Evanston Township High School - Key Yearbook (Evanston, IL)

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All right, Bud. That ' s all I want to know. Thanks for listening to me, dad, he said as he backed out of the room. By the way, son, are you going to take the exam? I won ' t pass it, but I may try. Do I have to? he asked anxiously. Oh, no, do whatever you like. You ' re a keen father, he smiled appre- ciatively. The same sun was annoying the same boy with its ever sparkling ray of light. It was the time of the preliminary examination. Bud had decided to attempt the fool thing to see if it were possible. His thoughts concerning college had been constantly changing; they wavered from one thing to another. Bud was certain that his father trusted his decisions. Wouldn ' t his father ' s pride in him increase if he didn ' t back out? He had been spending the last few after- noons studying, but he was not over con- fident. The examination will be over in five minutes. Bud breathed deeply, glanced over his paper, and stalked up to the front of the room. Once outside he let a great groan escape him. Thank goodness, that ' s over, he breathed. In response to his father ' s question Bud only said, It was awfully hard. I don ' t think I could possibly have passed it. He stared at the floor, kicking the rug with his foot. The examination papers were being passed back. Those who had taken the examina- tion were excited. Bud ' s hands shook as he took the paper that would determine his chances. On the outside was written: It is better to judge and organize material than to cram facts. Inside something dazzled him as if a sudden ray of sunlight had struck the page. Passed. Big pine, Must I, Always, sigh and sigh in the wind? No, little one, Be still — still, she sighed. He did not wish to be still, — He did not wish to sigh, — But he was mad to laugh and laugh. The wind only moaned Through the green of the branches above him. — Gertrude Fox Page Twenty •ei bt

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pulled up the hood and began to adjust a loose wire. Say, Bud, don ' t you need some help? called out one of the loafers. Abbot ' s bright and he ' d be awful glad to help. No, thanks, I ' ll be through in a minute, sarcastic. Bud worked quickly. During the past years when he had been working almost constantly on engines and often on radio, his mechanical mind had taught him to see details, to understand at first sight, organize the points, and quickly complete the neces- sary work. O. K. now, he called cheerfully. Fast work, old boy, came a remark accompanied by a sl ap on the back. Hey, Bud, how ' s your radio invention coming along? It ' s done. Let ' s see it, shouted another fellow. O. K. Come on in. He led them into a small workshop in the basement of his home. Every kind of radio equipment filled the room. An open um- brella lay in the corner. On the handle was fastened a small box. Bud picked up the common object in his hand. Here it is. Don ' t tell me you think an umbrella with a box on it is an invention, Bud, sneered Abbot. It ' s a portable radio, replied Bud. Bud explained to his surprised listeners that by turning the umbrella in the direc- tion of the desired station one could tune in with the crystal set attached to the handle. He proved the possibility. Having placed the ear phone on his head he pointed the umbrella and wiggled a tiny handle in the box. I ' ve got it, he shouted. He let each one listen to the distant sound of music. By his comments each fellow showed his amazement at the new trick and his pride in Bud. Soon he put the set aside. They talked about their radios and mo- tors, asking Bud ' s advice. With no show of conceit he helped them from his knowledge of mechanics. After the boys left Bud finished his regu- lar job of emptying the ash cans. Instead of stopping at the pantry, as usual, Bud moved on upstairs. A trail of ashes marked his path. Once in his room he threw down a dilapidated Latin book and slumped into his desk chair. His new Mechanic Maga- zine before him remained unopened. Bud sat motionless, staring at the wall. Presently he got up. It was growing dark. The great clock in the hall was chim- ing six as Bud crossed the room and stepped into the upper hall. The half-opened door leading into his father ' s den allowed a stream of light to flood the floor at Bud ' s feet. Bud entered slowly. His father looked up immediately. Hello, dad. May I come in? You certainly may. Sit down here, re- plied Dr. Redington pointing to a comforta- ble chair like his own. How was school today? Pretty fair. Have you been practising with the ten- nis team this afternoon? No, dad, I haven ' t. Ya see . . . You ought to get into athletics. Well, listen Dad, Bud said, hesitating, I want to tell you something important. What is it? his father asked. Bud adjusted himself uneasily, finally got up and stood in front of his father. With a decisive tone he announced, I am not go- ing to college! The deep eyes he was looking into gazed at him with a calm expression. This startled Bud. As he rehearsed this speech over and over again to himself, he had expected an indignant flow of words to greet his out- burst. All right, son. Let ' s have your rea- sons, a kindly voice returned. He began in a steadier voice. I don ' t want to go for lots of reasons. In the first place you have to have real high marks and they count an awful lot. All the fellows say they do. I can ' t get any higher than an eighty in anything. I simply can ' t get in. I have to take an examination in two weeks to see if I ' m good enough to be accepted for final exams. All the fellows have to take it, even Abbot. But it ' s pie for him. Now you know, Dad. I want to go to work after I get out of high school instead of going to college. Dr. Redington had listened to his son ' s reasons. He was glad to have Bud come to some decision, whatever it was. I ' m glad to hear your points. I ' d like to say a few things if you don ' t mind. Sure, go ahead, Bud replied indiffer- ently. Do you understand what your work at school is about? Are you getting each main point in each subject every day? I think so. Page Twenty-seven

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THE NOON HOUR Let ' s recall a walk about the parking grounds dur- ing a warm noon hour. As we run down the steps, the first thing to greet our eyes is a freshman trying to walk the ridge on the little white fence; it is said that a great deal may be learned by merely observing individuals. By watching this youngster, we find that he has a great deal of patience and no equilibrium. As if to help himself, he sticks out his tongue and, with great celerity, wags it from left to right, at the same time, wildly waving his arms in the air. But for all his patience he has little success, for he proves again and again to the saying that everything that goes up must come down. Could his Latin teacher see his efforts she would tell him that if he had half as much patience with his Latin . . . etc. There is always a group of horseshoe enthusiasts to be found just north of the bicycle shed, sounding like a number of village blacksmiths. Just beyond the fence, out on the track field, several athletic youths are sprinting around the cinder oval in scanty attire. But most of us are less anxious to exert our- selves, and are content merely to meander, choosing the cars we like best, and diverting ourselves in idle talk. The cinders make a pleasant sound as they are crushed under our feet. The sky is deep blue over- head. A warm, caressing wind stirs up little swirls of dust and rustles the leaves. Although the casual stroller would not suspect that our parking grounds contain anything which might be called a beauty of nature, the person who is quick to observe can find endless enjoyment in just such simple sounds and sights as these, and their memory remains after the beauty itself has passed away. — Ruth Thorn. THE KITCHEN IN THE NEW CAFETERIA While helping prepare refreshments for Senior Evening I had occasion to examine closely the kitchen of our new cafeteria. My first impression upon entering was of the exceptional order in which everything was kept. The tables were white and glistening and likewise the sinks. The floor shone, and there was no sign of any food. Upon closer inspection I discerned that the thirty gallon caldrons in which soup is prepared were empty and had been scoured so that there was nary a stain or spot of soup marring their surface. I enjoyed myself immensely by pulling a lever which automatically opened several oven doors and pulled out long trays on which bread or muffins are baked. But the ovens were bare; and so pushing back the lever, I shut the whole contraption up again. Next I tested the mammoth refrigerators; but finding them bolted with unbreakable Yale locks, I abandoned them surmising that therein resided the food. The bread-cutting apparatus was of especial interest except for the unfortunate deficit of bread. After spending a full half hour admiring the spot, I decided that unlike our kitchen at home this was a place of truly mechanical beauty but no place for a hungry boy! ! — Howard P. Emrich Page Twenty-nine