Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD HO accepted—quite justly enough. Now, one day when I did not have my written assignment prepared, I snatched up those rejected poems— all this was at Purdue—and I sub- mitted them to the instructor. I don’t think he quite understood them. I pause here to say in parenthesis that 1 use a rather singular method in writing poetry. I write poems that I cannot quite understand myself and others likewise find them mysti- fying, and rather than admit their inability to understand, they say the poems are good—simple? Anyway, this professor, rather than admit from his professional height that he could not understand the poems, caused them to be pub- lished in the school literary publica- tion. Others read them and went through the same process of appre- ciation and those poems are the ones you spoke about, and sure enough, the ones I would send you today if T had them here in Worcester. Joseph Reardon, F’28. (Continued from Page S2) There was no great scene when the woman died. It was at evening, just as the July fervors were com- ing on. She had wept much in the morn- ing. As the day grew warm, she be- came very weak and faint, and about noon was moved by a few neighbors from her chair to her bed, and so died as the sun went down. The funeral was on Wednesday. All the people of the neighborhood were there. Ten years rolled by. Three per- sons came up the lonely road that had been deserted for these ten years. They were surprised to see no one about, and after searching more thoroughly, left for the nearest neighbor’s house. The nearest neigh- bor explained to the three strangers that Alexander and his mother had been dead for nearly eleven years. And then, suddenly, a young, healthy girl came from the house and stood staring at one of the strangers, for she was the first to recognize her old school-mate, Herman. The others seemed to hear this greeting as in a dream. They talked with Herman and the men in a man- ner that seemed strangely cold and indifferent. A quarter of an hour passed away. The neighbors told the strangers of Alexander’s terrible death and how his mother had not lived long afterward. Herman sat down on the doorstep and explained that he had been in the east and had come back to tell of his great success. But now he would not return to the city, but would live in the little house back along the road where he would strive to keep it up as his aunt had always done. Years passed, and now Cousin Herman, by the operation of some spiritual law that I do not fully com- prehend, is one of those who win a strange affection from others. It is said of him that he is more truly loved, and by more people, than any other man or woman in all settle- ments around. Children love him with a passionate attachment, and the woman whom he made his wife is said to take his aunt’s place in the little house on the lonely road. REPORT OF OUR CHINESE WAR CORRESPONDENT Sigrid Pullman Onec in ihe dear, dead days beyond recall. When Buddha mused on a stone in Gaul The day was cold, the sun was hot When Lancelot and Charlemagne fought And Galahad said to Guinevere “Your love is cold and dead. I fear.” And Priscilla who was quite far gone Said. “Why don't you speak for yourself, dear John? John Smith smiled—his face was grim The moon was making the sun quite dim On that terrible Lisbon earthquake day When Pompeii was covered with sand and clay. And Caesar, triumphant home had marched In pink silk pajamas, newly starched. That day, dear readers The Chinese leaders Defeated Japan In a lone sampan.

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 29 this—?” he fumed in conclusion, and then overcome by utter weakness rushed, or rather staggered, for the nearest chair. That day a new idea in radio debating was born. With the radio, the opportunities for furthering intersectional and in- ternational good will are boundless. In the past two years Harvard teams have been pioneers in the field of long-distance debating. Last spring, the great cross-country debate was held over seventy stations, with Har- vard speaking from Boston, the Uni- versity of Chicago from Chicago, the chairman and judges being in New York. That gave the two broadcast- ing systems some new ideas. This year Harvard debated Stanford in a trans-continental meeting and a week later debated Oxford in a trans- Atlantic broadcast, both broadcasts being the first of their kind. The technical difficulties involved in such broadcasts are extremely great, and both debates were unique in radio engineering. That these discussions served a double purpose, being at the same time vehicles for argument on vital issues as well as agents for increased good will be- tween sections and nations, was testified by clippings from papers on the Pacific Coast and in England which were received in Cambridge. To those who stood in the studios of the National Broadcasting Company in New York and spoke informally to their English friends in the Lon- don studio before the debate was put on the air, the great possibilities of radio were apparent. Even though only the weather was discussed over the Atlantic Ocean the thrill of re- ferring to that trite subject with the Oxford men was a tremendous one. Although femininity as at present constituted is good enough for most of us, who knows whether or not someone may yet call up his girl friend on Mars? Think it over, Soph- omores! ! TEXAS Texas of course is one of the im- portant states when the raising of cattle and sheep is considered, and while Missouri has always been con- sidered the most important mule raising state, Texas really holds this honor, if the raising of mules could be considered an honor. A student at the University of Texas once wrote in an essay on the State of Texas: “If all of the cows in Texas were rolled into one big cow, she could stand with her hind feet in the Great Lakes and brush the Auro- ra Borealis with her tail. If all the hogs in Texas were rolled into one big hog, he could root a ditch as big as the Panama Canal in three roots. If all of the roosters in Texas were rolled into one big rooster, he could stand on the North Pole and crow so loud that the crack of doom would sound like the tick of an Ingersoll watch in comparison.” Texas really is quite a wonderful State. It contains all kinds of cli- mate, high and dry, low and swampy, hot, cold. She has mountains, for- ests, plains and deserts. She has deposits of gold, silver, lead, zinc, potash, coal, iron and oil. She raises wheat, cotton, fruits, cattle, turkeys, hogs. She manufactures many things and is growing as a manufacturing State. The above reads as though it were scribbled by a “native son” of Cali- fornia about his own state, but it is only by an adopted son of Texas. Imagine what a “native son” would sav! George R. Prout, Q. H. S.T7. FROM A POET I am tempted to tell you a secret. It has always been a quiet ambition with me to have something published in the “Golden Rod.” While I was there at Quincy High I submitted some poetry to the magazine, but because those poems were rather un- polished and puerile they were not Paul Reardon, J’27.

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AT THE END OF THE WORLD By Barbara Curry. Jack Sharp. Steve O’Brien ----A ............ --------- ON the afternoon of August 25, the smartest, ablest, trimmest old square rigger that my weathered eyes have seen sailed out of New York to Dunedin to pick up a cargo of dogs, food supplies, sleds, airplanes and scientific equipment for the “End of the World,’’ 10,000 miles away. It was the “City of New York,” an auxiliary bark that every eye watched as she slipped down among the tugs, yachts and ocean grey-hounds. Whistles screamed or boomed out in all pitches; sailors cheered their fare- well; tugs hurried about puffing, screeching for right of way like a lot of old ladies doing their shopping. Officers aboard the ocean grey- hounds cheered, but their fine lines seemed to snub this little ship on water. She may be old fashioned, but from all over the world where ships find their harbor, the “City of New York” was chosen to transport the most modern and scientific expedi- tion that man has ever planned. Aboard this trusted craft were Byrd and thirty other co-adventurers. We all know of her trip to Dun- edin. On December 2, 1928, she sailed from New Zealand, and the world waited to hear of her successful ar- rival. On Christmas, the news flashed from the Bay of Whales, 10,000 miles away, to let the outside world know of their safety! Tonight we sit in the assembly hall. The house is packed. People watch the clock. They are tense,