Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

 - Class of 1932

Page 16 of 40


Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT) online yearbook collection, 1932 Edition, Page 16 of 40
Page 16 of 40

Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT) online yearbook collection, 1932 Edition, Page 15
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Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT) online yearbook collection, 1932 Edition, Page 17
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Page 16 text:

8 THE CHRONICLE A chorus of “certainly, we are” was heard in reply to Dot’s question, but only Jane Smith noticed that Faith instead of answering was staring far into open space. “What’s the matter, Faith? Aren’t you going?” she asked. Then with a glow in her face she answered, “Why, yes, of course, I’m going.” “With whom?” they wanted to know. Everyone was “all ears and eyes” as she replied, “Why with Larry, of course. Whom did you think?” As she said this, Faith looked straight at Barbara Burton, her only rival for the heart of Larry Harding, a senior at Tote College. “Come on and finish this hand of bridge, will you!” exclaimed Joan Peters, who was disgusted with the way Barbara was acting at this moment. The bridge game was over, and a delicious lunch was served. Over the teacups they chattered about different subjects, and finally the topic of Christmas and the dance came up again. “Oh, you should see the lovely gift I’m getting from Tom!” exclaimed Betty. “What is it?” they all asked. “He won’t tell me yet, but I’ll bet it’s a----.” “A diamond!” they all shouted. “Oh, Bob Jordan’s giving me a big surprise for Christmas,” said Jane. “Well, Faith, what’s your gift from Larry?” asked Barbara. “Why, I didn’t even know he was giving me one,” she retorted. The day of the dance a telegram came from Larry for Faith. “Sorry can’t come stop had an argument with football coach stop sorry dear stop” Although the sun was shining, the day suddenly turned into a dreary one. What should she do! At six o’clock she was panic-stricken! Bewildered, she picked up the telephone and called Dick Fleming, also a senior at Tote and her best friend. She knew he’d understand. As the clock struck nine-thirty, Dick and Faith strolled into the Memorial Hall, where the strains of Lieberstraum could be heard. The very first person they came upon was Larry with Barbara, who was hanging onto his arm. Instead of speaking, Faith and Dick simply kept on dancing. “So! Larry was two-timing her. ‘Couldn’t come .... sorry, dear .... had an argument with coach ...’.” Those thoughts were rapidly going through her brain. When the dance was half over, Larry “cut in” as Faith and Dick were dancing, and in a very efficient manner succeeded in getting her away from the crowd. “Well, young lady, what have you to say for yourself?” he demanded sternly. “All I want to say is that I hate you! What about that telegram saying that you couldn’t come? Isn’t that a nice way of getting out of it?” she retorted. “Now I see it all, Faith. Someone sent us both a telegram saying the other couldn’t go. That’s what happened!” “Not really, Larry!” “Come here, Faith, I have a Christmas present for you.”

Page 15 text:

