Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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IN MEMORIAM The last class meeting of the Senior Class was being held in Room 1 of the Old Wakefield High School. Principal Melvin J. Hill sat on the platform and gazed proudly upon the group of out-going Seniors. The president rose to speak. Fellow Sen- iors, said he, at our last Assembly a request was made that any member who could, should bring in suggestions on the subject of how to make the na me of our class remembered through the coming years. If there are any among you who think they have a good idea, please present it to the class. ' ' Several Seniors were on their feet in a minute and one by one they made known their various ideas to the students. A set of books for the library was turned down. A silver engraved cup, a. famous picture, and others met with the same fate. The president began to get discouraged and finally said, Is there no one who has anything to offer that pleases the class? For several moments silence reigned, then a boy rose from his seat. Mr. President, he said, my suggestion isn ' t a very brainy one, but seeing those of the others have failed, I ' ll give mine. After thinking the matter over, I have decided that nothing is a more lasting memorial for man, than a tree, always living and growing as the years go by. There would lie hardly any expense. That is all I have to offer ; and he sat down amid much ap- plause from his schoolmates. After restoring the class to order, the pres- ident said, This suggestion seems to please you. Do you wish to vote on it. ' They did and it. went through unanimously. Mr. Pres- ident, a girl jumped up from her seat, wouldn ' t it be an unique thing, if we each put our names and histories in little boxes and buried them at the roots of the tree? This, too, received an unanimous yes. And so on one bright morning the Senior Class and the Faculty of the school planted a slender young tree with much ceremony on the corner of the High School lot where La- fayette and Common streets meet, and buried little metal boxes at its roots containing the autobiography of each member. There it stands to this day, always living and grow- ing, until it is now a beautiful shade tree. About eight feet up the trunk is a small tab- let on which is engarved : Centennial Tree Planted by Class of 1876 W. H. S. EDITH M. DOWLING, ' 25. OUT OF THE BOOK The book with the flaming cover moved, rested quietly, for a moment, on the dark, pol- ish ' ' d table, and once more stirred. Strange, wasn ' t it? A slam — a rustle of leaves, and out from among its pages stepped the prettiest little miss one could wish to see. Her bobbed curls were of a brown that turned golden in the ' sunlight. Her checked skirt barely reached below her silk clad knees. And yet, she was not a child of ten or eleven years, she was, in fact, eighteen, perhaps nineteen years old. There was, on her face, a look of youth, and of age vicing with each other, so that it was difficult to estimate her age — listen, she is speaking. Gosh, how perfectly spiffy! This busi- ness of being ' shero ' of a novel is all right, but it ' s darned tiresome. It ' s nice to get away — By .love, here ' s another book on the table. Let ' s have a look. She fugged at the dark brown cover, which opened so suddenly that the pretty little miss was sent sprawling on the table. Oh, please, I beg your pardon. I was pushing and you were pulling; I was so very eager to get out of that dingy book, if only for a few minutes, said a soft, sweet voice. That ' s all ri say, you look great! Where ' s the blow-out? I don ' t think I understand you. Plow-out, costume-ball, dance, party! I!uf there isn ' t any dance, any party. Well, what have you got your grandmoth- er ' s clothes on for? Say, who are you? Where do you come from, anyway? The first maid plied these questions as she daubed her nose with powder. 1 am Lorna Doone from Doone Valley. Per- haps you don ' t know what Doone Valley is. It is a place just full of nefarious robbers and wicked men. I really didn ' t belong there, though. When a very little child I was stolen and taken there. Ignoring the reference to her clothes, she went on, Might I enquire who you are, and from where you come? Sure. I ' m Cherie of ' Youth ' s Challenge. ' All jokes aside, now, what ' s the idea of the

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help to pupils, as it provides a place where one may talk with the librarian and discuss problems which arise in connection with the English study. The rooms to the rear of the corridor are connected by folding doors, so that they may he used as a smaller as- sembly room, or as a large study hall. The third floor is given over to the commer- cial and scientific departments. The front, rooms are arranged for the bookkeeping, typewriting, and stenographic pupils, with all the rooms connected by doors, giving close communication between the sections of the department. The scientific department will be one of the best- ' equipped in the country. The rooms at the rear of the building will be given over exclusively to this department, and all are of absolute fireproof construction. Starting at the southern end of the corridor, we enter a class room which will be used for general science. Connected with this is a lab- oratory. The next room is the physics labora- tory, with a number of benches, each with gas, and electric outlets, where the pupils will per- form their experiments, and a larger bench for the instructor. This room is connected by swinging .doors with the lecture room, which is equipped with a stereopticon, lecture table, and blackboards, thereby giving the instructor ample means of illustrating his talk. The chemical laboratory is on the other side of the lecture room and the equipment is simi- lar to the physical laboratory with the ex- ception that water is provided at each bench. The last room will lie used for Freehand Drawing. All rooms are arranged so that the windows arc on the left side of the pupils, providing good light without having the pupil in his own light. The heating is controlled by thermo- stats in each room, which may be regulated to any desired temperature by the teacher, and the heat will remain constant. Taken as a whole the new building is ex- ceptionally well adapted to meet (he needs of our High School. HAYWAED K. MANN, ' 23. THE OLD HIGH SCHOOL SPEAKS Fifty years have passed since I first saw the light of day. Fifty years of joy and sorrow, and of laughter and tears. Since I was young, two wars have been fought and won, and many of my boys have marched away, never to re- turn. Some of the boys and girls who has- tened at the call of duty are now renowned in the world. Famous doctors, lawyers, states- men, and authors have gone from out my walls. When I was young the people of the town were proud of me. They would point me out to visitors, and often small children would stand in front of me, open-mouthed with awe. They longed to grow up so that they, too, might come to me. My first pupils walked sedately and rever- ently through my corridors. They respected my walls and desks, and it was not until years later that they became scarred and marked. Now- all is changed; instead of pointing me out to visitors, the people show them my rival, who isn ' t half grown yet. They pass me by and are ashamed if they have to make men- tion of me. Now that I am old, after years of faithful service, after I have enabled hundreds of boys and girls, to get an education, I am dis- carded. My boys and girls, disrespectful of my age, call me an ark or an antique , they talk of leaving me, and I suppose it must be so. Off with the Old, on with the new ; such is the way of the world. FLOEENCE BUTLER, ' 24. THE REPLACEMENT I am thinking of a mansion That was like a Hall of Fame, Once it possessed regal beauty. And it, bore a grand old name. Once, like youth, ' twas strong, enduring. Attracted every passer-by, It stood apart, a thing of splendor, Prepared all nature to defy. But youth does not last, forever, From that mansion it has fled; And the walls that once responded, Echo back now— All Is Dead. Wakefield held that dear old mansion, And (hat good old name it bore; Hut the years have told their story. Now it ' s gone forevermore. It has passed its regal beauty To a newer Hall of Fame, To a structure grand and mighty, Wakefield High School is its name. DOLORES McTEAGUE 23.

