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

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aS é (B Editor’s Note: This is the first of a Bee a ters to be published for history Sut ne Aste the letters of A. Nutt, famous poe : positivelY ss relics. We them included kage of fish that the cow jumped over the moon. the first publication of these pricele challenge you to find the information in in any history—and will award a pac food to the person who does. June 3, 2127. London, England, Dearest Annie: I am sorry not to have written you before, but I have been in a rather embarassing POs!” tion. I was arrested for speeding across iis new Atlantic bridge—the one connecting New York and London—and was compelled to spend the night in one of the police stations on the bridge, out in the middle of the ocean. It ies so annoying to have to go back to New York the next morning to appear in court, when I had want ed to reach London before dark! When I finally was dismissed from court (minus $10) I found it was too late to make the journey to London before nightfall, and so I decided to take a little ride in my plane as I needed air, I flew over to Hollywood, Cal., a pleasant little spin of about an hour, and dropped in at the studio to see my old college chum, “Rats” Cheesam. “Rats” is the movie sheik with the evil black eyes and the shiny hair. His stage name is Angelo Sappechi. Business was dull at the studio and so “Rats” invited himself out for a ride with me. He was in a musical mood, and had a bad cold—always a bad combination. “Rats” tells me that the new railway to Mars is a wonder. Of course, the trains leave only twice a day from both ends, but the business is growing. The day “Rats” went they were delayed at the moon with engine trouble, and so he got out and walked around. Perhaps that’s why he’s been mooning so mushily in his pictures lately. Not much at Mars yet, “Rats” says—only a few summer resorts and trading posts: but the planet has great possibilities. Next week, I think, I shall take the morning Mars “Rats’” descriptions have jp. train to i build a laborat Perhaps I can Ory trigued me tie Lovingly, ALBERT. Googoo, Mars, July 10, 2127, ; nnie: ; Bae fa some thrilling adventures this ni week. temporary laboratory here in Googoo ay a ae of the entire solar system, I happened to glance up from e Goldfish as a Beast of Prey,” f people moving about on the commands This morning as my study of “Th J saw a swarm 0 xt to Mars. ae aie Sidyiot goldfish psychology impos- sible while these beings flickered back and forth in the light, I locked up my laboratory and sallied forth to investigate. ; It seems that the British and Chinese both claim this star, and, after submitting the dis- pute to arbitration, they decided they couldn’t wait for the decision because the star is sched- uled to pass Mars this month and then swing to the other side of the universe—to return here about four thousand years hence; so each country wants to make sure of it before it goes, Annie, I feel elated at being so close to an event that will go down in history! I wonder what the outcome will be? Last night I attended a dance given by the Y. M. C. A. in Bolognaville. I had a very pleasant evening, for I met Professor Smugg, of London, and we discussed monocotyledons and ancient Martian fossils. I also danced with his stepsister—a few airplane whirls and comet capers, with a Charleston to rest on and recover the breath and equilibrium. My work goes on as usual, but I manage to get three hours of sleep every night, as you or- dered me to do. It’s a great life, if you don’t weaken. Love, ALBERT. RurtH BELL, ’28.

