Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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 fumni John Walsh ( 36) has earned a Second Class Seaman’s rating in the United States Navy. George Cook ( 36) recently completed a cruise to the Azores and the Medi- terranean on the Massachusetts Nautical Training Ship. While there his ship narrowly averted a clash with a rebel cruiser from Spain. Madelyn Vera ( 35) has a secretarial position in the executive office of the local Lincoln Store. George Kilnapp (’54) a graduate from Bentley’s Accounting School, opened to the public Quincy’s first certified public accountant’s office in the Quincy Sav- ings Bank Building. Doris Dennison (F ’34) is attending Bridgewater Teachers’ College. Theodora French (’36) is at present employed in the Quincy Patriot Ledger office. John MacAIIister (’35) has hearkened to the call of the sea. John is engineer of the S.S. Malong which plies between New York and Bucksport, Maine. A reunion of four members of tlve class of 1936 took place when Edith An- derson. Doris Swanson, Janet Purdon, and Florence Allgorin were employed by the John Hancock Insurance Company. Hugh Nixon (’17) is secretary of the Massachusetts Teachers’ Association and editor of the Massachusetts Teacher. Forrest A. Pease (’33) is attending Brown University where he is a three- letter man. Sylvia Koose, editor-in-chief of the Golden Rod in 1953, is completing her senior year at Portia Law School where she is president of the day class. Linnea Allgorin. news editor of the Golden Rod in 1933, is also in her senior year at Portia Law School. Linnea is president of the evening class. William A. Coates (’33) is at present attending Harvard University. Gunnar Olson (‘23) was a recent candidate for representative of the Socialist Party in Quincy. Roger Saville (’35) has gone “down to the sea in ships.’’ He is junior third engineer on the S.S. Yarmouth of the Eastern Steamship Lines. Marion Chambers and Jean Rigby, members of the Golden Rod staff in 1933, are both attending Bridgewater. Thirty

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One might continue indefinitely with the to-us strange things one sees and does over here but which go to make up the every-day life of Oxford: the sight of a gray-bearded professor on a bicycle, his gown gaily flapping behind him in the breezes: the vice-chancellor in black gown and red hood on his way to a Univer- sity function preceded by three beadles, gowned gentlemen in queer round flat hats each bearing a large silver mace over his shoulder, and all proceeding in stately single file along the sidewalk: the proctors. University officials, in full academic dress moving about the streets of the city at night with eyes open for misbehaviour on the part of over-exuberant students, visiting in particular, the public houses— “pubs’ —which students are not allowed to frequent but where they are not infre- quently found. To prevent the escape of any prey they may come across, the proc- tors are accompanied by a number of strong and sturdy gentlemen—good runners— each wearing a bowler hat, who make escape on the part of the young culprit well nigh impossible. In the proctors and their “bulls” you have the “police force” of the University. Qodden (Rod 1897-1898 (An interview with Mr. Edward Marnoclt.) “The Quincy Senior High School of the 1890’s was far different from the Quincy High School of today,” says Mr. Edward Marnock, prominent Quincy business man who was business manager of the Golden Rod in 1897-98. “Baseball and football, for one thing, were the only sports and the boys sup- plied their own equipment. Every male member of the class had to play or there would not be enough to make up a team. There were no helmets, so that thick hair was necessary. Mr. Marnock assures us that in those days Quincy High won football games. The commercial classes of today might well wish they had been born sooner — in the 90 s the bookkeeping course lasted only two years. The other two courses, classical and general, consumed four years. Debating was compulsory, one hour a week being devoted to it. Examinations were held regularly and to be exempt from them it was necessary to have an average higher than ninety. The school had an orchestra of six, Mr. Marnock being the violinist. The two events of the year were the public speaking contest and the senior prom. There were forty in the senior class at that time. The Golden Rod consisted of fifteen pages, cost the students ten cents per copy, and was issued monthly. If a pupil were suited to any editorship, the teachers saw that he received it, regardless of anything he might have to say to the contrary. Mr. Marnock is now employed as Secretary of the Quincy Granite Manufac- turer’s Association. Twenty-nine

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 Tke. LnAt (Pni e By DOROTHY BASSETT In the top floor apartment of an old brick building in the heart of Greenwich Village young John Martel stood before a battered easel on which reposed a can- vas filled with a hopeless jumble of colors. When finished this picture would prob- ably be called “A Thorn in the Foot. It was modern art. The day was bright and warm for it was early spring. A breeze blew through the open window that looked over dingy rooftops toward the skyline of New York City. Young Martel stood glaring at his finished product. A frown furrowed his brow. He was a good looking, dark haired young man, but rather thin. He had the long, slender, sensitive hands of an artist. He wiped paint-smeared fingers on a dirty smock and ran them through his thick wavy hair in a gesture of despair. It was all so discouraging. For two years now he had been studying art without much success. Yet this was the only work in which the young man was happy. He could not give it up now. The New York Art Museum was sponsoring an art contest with $500 as first prize for the best painting submitted. It was his great opportunity. A hungry gnawing in his stomach told him that it was time to eat. But he was not going to eat for the simple reason that there was nothing to eat in the house and he did not possess the funds to obtain any food. With a weary sigh he put his paints away. The next morning upon awakening John felt even hungrier. This would never do. A sudden thought struck him. He tried to put it out of his mind but it kept creeping back. Finally he went to the door and looked up and down the hallway. In front of apartment 10 directly across the hall stood a gleaming white bottle of milk. After a brief struggle with his conscience John slowly crept toward the bottle. Just is he stooped to pick it up, the door flew open and he found himself looking at two dainty feminine feet. As his gaze went slowly upward he met two icy blue eyes set in a small oval face framed with golden hair. Well!” came the frigid voice. John blushed crimson and stuttered. I — er, well you see, I was hungry.” Her eyes softened. He did not look like the sort of person who was in the habit of stealing bottles of milk. Thirty-one