Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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THE EASTERNER EDITORIALS Hail to Our Business Men Did you read the advertisements in the last issue of Tue Easterner? Of course you didn’t. I would not be afraid to wager that you did not even give them a passing thought, as you hastened to turn the pages to the “Scare Head,” the poems, the stories, or what- ever is of most interest to you. Why should you bother about the old advertisements? They make very dull reading, at best; and you have always regarded them as necessary evils, which haunt all reading matter, and take up space that might well be put to better use. And still, on the other hand, those same prosaic advertisements were read with interest by at least two people in school. To Nathaniel Brewer, Business Manager of THe Easterner, and Robert Burns, Ad- vertising Manager, they represented hours and hours of hard work. Perhaps certain ones called to mind embarrassing interviews with indifferent proprietors, interviews in which our embryonic business man had to summon all their courtesy and tact. And then you ask if their duties are important? Important! Why, that doesn’t half express it. Adver- tisements are indispensable to THE EasteRNeR. The Paper could not exist without them. So these boys Tepresent the financial life of the magazine. Have you ever attempted to get an advertisement? Tf you have, you may appreciate to some extent the feelings of these boys. If you have not, no matter what you may think on the subject, you cannot know what it is to approach a busy man, and try to persuade him as to the advisability of advertising in your school Paper. Perhaps he has never heard of the paper, and besides what will it profit him to advertise in it? The boys have to talk and talk, explain, and then explain it over. They have to give the assurance again and again that the members of the school will read the ads and patronize the advertisers. I wonder how many of them do? Perhaps, after a long hour’s work, Brewer, wiping his fevered brow, may come away suc- cessful. Again, and this possibility is by no means remote, he may come away with nothing to show for his efforts. Let me say right here that Brewer is one of the most exact business managers THE EASTERNER has ever had. And as for Bobby Burns, I do not think that boy can be praised enough, for the energy and enthusiasm and good will which he has put into his work, Bobby never grows downhearted, never gets tired, never is too busy to go out of his way to help you. These boys get very little reward, now, for their vast expenditure of labor. They, unlike other con- tributors to THE EasTErNer, cannot turn with pride to some article and proudly proclaim it as their own, No, they have only the ads to show their admiring relatives and friends. And yet I wonder if it js trie that they are wasting their time, that there will Coe be any tangible results. I do not believe this to be the case, for good work is never done in vain, and pare haps in the future, Brewer will himself advertise in leading magazines all over the country, while Bobby will be writing such original and striking ads, that everyone must read them. 5 See America First A few years ago this slogan was on every lip. One of the places that the nation’s people wanted to see first was our own Washington, the capital city. Do you know your city as well as the tourist does? Washington is now the cynosure of every eye. Here momentous questions are being discussed and decided upon. Here the great men of the nation and other countries assemble and here history is being made. You are greatly privileged to be so nearly in touch with the powers that make the wheels go round. Do not neglect these opportunities. Do no wait until your life is nearly spent to find out about the events which are taking place now all about you. Do not allow yourself to be bounded by the narrow confines of school, home and community. Grow with the expand- ing interests and activities of your country. Be a citizen of the world. S88 School Gossip School Gossip was contributed this time by Dorothy Wil- liams. Eleanor Eckhardt has been obliged to remain in Phila- delphia on account of her mother's illness.. Thanks, Dorothy, Miss Bucknam: “What was the hegira?” Bright Pupil: “The flee of Mohammed.” One would never suppose that the dainty, Kangiesser harbors such an enormous appetite, but such is the case. At any time that fragile creature can be seen poised daintily on the edge of a stool behind the bars of the bank eating a sandwich. Ye Gods! One after one they disappear. And yet his nymph-like form he still retains. Jett says, “How does he do it?” Miss Bucknam; “The Thirty Years’ War was more horrible than this one. There were women fighting on. each side.” Newman: “Gee, it must have been horrible.”