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THE EASTERNER 13 Blackmail (A Story Concerning the Mixing of Love and Business.) By Donatp A. Crate, Jx., 29 “Blackmail; (1) the extortion of money by threats of exposure or unfavorable comment in the press.” (New Century Dictionary.) Bob Deane was a cub reporter on the Times- Herald. The salary of a cub reporter on the Times-Herald would have satisfied the needs of any normal young man, providing, of course, he did not fall in love. Bob had vio- lated that provision, however, and was feeling the effects very severely. To make matters worse, he had chosen as the object of his af- fections a blond stenographer. Naturally, as it was nearing Christmas, he had gallantly asked her what she most desired from old St. Nicholas. The adored one, just as naturally, replied that she “was just crazy about a cer- tain bee-oo-tiful wrist watch they had seen on F street—in the window of Berry-Whitmores, wasn’t it?” Upon inquiry it was learned that said watch could be had for the trifling sum of $68.35. With such an introduction the reader will readily understand why we find the rather sad and hopeless expression on our hero’s face as he sat at his desk on the morning of December 24. Scattered across his desk were numerous sheets of copy paper, some covered with fig- ures ; some, with only a mark or two, had been crumpled as if the writer had thrown them aside in disgust (which was, in this case, more truth than poetry). While seated thus he was summoned to the office of the Magazine Editor. “Bob,” began the editor, “here’s a chance for a good Sunday story. If I get the story by tomorrow night, it’ll mean $35 to you. By the way, mail these letters as you go out, will you?” Mechanically Bob walked out of the office, took his hat from the rack, and went out to mail the letters. The box had clanked a sec- ond time before he fully realized what had hap- pened—that he, a cub reporter, had been as- signed a Sunday story; that he, Bob Deane, was getting $35 clear and above his salary. “Well, I’ll be d—d!” he exclaimed, much to the surprise and disgust of two old ladies who were mailing postal cards, “there must be a Santa Claus after all!’ The library of Mr. Willard McCormick’s town house at Sixteenth and Allegheny Ave- nue forms the natural background for the next scene of our narrative, since it is about this gentleman that the aforementioned Sun- day story revolved. Therefore we turn the reader’s attention to this room before the ar- rival of the hero. A rather heated argument was taking place. The principals were Messrs. Willard McCor- mick, Junior and Senior, owners of the Mc- Cormick Sock Mills. “This thing must be kept secret, I tell you!” the younger man was exclaiming, amid much waving of arms and other gyrations with which he felt it necessary to impress his adversary. “T am manager of this firm, am I not?” “Very true, very true, I may have retired. But that is no reason why I should stand by and see the business run into the ground!” re- turned the elder. “And let me tell you, if you persist in this foolishness, I’ll tell the first re- porter I see about this whole affair.” (Continued on page 34)

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THE EASTERNER 15 A Street Car Episode By Vircinia K. SLOANE, ’29 It’s quite a common thing to ride street cars. Hundreds of people do it every day. But to me it’s a grand adventure, trying at times, and laughable at others. I start out for school in the morning, run- ning, because I am late as usual, and arrive at the car stop just in time to see the car doors shut, and a car resume its way. If it isa warm day, I am forced to wait an interminable length of time with King Sol’s relentless rays beating down upon me. If it is a cold day, I try in vain to devise some means of preventing my- self from freezing, as I impatiently watch the car track, At last a car condescends to approach with the speed of a funeral march. It arrives in due time, and I eagerly board it, along with a crowd of people, late like myself, to discover that there is standing room only, and very little of that. Next I peer into my pocket-book, and see that I have not a token. This means I must purchase a supply. I now discover that I have not the exact change; so I hand the conductor a bill. He shells out the tokens and change with surprising carelessness. My suspicions are aroused. A conductor not only short-changed, but also short-tokened my chum the other day. Why could not one do me the same? But tak- ing into consideration that there is a crowd, and that I carry books, pocket-book, and lunch, counting money is an impossibility. I give the conductor a sharp, inspecting glance, decide he looks honest, and let the matter drop. Just as I have obtained an Avenue transfer the car stops, and I realize that the first part of the journey is finished. I look through the window, and see a Seventeenth and Pennsylvania Avenue car at the platform. This causes me to make a hur- ried exit, nearly knocking several people over as I go. Then I sprint across the Avenue, breaking all the laws against jay-walking that were ever invented, amid the loud protesta- Hl tions of the policeman whose attention my swiftly-moving figure has arrested, and narrow- ly escaping being run over. Coming across the street is a young gentleman whom I have never met, but just about now he and I meet with force not to be forgotten immediately. I can’t stop for a little thing like this, however, when my punctuality record, or rather the remains of it, and that of my class are in jeopardy; so I resume my race, reaching goal just in time to see the doors close and the car begin to move. Now that I am actually standing still I awake to the realization that as a result of my encoun- ter with the young gentleman, I am out of breath. I am a little embarrassed to find that everyone on the platform is regarding me with unconcealed amusement. I gaze down the car track, and to my vexa- tion and sorrow, not a street car is in sight! I wait, and I wait, and then I wait some more. At last my waiting is rewarded. Far in the distance is an object which comes nearer. At last it is close enough for me to read the sign, “Eighth and F Streets, N. E.” A car I can’t take, of course! Now for the second period of waiting, only to be rewarded by a second “Fighth and F Streets” car. Right behind it is another car, “Peace Monument.” As this car would leave me about a mile and a half to walk it doesn’t seem advisable to take it. My small supply of patience is now nearly exhausted. I pace the platform in mental agony. At last my delighted eyes behold “Navy Yard.” With a sense of relief, I board the car, hand the conductor my transfer, and de- mand, “Eighth Street transfer, please.” (Continued on page 30)