Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

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THE CHRONICLE 13 LOSING ENTHUSIASM My stocking was hung over the fireplace, and the Christmas tree was fully trimmed. I danced about in gleeful anticipation of what Santa Claus would bring to a good boy. During the past few weeks I had been very, very good. Before my mother hustled me off to bed, I cast one last cheery glance at the blissful scene. I was very tired, and consequently my weary body went off to dreamland almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. I enjoyed numerous dreams about Christmas. Sometimes I dreamed about what Santa Claus would give me; at others I dreamed that I was Santa Claus and drove his handsome reindeer through the deep snow. After this I dreamed about bells, which rang till I awoke. “Could that be Santa Claus?” I asked. Suddenly an impish thought entered my head. I told myself that I would soon find out. I remembered that certain boys had told me that to believe in Santa Claus was nonsense. I decided to hustle down and tell Santa about this talk. I also carried the secret thought that he would skip those rude boys. I tiptoed quietly down the stairs. My mother was startled by my abrupt appearance, and I was startled by my disappointing discovery. Mother hustled me back to bed without explanation. The next day my arguments in favor of the existence of Santa Claus were only half-hearted, and subsequently they fell off altogether. Edward Gayer, ’33 THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA When Billy T. was eight years old, He thought himself so veiy bold That in his sleep he’d open his eyes And see how Santa was disguised. Then midnight came—no noise he heard, Not e’n a cat that gently purred; So from his bed he quickly stole. To assure the myth of Santa told. Softly down the stairs he came; Surely he was not to blame If caught while peeking in the door; He’d creep around the parlor floor. At last he reached the bottom step, And to the room he slowly crept, Down upon his hands and knees, Scared to death for fear he’d sneeze. Then slowly he gazed around the room; His face took on a look of gloom. O dear, O dear, it can’t be true, For there stood Dad—a Santa too! Lillian Kast, ’33

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12 THE CHRONICLE GOOD OLD SANTA It was Christmas Eve at Mr. Brown’s house. After a scanty supper Mr. and Mrs. Brown gathered around the fireplace with their five children—John, twelve; Frank, ten; Mary, eight; William, six; and Joan, five. Hard luck surely had found their home; for Mr. Brown, a machinist, had been out of work for six months; and Mrs. Brown, who earned a little money by her sewing, had just gotten out of bed after three weeks of illness. Mr. Brown was sitting very quietly while Mrs. Brown was making curtains. “Oh, Mother, tonight good old Santa comes,” shouted little Bill. Mrs. Brown sighed and laid down her sewing, saying, “I only wish he were coming, William, but I got a radiogram from him yesterday saying that his reindeer have colic and will be unable to make the trip.” “Don’t worry, Mother; good old Santa will find a way,” replied Bill. At nine o’clock, Mrs. Brown, with tears in her eyes, had tucked her children into bed. She knew that their stockings would be empty in the morning. Mrs. Brown had just started sewing again when a knock was heard at the door. Mr. Brown opened the door, and Santa Claus stepped in. On his back he had a big bag full of candy, fruits, and toys, which he dropped on the floor, saying, “Here is a little something for the children. Please accept it with my best wishes. I am rich in money but not in happiness. I have at last found out how to be happy. Good-night.” Mr. and Mrs. Brown murmured their thanks mingled with much surprise and joy. Bright and early on Christmas morning the children arose. Their eyes sparkled with joy as they beheld their many gifts. Little Bill, between spinning a top and eating candy, said, “I told you Santa would come. He never forgets. Good old Santa!” Robert Loring, ’33 MERRY CHRISTMAS Christmas afternoon! The Joneses have a lighted tree, and around its artificial roots presents are heaped—presents for Jack, for Betty, and for the little baby—presents for and from relatives, neighbors, and friends, and presents for each other. Jack has the briefcase he wanted —yes, and the camera, too. And Betty really has the beaded bag and the little fur jacket for which she craved. The Joneses and their guests have partaken of a bountiful feast with the usual oversize turkey, nuts, fruit, and spiced cake. And now, this crisp, clear afternoon, Mr. Jones is taking Jack on a pilgrimage of good faith. They are taking a huge basket of food to the charity center; they are taking a bouquet of flowers to the hospital. Jack is also taking Bill, the old crippled fireman, for a drive. After that. Jack is going down to the club to help distribute Christmas cheer to those who are in need of it. In this way, the Joneses are keeping the true Christmas spirit. Mary Jasinski, ’35

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14 THE CHRONICLE THE TRUE SPIRIT OF GIVING Several years ago I heard a story from the Old Testament which illustrates my conception of the true spirit of giving. It happened many years ago when a beautiful temple was being built by a famous king. Now the king did not have sufficient money to build his beautiful temple ; so he called on his people to donate whatever they could to help in its erection. The nobles and the rich responded to his request with large gifts of money. In the city where the temple was being built, there lived a very poor woman who had only a few cents to her name. She desired to help in the king’s cause but feared she would be laughed at if she gave her few pennies to the king. She, therefore, went and bought some hay which she carried out and fed to the hungry horses that were dragging the stone that was to be used in the temple. Now it happened that the king was passing by, and when he saw the woman’s gift, he took her to his palace and honored her above all those who had contributed large sums, saying that the spirit which she had shown was greater than that of those who had merely given part of their fortunes. It is this same true spirit of giving that has been passed down through the ages and which is needed this year more than ever. Let us remember when we make our Christmas gifts that it is not the material value of a gift but the spirit in which it is given that counts. Frank Barker, ’33 EXCHANGES We are commenting upon only a few school papers this time, but in our next issue we hope to have a larger department. The Clarion, Stratford, Connecticut The originality displayed in your magazine makes it a distinguished paper. However, we think that a few more poems would make your publication more attractive. The Wyndonian, Willimantic, Connecticut The Wyndonian is a fine magazine, and we wish especially to congratulate you for your excellent Joke Department. The Emblem, Southington, Connecticut Your magazine is a very interesting one, but where are your poems? The Owl, Middletown, New York Your magazine is very complete, and we congratulate you for your originality and fine departments. A few jokes would help your paper even more.