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EASTERN HIGH SCHOOL ur Eastern in the Great War W. Ernest BARKMAN, '16, sergeant, Artillery: “I don't know whether or not I told you I was billeted in a little French village. We don’t see much of the inhabitants during the week, but on Sunday everybody is out for a good time. In the afternoon all the madamoiselles promenade all dressed up in their best clothes. Last Sunday I missed that, as I was in the midst of my ablutions.” After the Signing of the Armistice Grorce C. Ropcrr, '14, private, Ordnance: “Since coming over I have been stationed at Foecy, not far from Bourges Domgermain, which is about five miles from Foul, Neufchateau, Ligny, Souilly, Nixeville and Souhesmes which is about ten miles south of Verdun. Most of my time has been spent rushing ammunition or doing guard duty around shell dumps, but for the past six weeks or so I’ve been attached to the office of one of the Corps Artillery Inspectors of the First Army.” From the Navy Eart G. Jonscuer, '16, Yeoman School: “Everything seems to be about the same in our training, the routine each day very rarely changing. The bugler still sounds reveille at 5:00 a. m. in the wee hours of the morning, and the familiar call of “Hit the deck, sailor!” always comes to our ears. You know we sleep in hammocks, and when we get out of them, we are bound to hit the floor often quite hard on our bare feet—hence “hit the deck” origi- nated. Sometimes, during the night a lad falls out of his hammock and instead of landing on his feet, falls on his head or side.” Recently Commissioned Among Eastern graduates recently commissioned in officers’ training camps are: J. Rrent Arnorp, '14, second lieutenant Engineers, ORRAG Avbert M. Weser, ’14, second lieutenant Coast Ar- tillery, O. R. C. Epwarp Y. Davinson, Jr., '15, second lieutenant Coast Artillery, O. R. C. Recent Promotions Ernest E. Harmon, ‘10, lieutenant, Air Service. Lesuie Bacay, ex-’16, lieutenant, Air Service. Srantey B. Smita, ’12, lieutenant, U. S. Marines. Marn Sanpor, ’15, ensign, U. S. N. R. Joun M. Sanverson, ’10, captain, Field Artillery. RicwArp O, SANDERSON, ’08, captain, U. S. M. C. Rate E. Ocre, '13, captain, Infantry. F. StTertinc Witson, ’11, lieutenant (junior grade), US.N.R Wuittey McCoy, ’09, lieutenant U.S.N.R. Lieut. James Defandorf, 11, is now acting as judge advocate for the U. S, Hospital District, No. 8. SBS The Christmas Star O Star, thou guiding beacon of an age long past, Thou harbinger of peace to all mankind, Thy piercing rays doth still the storm clouds part And call a soul-bared people back to God. (junior grade), Through many lonesome nights thy steadfast beams Guided three weary travelers o'er the plains; Thy leading presence in those Eastern skies Brought the whole world to greet its King. The morning stars have sung together ages long, And felt the throbbing of earth’s many wars; But on the night thy presence filled the skies The storms were calmed, and Angels sang of Peace untold. “Peace on the earth! Good will to men!” the angels sang; And shepherds on the hillsides heard the song; They, too, rose up to follow thy white gleams And find the manger where the King of Peace was born. O Star, thou golden star of God’s own service flag; The Savior whom thou heralded so long ago, A sorrow stricken, yet rejoicing world now greets By endless battles, wild and fierce and long A world purged clean by pain and sacrifice His righteousness has crowned, this Christmastide- Dororny D. Ronrer, 12a. SB Corrections The beautiful poem, “Thanksgiving,” published in the first issue, was written by Dorothy D. Rohrer, 12A. The story, “A Sign of Descent,” was the contribu- tion of M. Emestine Bryan, 11A. Through a mistake these names were omitted. S35 Miss McNutt and The Four Square girls took a three-mile walk the other day.

