Latin School of Chicago - Sigillum Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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SIGILLUM business men come up from their boiler shops and blast furnaces on LaSalle Street and stop off at I-Iousman's for a quiet snort. Anyway, old Mr. Housman was one of those sterling characters who believed that a little draught beer, now and then, was good for the growing boy and made him big and strong. I, of course, agreed with him, as I was but a spindling youth, and yearned for weight and muscle. The faculty, however, looked upon the good Mr. Housman as a low fellow at best, and put a notice up on the bulletin board advising any and all of the young health seekers, via the beer route, that they would be summarily expelled, fired, bounced and tossed out on their little pink ears if they were caught anywhere near the place. You can well imagine how discouraging all this was, but we were quite philosophical about it--expecially as we soon found a back entrance, so located that we could go in and out practically unobserved. We often wondered why we never met any of the faculty there but, being precocious lads, we soon concluded they gave their patronage to a place further up the street, and not so near the School. Everything went swimmingly until a day one, Freddie Ridgeway, came down with the most grievous toothache--so severe that anything but liquid nourish- ment made him shudder and quake, in fact, to hear him tell it, he had the grandfather of all toothaches. We knew, of course, that Mr. I-Iousman dispensed free lunch in a princely style and we remembered, with innocent pleasure, his excellent hot soup. It was suggested, therefore, and purely from a humanitarian standpoint, that Freddie be escorted to the hot soup and there be allowed to absorb as much as his delicate condition permitted. Three of us went with him, and after our errand of mercy had been concluded we left. Due to carelessness, or perhaps lulled by a feeling of false security because we had only had soup, we left the place by the front door, instead of the back entrance, and we were all caught redhanded and FIRED. You can well imagine how our manly bosoms burned with the injustice done us. Here we were, just as innocent as a nest of Easter eggs-this once anyway-and fired for going on an errand of mercy to help a stricken pal. Not only that, but before we could be re- instated in School we each had to bring a parent back with us to vouch for our future, virtuous behavior. This was indeed a delicate and painful matter, as the authorities well know, and I can only hope the others got by with it as easily as I was able to--thanks to very understanding parents. No mention can possible be made of the old School without an effectionate and respectful reference to that hearty faculty in charge of us little ruffians. How the faculty were able to stand us, I shall never know. I sometimes think if a chemist got one of our teachers and made a careful analysis he would find the makeup ran to large percentage of unflagging patience, kindness and indomitable will to

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Down The Years HAVEN A. REQUA Haven ReQua, ,I2, Yale '16, editor of Folio and Sigillum, is now the president of the Standard Fuel Company. A short time back, I received a letter from the Editor of the SIGILLUM, and although I didn,t in the least want to answer it I had to, for the communication was written so delicately and worded so tactfully it would have been churlish to ignore it. The letter said that an anniversary number of the SIGILLUM was about to appear practically any moment and, as an old editor of that dis- tinguished publication, would I please take pen in hand and dash off something bright and sparkling-preferably along reminiscent lines? Much, much easier said than done. Ought I to dish out some rugged homily about the Spartan virtues of the old days, when I thought I was going to be a permanent, all-time member of the Junior Class? Even my Mother admits I wasnit a very good stu- dent. While I cannot prove it, I am reliably informed that the great and good R. P. Bates said that, in his opinion, the only way to get me out of school was to burn it down. In his quaint way he added be thought it would be worth it. The fact that the faculty finally shoe-horned me successfully through my college examinations should be a lasting monument to those stout-hearted men of iron, for what they did was no mean job. To get on with my reminiscing, I wish I could give you a graphic description of the ceremonies that took place in the old school the day the whale oil lamps were reverently laid aside for the last time to make way for newfangled kerosene illumination, or of the many times the Latin School boys had to run for their lives to avoid the milling herds of buffalos when they came charging down Division from cff the prairies slightly west of Clark Street. Those days are pretty far in the past but I can, I think, remember them quite clearly, for at about the same time I was just entering upon my career as a permanent Junior. Back, in those bygone days, there was an establishment named I-Iousman's, diagonally across from the School, on the southwest corner of Division and State. This place was dear to all of us little urchins, principally because we were absolutely forbidden to go near it, for Mr. I-Iousman, the proprietor, was an eminent saloonist and presided over one of the best bars in town. In fact, at that time there was no Racquet Club, so it was a common sight, along about three or four in the afternoon, to see any number of tired

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SIGILLUM get their charges successfully through their college examinations. The years have brought another faculty but they couldnlt possibly have brought a better one, as there just ain't no such thing. Most of us remember the old faculty as vividly today as if we had just skipped out of class. R. P. Bates, for example, who loved to put on a roaring, raging act that would scare the wits, if any, out of the Senior Class, and whose unerring aim with a piece of chalk and his pungent wit kept him in high respect with the students. Of course, everybody knew there really wasn't a kindlier, friendlier man in the world than R. P. Bates but, now and then, discipline simply had to be maintained-and he was the lad to do it. He did it so Well, and my memory of him is so vivid, that when I met him recently at the University Club I put my burning cigarette instinctively into my pocket. If that isn't making a permanent impression, there simply is no such thing. Then, there was the kindly Mr. Bosworth, who would do anything in the world he could to help his students through. He dearly loved any pupil of his who showed even a semi intelligent interest in his subject, which was English, and succeeded, after an uphill battle against terrific odds, in making many of appreciate the beauty of a jeweled sentence. Mr. McCloed, that sterling Scotsman, whose stubborn will was harder than the granite of his native country, could and did hammer mathe- matics into the most resistent skulls, and accomplished this practic- ally impossible job with the utmost good nature. Mr. Whiting, who taught Latin and Greek, and made his charges like it, will always retain a warm niche in the hearts of the Alumni over Whom he worked so diligently. There is no school better than its faculty and that is why any Chicago Latin School boy, no matter how long after he graduates, continues a Latin School boy-for the School stamp stays with him, to his credit, until he dies.