Windsor Locks High School - Herald Yearbook (Windsor Locks, CT)

Page 22 text:

20 THE HIGH SCHOOL HERALD John never likes to argue a point if he can help it becuz he always gets too hot under the collar. So he just closes his lips tight-like when he gets mad, and Letty knew better than to say anythin more. She d clashed with John before. The next day, that was Monday, I did my washing real early and was gettin ready to bake a cake, when the idea hits me to send a cake over to old Mrs. Evans seein ' that she wasn’t able enough to bake one for herself. So I starts in and bakes her one, too. About 2:30 I puts on a clean apron and hot foots it over next door carryin’ my cake all covered up in waxed paper. I went round to the back door and knocked, but I didn t get any answer. I knocked again but still I didn’t hear any- thin . When I knocked the third time and still no answer, I went back home thinkin’ the old lady was nappin’. When John came home about 5 :30, I tole him to take a run over with the cake. He came back sayin that the old man took it from him and said his wife would appreciate it. Well, that made me feel good becuz I done my good deed for the day. Tuesday—no, I guess it was Wednesday, I was havin’ a hot stew fer supper. No matter how hot the weather is, John always wants his hot soup or stew, so I always have it hot fer him. It was mighty good, too. Well, I was puttin’ on the stew when the idea comes to me to send some over to Mrs. Evans. Hot stew always could cure anybody’s ails. When it was done, nice and savoury, I puts some in a bowl and goes across the street. I knocked on the door and then I knocked again, but like the time be¬ fore, I didn’t get any answer. Then I got real worried, becuz John tole me that the old man was plannin ' to go out o’ town fer a few days, and I thought that maybe the old lady got sicker er somethin’, and she couldn ' t get ’round to call fer help. I tried the door, but it was locked. I ran ’round to the front door and it was open, and I walked in to a sort of hall with stairs leadin’ up to the second story. There was nobody in the kitchen, but there was two places set at the table. No food was cookin on the table though and that seemed mighty funny to me becuz I don’t see any sense in settin’ a table unless there’s food to put on it. I peeked in the other rooms, but nobody was there either, and the place was pretty clean, too. I guessed the old lady must have been pretty clean for someone so old. Then I started up the stairs to the bedrooms. I knew the old lady must ’a been up there if she wasn’t downstairs. She wasn’t in the first room, and it didn’t look as if it had ever been used, so I went in the other room. The old man’s pipes and books was layin’ on the table, and his clothes was in the closet, but not a sign of anythin ' that might ’a belonged to a woman. I just couldn’t understand it. Then I looked up on the wall over the bed and saw a picture. It was one of them painted portraits of an old lady with white haif and pearls. Under the pic¬ ture it said: . r Lydia Evans, beloved wife of Avery Evans Born 1850 — Died 1928 Then I understood, the old man was livin’ in his memories. I went home, takin’ the stew with me becuz I didn’t want him to know I ' d been there and knew his secret. CN CN Page

Page 21 text:

THE HIGH SCHOOL HERALD 19 We were shown the Male Ward and just beyond this ward we saw the Canary Room. The Canaries, women volunteer workers, assist in the hospital, thus re¬ lieving nurses of minor duties. Our tour so far had included the main work of the hospital, but now we came to the section of the hospital which, even though it is not in the public eye, is of great importance. This section includes the supply room, special diet kitchen, and main kitchen, which serves 1200 meals a day. The diet kitchen provides the diet for those who cannot cat the ordinary meals served, as they might prove insufficient and even harmful. From the supply room come the provisions for the main kitchen and special diet kitchen. We left the main hospital building and entered the Educational Building, which included a large library where students studying nursing arc able to gather helpful information and reference material for their studies. Student nurses have classes in the nutrition and chemistry building, where they receive preliminary training for their future work. The nurses’ dormitory includes small cozy rooms which have that homey at¬ mosphere which enables the girls to relax in their free hours. Our tour ended here, but the rooms we visited will long be remembered. Be¬ hind the professional walls of a hospital lie the close relationship and co-operation among all members of the hospital staff in their constant fight for humanity. Here is enacted daily the story of life and death. After my visit through the St. Francis Hospital, I can understand why the hos¬ pitals of America, of which the St. Francis is a fine example, are marked with distinction and honor, for here more than anywhere else is true Americanism shown. Here basically is shown no difference between the rich or poor, nor is there any racial or religious differences, for the hospital of America strives only to aid and benefit mankind. Elsie Colo ’47 STORIES NEIGHBORS We were siftin ' on our porch two weeks ago last Sunday evenin’, gettin’ the air and seein’ the scenery, when we saw Mr. Evans, the man who moved in a few weeks ago across the street, putterin’ ’round in his small garden. John, that’s my husband, said to Letty Eskins, my best friend, Seems as if Mr. Evans is havin’ a good time in that garden. Wonder why his wife don’t come out in the air. It must be swelterin’ in the house.” Letty speaks right up in that fresh way she has and says, Don’t seem to me the old man even has a wife. Nobody ever saw her.” I spoke up then, becuz I know how fast John can get riled up over nothin’, ’specially if someone says anythin’ against anyone, Letty, maybe the old lady is sick. They’re pretty old, the both of ’em. P’raps she can’t get up and around. John follers me right up by sayin’, Yes, Letty, the old man walked downtown with me yesterd’y and he said % the old lady wasn ' t feelin’ too good. Letty gives him her arrogant look and just says, Hump, you have an awful lot of faith in somebody you don’t even know, John,” CN Page

