North Quincy High School - Manet Yearbook (North Quincy, MA)

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20 p MANET g stairs to the second fioor. But, alas, when called on in class, he sputtered and blushed and was very softly told to seat himself and in the vernacular of the day consider himself t'squelched. The left foot slowly rubbed the right leg and a murderous glint came into the childlike eyes. VVhen Joe reached home at four oiclock des- pite the weakening pangs of hunger, he made a fierce attack on the refrigerator and began to absorb nourishment as fast- as it was humanly possible to do so without producing a conges- tion of the aesophagus. To his mother he pre- sented this appearance: His hair was a stringy mass of brown fringe which stood at permanent attention all over his head. and this gave the usually bland face a fierce and warlike appearance. The collar of his shirt was open and had flatly refused to stand up any longer-thus it languidly sagged around the neck. Joe's pants looked like a product of the seventh grade sewing class with just enough folds at the wrong places. He was the ordinary boy at North after a day of work -tired, famished, and rebellious. but always victorious I UNCERTAIN VENTURE By Wlyllian Krause, 12-1 This is a story, which. though rather deficient in plot value. is smoothly. expressively and understand- ingly w1'itten. The story shows thought and purpose, and. in addition. makes interesting reading. Hi, Hollie! called the Brute. Claud Hol- lidge was glad the fellows had stopped calling him 'tFreshman. HBrute Clonder was the grid captain, the one who was responsible for the accounts of how 'tLandon High over- whelmed Milder Prep, smothered C. H. S., and had a walkaway in the tilt with Every High School. Claud had known him only five months, having for the past three years asso- ciated only with the intellectuals He re- garded his education with the utmost serious- ness. and was generally the ideal student. Now, entering his last year at Landon, he saw his position in a different. light. As a senior he observed certain obligations which were not evident before. He was a stranger to the social and athletic life of Landon from preference, but decided to line up with his fellow classmen in the interests of the Alma Mater. In short, he would create an illusion. Thus the end of the season brought him an HL and the inevitable Qold replica. In addi- tion to the points which he had scored he had won the recognition of the fellows. Here was their spokesman coming to the point in his usual abrupt manner: 'tYou played a grand game this season. and we 'd like to know why you hibernated for three years! Don 't tell us you weren't interested in athletics, because a born athlete just doesn't say that and mean it. VVhat were you really doing all that time?7' As a matter of fact, Brute, my studies-H f'Sure. Hollie. Vile all know youive been shut up like a clam with those tomes, and that you 'll probably save us all from the valedictory, but the school would appreciate you as its social leader, too. First, we want you to handle the sports in a paper we 're starting. You will cover all the games, and run a page in the 'Chatterboxl Of course you 'll have help and plenty of time outside for chem and law. How about it? Thanks, Brute: it sounds great! I'll have a chance to apply what I get in journalism. and enjoy it as well. Tell me about this paperf' The Chatterbox became the representa- tive of the students at Landon, and Hollie be- came the star reporter. He learned to take the viewpoint of each type of reader, and wrote his stories to satisfy each. Holliei' was the equal to them. Them are dusty, little soft signature at the end of the most amusing stories. the most skillful character sketches. the most commanding cases, cases that never failed to bring satisfactory action from the council. Hollie reached the point of popularity where he was in danger of seeing Landon not as some- thing to instill awe as he had seen it in his freshman year, but as a foreign minister might see it. Strangely enough he kept his feet on the floors of Landon 's corridors even when he ate the cake which would seem to make his head emerge from the chimney. The faculty may have wondered how Claud Hollidge could produce such vivid accounts of how the explosion occurred in the lab before the exam, and of how the prof located his camel hair coat and mahogany cane in the pos- session of HM12 Bones. The explanation might have been simpler had the authorities remem- bered that chemistry and biology were in the curriculum of the Chatterbox staff. Claud learned that there are cabbages and kings, and decided that for three years he had been a Brussels Sprout. Behind the illu- sion, however, there was the student Claud, the real Claud. In the seclusion of his room, in the sympathetic rays of a reading lamp, he was a student of psychology, a research worker. His findings were a part of the theses and classes of a detached life, but they would not be discontinued. There was a goal. January and mid-year exams. On the 22nd Claud wrote for three hours on the principles of law. Afterward he met Clonder outside. How are you, Brute? Did you throw that one? Sure thing, Hollie! I want to be in the spring practice. Any more exams today?