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EASTERN HIGH scHooL The Revolt (Continued from page 9.) downtown. I forgot all about it. You will find it in a little box locked up in the clock case. Love, Clara.” Contrary to the usual behavior of disaster-stricken heroes, Mr. Jones did not collapse into a chair, nor did the note drop from his neryeless fingers. He made a bound for the hat-rack, and left the house, as if it had been a burning powder mill. He dashed into the pawnshop, upsetting an umbrella stand and a pair of andirons in his haste. The fat old German, to whom he had sold the clock early in the morning, was sitting in the rear of the shop, smoking his pipe and scowling at the ceiling. “The clock!” gasped Mr. Jones as soon as he could get his breath. “Gimme the clock! Whereabouts is it at?” The proprietor gazed at him stolidly. “Vell,” said he slowly, “for vy should you be in stch a hurry? Pesides, iss it that you should bust up a man’s beesness?” “For heayen’s sake, man,” yelped Mr. Jones, “sell me that clock. I gotta have it!” “The clock he iss not here any more,” said the German. “Already I sent him for a present by my nephew what was married yesterday.” Frantically, Mr. Jones implored the address of the bridegroom, After much persuasion, he learned that the happy couple dwelt in the East Side, in a red brick house above the river. With sinking heart he left the pawnshop, boarded a street car, and soon found himself before the residence of Adolph Schmidt. He rang the bell, and Mr. Schmidt himself opened the door. With halting voice, Mr. Jones stated his proposition, offering two dollars for the clock, which he could see on the mantelpiece. It seemed to be running, but even in that distracted hour he felt a tinge of pity for the young husband. Mr. Schmidt laughed heartily. He said he would be killed before he’d sell a wedding present for two dollars. Mr, Jones bid two dollars higher. More laughter on the part of Mr, Schmidt. Our hero, sink- ing into the depths of despair, bid wildly and heavily. Clearly Mr. Schmidt was tempted, but at this point the bride, herself, stepped forward and conferred in low tones with her husband, after which the young man announced that “not under no circumstances whatever” would he sell a wedding present, not even for a hundred dollars—his wife said it was unlucky, and that settled it. Mr. Jones turned sorrowfully away and started for his car. Before he reached the corner, however, the vision of his wife’s wrath and his mother-in-law’s 17 displeasure rose like a phantom and urged him back. Again he approached Mr, Schmidt's humble dwelling. Tt was dark in the living room, but he could see a ray of light beneath the door, which, judging from the rattle of dishes, led into the dining-room. Alone with the mantel, the clock ticked temptingly. Mr. Jones was desperate. He glanced quickly up and down the dusky street, then, moved by a sudden determination, he stepped across the threshold and took the clock from its place. With the quiet skill of a more experi- enced burglar, he attempted to open the case, but, as he expected, it was locked and the key was at home. Suddenly the door flew open and Mrs. Schmidt en- tered the room. Loud shrieks rent the air, “Himmel! Adolph, come quick once! A burglar, help! The-e-e-f |” Mr, Jones bounded for the door and crossed the street as if pursued by a pack of mad dogs. On the other side was a steep bank, thickly overgrown, which led to the river. The fugitive precipitated himself over this bank, not knowing where he was going, nor caring either, for that matter. He landed suddenly among a multitude of old bottles and empty cans, stumbled swiftly through the trash and brush, and finally fell heavily in the mud beside the river. The clock lay unbroken beside him. It seemed to be run- ning, perfectly. Above him, on the street, he could hear wild con- fusion. Someone was coming down the bank with a lantern. Mr. Jones, realizing that no time could be wasted, got up hurriedly and struck out down the bank toward the city. Terrible thoughts of arrest and imprisonment arose before his eyes. He won- dered what the penalty for burglary was. Blindly he stumbled on through darkness. Many times he tripped over stones or driftwood. Finally, after seemingly interminable hours, he saw a light, which he knew must be the Central Street wharf. The clock under his arm-registered 1 A. M. when he staggered up the bank and wearily plodded up the deserted street. Several gentlemen whom he met a little later asked him what time it was. A drunk advised him to sell the clock and buy an Ingersoll. Tt was a wretched-looking object that at last reached home. His clothes were tom and dirty. His derby was smashed; his face was smeared with mud, but in his eyes gleamed the light of victory. As soon as he had sufficiently recovered, he opened the case with hands that trembled with excitement and anticipation, and then—horror of horrors—he found that there was nothing whatsoever within. He felt suddenly ill. As in a dream, he placed the clock back on the mantel, and sank wearily into a chair, where he remained till d aybreak. Then he arose, a broken man, and slowly ascended the steps.