Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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GRIMALKIN That afternoon Grimalkin had strolled down the dusty road that led past the village cemetery. She knew that there among the gravestones, nestled in the tall yellow grass, was a swallow ' s nest. She remembered the exact spot whence the frightened mother swallow had darted on seeing her. Her paw had felt five warm eggs. Then she had an- ticipated a feast. Now, as she lay drowsily on the porch, switching her tail nervously, she glanced at her shadow. It had grown long and dim. Night, Grimalkin ' s time for action, was coming. Had you been a fly on the wall, you would have seen her glassy, yellowish-green eyes shine maliciously in the dim light. She roused herself, stretched, and went slinking down the road. Soon she reached the cemetery. After looking about guiltily, and seeing no one, she entered the gate. The cemetery was very still. Stealthy as they were. Grimalkin ' s steps rustled the dry grass and leaves at even intervals. When she was close to the swallow ' s nest, she saw the mother bird sleeping, unaware of lurking peril. She crouched and waited for one quivering moment. Then a sudden spring, a clutch of claws, a crushing bite, and little mother swallow was no more. Almost passionately Grimal- kin clawed and gnawed at the remains of the bird. In greedy gulps she devoured the five juicy babies. This done, she licked her lips, and, with a satisfied grin and a full stomach, she set out for home. Dreamily, slowly, she padded down the road. Thoughts of her feast obliterated everything else. She did not see the two dazzling lights speeding toward her. She did not hear the vibrating noises of the oncoming Ford ' s engine. Neither did the driver see the gray cat in the dark road. He was aware that he had gone over a bump — another bump in a country road. Grimalkin uttered one hideous cry of pain. The Ford rat- tled on its way. Then the night was stUl again. Early the next morning, I walked down the same coun- try road to get the mUk. There in the dust, with stains of dried-up blood mussing the gray fur of her head. Grimalkin lay limp and still — dead. Carol Lee, ' 31. Joan Foster, ' 30 HE WAS A FLYING FOOL Jerry Alden was known as the flying fool of the Forty- ud Squadron. It was back in 1918, when parachutes were unknown, but even the fact that when one ' s plane caught fire or was shot to pieces, Newton ' s law came into effect conclusively, failed to keep this human bird on liie ground. Jerry was famous for his foolhardy trick of diving into a flight of German Fokkers, knocking down two or three before the Teutons knew what it was all about, and then running off in his faster Spad in a very taunting fashion. Every other pilot in the squadron had tried to reason Jerry out of his recklessness, but all to no avail. He passed it off carelessly, saying, What do you fellows think I joined the service for? When my time comes, I ' ll be ready, but until then, why not make myself useful? And his idea of being useful was very agreeable to the com- manding officer. Jerry ' s average weekly total of enemy planes certainly helped to uphold the Forty-third ' s enviable reputation. One day, when the weather was too gusty for flying, a Fokker appeared over the flying field. It was met by a fusillade of machine-gun bullets and auto-aircraft shells, but the daring German swooped down unscathed over the airdrome and then zoomed quickly into the leaden sky. Behind him, a small white parachute fluttered to earth. Jerry was the first to reach the fallen ' chute. Upon exam- ination, it was found to contain a letter addressed to Lt. Jerry Alden. The missive was a challenge to fight an air duel on the next day at noontime. It was signed Capt. Frederic Hertzsheimer, who was one of the most famous German aces. Jerry laughed carelessly and nonchalantly lighted a cigarette. As if nothing had happened, he re- turned to the barracks and quietly turned in. The next morning, the commanding officer excused Jerry from his usual two-hour patrol. All the morning the fiying fool spent on his plane, examining, especially, the motor and the machine-gun mechanisms. He supervised the stowing of the cartridge belts and of the gasoline and oil. Just before noon, he calmly shook hands with the major, climbed into his Spad, and took off. Coming over No Man ' s Land , he circled warily, on the lookout for a trap. Soon he spied speeding toward him a

