can this be I? E. C., '36. l.,-.-.1 THE FAMILY RADIO According to my opinion, radios bring hap- piness to millions of people. Happiness, yes, but in a family of different tastes they also bring slight disagreements. At home, we all like to tune in on Major Bowes' Amateur Hour, Uncle Ezra, Amos and Andy, and a few other programs. But when- ever I rush home in the evening to dial in on the sensational Danno O'Mahoney bout, I find my sister ahead of me listening to silly wails of a popular crooner. First come, first served seems to be her slogan, because I usually read in next day's newspaper the result of the bout. NVell, the Irishman tossed his rival all over the ring, but I had to read about it instead of listening to it. During the latter part of Sunday afternoon, I arrive home and find Mom and Dad listening to one of Father Coughlin's stupendous ora- tions. Nearby, Sis is patiently waiting for Father Coughlin to sign off so that she can turn the dial about and see if johnny Davies is playing The Music Goes Round and Round. I wonder what she sees in those ho, ho, ho, ho's',g but the Hillbillies I'd like to hear simply pass by. If there happens to be a hockey game on the air and there's also a political speech by a gov- ernor or senator that Dad is keenly interested in, the radio goes to him. Oh, well, at first I'd sort of kick about it all, but I suppose politics are more important than hockey. Be- ing the youngest in the family is grand at times, but as far as the radio is concerned it isn't very enjoyable. I hereby resolve that should I ever fall heir to a decent amount of money, I will purchase nine radios, one for every room in the house. Dad will then tune in on Governor So and So: Mom will have her cooking recipesg Sis can have her croonersg and I'll have my Wrestling bouts, boxing, and hockey matches to my heart's content. R. A., '37, MARK TWAIN When anyone mentions the name Mark Twain, most of us think of a man with a keen sense of humor. VVe do not stop to think what is beneath this humor, but if We did, we would realize that Mark Twain was a very sensitive man. His daughter, Clara, proves this to us by an entry in her journal which relates that her father was as much a philosopher as anythingg and that, whenever he was at home, he would pick out a serious subject to discuss with only an occasional joke thrown in. If Mark Twain had lived in the present day, he would probably have become a great actor, along the same line as Will Rogers, as he loved public appearances and was a very successful lecturer. There is one great difference between Twain and Rogers, however, and this is the