Manchester High School - Somanhis Yearbook (Manchester, CT)

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30 SOMANHIS EVENTS play has been presented we feel that we could rival Job. There are a hundred other things of equal importance that a person learns in dramatics. It would not be fair to pass over the appreciation that one gains of the drama. We realize the efforts of those men and women who are trying to make the stage a thing of art, and thing of beauty, and a thing of admiration. Yes, to the casual observer, dramatics in high school may seem foolish, of lit- tle value, and merely a pastime; but to the observing person it is a thing of im- portance, a thing as important as math- ematics, or history, or the languages, because it teaches the student those things that he will need most in the future. IS AMERICA A MELTING POT? It was on one of the New York to Liv- erpool trips of the “Berengaria” that a junior officer asked the question, “Is America a melting pot?’ The upright young Englishman of whom he asked it considered for a long two minutes and then replied in a somewhat lengthy fash- ion. The junior, who is my friend and who reported this to me, sat absorbed, for the young man’s voice was pleasing- ly sonorous and the officer was a good listener. “Really,” he said finally, “that isn‘t a question that IT should presume to an- swer. Much better men than I have an- swered it completely. However , since I have been abroad seeing America for the past month, perhaps I may take the liberty to express myself on the subject. “America is, I believe, a melting pot, not in the ugly sense of the word that gives the impression of people of all the world being poured into a machine to emerge stamped according to a set pat- tern to live humdrum lives of no conse- quence, but in the sense that many people of the world seek, through the refining processes of the melting pot, the realization of their aims. In passing through the pot, they lose those sordid, mercenary characteristics to come out men and women of clear ideals and of the energy—pep’ you call it—to carry out those ideals. “Americans are a peculiar people. During my stay T met a great many of them, and TI was impressed by the fact that the names showed a varied foreign derivation, I was also impressed by the fact that cach person practiced good sportsmanship. They all had the ‘give- and-take’ and the ‘never-say-die’ spirit as a standard. It is peculiar, it seems to me, to find this one common ideal before people of such varied descent. T think I saw in them the spirit of all Americans and if Tam right in this, then America is. in truth a melting pot; for, after all, what is a melting pot if it is not a cru- cible into which different metals are placed, refined, and drawn off as an analogous substance? It is in this way that America appears to me, the an- alogous substance being the true Ameri- cans. That is my answer, captain.” My friend, who is of staunch New England stock, got to his feet, yawned, said that he had enjoyed the talk but he really couldn’t see how some of these “Dagos” and Polacks” were the true Americans and went to bed. IT agree with the young Englishman; and because the junior officer and I are true friends, I fear the day when he be- comes disillusioned. Stephen Williams THE DEAD INDIAN (With apologies to all the writers of de- tective stories.) It was one of those very sultry days in mid-summer when the gnats buzz in such a way that they make even the most wakeful feel sleepy. The land all about the little town of Four Corners was covered with a fine powder which the sun had manufactured from what had formerly been damp soil. There was something ominous in the air. It was not something of great concern, but a restlessness which seemed somehow to grip at one’s nervous system and make it tingle just a little. Old Tom Berkley observed that the atmosphere was a trifle different as he rode down the long, flat, dusty road

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SOMANHIS EVENTS 29 should be extended throughout the com- munity? It is indeed so, and it is thus that high standards of character are created, maintained, and — extended throughout the school and community. THE VALUE OF THE LEADERS’ CLASS Is S. M. H. S. represented by girl ath- letes? For the past two years approni- mately twenty-five girls have met under the direction of Miss Hazel Worcester. They have formed what is known as the Leaders’ Class, an organization which has proved that S. M. H. S. has many able girls athletes. Every well regulat- ed school or business, to be successful, has certain definite standards for its guidance and certain definite aims for its goal. The aim of the Leaders’ Class is to educate its members in the theory and practice of physical education. All Leaders’ Class girls strive not only to be good athletes but also to be good sports. They learn the meaning of true and real sportsmanship. ‘Through their athletic work and leadership they hold their ideals before the pupils whom they supervise. May this worthy group con- tinue to meet with the many classes that will pass through this school, so that the true value of sportsmanship will never die. M. B. ’27 THE VALUE OF “SOCK AND BUSKIN” Just what is the value of Sock and Buskin? What do amateur dramatics do for the high school student? Do they afford some benefit, or are they merely a means of amusement? To the casual observer they may appear of little use— a passing fancy that will soon be forgot- ten. But to the more observing person they are of value. A casual observer may ask what? The parents of the aspir- ing voung actors or actresses may reply that they make nervous wrecks. But up- on further consideration we find that they afford the student of dramatics many different things chief among which is poise. Everyone is willing to admit that poise is a big asset both in the business and in the social world. A person ill at case cannot seem to “belong.” He is a mis- fit, a well meaning person who not only feels uneasy himself but makes those around him feel uneasy. The experience that a person gains on the stage in acquiring poise will naturally benefit him in the future when it is necessary to go out in the business world to earn his own living. In dramatics a person learns enuncia- tion, another thing that is always profit- able in other steps of life. Nothing is more annoying than a person who mum- bles his words and relates a long history that none can hear but himself. A per- son who cannot speak clearily is not wanted on the stage and he must cither learn to speak clearly or leave. Usually he learns to enunciate. Once he has learned how to speak plainly it is very improbable that he will fall into his old habit of muttering. Closely related to poise is self-con- fidence. Without self-confidence a per- son is lost. Many an intelligent and capable person has failed because he lacked that valuable asset, self-con- fidence. By self-confidence I do not mean conceit. Self-confidence is merely a belief in one’s self. If a person does not believe in himself, he will be a fail- ure. A person who does not believe in himself cannot hope to make others be lieve in him. Another thing of value that one meets in dramatics is effort. Flere, perhaps more than any other place could we use that old quotation “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” How many times a seemingly unimportant bit has to be done over. Every bit of energy and talent that a person has in him must be put into that piece of work. When a person practices a thing like that for about six weeks, it is sure to stay with him. Patience is another thing that is gain- ed during the long grueling rehearsals. Ilow many times it would be so much more pleasant to throw up the whole thing and enjoy yourself. But we stick to the task and in the end we usually are glad that we did. By the time the

