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

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18 THE EASTERNER ( hk aN Ss uD yy ) COPYING Copying or cheating in class work is one of the most Tuining and despicable habits that could befall a student. It not only makes him untrustworthy, but will eventually render him a weakling in overcoming any obstacles alone, for he will have grown accustomed to de- Pending on the aid of others. Cheating is hopelessly foolish from the be- ginning. There is nothing to be gained and everything that is honorable to be lost. Per- haps a grade may be gained. However, will the world shelter and clothe you on that grade? No; the world demands what you can do, not what you can bluff doing. Far better is it to “flunk” a subject and later learn it than to re- ceive a mark that would be mere mockery to your true worth. When the roll is called the capable men will assume the important roles in the walks of life, while the pitiful copier will toil away in a dingy shop for a pittance. P.L.S. Are you thinking of going to college? Many former graduates have found it impos- sible at the last minute to attend the college they preferred, since they lacked certain neces- sary credits. Do not make the mistake they did. If possible, decide on your college at once. Get its catalogue and base your high school course on its requirements. For any additional information go to Miss Hawes in her office, room 301. She will be very glad to help you. M. H.K. Did you ever stop to think about the or- ganization of Eastern and how like a little com- munity it is in itself? Take the government, for instance. The sections are ruled over by various members of the faculty who are in turn Tesponsible to Mr, Hart, the chief execittive, We, on have a voice through the Students’ Councij, We possess a lunch room, a bank, an assem. bly hall, an armory, a print shop, and Scientific laboratories, besides our regular homes, the section rooms. What more can anyone wish— food, books, money, entertainment, lodging, clothing, and even one’s own magazine? Moreover, within our stronghold are soldiers to protect us, athletes of fame, talented actors and actresses, writers, orators, and musica] geniuses who all uphold the honor of oyp school along the lines in which they excel, Then there is the social side of life here. The clubs are varied. They entertain in different ways—teas, parties, and dances, which nearly everyone attends and enjoys, In the assembly hall are plays, vaudevilles, and movies. Like all good citizens, we should try to make our community where we receive so many benefits a model one. M.H.K. The recent basketball series was terminated rather abruptly by a disagreeable incident which occurred at the close of the Central- Western game, January 25. It is reported that it was of a turbulent nature and was due to lack of restraint on the part of several im- petuous high school students. We are thank- ful, and proud of the fact, that Eastern did not participate in the melee. Those involved acted heedlessly, perhaps, moved by strong partisan spirit, but cannot be excused on this ground. Very often we lose sight of the real purpose of athletics and resort to tagging opponents with unseemly remarks. Eastern students, being human, have, at rare intervals, yielded (Continued on page 33)

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THE EASTERNER Ww It Served Him Right By Emity May, 27 Professor Snod was a very set man in all his actions and beliefs. The most emphatic of his convictions was his contempt for America’s younger generation’s lack of adventurous spirit. Since Professor Snod had done some exploring in his younger days, and once, I be- lieve, he had shot a bear, he held his head very high and a contemptuous grin wreathed his fea- tures when he viewed the boys of his college, and their harmless amusements. One day Professor Snod was requested to give a speech to the student body. He deliv- ered it mincingly and drew up his conclusions in such a manner that his last words were: “Youths of this generation are cowards. They have lost all sense of adventure.” He gathered up his notes, and stepped from the platform. The boys were sullen. Mr. Snod had been very emphatic. He had not hidden his contempt for these ‘“‘namby-pamby youths.” That evening the professor sat in his room poring over examination papers, and sprinkling as many deficients as possible among them. The window behind him slowly began to rise. A black clad limb was thrust inside and then another followed. The professor heard a board creak. He turned slowly and met the unflinching gaze of four pairs of eyes behind four black masks. The intruders said not a word; neither did the professor. Slowly they advanced; soon the professor was surrounded. They grabbed him. He struggled. It was no use, for he was done for. His eyes were bound with a cloth, and he felt himself carried through the win- dow, out onto the fire-escape. After a jostling, uncomfortable journey, he was deposited on the ground. His eyes were uncovered, and he looked around him in con- sternation. The lake lapped at his feet. He started up, but fell back because his legs would not hold him. Good heavens, trembling ? was he The four silent kidnapers stood around him rigidly. He looked at them. He looked at the lake, Finally he looked at the woods in back of him. Oh, horror! What were those ghastly lights? By jove, they were wild animal eyes. Peering at him, gloating for him. He arose and began to run. The masked visitors grabbed him and calmly tossed him into the lake. “Help, help! I’m drowning!” he cried. The desperate man tried to swim ashore, but the lake bottom got in the way and he found it would be easier to walk out. As he stumbled ashore, the villains grabbed his coattails, but, unwilling to be detained, the professor slipped out of his coat and began to sprint. He arrived at his room three minutes and nine seconds later. He securely locked both his door and window, undressed, and jumped into bed. The next day Professor Snod was an irrit- able old gentleman with a bad cold. On arriv- ing at his room after classes he found a bundle awaiting him. He opened it and beheld his bedraggled coat. An enclosed note read: “Have the youths of this generation lost their sense of adventure, Snoddie, old dear?” FORGETFULNESS By Paut Horn, 216-2 Forgetfulness is one of the many obstacles in people’s lives. Many successful men become paupers through their forgetfulness. Many people have lost their jobs, and many have lost their lives through this great fault. Forgetfulness is one of my sins. Many times I have forgotten to do my homework, and many times I have forgotten to bring my pen to class. This, of course, has not cost me my ioh. nor has it cost me my life, but it has surely cost me a string of d’s on my report.

