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

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nlfgnief s 19 knows, that's the reason we have these study periods. Gee whiz, I wonder who ever had the bright idea of using subjunctive mood in French. Those verbs get me all muddled-wondering what stems are necessary and what endings you add. And-, but here comes Sonja Henie, or are my eyes deceiving me? Pardon me, it's just one of those Uirregular walkers. Funny, I thought she was practising her skating. But who's this? Must be the founder of the Y. M. C. A.- Young Mister Corridor Abiderf' It seems the corridors appeal to him more than the classrooms. How queer! What's that I hear? Ah, it is that musical peal of joy that frees us from our work and toil. See the grand rush through the halls. Where are the loitering, lazy, sleepy pupils of a few moments ago? In a jiffy, new energy has been suddenly brought to the surface, and students fly hurriedly from one room to another. But can I forget so easily the sights that I have witnessed? Indeed, no, for what happened all in the course of a period will remain in my memory too long. VVhy? just on account of the fact that these happenings are as regular as low marks on a rank card. Try to escape them. You'll not succeed, I'l1 warrant. A STRANGE CASE GEORGE CRAIGIE, '40 It was not a cheerful night. The clouds had descended early and filmed the moon. Dead leaves swept by, hurried by sudden gusts of wind. To the north, a rumble of thunder prophesied a storm. The eerie shrieks of birds sent a cold chill up Car1's spine. The touch of the clammy wall against which he shrank made him cringe with revulsion. He shuddered, though not with the cold. His hand sought the knife hidden beneath his coat and closed on it. He was here tonight, standing in a slight niche in the alley wall, in order to murder a man, a man who had married his girl. Carl had gone with her for a year, bringing her gifts, taking her to the best places, faithfully performing her every wish. Then he had proposed. It was a great shock that he learned she was going to marry Paul. He didn't even know Paul was seeing her. Suddenly the knife clattered on the pavement. The sharp noise seemed to awaken him. He couldn't kill Paul Wescott. Paul was his friend. They had always chummed together, belonged to the same fraternity, exchanged Christmas gifts. He remembered Paul's last, an expensive gold pen and pencil. He had replied with a silver cigarette case. Then came Paul's marriage. He had been to visit them a few times, but their so-evident happiness together tortured him. His mind re- called pictures, agonizing, tormenting pictures of them together. Breathing heavily, he picked up the knife. He would do it! just one blow with the knife and all would be ended, avenged. A faint whistle sounded along the street outside the alley. Carl started and shrank back into the shadows. This was not the way Paul cameg it was from the opposite side. Paul worked in a large manufacturing plant till nine every evening. He always passed through this alley. But this was not Paul. Slowly a policeman walked past the en- trance to the alley, whistling and swinging his club. He looked in once, but seeing nothing, con- tinued on his beat. Car1's mouth was dry. What if someone should discover hirn? Suppose someone had seen him entering the alley. When they found Paul's body, the police would ask questions and sooner or later would suspect him. Never having thought of this, his mind was crowded with possibilities. He al- most decided to go home-to get away from this terrible alley. Then the wind, howling more liercely than ever, brought a large branch crash- ing down into the niche. It struck him full on the shoulder, as though a huge hand had hit him rudely. He started and dropped the knife. Then, pushing the branch away, he stooped to pick up the fallen weapon. As he rose slowly, his eyes widened in terror. There, bearing down upon hirn at what seemed terrific speed, was a huge black figure, seemingly twice his size. It was Paul! He cried chokingly and thrust out with his arm, the knife gleaming. Vaguely, he saw Paul fall 3 then he turned, and gasping, fled from the horrible spot. He ran through the narrow alley, up streets, across lots, his one thought to get away.

