Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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buoyed up by a force equal to the weight of the water dis- placed. These laws are never changed, broken, or repealed. You can always put A and B together and get C. There is a certain pleasure in going into the laboratory and experimenting with chemicals or apparatus. You may be performing an experiment from a text book which states a specific result. If at the conclusion of your experiment you have obtained the same result, you have the satisfaction of knowing your experiment was a success. Such are the delights of the laboratory. The modern conceptions of electricity and matter are impressive. By laboratory experiments it is now definitely established that the atom is no longer the smallest divisible part of matter, but consists of various groupings of elec- trons and protons. The theory further states that the electrons revolve around the nucleus or protons in the same manner that the planets revolve about the sun. The prob- ability that there is some connection between these facts is very strong indeed. Perhaps the same law of the Master Creator governs both. Here, then, is where the laboratory has its greatest ap- peal — research! To spend hours in the laboratory experi- menting with what knowledge we have, possibly finding out new things, advancing new theories on the ultimate con- struction of matter, is a profession one should be ex- tremely proud of — one in which I hope to engage. Lloyd N. Owen, ' 30. HAVE YOU ANY — NO! SORRY June may have its graduation, its blossoms, and its roses, but to the boy who wants to earn some summer money it is a month of agony generally speaking, of course. First, there is the frantic glance at the newspapers ' employment columns. Then, the daily pilgrimage to town, interviews — a few — but in most places the same old slogans, Not just now, Sorry, maybe later, or You might fill out this little blank. Where is the courageous individual who can face these time-worn responses day after day and yet remain undiscouraged? It pays to be pessimistic, for he who has too much con- fidence in his ability to get work quickly, is often the victim of a terrible delusion. A veteran job-seeker who knows the ropes of his trade — for it certainly is an art in itself, this job-hunting — does not wander aimlessly from one employ- ment office to another, does not seek where there is no prey; he starts his operations in the springtime before graduation arrives. If he desires a position in some hotel — the line of least resistance-he writes to approximately twenty hotel managers stating his purpose. One who has an eye for the future and temporarily forgets the joys of a summer vacation makes early application for work in offices of high repute. Of course, there is the happy medium of summer work, good wages, time for recreation, and a pleasant environment, but these are, unluckily, rare discoveries in the world of labor. The only difficulty is this: we must all be novices at some time in everything we undertake, and the unversed job- seeker deserves all the sympathy that can be given. Merritt Stockbridge, ' 30. TRIUMPH A play in one act adapted from Dickens ' famous novel The Tale of Two Cities. Time: A morning in the year 1880 during the French Revolution. Place: A small, dirty courtroom in Paris. Characters: Charles Evremonde, called Darney — a prisoner. Lucie Manette — his wife. Dr. Manette — Lucie ' s father. Gabelle — an old servant. President of Tribunals. Four other Tribunals. Public Prosecutor. Jury and Mob including the Defrages and Mr. Lorry. Public Prosecutor (reading) — Charles Evremonde, called Darnay, is accused as an emigrant whose life is forfeit to the Republic, under the decree which banishes all emi- grants on pain of death. It is true that the decree bore date since his return to France but that is nothing. There he is, and there is the decree; he was taken in this country and his head is demanded. Mob — Take off his head. Take off his head. An enemy to the Republic. Pres. (after ringing bell) — Is it true, emigrant, that you have lived many years in England? Darnay — Yes, undoubtedly it is true. Pres. — Are you not an emigrant then? What do you call yourself? Darnay — Not an emigrant within the sense and spirit of the law. Pres.— Why not? Darnay — Because I voluntarily relinquished a title that was distasteful to me, and a station that was distasteful to me, and I left my country to live by my own industry of the overladen people of France. Pres. — What proof have you of this? Darnay — Two witnesses: Theophile Gabelle, and Dr. Manette. Pres. — But you were married in England. Darnay — True, but not an English woman. Pres. — A citizeness of France? Darnay — Yes. By birth. Pres. — What is her name and family? Darnay — Lucie Manette, only daughter of Dr. Manette, the good physician who sits there. Mob (whose attitude had changed) — Hurrah for Dr. Manette! Long live Alexandre Manette! Pres. — Why did you return to France when you did, and not sooner? Darnay — I did not return sooner simply because I had no means of living in France save those I had resigned; whereas, in England I lived by giving instructions in the French language and literature. I returned when I did, on the pressing and written entreaty of a French citizen who represented that his life was endangered by my absence. I came back to save a citizen ' s life, and to bear my testi- mony at whatever personal hazard to the truth. Is that criminal in the eyes of the Republic? Mob— No! No! No! No! No!

