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

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TEE TIME Edward Zuver Lewis kOWN on the Florida east coast where men are old men and boys can ' t go for a week, unless they save up for a year, there were three big shots, so big that Will Rogers and I are the only writers who dare call them by their first names. It was an early spring day, and a cool breeze blew gently over the veranda of a club house on a private golf course, and these three elderly gentlemen were sitting leisurely drinking ice water and enjoying the freshness of the balmy air. They care- lessly chatted on a subject far from that of the business and productive world which they had long since left behind, for they at last were spending the vacation of life which old men seldom have the opportunity to enjoy but which these men well deserved after all they had accomplished in their early lives. They were praised the world over for their remarkable achievements in their in- dividual lines of business and science. Con- sequently the famous trio had become the best of friends in the years gone by. They often spent a few weeks together in which they were much annoyed by assiduous news- paper reporters and photographers. The rea- son why they would arrange to get together was, probably, to carry out their natural love of argument. John knew that oil made the greatest contribution to the world, — no question about that. Tom knew it was electricity, and Henry knew it was the flivver, and you can ' t disagree with any of them. I ' ll tell you, Henry, the ninety-year-old John was saying in a loud voice, with a plea- sant smile on his wrinkled face, the reason I love this game and first came to play it. Thirty years ago, he began, I was in extremely poor health. My stomach had gone back on me and my hair had all fallen out, which I was told meant that I had as many diseases as doctors to make diagnosis. What ' s more, whenever that trolley car would make the turn in front of my house I would tremble like a leaf. But still I had to go to New York every week and be helped up to the top floor of our building, where I would listen to the board meeting. As my voice wasn ' t so good as it should have been, my brother William and the others would do most of the talking. I would cover up my head with the Times and either listen to long discussions on sales resistance and innumerable other things, or doze off to sleep. Often, however, I used to wake up and be surprised to find the subject of the directors ' arguments not the critical problems of the company but their latest scores in golf. Now, as I knew that these men had the best business minds in the country, I began to believe that there must be something strangely kindred in golf and the oil industry, if they were as good as they said they were. So I purchased a bag of clubs and startled my doctors by taking up this game seriously and gaining rapidly in health. Since then I ' ve tried never to miss a day, and that is why in my ninetieth year I can play my little nine holes daily, and that, too, is why it is useless for Tom, here, not being an oil man, to hire Walter Hagen to give him enough coaching in the next three years, so he can catch up to my present game when he is ninety. Winking at Henry and sipping a little water from his glass, he leaned back in his chair with a childish twinkle in his eye, and waited a reply he knew would come from Tom, who though slightly deaf had been listening intently. That oil industry monopoly on this old- age golf game is silly, Tom spluttered. All right, suggested John, let ' s arrange a game and play it out. P W Thirty

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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

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Fine, snapped the old rival. And if I lose, that half million you asked me to con- tribute to some fool charity will be in your hands the day we play. And, John added, there will be a mil- lion dollars in electrical research equipment in every boys ' technical school you sponsor if you ever beat me. At this the wide eyes of John ' s colored caddy-master opened still wider and he piped up with his low drawl, Youse all are givin ' millyuns away like nickels on dat golf game and the caddies is all kickin ' ' bout carryin ' dem old bags and chasin ' dose balls dat yo ' cain ' t see no mo ' . That ' s all right, laughed John tossing the old darkey a shiny new dime. I ' ll have a whole new outfit ready for that game. Then turning to Tom, Will a month from today be all right for you? he asked. As good as any, Tom agreed, and with- out another word he rose abruptly and left the others to talk by themselves. As soon as John and Henry had seen him disappear around the corner of the open porch, John nudged the other and motioned him closer as if some one might hear. Henry, he said in a low voice, Tom can ' t possibly beat me. Of course, Henry broke in, Why, he hasn ' t played a full nine holes in his life. You old fox. You certainly did manage to take advantage of his quick temper. They both laughed, but John waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought and again assumed his confidential air. Well, even if he were good, I still would beat him. Our oil company has discovered in Samoa some peculiar oil which, in some extraordinary way not yet understood, can reduce the fric- tion of air almost to nothing. I have some of this oil with me in Florida, and I find that by dipping my golf ball into it the ball will carry twice the usual distance. Oho, jeered Henry, so that is why you oil men are such good golf players. Well, that ' s the reason why I ' ve had such good success lately, John admitted. Lean a bit closer and I ' ll tell you some more. And thus John unfolded his whole secret to Henry. But Henry saw no reason why he should not tell Tom what he had heard. So that night he paid his friend a visit and told him the whole of John ' s secret. But after hearing the tale Tom seemed anything but discouraged, in fact, his dull spirits brightened. After muttering something about a cubic foot of battery having enough energy to drive a two-ton truck and why not a golf ball, he said, turning to John, My laboratories have handled harder prob- lems than this. It will be a game of electric energy against a queer viscosity of oil. Then, bidding his companion a cheerful good night, he retired to his bed. The next day Tom left his Florida home. No one knew where or why, but he had left, and it wasn ' t long after, that the newspaper got hold of the coming million-dollar golf game. Soon the story was known through- out the whole country, but the news espe- cially affected the people of Miami. It was the subject of everyone ' s conversation. Pic- tures and articles about the professional cel- ebrities and their stakes adorned the front pages of every newspaper. At last the day for the contest had ar- rived, and people in every state in the Union had tuned up their radios to hear it broadcast over a national net-work. All was set for the occasion, but Tom had not yet arrived from his unexpected sojourn, nor had any- one yet found out where he was. The people had become uneasy. Had Tom backed out after all? Even Henry feared that all was not as it should have been, when he awaited the rival at the first tee. But just as the appointed hour rolled around so did Tom. Mid cheers and hurrahs (and not a few sighs of relief) he made his way to the tee, not bothering to change his old Mark Twain suit. It ' s your honor, he smiled to John. Thank you, John smiled in return, and carefully teeing his ball, he prepared to take the first shot. Swinging with all the strength he could muster from his thin body, he drove the ball well over his usual mark. The onlookers were audibly surprised and they looked amazed. But soon the crowd became hushed. Tom had nonchalantly thrown his ball upon the ground and drawn an old driver from his bag. With complete lack of dexterity he took a childish swing at the ball, and though he barely tapped it, the white sphere rose high and soared farther and farther from his sight. To say that every one around him was utterly struck dumb is putting it far too mildly. No one said a word for a full min- ute. Then like a burst of thunder after the silent lightning the crowd shouted, whis- pered, laughed, applauded, and groaned all Page Thirty-one