Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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 FIVE MINUTES WITH FABIEN SEVITSKY AN INTERVIEW By Joseph Burry LAY for me something” was Mr. Sevitsky’s request as my turn came for the audition which would, perhaps, make me a member of his Young Musicians’ Orchestra. Later, as Mr. Sevitsky entered the rehearsal room, took off his raccoon coat and gave it to Phoebe his personal and theatrical secretary, to hang up, he called out, Good Morning, childr-r-en. You sleep well last night? Take out 'Cavalleria Rusticana’.” Soon a call rang out, Turom-pets too loud! Pianissimo! Not fortissimo!” When later I approached him for this interview, he greeted me with, How do you do, Mr. Interviewer. You have only five minutes. I learned that he was born and brought up in the central part of Russia, where he attended the Petrograd Conservatory of Music, and there, upon his graduation, was presented a gold medal, the highest of all scholarships or diplomas. He immediately decided to become a doctor and, accordingly, enrolled at the University of Petrograd. The medical course, however, did not appeal to him. He preferred music. Mr. Sevitsky is one of the outstanding bass viol soloists in the world. He was twice winner of the Imperial Conservatory of Petrograd contests. He was also bass soloist in the Imperial Theatre in Moscow. Mr. Sevitsky came to this country in 1923, where he founded the Philadel- phia Chamber String Simfonietta, which he still conducts. He intends to re- main in this country. He is an American citizen and has been for the past ten years. His Boston orchestras are the Metropolitan Theater Grand and the People’s Symphony. Fabien Sevitsky has conducted some world-famous orchestras, among which are the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra, the Berlin, the Paris, the Warsaw and the Vienna Symphony Orchestras. The Fabien Sevitsky Ensembles, both instrumental and vocal, and the Young Musicians’ Orchestra are his special interests. He has some very fascinating hobbies. He has one of the finest collections of musical scores in the country. Strangely enough, he collects neckties and canes. Incidentally, Mr. Sevitsky always carries a cane, and is a fastidious dresser. He sponsors the Young People’s Orchestra, Vocal, and Piano Con- tests, in order to devote his musical knowledge to youth, and to become ac- quainted with the musical talent around Boston. He likes everything that is good and nothing that is bad.” Davisson,

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OR two solid hours we had sat spellbound watching the breathtak- ing adventures of Martin Johnson’s motion picture, Wings Over Africa. Elephant stampedes and charging rhinos made even these daring people tense with fear. In just a few minutes we were going to venture an interview with this courageous couple who constantly courted death in the wilds of Africa. Inside the lobby we soon were shaking hands with the hero of Africa, Martin Johnson, a tall, well-built man with laughing blue eyes and sandy-colored hair. Osa, his wife, stood close by, a petite, dark haired woman with a fascinating smile. From her appearance one could more easily picture her entertaining in the drawing room than charging wild African animals. Glancing for a minute at a copy of the Golden Rod we had brought with us and knowing our desires, Mr. Johnson smiled and said, Tell the boys and girls back in Quincy not to worry about where the next dollar is coming from. I never do.” In fact, when he was younger, he was never discouraged by what people told him, but went on trying to do the thing that he wished and as you know he surely has succeeded! Even now he and his wife like their work so much that on their next trip they intend to walk 900 miles in the Belgian Congo to do some more photographing. Their life is full of thrills, variety, and often times danger. Once when they had built a blind and were photographing some nearby leopards, the wind suddenly changed and the animals caught their scent. One of the leopards leaped through the blind and with gaping jaws made right for Mr. Johnson. Only a foot away from Mr. Johnson’s face he was stopped in his tracks by Osa, a crack shot who always stands guard while her husband shoots his pictures. The leopard was so close that when he was shot he fell right on top of the camera. It is only in instances like this that the Johnsons ever kill any animals In fact, Mr. Johnson added, A hunter does not kill as many animals in a year as a lion kills in one night.” (continued on page Jt5)

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 THE CHATEAU ON THE BLUFF HONORABLE MENTION By Janies Wheble WELVE miles south of Paris, nestled in the heart of a group of picturesque hills, lies the small village of Dunne. It was here that my friend M. LeSage and I experienced one of the most harrowing adventures we have ever known. We were driving north from Marseilles to Paris on this occasion and it being nearly dusk, we decided to put up at this village for the night. As our car nosed over the brow of the hill, we had an excellent view of the place. It was situated in the south end of a small valley about a half mile wide and twice as long. The village was quite compact and it was surrounded by flow- ing wheat fields that extended up the sides of the slopes. A long, dusty, ribbon-like road led our eye to the northern end of the valley and then dis- appeared among the hills. What attracted our attention was a huge chateau built on the edge of a high bluff overlooking the entire valley. At present it was too far away to see plainly, but even from where we were, it had a dark and ominous appearance. Though the village was not known very well to tourists, we eventually found a small rooming house. Here we made reservations and after transferring our belongings to our room, parked the car in a woodshed for the night. That evening we ate a hearty supper, for we were very hungry. Later we settled ourselves in some ancient and none too comfortable rocking chairs in the main room of the house. For an hour or so my companion and I sat there by ourselves, smoking and conversing in low tones. The house and nearby neighborhood were very quiet, so quiet at times that we could hear the clock ticking in the next room. At last we heard footsteps in the adjoining chamber and slowly the door swung open admitting to us an elderly gentleman. He wore a black coat that 15