Winthrop High School - Winthrop Winner Yearbook (Winthrop, ME)

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XYINTHROP HIGH SCHOOL 321 failed before them. It was a foolish loss of life in the eyes of the average per- son but reasons that are kept from the public have been the objects of many seemingly worthless flights that have really pioneered the path now followed by huge horsepower planes with great safety. Gary Lee, ,239 Human Nature in a Subway For those who enjoy studying human nature there is undoubtedly no better place than the downtown street car or the subway, especially those which come and go between hve and seven. Here one will find every type of humanity. The shoddy person on the left with too much powder and too little grooming is coming from her Hve a week l' job in a live and ten to her apartment. The shapely legs of the girl next to her mean only one thing, weeks and weeks of practice until one desire is found, her name in big lights. Then there is the business man with his poignant, smelling cigar lost in his news- paper and matters too erudite for the frivolities around him. Up back is The Chattering VV omenls Club just return- ing from an outing, tired yes, but not tired enough so that they have lost their loquaciousness. No street car or sub- way would be complete without the howl- ing five year old whose mother has no influence in subduing his cries, much to the disgust of the bespeckled mannish lad. tlndividual across the way.j Ste- nographers, chorus girls, shoppers, busi- ness men, and clerks every one living in a separate world having their own worries, happiness and interests and in- different to the companions around them. They jostle eaclgier, push each other, apologize to each other and then go on their respective ways. Betty Webb, '39. On Seeing a Horse Race llands playing--drum majors strut- ting- hot choking dust-and a mass of people wait breathlessly for what?-- for the big event of the day,-THE RACES ! ! ! The bands disperse and the people set- tle down, waiting for the appearance of the horses. Many are going over their racing sheets and still others are placing last-minute bets. How feverishly they toss their money to the waiting girl at the stand, who knowns that they will never beat racing! Back to the stands and to numerous speculations as to the merits of the horses that you placed your money on. All this ceases as the horses are led from their stables to the track. VVhat beauties they are! How their satiny coats gleam in the sun. How royally they strut with their jockey's hunched over like little gnomes on their backs. They are led to their places and the crowd leans tensely forward. A shot! The barriers are jerked up and the cry is raised- 'A They're off ! Can this be a civilized crowd? This tortured mass of humanity, screaming, beseeching, imploring-a man over in the next isle has completely lost control of himself. He is pitifully begging some Lady jane to fly to the goal and curs- ing her jockey for not playing her nearer the rail. The woman next to him uses different tactics. She, alternately scolds, and uses baby-talk to her choice. lt's over, Vtfhat a leaden sound that has. There is something final about these few words. Something that you can faintly see in the drooping heads of the tired horses. No peerless, thorough- brecls these, their sides heaving and their coats dulled by dust and perspiration. The crowd too looks different. The 'K Sport of Kingsfl they call it, but its effects on people are quite un-royalfl Virginia Rourke, '38 l