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but really accomplish our goal and make W. H. S. just a little bit better (although it ranks pretty high already). Here ' s to our band! Richard Hayes, ' 30. OPPORTUNITY— NOW There are always opportunities for advancement if we look for them; small ones, to be sure, at times, but stepping- stones to larger ones. Those living in a small town, perhaps, have not seen much of the world beyond; but every avenue that leads to success begins at the schoolroom door. For a few short years, we live in this world as we find it; but before we realize it, we are making our own world, shaping our own lives, carving our own destinies, forming our own ideals. The world we live in is what we decide in our minds that it is going to be; we can accept the advan- tages we desire and reject others. Our success depends upon ourselves. Why, then, do so many fail in life? There are many kinds of failure: a few — very few, indeed — fall back because of circumstances be- yond their control; some fail through indifference, slug- gishness; others neglect to look forward. The greatest per- centage of failures is due, however, to inability to recognize Opportunity, whose door always lies open to the road of prosperity. But, we must remember that anything worth having demands work — untiring, unceasing work. Opportunities must be seized when they are offered, or they disappear. If we do not accept advantages immedi- ately, they will be taken by someone else; and gradually our possibilities will be fewer and less frequent, for people will think we do not want their offers. Time will not wait for us. There are treasures for us all; we can take them or leave them for some fortunate person who is looking for a chance. Our life is developed according to our choice. America is a land of opportunity. Its free school sys- tem, of which we should make the most, enables every youth to get an education. Mary Antin ably describes the supply of opportunities in the United States, as opposed to the lesser number in Europe. We live in a free land because others sacrificed to make it so. Shall we fail our country now, or shall we prove ourselves worthy of it? Let us all, then, seize our opportunities with earnestness and zeal, and make ourselves capable of accepting them. We must always consider the future and not retreat when any obstacle arises. If we make the most of our small oppor- tunities, eventually there will be greater ones. If we are determined to get ahead, nothing can stop us. Opportunity is here now. Let Her in! Norma Worters, ' 30. EDUCATED BUSINESS The modern note in industry is research. The manu- facturer not only recognizes his debt to pure science, but also realizes that if he is to survive, he must keep up with the world — an undertaking which requires more energy than formerly. In an earlier era of American commercial life the manu- facturer, the railroad man, and their stockholders failed to appreciate the influence of the work of the scientist. The hard-boiled business man ' s boast was a practical outlook. No visionary, theoretical investigations for him. If he could find new applications of power and mechanics to his operations, he was glad to employ skillful mechanics. But to put real money into a laboratory and let one of those professors putter around with bottles and wires — he just wasn ' t going to be such a fool. Now the corporations are crying for trained brains. As someone has phrased it, A Faraday at a million a year would be dirt cheap. And those professors are a group of highly-trained, alert young fellows, graduates of special- ized institutions such as Massachusetts Tech, Purdue, Rens- selaer, Case, and others. They work in a carefully-planned, efficiently arranged laboratory, where costly equipment is provided for them. As a result, those firms who have early adopted and pursued a policy of pure research are now in the lead of the World ' s industrial race. Such firms are General Electric, DuPont, Bell Telephone, Westinghouse, and General Motors. Germany ' s tremendous industrial organizations were built by this rare combination of brains and capital. And now America can challenge the world to produce a finer group of powerful corporations than is hers. Business is becoming educated. Orison Pratt, ' 30. LABOR There is nothing truly valuable which can be pur- chased without pain and labor. — Addison. During the past four years, each member of the senior class has been studying earnestly with the object of grad- uation. We are now hoping that our ideals will be realized in June. Some of us have profited a great deal; others have been contented in just getting by. However, when we seriously think over the past, a strong admiration for those who have taught us the right from wrong will, no doubt, begin to linger as a pleasant memory in every senior ' s heart. Upon entering the freshman class, we were confronted with a great many obstacles which we later discovered would be a heavy burden to bear throughout the course of our high school career. The reason for all this hard work was simply to have us acquire the art of concentration in order to learn quickly and clearly. We did not learn of our weaknesses, nor were we able to correct our mistakes in a day. But by constant work upon the less interesting and attractive subjects with the co-operation of the teachers, we were able to obtain a better understanding of our different studies. As a little advice to those students who are freshmen and to those who enter as freshmen next fall: Never get dis- couraged. We are told by Roger Aschan By experience we find a short way by a long wandering. Learning teacheth more in one year than experience teacheth in twenty. Have faith in your work and towards those who help you to learn. The teachers are working for your bene- fit, and, in order to have something to show at the end of your scholastic career, hard work in every subject should be the firm resolve. Thomas Burke, ' 30.

