Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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HEART BROKE LOVER I met her on a raft at sea, I stared at her, she stared at me, And when I gazed in her blue eyes, I thought I’d live in Paradise, If I could only please her heart, And make her say “We ne'er shall part.” Brookline was her native town, Many's the night I've gone around, Neglecting homework and duties, Forsaking all, her will to please, Candy, flowers, chocolates. Telephones, restaurants, theatre dates, Alas, thou cruel, unchanging fates I found a book half filled with dates, T’was hers, t'was filled with many names Of all the men who were her flames. There is the river dark and free, No more platonic love for me. SNOW by Percy Bosh Willy Wind blows snow Snow won't go Wind gets cold Snow Freezes Car gets stuck Out of luck. Driver scolds. Car Wheezes Oh, What a treat I've got wet feet No school for me Oh! Swell! What did you say? No school today? And me in bed Aw! H -------- To be filled in with discretion. TRAFFIC SQUAD TRIALS by One of Them Note: This is a gentle warning to all sophomores and juniors who have hopes of being one of the force in the far future. When I was informed at the be- ginning of this year that I was a member of the traffic squad, my spirits soared to the highest de- gree. Before two days had passed as an officer, my “faux pas'' were as numerous as the sand in spin- ach. Often did I seize offenders who persisted in going left (deah old England) and more often were they members of the faculty. Since then the teachers have a- voided me. So the beet red color that was slowly becoming a part of my face, has gradually given way to my natural color. This way- laying however, is a compliment to those teachers. They looked so young that I thought they were pupils ... quarter please. Then there are my playful little friends who cannot afford to lose the opportunity of bestowing a hearty slap on the back accom- panied by the pert remark of “Hi Nellie'' or “Can you take it?” There is always a friend who simply must tell me the latest news (but has to keep going under the watchful eye of a teacher) and so goes round me in circles 'til I feel like an overworked revolving door. At the close of every period the population of the school mills a- round me as though it is a football

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REWARD REWARD WANTED FOR Forgery and the Senior Issue of the Golden Rod Class room Jokes, alias Humor alias Wise Cracks Description Height: 6 feet by 4 feet by 1 inch. (Length—under 75 words) Weight: .000005 (No more than 20 lbs. of Jokes from anyone) Eyes: Red, Green, or Yellow. Nose: “Shnozzle.” Mouth: 4 feet by 2 feet. Teeth: Pearly. (Both of them) Hair: Scarlet. (Both of them) Remarks: This elusive character hides behind radiators and under deskcovers. He assumes the shape of school-mates and even teachers. When caught, Jokes should be placed in the box in Room 63, with the name of the captor attached. (If 2 fellows send the same joke, the first re- ceived gets preference) There will be 4 prizes (teachers are re- quested to join this huge Joke Hunt.) STATISTICS For every student in the Quincy High School there are .033 teachers. They make themselves pretty evident for such small fry! It is almost two years since the au- ditorium clock has had hands.. A chance for a wealthy alumnus to get busy. A kiss has been defined as an anatomical juxtaposition of the two orbicular muscles in a state of contraction and it seemed so simple! The F’34 Class boasts of three members who did not come back for P. G.’s... Nice work boys! A collection has been underway to raise funds for pea- nut roaster in the cafeteria, but to date no contributions have been made. There are less than two hun- dred words that are essential in the English language .. And thous- ands of dollars are spent yearly for English teachers. The first words spoken by Joe Penner were not, “Do you wanna buy a duck?” The class of F’34 boasts that three of its members did not return for P. G.’s. 30

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eleven tackling a dummy. As an added attraction, innocent looking pens and sharp edged rulers prick and jab me in the mad rush. There are always those brilliant little sophomores who yell, “Must we go round the dummy?” and then play a game of hide and seek with me. As it happens, I don’t mind being called a dummy. All of us get hardened to insults after a month. I dislike being butted by them as though they were bulls seeing red. Walking out on the first bell is not all strawberry short cake and whipped cream. Assignments are usually given to me in pieces. One day I had the pleasant experience of translating 27 lines of Latin on the wrong page. Study rooms seem to be my Waterloo. When leaving on the first bell the teacher seems to cock one eyebrow and say, “My dear child, you’re not fooling me.” One teacher ironically remarked,” Are you by any chance on traffic?” That remark was terrific, colossal. I’ll even go so far as to say it was mediocre. It upset my senior dig- nity. There are always minor mishaps such as three students linking arms in the corridors. They are so fond of each other that when they have to separate to go by me, they glare at me for such a heinous of- fence. A quaint sewing circle con- gregates daily near my position. Try and break them up. It’s like separating the Siamese twins. People whom I scarcely know thrust a pen or pencil in my hand and hurriedly say, “Give this to Annie.” (Annie, it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t get the pencil.) Bien entendu, there are future Glenn Cunninghams and Gene Venzkes who sprint along the cor- ridors at least twice a day. If I don’t get out of the way, I might just as well be a Hurdle. So goes the life of a traffic offi- cer and such are the trials and tribulations of the whole squad. Woe unto him who thinks the life is a merry one. L. J. C. Insights into the why and wherefore From a reliable source comes this: Mr. Wilson, when a boy, had a job which consisted of keeping the sidewalks adjacent to his house free of snow. The owner of the vacant lot lived out of town and he agreed to pay George by the hour for his labor. So-ooooo, Mr. Wilson is still adding time ... to detention skippers. Is my neck scarlet? In senior assembly, when Mr. Collins is about to read from the Bible, a weighty stillness fills the hall. One Friday, in the midst of this silence, a sweet miss dropped her pocketbook with a clatter and to add to her discomfort a fellow exclaimed in an effeminate stage whisper: “Oh, Heck, there goes my flask again!”