Needham High School - Advocate Yearbook (Needham, MA)

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THE ADVOCATE E151 BULL MARTIN Ralph Adams, '33 The Bull comes strutting down the aisle, The crowd now stands to boo at him, Upon his face a sneering smile As if to say heis sure to win. He bows and climbs up on the mat, The bell soon rings and they begin. He crouches and prepares to dive- Two-forty pounds of seething beef- Then when he springs and forward flies, God help the man that's underneath. A NEWSPAPER Gardner Fay, ,33 Sheet after sheet A jumble of black and white: But on closer view, What comedies, thrills, and tragedies May lie beneath its folds. Headlines flashing, Breaking the lines of monotonous printg Pictures sprinkled carelessly Over its speckled face, lt tells the secrets of all the world. THE CUP IN THE BIG GLASS CASE Edmund Hanson, '33 It was house-warming night at the new Attica High School. Everywhere throughout the building a buzz of excitement prevailed. Harassed taxpayers critically examined the cause for their boosted tax rates. Building committeemen strutted about, looking for people to ask them questions and tell them how well they had done their task. Efferves- cent mothers ohid at every new-fangled doo- dad called to their attention by self-conscious students appointed to do so. All the grown- ups kept reminding each other and their off- spring that, '6We never had such opportuni- ties when we were children. The young people today donst realize how lucky they are, while the lucky young generation won- dered if their parents had ever been subjected to an English teacher like Miss Soandso or a math instructor like Mr. Whosis. Everyone had an education complex that evening and the trophy room just off the main hall, near the front entrance, was almost deserted. ln spite of its fresh newness it was a room of memories to any former member of the school. Pictures of long ago teams adorned the creamy walls. Fragments of shattered goal posts rested on tables. Tattered numbered jersies of plunging full- backs, worn track shoes of long since stiff- kneed sprinters, and faded caps and battered gloves of slugging outiielders graced the wall cases. ln the center of the room stood a large glass case containing a single, huge silver cup. Before this case stood the only occupant of the room, a middle aged man of medium height and stocky build. His bearing seemed to mark him as a former athlete, although he was beginning to show signs of many hours of office work. He was a typical moderately successful small-town business man, who might have had a son in college or a daughter showing her mother the home economics department at that very moment. He seemed lost in thought, gazing at the newly-polished cup. It seemed to be the most highly prized trophy in the room. It bore the inscription:- GREEN VALLEY BASKETBALL LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP CUP Awarded to ATTICA HIGH SCHOOL 1910 Presented by JOHN A. FROTHINGHAM Another man entered the room. He was about the same age, but tall and heavily

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IMI THE ADVOCATE in the leaping hre, L'I'll do it because my hero has died, but he is my only hero who has ever lived. fl: Pk :lf Years later a wandering man found a marker with the immortal Varney's name written upon it. With the help of friends he dug far into the earth, but all they found was a hardened carnation, its white petals gray with the work of the ages. TO BE READ WHEN YOU ARE STUCK IN THE SNOW Richard Warren, '33 Donft start swearing, pal, or you will never get out. I know the road is slippery, your tires are smooth, your gas is low, you haven't any chains, and you want to go places in a hurry. I've been in your shoes many times and I didn't have time to wait for the snow to melt around the car. It is a very delicate and complicated system, this getting out of drifts or what have youg but if you follow directions carefully you may get out. Usually when you start driving in a snow- storm, you donit think of bringing along a shovel in case you do get stuck. But if, by chance, Providence hath lain a shovel in the rear of the family car, you are in luck. All you have to do is shovel the drift away, and then try to keep from sliding into another. You are fortunate if you happen to be stuck on a hill. If your car is fairly light, like my Chevvy, it won't be so hard. Try putting the car into first or reverse and see where you get-probably farther into the drift. Then try pushing, downhill of course. If this doesnat work, leave the engine run- ning, put it into reverse and push, but make sure you leave the door open so that, when it does start going out of the drift, you can hop in and guide the car to the bottom of the hill. Then begin your ascent anew. You'll probably get stuck again, but keep trying until you succeed. You couldn't think of turning around and taking another road. If you are stuck on the level without a shovel, you are in for a tough time. Ask the man who knows. You may be able to push it if you are big enough, or think you are. You may be able to kick the drift away with feet and arms used windmill fashion. But I think it would be best for you to sit inside, cool your heels, and wait until somebody with chains comes along and pushes you out. This last method may make you think you are a parasite on society, but not at all, most people like to help fellow men in distress. I consider it the best way, too. It saves you a strained back the next morning. fHave I ever had those?I It saves gas and tires, which is much more appealing to the pater when you arrive at the old homestead. fDon,t I know itll I So, if you are behind on sleep, sleep while waiting for a kind fellow adventurer of the broad highway-but you're probably on a byway. Look at the scenery, glance over your road map, do anything you like, and see if I care. Good luck, pall MBUDDYH Anna Curtin, 733 Like a ray of brightest sunshine His cheery smile flashed, Bringing gladness to the hearts Of those he passed. His eyes were ever twinkling With the fun he loved so well, And his voice was full of laughter As it gaily rose and fell. A kindly spirit of helpfulness, A willingness to do- These made me love and honor him His whole life through. And when at last I have fulfilled The final act of Fate, I know that NBuddy will be there, At Heaven,s golden gate.

