Weymouth High School - Campus / Reflector Yearbook (Weymouth, MA)

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1915 The present year has been a notable success. Its Senior class has reflected much renown upon itself by honors worthily won. No other class can show more creditable record. It has been the leader in spirit and activity, and what is more, it has progressed to the point where its members are bound to each other by more than the common tie of friendship. That alone means class spirit. And now, as we, the class, approach the end of that enviable highway of years known as high school life, it is only right that we should look back and contemplate what we have done. Past deeds and experiences return to us, to make those remem- brances more than idle dreams. In fear that some of you might judge us by our honor students, we admit that we have but one — or by our brilliance in routine studies, we admit that we have none. Life, as a Western proverb goes, ain ' t in playing a good hand straight, but in playing a poor hand well. And even though we have no mar- velous honor list, we are confident that we have played our poor hand well. To begin with, our class is unsurpassed in the field of student endeavor. It won its interclass and interscholastic debates, the first, by the way, ever held in the history of the school. In this volume, it presents the first school year book of all time to the public. For the first time it formed an association, the u Union, to promote general student interests. For the first time, its W men enjoyed a banquet. Nor is that all — in everything social it was successful. And the interest in, and the success of, athletics were far greater than they ever have been within our memory. Our foot- ball team won every game but one. For the first time a track team was organized and a trophy won. Our baseball team is generally considered to be one of the best, and is a just claimant of the State title. So, in both student activities and in athletics our record is one which must appeal to the popular mind as a lasting and brilliant one. And wherever our classmates go, we are sure to be drawn together by the cord of memory which shall remind us that every- thing we did, we did sincerely, and everything we did sincerely, we did well. [14]

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Good luck, Alice. ALICE TONBY This young woman of the golden glow has a still more golden smile. Not that we mean to infer that her smile is golden because her teeth are. We might just as well say she has an English ac- cent because she bought her teeth in London. But we refer to her hair. Miss Alice ' s idea in life is to thart thomething — in a quiet way. Ask her where she was going one fair Spring morning down in the vicinity of Norton Street. And you ' ll thart thomething. FRANK VENDER » BOB Orc hestra 2, 3, 4; Track 4; Baseball 2, 3, 4; Music, Class Ode; Football, Mgr. ; Banquet Committee. |H Behold Bob ! Residents in the region of Jackson Square assert that he can create as much discord as any profes- H sional musician. But his fingers touch not piano strings alone. Nay, ye critics, rather are they on school and class work, baseball, football, track and other ]JKk things. Although we have the beauty, Ttf ' l Bob seems to be the one to get his name 1 in the papers, especially when he pub- lishes his two-steps. And musical? Why he ' s first bass on the ball team, plays the cornet, and has a so-lo part in his studies. For you, Bob, we wish great success. Class Data Officers President, Reginald Bates Vice-President, Almon Deane Secretary, Norman Dizer Treasurer, Avis Loud Cast of Class Play May Allen Elsie Maertins Dorothy McCarthy Clark Page Kenneth Martin Reginald Bates Evelyn Tibbets Graduation Speakers Salutatory, Avis Loud Valedictory, Olive Sylvester Orator, Ralph Talbot Historian, Julian Rea Prophets, Teresa Nolan, Edward Bates [13]

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ABE HE door of the long, white ward changed from a rectangle of white to one of sunlight, letting in a white-clad, professional looking surgeon, and a more sombrely dressed elderly man. They came down by the rows of cots, each with its covered form. Houghton could see them from where he lay, but he could not comprehend. Instead of true figures, blurred shapes defined their outlines. Between them was a stretch of space filled with what seemed to be crowding, winged figures, some going up and some going down. Houghton lay and watched them ; it was all that he had to do. He watched them continually, day and night, only at night they seemed to be not white-clad forms, but golden sands, running, running fast. Once in a while, during the day, they would mass together and take a different form and color, and then he knew someone was near. Houghton! Major! He could hear them cry, and the sound would go ringing down to his inner consciousness, echo- ing, — major — ' ajor — ' ajor ! just as he used to hear the oven bird, at home, with its 64 Teacher — eacher — eacher ! He stirred restlessly. Houghton ! He stared about and heard the voice close at hand ; then he saw a splotch of white at his elbow, dimly, while the mist was clearing. He gained complete consciousness for the first time in a week, and saw briefly but clearly. He tried to speak, but couldn ' t ; he tried to call Father, but something snapped and he was back again with the eternally passing figures. Dimly he tried to think. So he had come? What he hnd hoped for, had longed for, had happened. The sense of joy quite banished the whirling of his head and he be- came quiet. The words came faintly, but distinctly through the gloom. My son ! Then, instead of a care ss, he saw the tall man by the side of the bed stiffen, and Houghton, exhausted, lay back and closed his eyes. He felt the man stir from his long gaze at the pale face, lay aside his hat, softly draw up a chair and sit down. The figures began to move again as soon as Houghton closed his eyes, and as he watched them, he tried to find out what long- ing was stirring within him. What was it? Some hopeless thing that lay on his breast ; his lips moved feebly and the man bent down to catch the word : Mother u She is well. Mrs. Houghton is well, he added, correcting himself. The words came without the slightest color. Houghton lay back again. Slowly the gray blurred, turned to swarming, white, winged shapes which went continually up and down. The only apparent sound was a low murmur from the other end of the ward. It droned on and on. Would it never stop? He couldn ' t — [15]