Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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THE ECHO 17 Now Tom was befuddled and cursed the rule that made an officer “confined to quarters” a hermit, as it were. Surely the whole thing was a farce — he, a Bradford, accused of thieving like a common horse thief. It was raw. During the trial had not Tom been so be- fuddled and worried he would have noticed many furtive grins and technical irregular- ities. The jury, five of his brother officers, went out to decide his fate and came solemn- ly back again. “We find the prisoner guilty — of nothing; the penalty — drinks for the crowd. Right then and there Tom proved his sportsmanship at the ghastly joke at his expense. He gravely saluted and left the room without a word. At the door Mary Lou awaited him, “Oh, Tom, I tried to let you know, but I couldn’t. Dad and I just learned of it all this morn- ing.” Tom’s answer is not important, but to the officers’ men that evening was delivered a big case containing — not the anticipated drinks — but several bottles of Grade A milk. Leslie Thorud. ONLY HALF SHOT He placed his cheek upon the stock And nicely set his arm. He set his thumb against the lock And hoped it would not jam. He stood and waited in suspense; The gun’s weight had increased; He squeezed it with his finger tense; The lock had been released. He knew a perfect shot he’d make, The sun was getting hot; He squeezed until his arms would ache, But still he heard no shot. He took the gun apart to see Why it had not exploded; Then, leaning on a nearby tree, He found it was not loaded. F. Kierstead, ’32. DOINGS ON THE DESK The pencil has made quite a number of pointed remarks about the sponge being soaked all day, and the waste basket being full. The scissors are cutting up and the paper weight is trying to hold them down, while the paste is sticking around to see the stamps get a good licking. The ink’s well but appears to be blue, while Bill is stuck on the file, and the calendar is looking fresher after having a month off. The blotter is lying around taking it all in. ! Twas a summer’s night and very warm. It seemed we were in for a thunder storm. I couldn’t sleep, and so for a lark I dressed and took a stroll in the dark. A way I went along the street, The only sound my moving feet, And thought that I was all alone, Enjoying myself in the cool ozone. My thoughts took me to years ago When the world was new and much more slow, To the cave man and his means and ways And the animals of those prehistoric days. To the dinosaurs and the other beasts Who were the victims of cave men’s feasts, And hoped there were none to bar my way, At least until the break of day. What was that? My heart it stilled ! My head it ached, and I felt chilled ! For in front of me were eyes so bright That I almost swooned from awful fright. I turned to run when through the air A smell arose I could hardly bear. My face it paled, and my throat just shrunk, And I knew the thing was a frightened skunk. I wandered back into my home With mind made up no more to roam, Pledged never to take another walk When skunks are around to make back talk. A. McMurray, ’32. SHORTHAND Shorthand is a terrible study My mind instead of clear is muddy. Miss Collins says it is a cinch, But for those words she sure must fiinqh. This Shorthand teacher has a line That makes you think Shorthand is fine. “A child can do this work”, says she, But what a child that one must be. Each day she’s teaching something new. That I don’t learn, yes, it is true. No normal child could learn it all, Though she may try from spring to fall. To teach that subject is a crime; I’d drop it now for half a dime, But still the teacher’s good and kind And ones like her are hard to find. Our interest she is bound to hold, And in her class there’s fun untold. I hope that you are warned in time, To soak your shorthand book in lime. I know that you won’t heed this verse Though I insist shorthand’s a curse. Now take shorthand and study hard Your rank will show on each flunk card. “Nick.”