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SOMANHIS which led into Four Corners. It was different from what it had been yester- day, although yesterday had been just such a dry, drowsy day as this one was. A short way down the road he saw one of “them gasoline contraptions” as he characterized automobiles, drawn up beside the road. As he drew nearer, he noted that it was deserted. There was a very disagreeable smell in the air, a smell not unlike bad fish two days’ old. A bit) inquisitive, Tom dismounted from his rumbling wagon and investi- gated. The car was one of those mas- sive seven passenger machines which had been made when automobile manu- facturers were not afraid to put real met- al into their creations. It was empty. But on the other side Tom, stalwart, grizzled old) Westener with all his for- midable, unshaven face, sturdy frame, and eagle eyes, drew back in horror, for there lay the body of a dead Indian. After his first shock, Tom examined the body more closely and made out the sag- ging features to be those of old Chicken Wing, an Indian trader. Chicken Wing had long been a frequenter of Four Cor- ners. Little was known of him except that he had come into town about once every two months to trade some Indian products for what the white men had to offer. All the way from the scene of the tragedy to Four Corners, Tom ruminat- ed on the death of the Indian. Surely the man had had no enemies. As far as anyone knew he had always been just a quiet old Redskin who had been in the employ of various Indian tribes carrying their products to the many little towns of that section of Arizona. The sheriff of Four Corners, a fat shade lover called Jim Corban, was in- terested but not concerned further than to send the customary medical examiner to the body and see to its burial. Soon everything went on as before, and the murder, which had caused a little inter- est in the drowsy Four Corners, was for- gotten. Then one day a stranger came into town. No one took much notice of him except that he was somebody from the Eastern states. He was easily distin- guishable as such; he was rather wide awake. Tom Berkley noted him. He observed him when he came into the EVENTS 31 saloon for a drink. He watched him as he read the weekly paper. He sauntered after him as he went along down the “main street” to his boarding house. He watched him for several days, for he had not forgotten the murder, as the others had. Yet, he couldn't see anything unusual about this man until one day— Well, there was a little rancher just outside the town, very near to the spot where old Chicken Wing had been mur- dered. Jock Tomlinson he was, prob- ably once a Scotchman; his left eye had that characteristic droop. But he had lived out West so long that he was one of them. He had a daughter; probably you had guessed that by now, and you're right—she was pretty. As usual, this story has to have some sort of love affair, so suffice it to say the stranger had in some way become attracted to this girl, Nobody but Tom noticed that they had met in the post office and exchanged meaning glances. Nobody else had seen them walk off in- to the sunset one night. The next day Jock Tomlinson rode in- to town all excited. He told the sheriff that his daughter had disappeared the night before, and that he thought she had gone with a stranger who had been staying in town for the past few weeks. As usual, the sheriff sent out a posse, which was very careful to take some lunch along, and some fishing rods too. So much for that. But Tom knew. Somehow he felt that same atmosphere that he had on the day that he had dis- covered the body. He went again to the spot. The auto was not there. It had been there ever since the time of the murder, but it was gone now. Tom looked around for awhile. Then he found a little card on which was printed, “James Brown, Insurance, 112 East 42nd Street, New York. Tom found out that Jock’s daughter had attended a school in Gotham the year before. That was sufficient. Ile re- ceived a reply to his telegraph, which he sent a week later, which said, “Yes, we eloped. Don’t tell Jock. We want to surprise him.” Well, that’s about all there is to the story. They were married and lived happily—