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silver Fokker with the customary Maltese crosses. Rapid- ly zooming for altitude, Jerry waved to his adversary, then drove down in a corkscrew power-dive, both Vickers blaz- ing. Soon he realized that his opponent was a worthy ad- versary. With flashing Immelman turns, dives, zooms, and wingovers, Hertzsheimer eluded all of Jerry ' s maneuvers. Both pilots were uselessly spraying the air with incendiary bullets. By their dives and sideslips, their altitude had been reduced to about a thousand feet. Suddenly Jerry had a brilliant idea. With a deceptive rush, he brought his plane immediately over the German, setting the Spad down carefully almost on the Fokker ' s upper wing. Hertzsheimer immediately dived, and Jerry followed him, attempting to fire a burst from his Vickers. His guns jammed! He was at the mercy of the German ace. But Jerry Alden wasn ' t the man to go down without fighting. On full throttles, his Spad crept upon the Fokker. Again he set his plane down on the German, slowly forcing him lower. They were now over the home ' drome of the Forty -third. Lower Jerry forced the German until his landing gear touched the ground. Then Jerry zoomed, and, executing a tight loop, landed. When the Spad stopped rolling, Hertzsheimer was the first to shake Jerry ' s hand. In his accented English, he compli- mented Jerry on being the finest pilot he had ever had the good fortune to battle with. In spite of his comrades ' praises, Jerry classified it as all in a day ' s work. He was a flying fool . Leonard Waite, ' 30. THE VALUE OF A GOOD BIOGRAPHER In these days of evanescent best-sellers and mass production of books as of everything else, it is a little sur- prising that biographies sell so well. Biography is en- joying a boom. I believe Lytton Strachey began it. Emil Ludwig, Maurois, and Bradford have contributed to this movement. The reason for its popularity lies perhaps in its modern treatment of the subject. We cannot change the record of a man ' s life, but we can choose the method of its presenta- tion. The modern note seems to be a tendency to clear away the debris left about a character by idol-worsnippers. Increasing knowledge enables a writer to psycho-analyze motives, rather than to cite dates. As a result, some excel- lent biographies have come from the presses. A good biography inspires. It presents truth in a frank manner. It gives sidelights on contemporary history, politics, literature, science — anything connected with life. But to me the chief value in biography is the what-man-has done-man-can-do idea. For this reason, biographies have always been recommended as reading matter for young folks. Usually the recommendation was ignored. Now, however, there is no need of this. The lives of great men are interesting. And to write such a book takes a clever man. He must be full of his subject. He must be in sympathy with the views of what might be called his biographee. He must know how to handle facts and interpret the influences which shape a man ' s character. While not perhaps among the greatest of such works, Leonard ' s Loki: The Life of Steinmetz is a fine example of what I am trying to say. A comparative reading of this book and of Hammond ' s earlier Life will bring out the difference in a more striking manner than I can. I class the former as greatly superior to the latter. In Hammond ' s account, Steinmetz is a figurehead. His character is accur- ately drawn, but he does not appear real. In Leonard ' s work, although much of the same material is covered, the difference is tremendous. We can watch the mind of this genius work. We feel the same emotions he felt. It seems that we have known him for years. Most valuable of all, any fellow who has a love of engineering or mathematics in him will get a thrill out of the account of Steinmetz ' s career at the University of Breslau. When we think that such a man actually worked and studied and lived, there is a definite stimulus which no one would ever get from a so- called inspirational article. A great man ' s infiuence is not alone on his contempo- raries. It is for all time, and the medium is his biographer. Hence the value of a good biographer to represent truly the man. Orison S. Pratt, ' 30. THE BEST PARLOR There are two parlors in my grandmother ' s little farm- house — the living room and the best parlor , as it is called. The latter is opened only on such special occasions as wed- dings and funerals. While not in use, the room is darkened as much as possible so the sun won ' t fade the bright red carpet on the softwood floor. On the walls hang heavy, gilt-edged framed portraits of bearded and powdered ancestors, gone, but not forgotten. The furniture consists of a stiff, horse-hair divan and sev- eral equally stiff chairs to match. In the center of the room stands a wobbly table on glass-knobbed legs. On this table are an ancient oil-lamp with a painted globe of many colors, and the family Bible. That which interests me the most, however, is the wheezy old parlor organ which reposes sedately in one cor- ner of this tiny room. It has a mirror and several shelves, above the age-yellowed keys. On the rack is a hymn book still left open to the page of the hymn played at grand- father ' s funeral. It is a sad-looking room, for all its stiffness — a room which brings back memories to her who furnished it with a bride ' s enthusiasm and happiness. Ruth Boudreau, ' 32. THE FUNERAL ( A True Story) It was indeed a funeral — such a funeral, in fact, that the deceased was excavated and buried a second time. We four children — Charlie, Endy, Shrimp, and I — were just at that age when imagination is at its height. I had found a dead bird, and we had decided to give it an elaborate burial. The ceremony was to take place on the lawn at the right of my house. Our preparations were now completed. A chair had been placed on the lawn; in this we placed the casket, which we had lined with bright silk. Charlie had put the deceased, a little sparrow, in its coffin. (Don ' t tell anyone, but the truth is that Shrimp and I never would have let Charlie have that honor without some dispute, had we dared touch the dead bird ourselves.)