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16 THE ECHO “HE WHO LAUGHS LAST, LAUGHS HEARTIEST’’ L IEUT. Thomas Bradford brought the sputtering old Ford to a stop in a front of the quarters of Col. Gordon, Commandant of Fort Howard Sill. His uniform was more spotless than usual, perhaps because he was to call on Mary Lou, the sweet daughter of the sour old Colonel. All the junior officers were anxious to visit those quarters, for it was here only that the “old man” lost some of the sternness, taciturnity, discipline, and strictness which had earned for him the nick-name of “The Martinet”. Not stopping to lock the car, for the key had long since been lost, he bounded up the broad white steps. As he neared the door, he heard the lovely voice of Mary Lou singing some of the old songs for which Southern women are famous the world over. “Good evenin’, Tom. We’re delighted to see you — do come in.” Tom groaned inwardly — did the we mean that the old Colonel was to sit around — or in the vernacular of the younger personnel — “hang around” all evening. However, after saluting the junior and uttering a few com- monplaces, the “tiger” left, probably to sit in his den for hours, reading military man- uals and dreaming over the lovely miniature, which was Mary Lou’s mother. While Tom and Mary Lou were thinking, talking, and planning many things that young people very much in love do plan, the old Colonel sat musing over the days when he, too, had been a young “shave-tail”, the dignified name usually given to the young- est graduate of the Point. He had promised his wife that he would do the best he could to bring Mary Lou up — and for an old soldier to bring up a tiny daughter in an army post was no easy matter. Mary Lou always had been, from her toddling days, the pride and joy of the troop. From the time she could talk, she had been “the old man’s daughter” and “the real commanding- officer” — not a man but in whom she had the greatest interest, from the gruff old stable sergeant who first taught her to ride, to the newest recruit who had run away from home to join the army. She knew them all by name, and Mary Lou Gordon was known from the Presidio to Governor’s Is- land, as the sweetest girl in the army, while her father was equally well known as “the old war lion”. Lieut. Bradford was first one of many callers who had been cordially re- ceived by him and now that he was nearing the retiring age, he was glad to have his daughter engaged to one of the most promis- ing men of the day. The Bradfords were a long and dis- tinguished line of soldiers — Bradford had fought in the war for freedom, in the Indian wars, Chinese wars, Cuban wars, in fact, from the time of the First Continental Army there had been a Bradford in the cavalry. All had served long and honorably; no stigma or even taint of dishonor had touched the name. The Gordon line was equally famous, hard riding, straight-shooting — they had the reputation of having their men “follow them through H ”. And now, the two most famous lines in the army were to unite. They had the good wishes of the outfit. Lieut. Bradford left the house shortly after the last beautiful strains of taps had sounded through the air. It was a beautiful post — broad parade ground, bordered with gorgeous old chestnut trees, the officers’ row of houses, all old fashioned colonial style, with broad pillars and flowering lawns. Sur- rounding the whole post was a high wall, which in its crevices were sheltered many guns — all always ready to protect the fort. Stopping only for a last look at Mary Lou and a hasty glance around the beauty of the post, Tom hopped into the old flivver and away to his quarters. The next morning a white-faced orderly brought him an order to remain in his quarters “under arrest” until Col. Gordon should see him. Completely abashed and puzzled, there was nothing for Tom to do but obey. Try as he would, he could think of no lapse of duty, no infringement of rules — he could only wait. When Col. Gordon arrived, he was pale and plainly worried. “Tom, Capt. Brown has sworn out a war- rant for your arrest. He says you have stolen his car, and worst of all, his story checks.” “But his car. I don’t understand. I left mine in front of your quarters, and it was there when I took it home. The fool is just plain jealous and has tried to frame me.” “The car in your garage is his, Tom, and yours was found ornamenting the parade ground. Certainly,” and here Col. Gordon smiled in spite of himself, “no flattering- ornament.” “But they’re both the same, Col. It must be a joke. Someone must have changed them. They’re both just rattle-traps. The key is gone from mine; I can’t lock it. As for his, it’s even worse than mine and not worth the stealing.” “Well, buck up, lad — Mary Lou and I are for you. I’ve set your court-martial for day after tomorrow. Shall I act as your defense counsel, or will you act for yourself? Capt. Brown’s action had made the court-martial procedure imperative. Regulation, etc., you know, but we’ll do our best.” “Thank you, sir. Tell Mary Lou not to worry, and under the circumstances, per- haps Col. Smith had better be counsel.” The court-martial hour arrived, and Tom was escorted to Headquarters. Mary Lou had written a cheerful note and was not particularly worried, or so it seemed to Tom. On the way down he passed three or four brother officers. Were they actually hiding- smiles at his discomforture, or was the whole affair getting on his nerve? Even Col. Gordon had a rather facetious air ! Poor Tom, his mind was in a whirl during that all too brief march to the court. As he mounted the steps, Mary Lou passed and in answer to his grave salute actually winked.