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l16j THE ADVOCATE built. He might have been a wrestler or a shot-putter in his younger days. The two glanced at each other, but no sign of recogni- tion passed between them. The big man was evidently a stranger, for like most small-town business men, the other knew everyone in his community. The stranger glanced about the room. nQuite a museum here, he remarked. 44Yes-yes it is,', said the smaller man absently, without looking up. A moment or two elapsed, the stranger wan- dering about the room, the other still gazing at the cup. Suddenly, he seemed to break the trance which held him. Then, as if to atone for the apparent coldness with which he had answered the stranger's remark, he said:- Quite a story behind the winning of this cup. '4That so? said the stranger, stepping up to view it more closely. 'LThere7s a moral to it, too. I used to tell it to my boy when he was in school. He paused, waiting for a sign of concern from the stranger. 4'Sounds II1lCl'CSllIlg,,, said the prospective audience, invitingly. f'Not very familiar here, are you? he began. Then of course you donit know what kind of an athletic record this school has. Well, ruefully, Nit's not very good, in fact this cup represents the only championship that we ever won. I say Gwei because I played on the team that won it. Ohgonly a sub- stitute guardf, he added apologetically, ubut it gave me an intimate knowledge of the team that the ordinary spectator never gotf, We had a crackerjack team that year, and the whole school was all pepped up about it. Weid never had a championship and every- body was looking for us to come through. There were ten teams in the league, each to play the other teams twice on a hon1e-and- home basis. There were some pretty good players in that league, too. A lot of them were later corking good college players. For a small-town league, it certainly put on some mighty fine games. Then, to make it all the more interesting, old John Frothingham put up a cup to be awarded to the highest scorer in the league, in addition to the regular championship cup. Old John was quite a sports fan and basketball was his craze. He died, ohf 'bout twelve years ago, I guess, and he left quite a sum of money to the athletic fund. Here, the speaker stopped to light his pipe. MCan,t talk without in' pipe. uWell, we had a forward named Fred Burns, captain of the team-Tlashi, we called him. Only a little fellow, stood about five- four and weighed, ohfwell,-not more than one-twenty, but could he play basketball! Like a cat on his feet and fast as greased lightnin'. Had a habit of shootin' baskets from the middle of the Hoor. Always cool and calm, never got excited or rattled. Nice teller, too, popular with everybody. No one hgured on his being a high-scorer, though, be- cause the last year he'd been only fair and his size sorta went against him. But after the first two games, which we won by large scores, heid made about forty points. Then everyone began to sit up and take notice. He didn't hog the shots either. He passed when he should and was all all 'round good team man. Every time he got his hands on the ball, it seemed, we scored. Well, we breezed through seventeen of the eighteen games scheduled and lost only one. That was to Brewster, which had been beaten unexpectedly by Hillsboro. That made us tied with Brewster for first place. The outcome of that last game decided the championship. Whenever I think of that game, I think of what a swell story could be made out of it. Regular Horatio Alger set- ting. You know Attica is to Brewster as Harvard is to Yale, and the rivalry was some keen in those days. There was a center who played for Brewster, lesseefwhat was his