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

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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

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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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Westbrook High School i fact that Twain's English was perfect, whereas Will Rogers cultivated a broken western brogue. Although Mark Twain had the knack of turning a few common words into a good joke, he didn't care to be considered a humorist all the time. When he made a sensible remark or speech, people laughed because Mark Twain was speaking and this disgusted him. I think he made a wonderful father, for he loved children and never tired of entertaining them, either by telling stories or in some other way. When any of his children were sick, he was one of the first to think of some way to cheer the child. Mark Twain certainly wasn't successful as a soldier. He and fourteen other men called the Marion Rangers were sent out to capture live of the enemy who were staying at an old farmhouse, but as Mark and his friends neared their destination, their courage gave out and the enemy were still free to do damage as far as the Marion Rangers were concerned. Later the enemy attacked the Rangers and they were forced to fight or be taken prisoners. They fought. This conflict resulted in Mark Twain's killing a man. This was the breaking point for him and his comrades, and they all deserted their captain. Mark Twain was not a religious man. He didn't approve of God, but he did believe in the God that he had created himself. As he didn't believe in the hereafter, death was very bitter to him. He never attended a funeral, not even if the death had occurred in his immediate family. Most of his books are humorous, but a few are serious, one of the most serious is Joan of Arc. The tragic part of this book is enlight- ened only by humorous remarks made by Joan, and these are few and far between. I have tried to give you an idea of what Mark Twain is. He is to be considered not only as a humorist but also as a keenly sensi- tive man, loving and gentle, yet tragically fearful of death. E. H., '36. 25 STARTING THE CAR The quickest way to start a car on a cold morning is to rise out of bed, dress slowly, eat slowly, and walk nonchalantly down to the corner of the street and take the electric car to work-on time. This is rarely done, however. Instead you rise very early, rush downstairs and fry two eggs, one for the stomach and one for the vest. You then slip on your coat, get- ting the buttons in the wrong buttonholes, and breeze out into the cool morning air. You jump into the car, fumble with the keys, curse, and then step on the accelerator. It growls like an angry dog, but does not turn over. You curse again-to sooth your feelings. The next move is to crank the car-very embarrassing, especially when a neighbor walks by and shouts, Better take the electric car l ' You smile good-naturedly, but deep down inside you want to shout, Dry up! So once again you start cranking, only to skin your knuckles on the license plate. Angrily you throw the crank into the car, while shouting for someone in the house to call the garage mechanic, and start on fthe run towards the corner with the sore hand in your mouth, the other waving in the air. You arrive just in time to catch the car and get a seat with your neighbor who grins, I told ya. After spending an ugly day at the office, you call the garage man to Hnd the trouble with your car. You nearly swallow your false teeth when he says, It was out of gas ! L. F., '37. NOISES WITHIN A THEATRE Did you ever stop to think of the different noises that are to be heard in a theatre? just before the picture begins there is always a gen- eral babble of whispering voices which indis- tinctly shape themselves into the Words: Fancy meeting you here l Do you think we can see good from here P Suddenly the air is broken by the rasping sound of the starting record and the whir of the curtain as it is opened. The show has started!