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18 THE ECHO JUNGLE FAITH T HE weird chanting 1 of warriors accom- panied by the dismal beating- of the tom- tom suddenly came to the ears of the two weary explorers, who, having lost all signs of their trail, listened to it eagerly and pushed their way onward with new life through the wild entanglements of the Congo jungle. Suddenly a long spear darted in front of them, and as they dodged that one, many more came, and before they could realize what had happened, they were bound hand and foot and were being carried into a small village consisting of about twenty straw huts perched up in the air about ten feet. One might think them toad stools on four legs, but the one in which the men were thrown was exceptionally large and also very dark. As soon as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, our friends looked at their surroundings, then at each other. Under their long beards one could see the counten- ances of two adventurous young men of about twenty-five or six years. They were Tom and Buddy Allen, the two sons of a famous explorer who had set out to find the “Treasure City” and who had been lost try- ing to find it. As he had not been heard from or seen for a long time his two sons and a party of negroes had set out to find him. Buddy spoke suddenly saying, “Say, we’ve made a mess of things. Haven ' t we? Just as I thought we were getting somewhere, we go and get ourselves taken captives by some old blackies. Of course, I wasn’t scared of him when he grabbed me, but I didn’t want to spoil their little game by getting rough.” “Well, let’s not mind that now; let’s see if we can get out of here. Gee, these bonds around my hands hurt!” “So do m , say, here conies that big brute that grabbed me. If I could get these things off my hands, I’d put more kinks in his neck than he has in his hair. I wonder what he wants. Say, there are three more with him!” The men came into the hut, took the bonds off their captives’ arms and legs, and took them into another large hut at the end of the village. They found themselves in the chief’s weirdly adorned hut. The natives mumbled something, and then the chief spoke in fairly good English. “You want something from me? You’re a spy of the enemy chief, Kalbal? Speak!” The boys looked surprised, and Buddy spoke, “Yes, the truth is we want something but nothing that you mentioned. We are looking for our father, an explorer, who has been missing for about six months, and your men captured and brought us here. We really were quite surprised.” The old chief thought a few moments and said, “Explorers! Six moons! Humm, I see.’ He then spoke in his native tongue to the negroes, and immediately they took the boys into a small hut, which was much more com- fortable than the first one. That night they went to sleep with the familiar howls of the jungle animals in their ears, but they had much more com- fortable quarters than they had had since they had dismissed the negro guides from their services. The next morning at sunrise they were escorted to the chief’s hut. The chief looked at them and said, “Your father good man. Save my life from king of jungle. I always like reward good men.” He waved his hand, and a bamboo curtain was pushed aside. Joyfully, the boys cried out “Father”. He rushed to them and they to him. He was so happy tears of joy ran down his tanned face. “My boys”, he cried again and again. When all greetings had been exchanged, the boys told their father their story, and then asked him his, so he sat down and began. “Just after you received my last letter, I was tramping through the forest, and soon I saw my friend here about to be attacked by a playful little lion; so just by habit I put the beast in a place where he won’t attack people any more. Well, the chief brought me to his camp here, but as all of his men who know the way back to our set- tlemen have gone northward to pay the annual tribute that they pay to another tribe, I have not been able to get back home or even communicate with you.” The boys nodded and then took their father’s arm. The chief looked very happy as they left. Within a few days the warriors came back home, and the two boys and their father bade farewell to the old chief, and as the early morning sun arose over the densely covered hills, the happy little party wendea its way through the undergrowth toward home. HISTORY Why should we study history? How many of you have said that? The answer is be- cause if any one study is to be valued above all others, history is entitled to that prefer- ence. It is a record of human thoughts, ideas, and actions, the cause and effect of human events. It is always in the making. During the Middle Ages there were no historians of any great importance. In the Eighteenth Century Gibbon wrote “Tht Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire”, con- sidered one of the masterpieces of historical scholarship. But it was not until the nine- teenth century that history developed into a systematic science. Present day historians treat history on a scientific basis, and now the reader may consider the thoughts as well as the action, and compare them with his own, always re- membering that the human equation is such that history can never become an exact science. Read history and learn what men equipped with a mind, just as you are equipped, have thought in the past upon subjects similar to those of today. We of today have much more access to historic knowledge, and it is better under- stood and more fully explained than ever