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T42 VVINTHROP XYINNICR Flight to Glory VVith its two powerful motors slowly turning over, a giant Lockhead plane sat posed for flight in front of one of the hangers at Newark airport in New Jer- sey. Several mechanics made last min- ute adjustments while the two pilots stood nervously talking with a number of reporters. A huge crowd milled around outside the gate trying to get a glimpse of the plane and pilots. Suddenly a door in the administration flew open and a blue uniformed man came running out. He rushed up to the plane with the news that the weather had finally cleared. Both pilots climbed in and made their way to the isle between the huge gas tanks and eased their way into the small cockpit. With one last word to friends they opened up first one and then the other motor, listening to its sturdy roar, checked their instruments and then idled them. They seemed to be waiting for something and then it came, the green light from the dispatch tower giving them the right to take off. Now both powerful motors suddenly roared in uni- son almost making the ground shake. Dust, stones, peoples' hats, and every- thing loose was blown around as the plane slowly turned to get on the large runway. The plane started to move faster and faster. Half way down the runway the tail showly lifted. A sort of queer stillness hung over the crowd. Everyone was thinking the same thing. Could the two roaring motors, hung on thick silvery wings, lift the enormous weight of nearly Hfteen hundred gallons of gasolene? Almost at the end of the runway one wing came up a little but fell back. The pilot was attempting to take it into the air. The plane reached the end of the runway and bounded heavily up and stayed up a few feet above the crowd, slowly but surely the pilot gained altitude, and the plane faded into the distance. Once again an attempt was being made to fly nonstop over the North Pole to Russia. Barry Rand the pilot with his co-pilot Dick Barnes sat nervously checking and rechecking their one hun- dred and forty instruments. Several hours later the broad Pacific Ocean lay beneath their left wing. On the right the snowy white falcons stretched out. The clock on the panel slowly moved around till it read seven oyclock. Exactly at the moment it reached seven, Dick reached for the radio to make another of his hourly radio checkups. He turned a blank lever until the pointer of two in- struments both quivered at the home station wave length. Then he held up the mike and softly repeated number 206 to Newark, go ahead Newarkf, After doing this several times he snapped another switch and fainly caught Newark acknowledging his call, then he gave the position. altitude, and airspeed and signed off. The air grew bumpy and the fog began to get thicker. Radio contact grew fainter and fainter until it was lost altogether. Hours later through the clouds they caught a glimpse of the snow and ice. Their instruments showed them to be within five miles of the Pole, then the clouds closed in again. Hour after hour passed with the thick white mist rolling past the windows, so thick that the wing tips were hidden from view. One of the motors began to heat and slowly lost power. Dick and Jim worked nervously with various instruments try- ing to keep it running but their efforts failed to do any good. Presently the motor kicked a last time and went dead. The plane, unable to stay in the air with the heavy load, settled down to the ocean beneath. Dick shook hands with Barry but neither of them said a word. The altimeter slowly settled, then with a wail- ing roar the plane hit the water. For weeks both the Russians and .Xmericans in hundreds of planes and boats searched the water where Dick and Barry were last heard from but they were nnally forced to give up and two more pilots' names were added to those who

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IH VVINTHROP WINNER Brown Jacket Brown jacket opened his eyes to a world of green grass and sunshine. Life was opening like a book for himg a life, unfortunately of hardships and few joys, for Brown jacket was a small, spindly- legged fawn. His home was in the deep woods of Maine, but not far enough from the guns of men to be called safe. In the summer, when he wasn't hunted by men, his life was made miserable by wolves, wildcats and other carnivorous animals. The first few weeks of his existence were perhaps the happiest that he was to experience. He soon grew out of the suckling stage and began to feed on grass and tender buds. Une day as he was daintily nibbling on some succulent boughs beside his mother, a shot rang out. VVith the shot his mother went to her knees but quickly re- covered and with a strangled whimper kept on. Another shot spit the quiet of the forest but mother and fawn were by that time in a dense thicket and the shot took no toll of either beast. They ran for about two miles although the mother was making hard work of the last mile. Sud- denly she again fell down and this time did not get up but lay coughing her life away while Brown jacket looked on with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Finally with a convulsive movement of her body his mother closed her eyes, her limbs straightened out and her eyes be- came glassy. Poor Brown jacket was an orphan as his father had long fallen prey to a hunter's sure aim. For several hours Brown Jacket stayed by the side of his dead mother. Finally night fell and the fawn wandered further into the thicket and there bedded for the night. In the morning he woke to the glory of a new day. His first thought was of his mother but with the natural instinct of a wild animal, which is self preserva- tion, he began to feed. He missed the companionship of his mother but after awhile the urge to keep moving and liv- ing gradually drove thoughts of her out of his mind. The memory of an animal for parents or of parents for their off- spring is short. The memory of the shot which wiped out his mother stayed with him, however, and he kept to the dense woods and thickets where he fed and grew tall and fat. VVhen he heard the sound of fire- arms in the distance he went on the wings of the wind to safer pastures. Following the close of the hunting season from which he escaped unscathed Brown Jacket had his first experience with snow. At first it was easy to feed, later as the snow became deeper it was more difficult to get down to the ground for forage. Other deer joined him and for several months they kept together, treading down the snow until they could reach the food which meant existence. Fortunately Brown Jackets first win- ter was a mild one and he emerged in the spring considerably thinner but other- wise hale and hearty. The spring and summer months were a real pleasure ex- cept for the black flies which bothered for some time. His apology for a tail was slim protection from the myriads of insects which clustered on all parts of his body. At times he would lie in streams or submerge himself in a lake up to his head in order to get temporary relief. It was at this time he was bothered by a head-ache which he was unable to account for, until one day two tiny spiked horns broke through the skin on the top of his head. Brown Jacket was now a full-fledged buck deer although he had not as yet reached his full growth. Through the summer months and the early fall, Brown jacket had been quite content to browse by himself or with other bucks but as the nights grew colder he began to think that life was not quite