Woodbury High School - Warrior Yearbook (Woodbury, CT)

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Htterarp From the Scrapbook of C. Robert Abbott THE SENIOR PROCESSIONAL Twenty four together Laughing! Poking fun! Each a merry fellow; Each a joking one. Mae—so gay and cheery With her Billy” goat in tow Basketball and Mirror, In each she made a great show. Philip and our basketball Quite a jumper, quite a pal With him should come Maggie But she’s not a Senior gal. Russell, pious Russell As a turtle likes to go— But looking at his high school years Is 4 in 3 so slow? Reichy, long and lanky, Known to bat and ball, Sometimes he is pranky But always he is tall. Salokas—tall and brawny, Quite a pitcher in the box And with the bat our crony. Gives bold and burly knocks. Henry of the drug store— Chocolate sodas there we taste— Believes the aged proverb, Schoolward haste makes waste. Morris and his Physics, Chemistry and all. Shows, in getting higher. You needn't be so tall. If it’s not his crazy Chevy Or his drawing motor cars. He is entertaining Elsie. Who is this goggled Tarz? And Elsie,—silent Elsie Blushes tint her cheeks When bothered by Sir Kenny, Months and days and weeks. Irma and her corpulence Have shook our well worn floors But this high school, if Irmaless, Would be just full of bores. Katie, joyous Katie, In our fun has taken part, A second Irma maybe, At least a gay young heart. Among our taller figures. Must Helen here belong, She joined in basketball, So did Oscar—tall and strong. And here comes Grace and Reggie” They lounge about the hall, And likewise does our Sidney— Has Cupid got them all? And then of course is Benny, In basketball so good; And here’s another Kenny— The Minor’s” understood. Alida, she’s another maid. Who charms the Senior boys; She and all the rest of the girls Are always making noise. Here’s Gertrude and Florentine We’ll put them side by side, Their value to the Senior Class, Has been too great to hide. And Phyllis—you know Phyllis— So silent, calm, and meek. And Dot, the dark-eyed central, Has Number Please,” to speak Here’s Westy”—wooly Westy— With a cowboy turn of mind, Making up a long procession Through the world to climb and wind. Page Thirty-One

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 lyVx i nr i i Sophomore Class of 1934 Freshman Class of 1935 Page Thirty

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 LAUS DEO The couple came into the shop from the back I have seen him toil, hour after hour, over room and the elderly cobbler added, smiling: shoes. Yes, day after day. I have seen his dull. Yes, to home.” He looked up to the ceiling. black eyes—as they slowly looked up when I raised his arms to it and muttered, eyes closed: entered his shop. I have seen his coarse, shaggy hair, his wrinkled face, his black mustache, hid- Laus Deo! Da Po! Italia! Home!” ing a drooping dumb mouth. But I saw him yes- terday—with wet eyes sparkling through the He dried his eyes. The lady, head down. moisture. He smiled as he lovingly handled the shoes, and glanced up quickly when a customer clenched her apron tightly and muttered in a scarcely audible voice: came in. His face was smiling and unwrinkled. Yes, it seemed beautiful. I wondered. Home! Oh, Laus Deo! ♦ Often as I have walked down the main city street, I have noticed a bent, gray black-eyed, sad woman. She would pause on the curb, then trembling hurry across the busy street, and go on; head bowed and melancholy. But I met her today, head lifted, her eyes shining jet-like, her wrinkles smoothed, and a smile, soft and WHITHER?” sweet dwelt on her lips. She looked younger, much younger, her real age, with her sorrows lifted. She did not see me—she passed by. I wondered. ♦ We pause to say, Farewell,” And to ourselves we’re asking Whither?” Two pairs of glistening black eyes, two care- We have seen you grow and learn; worn faces smiling. Should I not wonder? Watched you study and recite; That evening I took my shoes down to that cobbler’s to be resoled. As I gave the young Seen your deeds and your actions. Good and bad and otherwise. man, (the son), the shoes, I saw in the back- And we pause, asking, Whither?” room the man and the woman, standing hand in hand by the window, their backs to me. I was You have heard of the roads, wondering when the boy spoke up: The paths, both of right and wrong; You have been told of the best; Good evenin’, Mister. Been a fine day. Mister ” Guided toward the zenith of toil; Shown the greatest that is, and should be. I looked up at a beaming face. I had seen To use, to profit by, and know; that same face, now smiling, sneer and laugh a careless laugh, and now I wondered. And we leave you to yourselves, Asking ourselves, wonderingly, Yes,’ I murmured. Ever curiously, Whither?” Mario,” I said slowly. Some will watch you silently; Yes, mister?” Some that love, will pray for you; Some will give their best wishes; You seem happy, Mario.” And others will wait, patiently, Oh! Mister. Should I not be happy? Should But now we ask ourselves, Whither?” we not be happy? I am tired of America, it is Whither?” we ask, and do you reply, Wait?” Then we will wait, bad. It has taught me bad things. It is freer, yes, but I am tired of it. I go back to the place Wondering and curious. where I played as a boy by the big river—back to Italy—to the Po, too,” as he had been saying As you now start to answer this, he had been staring past me at the blank That question, simply, Whither?” wall, but now he looked into my eyes, and hes- itated. C. R. ABBOTT ’33 Page Thirty-Two