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trick clothes? Gee, they get on my nerves. Lorna ' s quick temper flamed at the conde- scending, critical air of the other girl. If you mean that I am annoying you, young lady, I can only advise you to go where I may not be in your sight, for I have not the slightest intention of moving myself, yet awhile. In lieu of the fact that you have been criticiz- ing my garments, I think I may justly remark on yours. What can he the matter with your hair? Are your brains so scanty that your hair refuses to grow? Look at your lower limbs. Are they so beautiful that you feel you must brazenly expose them to the public? Your face resembles my little nephew Ensie ' s when he plays at bandits. Your But Cherie also, had a temper, and a very hot, one, too. At this point she interrupted Lorna. Her words were perhaps we had better omit that part. Suffice to say the bat- tle raged for several minutes. Then both girls, realizing the pettiness, the childishness of such proceedings, began to laugh. Cherie in her loud alto tone, Lorna with tinkling soprano note. After Cherie had recovered from her hy- sterics, both girls sat, side by side, on the table, and talked — oh, how they talked ! Lorna, with many blushes, told Cherie of John, her lover; of the stolen meetings they had had, far away from the anxious, ever- watchful eyes of the Doones. She described her life in the valley — that valley so full of sin and crime, whose very name made her shudder. With characteristic impulsiveness, she related the events of the night when John, wonderful, strong — 1 fear Lorna wan- dered a trifle from the theme of her tale, put- ting a wee bit too much stress on the already lauded merits of the trusty John. However, she soon got herself in hand sufficiently to pass on to the events of that fateful night when John stole her from the hateful valley, taking her to his own home, to be cared for, and loved by his mother — she had never known one of her own — and his sisters. From that time her life had been most happy. She was learning to cook, and to do other little housewifely duties, so that in the near future, when she should become of age, she might make a home for her lover— her John. She ended her tale with a brief outline of the fu- ture, of the happy days to come. Then Lorna demurely requested Cherie to tell the story of her life. Cherie responded with accounts of house parties, dances, motor rides, and many other diversions, all of which so interested and as- tonished the quiet Lorna, that she was struck dumb with wonder. She recovered herself fi- nally and said, But why are we so different? Do we live in different countries? But even if we do, it must be everywhere the year 1684. Sixteen eighty-four. Sweet papa, and I ' m not born yet! The shock sent Cherie to her feet. In the distance a clock struck twelve. Lorna grace fully rose to her feet. And what is your time? she inquired. Nineteen twenty-two! Imagine! Listen, there goes eight bells! If T don ' t hump myself, I won ' t be able to get back. And believe me, dearest, no matter how much I like you, I prefer my twentieth century varieties to your seventeenth century routine. So I won ' t linger, Fair One. And I, too, said Lorna, prefer my time to yours. Your speech is so difficult to com- prehend, your customs so peculiar. Your cen- tury is so — so — Lorna struggled for a word. Do you wonder? How could she of 1(584 de- scribe the customs of 1922? With affectionate kisses the girls parted. Cherie opened her cover, and with a bound, a loud laugh, disappeared. Lorna, opening her own dark brown cover, with a dainty little step, a merry tinkle of laughter, faded from view. ELLEN CONNER, ' 24. HATS AND CAPS Between the years 1790 and 1800, there were two great political parties in Sweden. One of these parties was for the king, the other, against him. At that time only the aristo- crats were allowed to wear hats; all the com moners wore caps: — hence the name, Hats and Caps. The Bats were on the king ' s side, and used all their power to uphold his rule. On the other hand, the Caps heartily hated the king, and the Hats, his supporters. There were constant feuds between them, and it is with one of these fends which my story deals. It was a dark and rainy night in early spring, anil especially dreary in that part of the country which was some miles north of Stockholm. Now and then came a coach drawn by wearied horses, sinking deep in the mud; but almost everyone preferred to remain safely at home, where warmth and comfort were offered. For almost two hours all had been quiet.