Waltham High School - Mirror Yearbook (Waltham, MA)

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16 THE MIRROR his eleventh or twelfth birthday. Alberzf Marsliall's costume consisted of several dozen dart-pierced hearts pinned haphazardly over his diminu- tive person. A breaker of hearts is Al. Ever since his High School days he has been the same way. Doctors and alienists entertain little hope for the lad. Poor All After a few warming-up dances, the master of ceremonies, David No- lan, lblaint Vitusls protege and ri- vall announced that a few novelty nsrnbers would ensue. In th: first number lVilliain Pep- per, dressed in the costume of a court jester and wearing a facial expres- sion sognewhat similar to Will Rogers came out, and executed a few dance steps CThey should have been executed ere thisj. He also rendered a few modern song hits, such as Darlin' Nellie Gray, The Cat Came Back, and other gems of con- temporary vintage. Then Willyum regaled his auditors with a brand new line of snappy jokes. l'Who,,' asked Billy of himself, 'fwas that lady you were with last night C? f'That lady, Pep replied serious- ly, that lady was no lady. That lady was my w-. A rush of classmates, the opening of a door, a loud splash, a gurgling, and Mr. Nolan announced the second act. Edward Fay and Carl Frederick- son, the Two True Blue Bluebirds , presented a-er-humorous dialogue. Carl and Eddie had been touring the country, it seems, and had garnered a whole mess--used advisedly-of snappy, sappy conundrums. These, they ventured to hope, would put the preceeding-er- comedian to shame, if in his present damp state he was capable of such sentiments. How do you know, queried Ed- die of Carl, 'cthat the moon is made of green cheese CZ Because, responded Carl prompt- ly, I'm a sea and I've been to sail'er. I mean I'm a sailor, and I've been to see. A tense silence settled over the audience. Then another rush, a few excited cries, two separate splashes- and the Charles had claimed its third victim. The next act was a revue. A bevy of Waltham girls under the appella- tion Digjield's Dolly Girls had just finished an extensive tour of the world. They had appeared and tripped the airy fantastic before such dignitaries as King George, Premier Mussolini, and an appreciative audi- ence at the world-famous sailors' dive, Moulin Rouge. They had consented to perform at the Reunion Dance because many of them were Class of Twenty-eighters. . Among their number I noticed Mil- dred Borden, Helen Cornett, Priscilla Marshall, Marie Lawson, and Mariel Brown. The solo parts were dele- gated to Constance Bolio, another twenty-eighter who will long be re- membered. Connie had shown her talent at an early and tender age. While Digfield's Dollies were per- spiringly imitating the light-footecl Saint Vitus, I wandered about the hall, searching for more familiar faces. I found, tucked snugly in one bad- ly illuminated corner, Joannci Bry- den and Joy .MacLean, both deep in the throes of composition. Joy was assiduously chewing the less import- ant end of her pencil, racking her be-muddled thinker for a word to rhyme with uvioletn. I couldn't help her any. Joanna, however, was writing rap- idly, to keep pace with her racing thoughts. A poetess without peer is Joanna. I wish them both a long life and vocabularies consisting of

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THE MIRROR HORACE TAPPLY Class Prophet, 1928

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THE MIRROR 17 innumerable euphoniously similar words. In another corner I ran across Charles Logan, Harold Diirhin, John Whalen, Harold Rines and Howard Marshall arguing vocifer- ously and heatedly over the day's stock market results. Stockbrokers, millionaires, these lads, true products of Waltham High. A long life to them also, and may Brass Door- knobs, Inc., reap for them much kale and lucre. A rather diminutive person clad in Boy Scout raiment and carrying a silvery trumpet, a scout knife, a length of clothes-line, and an emer- gency kit- walked nonchalantly thru' me without so much as a by-your- leave. Paul Ross -ofcourse, roving about in search of a good turn to -turn. An honor to his class is Paul. Never will his name be linked up with the unsavory. A long life and innumerable good-turn opportuni- ties to him l ' I honestly hate to tell this about Kathryn Jacobs, but I must. Kay was dressed simply-simply stun- ningly! Knowing Miss .Iacob7s one ambition, I at once knew that she was a real society lady. And this is the part I hate to tell-Kathryn was looking for a man! 'S a fact. Any eligible gentleman with sufhcient coins and bills and cheque books and bank accounts and automobiles and city houses and country houses and good looks and so on would satisfy Kathryn. I wondered if she would iind her soul mate at the Reunion. Ye Nabobs, beware l By this time Digf1eld's Dolly Girls had perspired their last drop of per- spiration, and had left the hall for a dip in the Charles. Came the next, and, incidentally and fortunately, the last act. Trapeze performers - Heaven smile upon 'eml First Jean Hughes swung daringly out over the heads of the audience, then back again to catch Ruth Peterson, then the two swung out, and back again, to catch Ethel Livermore. Over the pates Qmany of them baldy of the thrilled audience wavered the three, and back again, to pick up the fourth per- for.ner, Frances Daley. They caught her all right, but some where a cog slipped, and the quartette swung far over the audience-too far over the audience-and out thru' the open door into the Charles. A splash-a cry--two cries in fact-a sickened silence on the part of the audience- and Wes Laurin's Orchestra, with great presence of mind, struck up an alluring waltz, and the ill-fated four were forgotten. Once more I commenced my invis- ible promenading about the hall, in search of familiar faces. Lillian Smith, Bertha Berman, Re- becca Cushinshy, and Sarah Kron- garaf were wearing severe, tailored business suits of the female kick- pleated variety. You know the kind -mannish and all that. Business ladies they were, stenographers, sec- retaries, and what-not. The kind of positions where they either marry the bossls son or become corners in Eternal Triangle cases. A couple of our diamond lumin- aries who have since their high school days turned professional were there, wearing the striped regalia of their profession-James Harrigan, short- stop supreme of the Waverley Won- ders and Arthur Cojjfin, who chases flies for the Lincoln Town Team. Our alma mater has certainly turned out good stuff. One of the greatest surprises of my evening was when I ran across Victor Kjoss, be-spectacled and scholarly, morosely moping about the hall carrying a large leather-encased quarto under his arm. Over Vic's