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MANET 19 in one hand, Did you let Miss James climb up there--on that ladder, at this time of night- for that cat? Rick blustered something about he told her not to bother with it, and he wasn't breaking his neck for any darn cat. Elissa broke in at this point with some pleasant little remark as to the effect that the world at large would benefit by his breaking his neck. They had a verbal battle royal until Dave picked up the cat around the middle and taking Elissa by the arm led her into the house. I favored Rick with n1y most specially dirty look, and plodded in after them. I went up in my room and cried myself into a still soggier bundle. Wlien Elissa came upstairs later with Meg, I heard her say that Dave was taking her to the Grange Club dance. ' VVell, have some more chocolates, and tell me some news while I'm getting dressed. I'm going to the Grange Club dance tonight with Ted and the crowd. BEFORE AND AFTER By Anne Donovan, 12-3 The last bell rang, the class quieted down and Joe bounced joyfully to his seat. He was the ordinary boy at North, neatly dressed, with a happy-go-lucky expression on his visage and an overdeveloped sense of humor. School commenced, and likewise confusion, for Joe hunted frantically through his desk for a pencil and after chewing his nails thought- fully, he leaned across the way to inform his erstwhile neighbor that there were Hchiselers in the room, who pinched things. Gathering his dilapidated manuals of scholas- tic training in his lanky arms, this specimen of manhood sauntered off to his English class. There he lackadaisically reviewed the scant knowledge of modern essays which miracu- lously stuck by him after one whole week-end of neglect. Mr. Knowall, a gentleman of the old school and a friend of satire, looked sar- donically around at his victims. Sure enough he Pounced upon the unfortunate garcon and proceeded to put him through the third degree. By this time Joe slowly, very slowly began to wilt about the freshly starched collar. He looked distractedly at the stolid, self- satisfied back of Jimmy and prayed for mental telegraphy. But all in vain. A grim, ironic chuckle slipped from the professor, closely fol- lowed by a sarcastic comment and Joe was aware that the class was snickering. Fifty-five minutes of this torture was endured, then once more the poor, freckle-faced, disillusioned lad tried to pass jovially through the crowded cor- ridors to U. S. history. After the first few minutes Joe decided hon- esty is the best policy, so down banged the pencil and a very much over-practiced gesture of resignation accompanied this action. By some uncanny trick of fate the nicely combed locks of this misunderstood offspring were fast becoming one touseled mass of knots which stood up rigidly all over the head, reminding one of a haystack in the month of August. Joe decided to work the old gag of looking ambitious in French class, but no sooner was he seated than a verbal attack of shrill French bombarded his sensitive, shell-like ears. Joe looked reproachfully at the temperamental Mademoiselle, but in vain. His name was added to the inevitable list to report at two- thirty because he owed time. The next period was one of drowsy reflection and delicious daydreaming. The first fifteen minutes of the study period were spent in ab- sorbing contest of the Htic tac toe between the hero left and right hand. But this proved far too strenuous and was abandoned for the more relaxing pastime of counting the freckles on his nose surface. Realizing the disastrous effect upon the eyes, Joe gave himself up to inhaling the tantalizing smell off cooking, waft- ing up thorugh the ventilator from the cafe- teria. Joe returned to his fifth period pleased with the world and with just the right degree of nausea, due to the diet of two eskimo pies, and hard-boiled egg sandwiches all nicely washed down with chocolate milk. True, there was a black smudge of terra firma across the noble forehead and perhaps his pants were a little abused looking from too many snowballs, but at any rate the imruly mop of hair was care- fully plastered down with old reliable HQO. Heavens! He just remembered that George had borrowed his sneakers and the fifth period was Gym. Joe raced madly up to the third floor and desperately pleaded for a pair of ijiber footwear any size from nine on. Slam! Bang! Slam went all the locker doors as Joe very indignantly searched his pals' lockers. But finally Bill came up with a pair of, let us say sneakers of the past. It took just two minutes for the lad to disrobe and appear for roll call all rigged out in gorgeous borrowed orange and white striped running ll-r1I1kS, a dingy top which might safely be. des- cribed as mauve or egg shell, and the dilapi- dated footwear which had seen better days. The perspiration literally rolled down Joe's face as he faithfully mixed up the eskimo pies by doing a few fancy turns on the parallel bars. Could it be that he was getting soft? No! Never! At the fini two pals helped rush him into the locker room where they proceeded to untangle the walls and floors from the ceil- mg for their ailing brother, But peace was not yet in sight, for was there not Latin last period? Dangerously Joe tried to devour Vergil while climbing the endless

