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

 - Class of 1932

Page 17 of 40


Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT) online yearbook collection, 1932 Edition, Page 17 of 40
Page 17 of 40

Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT) online yearbook collection, 1932 Edition, Page 16
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Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT) online yearbook collection, 1932 Edition, Page 18
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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

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 18 text:

10 THE CHRONICLE THAT STARRY NIGHT Have you ever read that story in rhyme Of the Christ child born long ago? That tale which we hear time after time But always love it so. Well that is what 1 am going to write In a meter unheard of before, And I shall tell of that starry night Which we read of in Bible lore. When the wise men saw that Eastern Star, They hastened to where He lay And after traveling wide and far Found Him in His bed of hay. The place was transformed with a radiant beam, And a halo appeared in the air; A city in Heaven the place did seem, For the Christ Child was dwelling there. They knelt by His bed and worshipped Him there In this place now sacred ten-fold, And bowing their heads in a moment of prayer, Gave Him frankincense, myrrh, and gold. If some will think of that story of old When our Christmas comes ’round this year It will bring to their hearts great joy untold And brighten life’s burdens with cheer. Beatrice Cass, ’33 CHRISTMAS DREAMS It was eleven o’clock Christmas Eve. I was reading A Christmas Carol and enjoying the visit of the first ghost to Scrooge. As I reached for another apple, a voice spoke. Startled, I looked up quickly and beheld the twin of Scrooge’s ghost. He said, “Come with me. You have been a good boy this year, and I shall show you Santa’s workhouse.” We climbed out through the window and sat upon an enormous snow flake. It seemed to me that we traveled but a minute when we came to a large snow house high up in the clouds. Upon entering we first came to the Sled Department. Heaps upon heaps of sleds were here, each one with a tag on which was the receiver’s name. I looked eagerly for my name but could not find it. Next we went into the chief house for toys. Here Santa met us. He personally conducted us around, introducing us to his helpers, the elves. I really believe I made a good impression on Santa, for he smiled and beamed at me; and when we were about to enter the Adults’ Department, he said, “I wish to make you a present of—” Then came a familiar ringing in my ears, and I awoke to find myself seated before the fire place, the unfinished book still in my lap. Who can tell what the gift was to be—perhaps a bicycle or a watch? No one knows; I least of all. Gordon Bellafronto, ’35

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