New London High School - Whaler Yearbook (New London, CT)

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12 BULKELEY NEWS The Coming oi Arthur. A S ARTHUR STANDISH lazily lounged on the window-seat in his room in Lawrance Hall overlooking the Campus, his eyes taking in the numerous scenes before him, he pondered over his situation. From all parts of the Campus came the hearty greetings of classmates meeting each other with tales of vacation accomplishments. Through open windows in Farnum Hall now and then there reached him, the strains of an impromptu orchestra, rendering the season’s popular musical hits. From the direction of Connecticut Hall the stirring strains of “Bingo”, warbled by a quartet of Seniors, came to him. But a few years back, when “preping” at Berkeley in that small Minnesota town, he was more than a student star reflected. As stroke on the crew, and as star end and captain of the football team he had won something of a reputation. But it was as champion interscholastic wrestler of the state that he gained the greatest fame. When he had decided to come to Yale, all Berkeley saw in him a great cause for future worry for Eli’s rivals. Arriving rather late in New Haven, Stan had been forced to occupy a single room in a far corner of one of the Freshman dormitories, the adjoining room being unoccupied, isolated him completely from his classmates. His retiring nature prevented him from making acquaintances, which at this period of college life, are so easy to acquire among homesick boys. So Stan, lived pretty much alone, rubbing elbows with his classmates only when attending classes, football games or class events. He knew most of his classmates casually, joining them when brought into actual contact with them but modestly refraining from thrusting his company on them. The opening of his Sophomore still found him pursuing his unobtrusive course. The greetings between his classmates and him were a little more cordial than the year before, due to the strange bond which comes between men who have braved together dangers of first year flunkings, warnings and conditions. Yet he had no real chum. His reminiscent mood was changed when after watching a few students roping in portions of the Campus, he realized that there was work ahead for all loyal Sophomores this night. “Rush Night”, the Freshmen’s first big night when they are introduced to campus life, meant that all undergraduates should appear on the campus. The two upper classes take their places along the outside of the ropes and hazard guesses on the outcome of the events. Sophomores and Freshmen are herded into separate groups, later to be marshalled into battle lines by “Y” men, who to the hero-worshipping Freshmen seem god-like. This year there were very few “letter” men to manage or Sophomores to take part in the Rush. The call from “Over There” had been heard at Yale. The spirit of “For God, for country and for Yale” had sent

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li ITLKELEY NEWs 11 “This is the Mug.” DOW was about to join the colors and a number of his friends thought it would be a fine thing to present him with a loving-cup. So they bought the cup, planned a big formal banquet, and chose Keeney to make the presentation speech. Frank was skeptical himself, but at length he prepared one which met the approval of the whole bunch. Of course all this could hardly be kept secret, and Dow hearing of it, prepared an eloquent speech of acceptance. The night of the banquet came. Everytning went well until it was time for the presentation. Keeney was called upon. Gravely he stood up, looked at Dow, and then at the sea of faces all staring at him. It was his first attempt at making a speech. Suddenly he began to realize that something was the matter with his knees. His face became scarlet, and a large lump arose in his throat. And together with this came the realization that he had forgotten every word of his speech. Clearly he must do something, so, after a suspense that was heart-rending, the best that Keeney could do was to blurt out: “This is the mug.” Now up to this time, Dow had been perfectly calm. He had his speech down cold. But now he was clearly excited, for he couldn’t give his eloquent speech after a presentation like the above. But of course he must make some acceptance of the gift. So Pip stood up, went through all the stages through which Keeney had gone, and finally managed to respond, with a perfect bow as he spoke: “Oh, so th-th-that is the m-m-m-m-mug.” -Q. E. D.

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Jl f Z EEL E)' NE ws IS more than half the undergraduate body to avenge devastated Belgium and worn-out France. The class of 1920 had given the greatest representation to the Yale Mobile Unit which had gone to France, thereby leaving the work of chastising the Freshmen to the remaining members of the class. So tonight the Sophomore class with arms locked, anxiously watching and waiting for that dark mass at the other end of the campus to move towards them, steeled themselves for a fight against discouraging odds. The bark of the referee’s pistol caused a much more rapid movement in the hearts than in the feet of the Freshmen, who, not knowing this mode of warfare and doubtful of the reception they were about to receive, approached with slow unsteady steps. A dull thud immediately preceeded cries of joy and anguish. Hard-breathing youths, perspiring or bleeding, tore, kicked, plunged, and fought as no Huns ever did. Art Standish carried through his share of the fight with that savage joy which well-trained athletes feel in their sports. At the first shock, he had thrown two frightened Fresh-ies, and then on recovering turned to meet a broad-shouldered young giant. The stampede of rushing Freshmen caught up both men throwing them to the ground. Stan clinched his teeth as he felt the rush and trample on him of the feet of the lower-classmen who, trembling and hesitating, finally swept by force of numbers through the opposing side. Climbing gingerly to his feet, Art started for the wrestling matches. While applying his handkerchief to a bleeding ear, he impatiently asked himself why they could not have prevented these new-comers from winning in this first clash between the rival classes. He joined the group of students squatting around the roped off wrestling ring, still smarting under the sting of defeat. Coach Winters stood in the center of the ring. He called for lightweights. The P'reshmen pushed under the ropes a small well-built fellow. Nineteen-twenty called for Clark, who stepped into the ring. Stripping to the waist and minus their shoes, they faced each other while Coach Winters explained the rules governing the match. In an instant they were off. Having similar physical qualifications, there was not much difference in ability. But in the end Winter’s training on the Sophomore the year before, brought the result of the match to the latter’s class. Bailey, the Sophomore’s middleweight candidate experienced no difficulty in downing his man, thereby giving two of the three matches to the second class-men . This final match between heavyweights would determine whether or not the Sophs could righteously maintain their traditional haughty and disdainful attitude towards the class-men below them. With so great a result at stake, it it not surprising that the upperclassmen, deeply interested, turned anxious faces to watch the Freshman candidate step into the ring. They saw Everett, whose a-chievements on the gridiron at Andover, had seemed to warrant the popular opinion that his berth on the Yale varsity would be cinched. His great weight, evenly distributed over