Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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“Father, there's a matter to which I'd like to call your attention. With one exception our operating expenses are running pretty close to the line. There's one ship, however, the Polar Star, which I think is superfluous. By an extension of the itinerary of the Princess we could include the mail deliveries and stop-overs of the Polar Star. We had planned on replacing the Polar Star; now we shan’t have to. “What about the skipper and crew? “There are plenty of vacant berths-they'11 sign up soon enough. “Well, I don’t quite know, but I'll leave it in your hands. “Peter Ames turned and smilingly regarded his son. “I've done pretty well by leaving things to you for the last couple of years, so I guess it's a good policy to continue. Captain Harvey Jenkins and his first mate faced each other over a long narrow table, but this time the face of Edwards bore an air of conviction and the eyes of the skipper held nothing but pain and delusion. A glance at the letter clenched in his fist would provide ample explanation, its curt announcement to Jenkins of his removal as skipper of the Polar Star being responsible for the old man's anguish. “It's not so much being told I'm through, although that’s a blow, but coming like this; that's what I mind. Not a word of thanks to speak of after twenty-three years. I guess this takes the wind out of my sails- knocks my theory in the head. Loyalty, gratitude! You're right; they’re forgotten. The first bitter outburst did not last long, however, and when his anger had passed, leaving his mind clear and rational, Jenkins wrote a long letter to Oliver Ames. A few days later, Ames decided to drop in at his office and his glance took in the letter lying opened on Hastings’s desk. Observing his name on the envelope, he reachd out and mechanically noted the con- tents. He read idly at first, then his face assumed an air of puzzled con- centration and he turned toward his foster son's office. On the point of en- tering, he paused, and distinctly heard Hastings's voice ascending the low drone of conversation which came from the other room. His tone was un- certain, protesting, but at a word from one of the others he was quiet. “I tell you, Hastings, there’s not a thing to be afraid of. You simply en- ter a deliberately high bid, give us our chance to grab the contract, and pocket your bonus. Your outfit and mine are the only two which can touch the job. It’s not a big paying proposition, but for us it will serve as an introduction. It's a sure fire thing, and your chance to make $10,000 dollars on the side. Well, what do you say? A tense silence, and then Hastings' “All right—I'll do it. With hurried, unsteady steps the listener made his way home, and there he carefully re-read the letter he had found in the office. For nearly an (Continued on page 12)

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LOYALTY By Irving Latham CO one interested in such things the faces of Captain Harvey Jen- kins and his first mate George Edwards presented an interest- ing study in reflected mental expression, as they sat deep in con- versation in the cabin of the Polar Star. The sun-swept, wind-lashed coun- tenance of the captain, frank and pleasant, offered striking contrast to the knitted brows, stubborn lips, and doubtful eyes of his next in command. Jenkins was the image of serene assurance, for he was holding forth on a subject on which his views were unshakeable. “Well, sir, you may be right,” retorted Edwards, “but you have yet to convince me. Things have changed. Faith in the man you work for isn’t set as much store by as it was thirty years ago, and employers haven’t the same regard for their men. It doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been with the company. The only thing they consider is: can you do the work better than anyone else? If you can’t, all the company loyalty in the world won’t keep you your job.” “Mister, I’ve been a skipper on an Ames ship for twenty-three years and there hasn’t been a man more loyal to the company interests than I. I tell you that gratitude’s not dead yet and I expect to command a ship as long as I’m able, and draw my pension when I’m not. Oliver Ames is not the man to forget nearly a quarter century’s service. We’ll talk no more about it now, but you mark what I’ve said.” In the quiet of his magnificent city home, Oliver Ames reviewed the last few years of an energetic life and aggressive business career. With the ex- ception of the last four years, his mental force and bodily vigor had been the motive power behind the Ames Steamship Co., but during that period his burden had been eased by the aid of his astute young general manager, Guy Hastings. Adopted as a lad of sixteen, Hastings had filled a great breach in the life of the widower king of the seas, and now his natural taste for the business foretold security and tranquility in the evening of Ames’s life. At the thought of relief from the constant demands of his busi- ness, the taut face relaxed and a half smile of pleasurable anticipation lightened the grave features. Hearing a step in the hall outside his room he called a greeting, and his foster-son entered. Guy Hastings was of medium height; his hair and eyes were dark. His mouth was set, determined; some might have fancied a touch of ruthless- ness hovered about it. He crossed the room and seated himself before his father. 5

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A DOLLAR FOR A DIME By Edward Pearlin and Charles Hanson He OM, the doorman at the “Met”, now an C an old friend of ours on account of our J frequent stage-door trips, greeted us af- fably enough, but the handful of cigars we contrib- uted produced downright cordiality. By chance, Guy Lombardo was just finishing his “Sweetest Music This Side of Heaven” and as his Royal Canadians sauntered off past us we had a good look at them arrayed in their brilliant red jackets and Hollywood trousers. The merest request for an interview sufficed and Mr. Lombardo, having changed his clothes, reappeared in a few minutes and conducted us to a room adjoining the stage. Mentally we recorded these reactions: about five feet nine, around twenty-eight, dark hair, dark eyes, glistening teeth, broad shoulders, gen- erally good looking, what clothes! Mr. Lombardo himself started the conversation by asking the name of our school, and requesting a magazine. Our first question brought the in- formation that he was born, brought up and educated in London, Ontario, as were his other brothers in the orchestra (there are three of them, inci- dentally, Carmen being the crooner of the outfit.) He went on to say that his brothers and some friends of theirs started an orchestra in 1921, the same group he has today. “We were such a fine combination and went over so big wherever we played that we just could not break up. That is why I’m here today.” When we asked Guy if he was married, he hesitated, grinned, and, after asking if that question were necessary, replied that he was. He lives in New York because he is in the States most of the time. His hobbies are deep-sea fishing and boating and he told us then he could hardly wait to go to Los Angeles where he had an eight-week en- gagement at the Cocoanut Grove, because there he would be able to indulge to his heart’s content in this he-man’s sport. Our interview was over, but the highlight of our observations of him was yet to come. As the three of us were walking out of the door together toward his hotel, an unfortunate individual commonly called a “bum” accosted Mr. Lombardo and asked him for the price of a cup of coffee. Guy unhesitat- ingly took out his wallet and gave the gentleman out of luck a dollar bill. “Well, maybe the poor fellow did need it.”