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THE EASTERNER 19 Try It By Criype RicHarpson, ’28 For every result there is a cause or causes, whether it be the result of a war, a football game, or an examination. So it is quite evident that there must be a reason why our lunchroom is so eminently successful. I wonder how many of us truly realize the importance of this school institution, and how well it is fulfilling its pur- pose. To most of us it is simply a place where we go to get our lunches, where we get them cheaply, and where we can consume them in a social atmosphere. Now, right there lies the secret. Did you ever hunt for anything and finally find it right under your nose? Well, that is what happens in this case. The lunch- room is so evident in its success that it fairly conceals it. That sounds paradoxical, but it really isn’t. Before we can realize to what extent it is ful- filling its destiny we must understand just what is the lunchroom’s purpose. “To eat in, of course,” you say. But there is something more to it than that. The object is to supply food to the students at the lowest possible price, in the best manner consistent with that price, and to provide it in a clean, sanitary, social environment. As to the social end of it, there is little or no doubt. Walk through there during a lunch hour, and you will understand. Why, more news, school and otherwise, and examinations are discussed and compared, or contrasted, here, than in any other place around the school. And jokes— well, you ought to sit at my table. You know, it is rather odd how good food makes people want to tell jokes and laugh. And so we come by natural sequence of events, results, effects, or what have you, to the reason all this is true. I think the big reason has been Mr. Joseph Kochka, himself. Now, to get to the point, as the ink said to the pen point, Mr. Kochka has produced re- sults. He has given his entire time to his job and has studied his plan of battle from A to Z, as any good Napoleon should. He has been always on the field ready to jump in the breach and smooth out any difficulties. He has also surrounded himself with a staff of able lieu- tenants. In addition to these animate aids, he has put into effect various inaminate ones. In the kitchen every mechanical device is em- ployed to limit cost of production and prepara- tion. The system of preparation and serving has been reduced to a minimum cost. Witness the self-serving arrangement and the duty of carrying our used plates to the side tables. System, eh, what? The food that is put up for sale is bought at the lowest price possible con- sistent with its excellent quality. How can such measures fail? I have reserved one final argument to clinch this thing. It is unanswerable. That is, try the food! PLEASANT RECOLLECTIONS “It ain’t ev’rybody I’d put to sleep in this room,” said Mrs. Jones to the fastidious and extremely nervous young minister, who was spending the night at her house. “This here room is full of sacred associations to me. My first husband died in that very bed with his head on those same pillows and poor Mr. Jones died setting in that thar corner. Sometimes when I come into the room in the dar’, I think I see him settin’ there still. My own father died laying right on that couch by the winder. Poor pa! He was a Speeritualist and always said he’d appear in this room after he died, and sometimes I’m foolish enough to look for him. If you should see him tonight, you’d bet- ter not tell me; for it’d be a sign to me that was something in Speeritualism, and I’d hate to think that. My son by my first husband fell dead of heart trouble right where you are standing. He was a doctor, and there’s three whole skeletons in that closet that belonged to him and eight skulls in that lower drawer. Well, I guess you are tired; so good night, and pleasant dreams.” Gwenvotyn N. Rusk, ’29.