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18 grandson's parlor hangs jennifer's sitting room is honored with the In this same mirror. The desk. The peony front of her place, for it VVhen the old home could no longer be occupied, the bush was taken up and divided. This plant has lived in the soil of Bath for 152 years, and it has repaid the loving care given it by blooming every year. bush was planted by Jennifer, in new home. It seemed to like this grew and blossomed every year. ALL IN THE COURSE OF A PERIOD DOROTHY ST. PIERRE, '38 Sitting at the student service desk for a whole period! Have you ever had that favorable, yet unfortunate, opportunity? Well, it has been my sixth period daily duty for several months. And in this duty I have seen processions of students filing back and forth before me which I really feel I ought to describe to you. First, I'll ask you to draw on your cloak of imagination ftaking it for granted that you have one, but if you haven't, borrow your neighbor'sj and see with me the various sights that I call to your attention. Where shall I begin first? Eeny, meny, miny, mo. Catch-Ha, Ha! Here comes my first presentation. If it isn't the dear little freshman, himself! Remember, you're not the president yet, my boy. Wherefore the swaggering, self-important step? Better come down from your high horse. Don't forget, you're still an innocent, green, little freshie.'l But what good does such well-meant advice do? 'Tis but one of those know-it-all seniors talking. Why heed to her admonitions? And so he passes by, still thinking himself one of the seven wonders of the world. But there are plenty of others to take his place. Here come two girls-giggling girls. Do I hear some boy say, That's what you'd expect of a female ? Well, whether you expect it or not, they are giggling. And what grotesque actions! They look at each other, convulsed with laughter, stop in the middle of the stairs, lean against the railing -pardon me, but what an outline-drop a pencil, stoop to pick it up, bump their heads, burst into VV: -lv' w A15 ' 'S lla, 1 . fl ,A, A, J.4e,, renewed giggles, and finally rush for the main room with the whisper, You go in one door and I'll go in the other. The teacher won't guess that we have been out togetherf, So ingenious! How do you suppose one can be so brilliant? I think I'll ask them for some tips sometime. But my attention is suddenly attracted to the other end of the hall. What are those three boys doing together? They evidently are having a pretty good time. Hmm! Here they come. Funny, what some people will do to attract your attention-staging a little free-for-all tussle on the stairs. Would I laugh if one of them fell and broke his arm? They're in their room, and from the sound effects, they're evidently getting the good old razz-matazz-scolding, to you. Now, probably I can do a little bit of studying for tomorrow. But no. Who's that woe-begone creature coming along, trailing the aftermaths of an embarrassing exit? He looks as though he had lost his last friend. Maybe he has. It appears that he's been Hkickedn out of a class by a very, very irate teacher fit happens sometime to the best of the boys and girlsj. He's just about quaking in his shoes, and he stops by my desk to pour out the whole story. With my most sympathetic man- ner and all ears, I listen patiently, offer my com- passion, and try to prepare him for the dreaded ordeal with the principal. Come now, the worst he can do is expel you for perhaps a month. Gee, does that encourage him! He fairly jumps for joy, and cries, Is that all? Do you really mean it ? Then in a low voice, You might just as well send me to Sing Sing. Such is the manner in which my heartfelt understanding is received. After a final pat on the back, I send him to his doom. Illl mention here that I don't see him again that period. Let's hope that the next time I see him it isn't in an electric chair. Now, there are more students at the fountain. You'd think that they had just eaten a barrel of salt by the amount of water they succeed in need- ing when study periods come along. But then, I suppose they feel the need of exercise. It's rather a bore at times to sit still forty-live whole minutes. I believe that for a while I'll be able to do a little bit of concentrated studying-goodness

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VV If w 20 ,ll ifv! Finally, he stopped near the river, and sat on a convenient stone. He breathed raspingly for a few minutes, completely exhausted. What had he done? He'd-he'd-killed Paul! But Paul was his best friend-his best friend-. He repeated this stupidly. Suddenly, he stood up and flung the knife far out into the water. Then, turning the way he had come, he began to walk, slowly and wearily. He must make amends. How, he did not know, but he must. He had never really hated Paul, he knew that now. These thoughts ran through his troubled mind until he came again to the entrance of the alley. He stopped, then walked hesitatingly in. Paul lay as he had left him, on his back, his pale face illu- mined by a ghostly street lamp which was feebly trying to pierce the night. A sudden flurry of wind lifted Paul's coat lapel, and Carl saw a great tear over the heart. He cried out chokingly and, as he did so, Paul moaned faintly. Carl cowered and shivered, then, hope flaming, he knelt and listened to Paul's heart. It was beating. When Paul was able to talk, he told Carl about it. Someone tried to knife me, Carl. I hit my head on the wall as I fell, and it stunned me. That was a close call, Paul. How come this- this person didn't get you ?'l This was in my coat pocket. Stopped the knife, I guess. Paul held out his hand. In it was a dented silver cigarette case. Carl arose. Come on, I'll help you home, he said. EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF P. JOHNSON, '39 The man in the trench cursed the war as he gazed over the barricade. It was always the same scene out there: the star shells with their eerie light at night always revealed the same things. You always saw the barbed wire entanglements, the naked and broken tree trunks, and the ground torn up by the high explosives-for this was war. War with its hate, pestilence, and fear. War with its carnage and mud. Mud !-It was everywhere! They slept in it, they ate it in their food, they worked in it, and they died in it. It rained con- tinually as though the Heavens wept to behold the tragic foolishness of humanity. A bit of sunshine would have been a godsend to these men, whose bodies and spirits were so dampened that their souls were shrunk within them. VVilliam Vanner philosophized a bit as he looked down the length of the trench and recog- nized the various silhouettes outlined against the murky light. They were a well-mixed group: Irish, jews, Scotch and Negroes. There were five of the latter and he had grown to admire them during the weeks they had been on the front to- gether. They were fine singers, and often they had brightened the gloom with their harmonious voices, accompanied by the company violinist, Arnold Carpentar. Strange fellow, this Carpentar. Bill had heard that he was drafted just as he was reaching the height of a fine career as a concert violinist. He was an odd chap, never seeming to join the others in the comradeship. That comradeship was going to be sadly dis- rupted now, Venner feared, for the orders had come up for the company to attack at 5.10 A. M. this morning. The officer in charge had told them that it was every man for himself, an announce- ment which made the whole thing practically a death warrant. The hour had come, and in the few minutes left, these men were experiencing the extreme nausea that only fear can cause. These men were not cowards, they were not hysterical. They were not afraid to die, but behind their ashen grey faces their thoughts were much the same. Death itself did not impress these men greatly, but the thing that frightened them was how they would be hit. Theirs was a fear of that interval between the time they were struck and when they died. Bill Vanner was praying that his might be the easy way-in the head, where all would end in one long, blinding flash. Then it happened. VV ith a crash that split their ears the big guns began their concerted tiring under which the company was to advance. They went up and over. They ran across the muddy flats toward the section of enemy entrenchments that were their objective. Then, one by one, they