THE CHROHICLE 7 Jim Boken was a poor lad about sixteen years old. His father died when Jim was only ten. His mother, Jane Boken, worked hard to rear her only son. Jim helped her as much as possible by working at odd jobs for the neighbors, who paid him small sums, but the poor boy couldn’t find any steady work. Another important character in this stoiy is Mr. Woods, a moderately wealthy man, who owned a fine poultry farm. It was the week before Christmas. The snow had already fallen, leaving a beautiful, white loveliness. Everyone was happy. We find poor Jim at home, worrying about something. Christmas would come soon, and he had no money to buy a gift for his dear mother, as for some time the neighbors had not given him any work. An idea came to him, and he suffered to think of it. Cubby’s fame as a watch-dog had given him a value which was greater than that of other dogs like him, making Jim sure that Mr. Woods would gladly buy his dog. Jim thought that he would delay this sale as long as possible, in the meantime looking about for a gift for his mother. On the second day before Christmas, he decided to go to Mr. Woods. He called Cubby to him, hugged him, and stroked him gently, talking to the dumb animal as to a brother. The business was transacted. Jim received twenty dollars for his dog. Cubby was placed in the cellar of Mr. Woods’s home to prevent him from following Jim. At the same time Jim was happy and sad, happy because he could buy his mother a gift, sad because he had lost his friend. Jane Boken was weeping softly on Christmas morning. She was proud of her son, who had made such a sacrifice to make her happy. She was sad also, for she had sensed her son’s feelings. At this time Mr. Woods was leading Cubby towards the home of Jim Boken. He was walking quickly, and he appeared anxious and happy. “Your dog is worth a fortune,” he said to Jim. Jim, astonished, said nothing and waited for an explanation. “Last night there was a fire at my home. Cubby aroused us by his constant barking. I got up and telephoned to the fire department. Only a small section of my home has been ruined, but if Cubby had not been there, all of us would have been burned to death. I am rewarding Cubby by returning him to his beloved master.” Jim fell on his knees and hugged the faithful dog. Words could not express their happiness. We now leave Jim Boken, Jane Boken, and Cubby enjoying a merry Christmas. Andrew Kovach, ’33 CHRISTMAS DANCE —NO? Exactly one week before the great celebrations of the Christmas holidays, the Eaton Bridge Club met at the home of Faith Barclay, a girl of little wealth but of great social standing in the little town of Eaton. As Faith was dealing a hand for bridge, Dorothea Fenn suddenly exclaimed, “By the way, are we all going to the annual Christmas dance at Tote on Friday night?”

Page 17 text:

THE CHRONICLE 9 In about ten minutes they returned to the dance, and Faith kindly showed the Eaton girls her diamond ring. By the way, the surprise present for Betty from Tom was—well, he gave her “the air,” and Jane’s was a presentation to Mrs. Robert Jordan. All soon received invitations to the wedding of Faith Barclay and Larry Harding, the great oil magnate’s son from Texas. Johanna Manfreda, ’33 THIS THING CALLED HOME WORK Silence! A tense, expectant silence! The room is so still that one could hear the proverbial pin drop. This is characteristic of every room in the building. A bell rings! Absolute inactivity gives place to wildest uproar. School is out, and we’re “free” for the day. Freedom! What a mocking word that is? Dashing down the hall, every man looks out for himself in the mad scramble. Such remarks as these are heard. “Golly, I have all my subjects again tonight.” And from a more fortunate youth comes, “I got off with only two.” From all sides are shouted, “Isn’t that Latin awful? That English is ghastly. Can you imagine all that in one night?” Everyone has his own special grievance, and no one is interested in the other fellow’s troubles. Outside, Dot and Emily or Bob and Jack can be heard deciding to get together on that history. Millie is promising to come back later for some reference work with Jean. Herb is bravely declaring that he is going to clean up everything this afternoon, so that he can enjoy himself tonight. Later in the afternoon Dot and Emily are just getting around to beginning that history. They industriously bring forth pens, pencils, paper, blotters, ink erasers, and five or six books before settling themselves to work. This is, of course, the opportune moment. The telephone rings. Bob and Jack have changed their minds about the history and are going to the show. Would the girls like to come along? It seems that the girls would. So ends the history. Herb and several others appear at the theatre, and a good time is had by all. That night Jean and Millie are just remembering that reference work at the library. They meet some friends on the way, stop to talk, and get to the library about closing time. About one in the morning Herb, having been to the dance, is now attempting to concentrate on French. “The verb ‘esperer’ never takes the subjunctive except in the negative or interrogative,” he reads and then writes, “J’espere que vous soyez bien.” Soon, giving it up as a bad job, he retires. A frantic running about, exchange of homework papers, and questioning takes place before each period all the next day. “Did you do your French? Let me see it. I’m sure that algebra is somewhere. Did you find out about the government of Hawaii?” and so it goes. At twelve-fifty in the afternoon there is again that silence, again the bell, again the mad rush as we dash out to “freedom.” Frances Nearing, ’34

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