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

Page 10 text:

8 BULKKLEY NEWS On With the Dance! A H! Clearly do I remember the details of that horrible episode. It shall evermore remain a source of much embarassment. Yes,—it was at one of those socials —you know,—where you dance on a rug to the melodious strains of a phonograph. I had danced before, but I still felt cold chills slide down my backbone while slipping gently off my paatner’s newly polished pumps,—so you see I was still new at the game. I stayed out the first dance, and when the mechanical agony ran down the dance came to a lingering close. A friend reading my mind came over to me and bending low he whispered: “I had a good dancer, she was leading me!” She was just the kind of a dancer I wanted, so, the next dance found me in the gentle embrace of this fair maiden. Something must have been the matter for right on the kick-off, she rush- ed me for five yards. My friends were cheering loudly on the side lines. On opening my mouth—preparatory to hearty laughter,—a wandering strand of my partner’s golden hair found its way into my mouth, and fastening itself to a piece of gum which I was chewing vigorously at the time, it whisked out again. Agony! The dance stopped and the gum still retained its hold. Smilingly I informed the girl that something had fastened itself in her hair and as a gentleman I considered it my duty to remove that mysterious something. So giving the gum a sudden jerk, which was accompanied by a loud shriek from my partner, it came off, also a few strands of this golden hair (which was dark brown at the roots). I excused myself and again endeavored to make the most of the even-' ing, though feeling a bit breathless from the hair racking experience.

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BULKELEY NEWS 7 How all the year the rooms have rung With shout and lusty cheer, And many a parting song been sung Around the busy year. Oh boyhood love the old gray walls Your fathers loved before you. Cling as the ivy to her halls Of learning high above you. Yours is a record fair and clean. Long as the years roll by You scorn the thing that is low and mean And Truth you raise on high. So glory be to her faith today And praise for her magic lore. Oh may she sit as a queen for aye And rule her years by the score. Be proud to be known as a Bulkeley Grad Be proud of her very fame For the quad and the squad and the old bronze slab Are bearing an honored name. —HENRY W. WINSLOW.

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BULKELEY NEWS 9 Number One M’Kensie. “Number One McKensie” was as selfish as could be, He had no use for number two and less for number three, “McKensie for McKensie—on the job for number one”. Was the way the fellow put it and the way his life was run. No sentiment could sway him to assist a fellow man, He asked no aid and gave none, in accordance with his plan. HE thought that ev’ry mortal who had fallen in the game Had no one in existence but his falling self to blame. The “milk of human kindness stuff” was tommyrot to Bill, He never helped a living soul, and said, “I never will!” He scorned that goodly doctrine, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” And if he had emotions they were hidden on a shelf. He snickered at the motto “One for all and all for one”. HE wouldn’t share a farthing with a single mother’s son. To aid a helpless cripple or a worthy soul in need Would violate the theory of Bill McKenzie’s creed. A man of selfish purposes, he lived his life alone, Unmindful of fellows, with a heart as hard as stone. But through it all he lived his mean existence on the square He never stole a penny and he played the innings fair. As honest as the day is long, he didn’t crave for pelf, He labored hard and honestly, but labored for himself. He never envied others who had prospered on the way,— “Let ’em get it,—I won’t worry—that’s their privilege,” he’d say. “if a fellow misses chances and has fallen on the way in the line Or has made a hundred thousand—that’s his business, not mine. Appreciation lasts until your turn is due, and then You’ll find how much of charity is in your fellow men. The man whom you’ve assisted to the light from depths of shade Will refuse you on the morrow if you go to him for aid. I’ve lived for thirty summers, and I’ve seen it often done- Convincing me it’s logical to live for number one. —A. Nausbam.