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MANET '21 HNO, two tomorrow. Letls l1ave luncl1 if you 're free. HO. K. There 's a special spaghetti ll1l1Cl1901l today, and I've always wanted to IHHSIPI' at least one art ! Feeling rather jovial at his near success in handling tl1e elusive edible, Brute startled Claud by demanding: VVho is goi11g to be your partner at tl1e masquerade? It's THE affair before graduation, you knowf, t'XVell, I l1EiV911ll thought about it. Besides. what would I wear for a costume? I suppose you 'cl NVHIII- 1119 to go as Pierrot ! Go as Father Ti111e if you like, but o11 second thought you'd better notg they might think you were a ghost! Think it over, anyway. To Claud's great surprise, Lilyan'Bronn con- S91ltGCl to go with l1in1. She wouldn't have told a soul that she had dodged six other prospec- tive escorts in order to lay her bets on him for a grand evening. Claud had come to the front like a dark horse, and the knight and his lady rode off to tl1e ball. The conquest was mutual, but it was part of tl1e illusion. There was a goal. Claud sailed through tl1e finals and began his last 1no11tl1 at Landon. HThe Chatterboxn became a part of tl1e annals of the institution. and thoughts became more serious. There was that i11 the almost reverent atmosphere which made humor an alien. A common bond of understanding existed among tl1e students which had for four years been dorn1a11t. The class became alum11i, and only tl1e re- ception remained. Claud Hlld Lilya11 led the grand march. There were introductions, congratulations, dancing, strained greetings, eloque11t partings. noise, silence. The illusion was complete. Claud Hollidge closed his eyes. ATTICS By Hazel Borne, I2-1 There used to be 311 attic in every house. filled with relics of ages past Hlltl times for- gotten. The things too precious, too loved, to be discarded, but too old for use, of generations back, found their lasting home there. Grand- mother's chair, with the old lace tidy great- grandmother had crocheted still gracing the red plush back, the sea tru11k that great-uncle had crossed the ocean with, and the little blue chair tl1at John had long outgrown, all came eventually to that haven of the past. Tl1e attic was never dustless. To wipe the soft grey dust from the cracked face of cousin Ernest was as unthinkable as to wipe the paint from the china vase a11d leave it white and character- less. The dust was symbolic of the past, and therefore should be reverenced. A flurry of spring l1OllS9Cl931llll,Q' 111igl1t sometime reach tl1e attic, but it was IIIOIIIGIIIHFX, a11d tl1e ancient attic i11l1abita11ts would resume their peaceful co11te111platio11 of the past, and their gentle cov- ering against tl1e passing ti111e would thicken o11ce agai11. The attic was the CllllCl1'G11 magic room o11 rainy days, with countless opportun- ities for new and exciting games. Mother would so111eti111es 001116 up tl1e narrow stairs after the Cllllt-l1'E'll l1ad bee11 put to bed. Zlllfl weep a little over -lohn's blue chair a11d baby sl1oes. Father sneaked up now and then. and looked at his old fishing-rod. or picked up his old split baseball bat and swing it, watching l1is swing i11 a cracked mirror. The attic held an unobtrusive but i111porta11t place i11 the family life, and a lasting place i11 tl1e family heart. Even today there are not lllklllj' girls who have 11ot once paraded over tl1e rough boards in S01116lOOClY.S attic, in a great show hat witl1 feather plu111es upon it, a11d long rustling skirts that brushed the dusty floor and l1i11dered their feet. The heavy trunk with the b1'Oli91l lock that held all the old clothes was a source of COIISIEIIII aniusement. I11 tl1e atticts Clllll light tl1e old silks Sllfjlle lustrously, and tl1e round beads gliinniered like priceless pearls. The faded brocades took 011 a new colorg the vel- vets woke a11d SllOl19 again. There was always IIIXSIQT5' Hllll CllH1'1ll i11 pulli11g out undiscovered boxes Elllfl raising their dust-laden lids, Hllfl there was always tl1e possibility of finding a yellowed diary, a faded lacy valentine, or a carved ivory fan. The attic was a little girl 's wonderbox, Permanent Possibility. Boys have 11ot scorned attics either. Two or three chairs, the l1igl1-backed 0116 with the pushed-through straw seat, the one with tl1e red-plush covered H1'1llS, a11d the big rocker- were a l1'?lll1 for tl1e very little o11es. There was great-grandad's sword Oll rusty hooks i11 the corner, and tl1at with a curtain rod f1'O111 tl1e stack behind the trunk, provided i111plen1e11ts for a bloody duel. The attic was a place where hard little boots could stamp and fly around ClOll1g no l1ar111 011 days when the steady drizzle of the rain kept them in doors. And tl1e stories grandad could tell i11 the evening after supper about the dusty curiosities they would bring down. Many a boy's introduction to Kid- napped or HTwenty Tl1OllS811Cl Leagues Under tl1e Seaf' has bG911 a stiff volume found i11 the attic where l1is wandering feet had led hi1n in search of so111etl1i11g to do. And attic windows. VVithout doubt, there is no window elsewhere i11 tl1e house quite like or heaps of grey dust in the corners, with perhaps a. silvery spider's web festooned across o11e corner. On Slllllly days the yellow rays G11lf61' the small panes and lllilke dusty yellow ladders to the floor, where they paint yellow panes on the boards. As tl1e windows are 11ot often open, the musty s111ell of tl1e past is preserved, a Slllell