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The front-drive car has been on the market for two years and is as yet unproven. As a result, the motoring public is somewhat hesitant in taking it up. The advan- tages of the car are so obvious, however, that in less than a decade, the front-drive will have completely superseded the rear-drive in the fine car field. Lawrence Doore, ' 30. of dishes, mingled with the giggles of waitresses and the harsh voice of the head waiter, I resolved never again to get funny with a tray. John Roach, ' 30. ON CARRYING TRAYS In April of last year, I began to write to various New England hotels to obtain a position for the summer. To all inquiries, I received but one favorable reply. This was from the Hotel X in Beach Bluff, Massachusetts. Although I knew as little about the profession, as I did about flying an aeroplane, I promised to go down to the hotel as soon as school let out, in my new capacity of buss boy. Have you ever attempted to carry a tray? Then you have a decidedly novel and thrilling experience awaiting you. My first experience was of almost disastrous consequence. The headwaiter told me to carry the tray on my right shoulder, supported by my right hand with the palm ab- solutely flat. He also warned me against funny business. Bravely I picked up my first tray, tilted it a good deal one way and back the other way and finally got it up on my shoulder. The tray was a heavy one — weighing about twenty-five pounds. When, to my surprise, it did not fall from my shoulder, I gained confidence. Just then, an inci- dent occurred which nearly spelled doom for me. Through the swinging doors, carrying a full tray on each palm, came Carl, the room waiter. You should know that then bitter and ceaseless enmity existed between the buss-boys and room waiters. The demon of jealousy arose in the Roach heart. Well, said the demon, I suppose you ' re going to let that guy get ahead of you. You know he ' s as dumb a waiter as there is. I heeded my evil spirit, and cautiously raised the tray from my shoulder, allowing the weight to fall on my none- too-steady palm. I started down the main row through the dining room to the swinging doors which led into the kitchen. My confidence increased as I strode along; in fact, I held my head so high that I nearly collided with a waitress. To avoid a collision, I lifted the tray on one end, allowing a thin stream of water to trickle down the neck of one Mr. West, a very distinguished gentleman and second cousin to President Hoover. Unconscious of this mishap, I continued on my way, clinging to the belief that the tray was horizontal. I was mistaken; at times, the tray assumed an angle of forty-five degrees with the floor. I interpreted the awed whispers of waitresses as fair proof of my prowess. In this mood, I approached the swinging doors, giving one a lusty blow with my free hand. But, alas! Some fiend in human form had left a small, but very slippery piece of butter in my path. I trod on the misguided missile with my unsuspecting left foot and was thrown violently forward. The tray assumed an even more dangerous angle, tilting backward sharply. To save the tray, I rushed backward and collided heavily with a waitress who was just coming through the swinging doors. We went down in a heap with the two trays upsetting and spilling their various contents over our heads. Amid the clanging of trays on the floor, the crashing WORLD WAR AVIATION The airplane went into the World War as a crude, dan- gerous, fighting machine, but it came out of it trim, fast, efficient, and comparatively safe. It was at first used as scouts, for observation purposes only. The pilots car- ried only a pistol and light bombs at first, but as automatic machine guns were introduced, aerial combats became a duty, and sometimes a pastime, for hundreds of fear- less men. The duties of a fighting scout were varied: to fly low and attack troops, trains and road convoys; to drive off night raiders, enemy planes and airships; to escort the larger and slower bombing and observation planes; to clear the air of enemy machines, and to set fire to enemy observ- ation balloons. Maneuvers that in peace time would have been considered foolhardy — looping, side-slipping, rolling and spinning — became part of the every-day flying of the war-time pilot. The most famous fighting planes during the World War were: the French Spad and Nieuport, the English Bristol, and the German Albatross and Fokker . At the close of the war, names such as Ponck, Bishop, Ball, Nungesser, Luke, Lufbery, Guynemer, Rickenbacker, and Richtofen were repeatedly mentioned as much as, if not more than, Lindbergh and Byrd are at the present time. Eddie Rickenbacker led the Americans with twenty-five attested victories; Rene Fonck, the French, with seventy- five; William Bishop, the English, with seventy-two; and Freiherr von Richtofen, the Germans, with eighty. When reading of these victories one must remember that to be officially credited with a victory at least three witnesses had to see the plane fall. Rene Fonck, for instance, really brought down one hundred and twenty-six planes, but only seventy-five were attested by observers. One day, within two hours, he shot down six enemy battle planes. The German Zeppelins, loaded with large bombs, were a constant dread to the inhabitants of the major cities in England and France, especially London and Paris. Air- planes hunted the Zeppelins, and many of the small air- craft succeeded in bringing down one of their gigantic op- ponents in a blaze of fire. Without the aircraft, it is hard to say how the World War would have ended. Before troops, supplies, or ammu- nition could move— before attacks were made, the eyes of the army had to report the exact location and strength Qi the hostile forces. John Findlay, ' 31. THE APPEAL OF THE LABORATORY For many the laboratory has little or no attraction, but for me there is no stronger appeal. In the laboratory one learns the power, the beauty, the regularities, the mysteries, and phenomena of nature. One speaks of the unsearchable vastness of the heavens as declaring the might and the in- finite wisdom of God; but just as impressive as this is the unvarying laws of nature experienced in the laboratory. A plus B is always C, never D, X, or anything else but C. Like poles invariably repel each other, and a body is always