Page 23 text:

THE HIGH SCHOOL HERALD 21 When John came home, I told him and he didn’t say anythin’. He understood, too, I guess. Wh ?n I tole Letty, she acted the same way. She ain ' t a bad person after all. Well, now the whole street knows, but the old man doesn’t know we know, and he’ll never know becuz we may be a bit gossipy at times, but when it comes down to it, we re pretty human after all, too. So the old man goes on tellin’ people different things his wife says and does and nobody makes fun of him and nobody wonders why they never see the old lady becuz we all know he’s jest livin’ in his memories. Geraldine Cagnulari ’45 WE MEET AGAIN ’’Hurrah! Hurrah!” The roaring crowds formed one mighty voice. It was the end of the eighth inning and this would surely be another ’’perfect game” for Mort, a burly, left-handed pitcher. This game marked the close of a successful season for Mort. Since he had pitched all no-hit, no-run games, Mort had become the baseball idol of millions. The stadium was packed with thousands of people who had come to see Mort’s final game. It was the second half of the ninth inning and Mort’s opposing team was up. Toby Tamasko was at the bat. Mort pitched. Strike one. Another pitch. Ball one. Mort wound up for another pitch and — ’’crack” — the ball went whizzing through the air out into center field! Toby’s short legs carried him to second base! It was a hit! The first hit in Mort’s career as a pitcher. This time the crowd didn’t send up cheers. They were as astonished as Mort. Even Toby, the five foot, four inch shortstop, was amazed. ' Well, it was only luck.” That’s what everyone said at first. But was it? Toby was up for a second time, and a third, and—he did it a g a i n —he got a single. Now, the spectators were shouting, What happ ened? Mort’s pitched a perfect game’ all season and a little shrimp like Tamasko has to break the record.” The game had certainly turned out quite differently from what was expected. On the way to his hotel Mort thought of the game. Now, it seemed as though the entire season had been a failure because of that one inning. ’Nothing was more important than . . .” Mort stopped short, for, as he looked up, there was a poster—Uncle Sam pointing his finger and saying, ”1 W’ANT YOU.’’ Mort regarded the poster more closely. He read the message thereon, but the deter¬ mined look on Uncle Sam’s face was enough to set him thinking. The more he looked at the sign, the more he realized that, after all, there were things in this world that were more important than a baseball game. Mort decided, then and there, that he would go to his hotel, take a shower, and the first thing the next morning he would enlist in Uncle Sam’s Army. Mort was sent to Camp Shelton, and you guessed it, he spent his free lime, what little he had, playing baseball. Baseball was just in his blood. One fine afternoon several months later the fellows were assembled on the grounds to watch a game between Camp Shelton and Fort Houston. Mort, of course, was Camp Shelton’s pitcher. The game was going along smoothly until the umpire made several faulty decisions, as far as Mort was concerned. Mort walked off the mound toward the ump to complain when, lo and behold, the um¬ pire took off his mask, and who should it be, but Mort’s old friend,” Toby Tamasko, a Sergeant, stationed at Camp Shelton! Erma Olivi 45 CO CN Page