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I ' res. — What is the name of that citizen? Darnay. — That citizen is first witness. I have also that fact. Pres. — Let this letter be read. (Here Gabelle ' s letter Is read by the Public Prosecutor.) Pres.— Gabelle, come forward and confirm this letter. Gabelle — Your Honor, I wrote this letter to Charles Dar- nay on June 21, 1792. I wrote it from the Prison of the Abbaye. Your Honor, with the great pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the multitude of enemies of the Re- public, I think I have been slightly overlooked, until three days ago, when I was summoned before it and set free by the Jury ' s declaring that the accusation against me was answered by the surrender of Charles Darnay. Pres. — Very well. Now let us hear from Dr. Manette. Dr. Manette — Yes, Your Honor. Pres. — Dr. Manette, how long have you known Darnay? Manette — I have known Darnay ever since he was court- ing my daughter. In fact, he was my first friend on my release from my long imprisonment. Pres. — You are quite sure that the accused bore no title when in England? Manette — Yes, I am very sure. Pres. — Was the accused a favorite of the Aristocrat government there? Manette — Sir, he was far from a favorite of the govern- ment for he was actually tried for his life by it, as a foe to England and a friend of the United States. Mr. Lorry, here, a representative of Tellson ' s, will confirm this statement. Chm. of Jury — Your Honor, the Jury has heard enough and we are ready to cast our votes when Your Honor is content to receive them. Pres. — I am ready, sir, to hear the Jury ' s vote. (Each Juryman votes aloud and individually. All the votes are in the prisoner ' s favor. After each vote the audi- ence shouts applause.) Pres. — After due consideration, I declare Charles Evre- monde free. Lucius W. Evans, ' 32. THE OLD FIDDLER OF ST. MADELEINE With a feeble sigh Grandpere Auguste tenderly laid aside the fiddle which he had been fondling. His gaunt, decrepit hands trembled as he placed the violin in its case. A look of mingled sadness and anxiety appeared on the wrinkled, venerable, old face, loved and revered by all the simple country folk in the little Canadian village of St. Madeleine. Grandpere, he was called by all from the small- est tot to the hoariest ancient of the vill age. And well he deserved to bear that title. He had been the village fiddler ever since anyone could remember, enlivening every party or ball with his entrancing music. But the passing of time had taken its toll on Grandpere Auguste. His fiddle no longer produced that enrapturing rhythm which was so irresistible to dancers. Gone was that magical touch which had so endeared him to the hearts of the loving villagers. So now, Grandpere Auguste was ruminating over his lost powers and thinking of the annual ball that was to be held that night, where for the first time in many years he would not be present with his beloved fiddle. A knock at the door aroused him from his reverie. Come in, he called softly. The door opened and Henri Lafitte, one of his staunch- est admirers, a typical young Canadian woodsman, walked awkwardly into the room. He was evidently ill at eas e and he spoke with embarrassment. Grandpere, he began, tonight ze grand dance weel be held. One have tol ' me you cannot play. So they have bring a phonograph from ze city. Pour moi, I do not go. Bah, dat ees not museek. With these words he left the room. It was now eight o ' clock. The villagers had all gathered at the public dance hall. In spite of the gaiety of the oc- casion, there was an evident lack of merriment. The danc- ing had not yet begun, nor were there any manifestations of impatience among the unenthusiastic couples. Suddenly someone cried, Ze Grandpere Auguste! ! ! Surely enough, there in the doorway stood the aged fiddler with his violin under his arm. A strange light shone in his eyes as he walked to the center of the floor. He raised a hand for silence and began to speak. My friends, he said in a tremulous voice, I have play for you many time ze violin. More time dan I can remem- ber. Now I am ol ' an ' feeble. My skeel appear to be gone. But tonight I weel not have need of it. Thees weel be ze last time an ' with ze help of le bon Dieu, I weel mek ' ze mos ' belle museek of my life. Immediately the hall resounded with tunes that defy description. It seemed as though the old man had reserved his ability and energy all for that one night. True, he had always been acclaimed as the most accomplished of artists, but tonight ' s performance surpassed his previous efforts beyond any degree of comparison. Everybody was dancing. So rapidly and so fervently did the tunes follow one another, that even the most ardent dancer could barely keep the pace. Before anyone could realize it, the bells in the vil- lage church were sounding the hour of midnight. With the first stroke Grandpere paused, but before any of his enchanted audience could speak a word of remon- strance, he resumed playing. But what was this? Instead of a lively dance tune, there came the inspired notes of a song so beautiful and so divine that every dancer stood awe- stricken with heads bowed. It was a haunting, plaintive melody, which would have brought iron tears down Pluto ' s cheek, as it did down those of the old violinist ' s listeners. As he played, a sublime and holy look spread over his coun- tenance. On his lips fiitted the sweet, tender smile of a pure soul. His eyes were half -closed and he played as though in a dream. With each dilatory stroke of the vil- lage clock, the notes of the fiddle increased in beauty and sadness. The interval between each stroke seemed to the listeners hours apart. As the last echoes of the twelfth stroke died away, the song came to an end as suddenly as it had begun. Then, a shrill, agonizing scream from one of the women; the old fiddler lay on the floor, his fiddle clutched closely to his heart. Grandpere Auguste had sounded his own funeral knell. Nicholas Quinzio, ' 30.