Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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28 THE PILGRIM The girls are now writing books for a new library. They are: How to Roast a Chicken, By Mary DeCost I EMMA Redhead, By E. Paul How Not to Grow, By Shirley Dutton It's Tufftsj to be Famous, By Jeannette Martin Me and My Shadow, By E. Wood and M. Minott The Fourth and Seventh Dance, By Onc-e Again The Illuminated Cemetery, By Special Request Tillie, The Queen of Hickville, By Wouldn't Cha Like Ta No Florence is getting her license. That's because she's going to buy a dog. Has something happened to Jean- nette? She does not seek the shelter of room 12 since Gilbert graduated. We feel lost without her cheery voice. Why did Charley CCarverJ have to step in, Janet? Did someone else dis- appoint you? If Fat should get a little more ser- ious, there might be a wedding on Oak Street. MISS Elizabeth Ryan has made a special request in asking us to mention that her name is NOT L-izzie. Thankful are they whose names are not mentioned in this column. Not that there is nothing to write about them, it may be that the incidents are too ob- vious. CARL MARK MY WORD CAST OF THE TRYSTING PLACEH Left to right tfirst rowlz Ruth. Murphy, Robert Martin, Elizabeth Wood, Warren Sampson, Csecond rowiz Gilbert Andrews, Dorothy Perkins, William MacPhail THE TRYSTING PLACE The senior class play, The Trysting Place by Booth Tarkington, given on Friday ev-ening, April 6, 1934, was en- thusiastically received by an exception- ally appreciative audience which filled to overflowing the upper hall in the Me- morial Building. The trysting place proved to be in the lounge of a country hotel-'l'the only quiet place in the hotel. The cast Cin the order of its appearancej was: Mrs. Curtis, a widow of 25 years- Ruth Murphy . Lancelot Briggs, a boy obviously un- der 20-Robert Martin Mrs. Briggs, his sister, a young girl of about 20-Elizabeth Wood. Rupert Smith, the young man-War- ren Sampson. Mr. Ingolsby-Gilbert Andrews and The Mysterious Voice-William Mac- Phail The general committee in charge of the Senior Project was Lawrence Bon- giovanni Cchairmanj, Katherine Ghent. Elizabeth Wood, Carlo Guidoboni, and Thomas Roncarati. The ticket-selling campaign was led by Marjorie Belcher and Eleanor Brad- ford. The properties were in charge of Miss Charlotte Brown, a member of the faculty, with assistants, Harry Young, Jeannette Martin, William Brewster, Joseph Sayre, and Josephine Continued on page 55

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THE PILGRIM 27 perhaps the biggest worry of the al- ready gray-haired committees-in-charge, was the sickness of the Ethereal Visi- tor, who proved earthly enough to contract a bad case of the grippe. Of course, this misfortune had to occur a week and a half before the presentation itself! But there were bright moments, too, and many of them. Perhaps our bright- est moment came during dress rehear- sal, when Kay Ghent arrived with an enormous box of thick, creamy, choco- late-walnut fudge, sent by her sister with the promise of more when, and if, we'd come up and see her some time. And a close rival for that moment was that other night, when the roads were icy and we slid around corners and skidded by cross-roads, miraculously landing whole at the Ghents' domicile, where the cast was to be inspected for make-up, and where we were again - stuffed with peanuts Cby requestl and more fudge. Excellent and faithful work was done by both the cast and the committees, and we only hope that next year's Christmas play will be as successful as OUFS. ELIZABETH Woon-General M cmager. Class Song LlFE'S PALACE A Our lives are palaces, unexplored, With corridors long and many-doored: To every door there's but one key, That which is held by you or by me. Some rooms we cannot see again, For childhood joys come not to men, But some things of life we have not seen, For in some rooms we've not yet been. But the rooms which are loveliest, prettiest, best, And those that we love far more than the rest Are the rooms of friendship and love, we know, Through which doors we may always go. In these last days of our senior year. God, give us rooms which will be most dear: Give us the rooms of truth and love, And send us strength from Thee, above. MARJORIE STEPHENS BELCHER '34 Pestilential Personals Write personals and GET RICH QUICK. - All the Seniors seem to be offering bribes to keep their names out of this column. -4- Stew Bad. Doc Goodwin doesn't want his name mentioned-we're always ready to ac- commodate. Tarzan Burns is stepping into the limelight, he gets his haircuts from our women barbers, Betty Mordt and Helen Brewer. Here's a secret. lf you want to im- prove your voice, sing in front of a mirror. Alton claims he's getting good results. Roberto Martini, our young scientist, has discovered a new P. K. Pearl gum among the Freshmen. Cheer up, Brad. Lois will be a Sopho- more next year. We suggest that Shirley have the seat raised in her car since the three pillows that she sits on while driving are begin- ning to wear out. A correspondent suggests that Guer- ra move to 79 Spooner Street. Why don't cha, Andy? We wanna know. Does Professor pay Barbara rent for living in the office? 'Tis said that Bill keeps Mordt com- pany. Rock is still training on a Camel. Phyllis Ryan doesn't sound bad at all. Why don't Givens and Volta flip a coin about this girl Gilda? Has Clark been getting letters from Peggy Cameron in Weymouth? Bertha Bouchard must have settled down. She's all through with her mov- ing Van. Lucy seems to have overcome Dun- ham's bashfulness. Good work, Lucy. Have you made up your mind yet, Elizabeth? fFrank, Lindy, Mike, Alton, Bud, Gordon, Frenchy, Oliverj. Now which? Chaplin's Taxi Service seems to be prospering. Keep it up, Barbara. Dot Perkins, the actress, has the peculiar habit of winking when speak- ing to a person. She can't control that Blinker. Annie doesn't live h-ere any more. The blond Duchess has moved in, says Bill Mac, This is station WHDH. Our next number will be, I Just Couldn't Take It, Baby, sung by Paul Warnsman, the romantic singer. Lindy has been having a hard time deciding whether it is going to be Iliena or Margie Tracy. I don't blame im.

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I l fr. 7. ,Y 74- W Ls .ML F THE PILGRIM 29 I f' 1 1 . C - r - xi .S . ii? BOY, PAGE MR. BOSTON Mugs Mullaney, six feet tall, half as wide, and as thick as a London fog, was boss of the McCutcheon lumber camps. For his tonnage of bone and muscle, he was as gentle as a ten-year- old tiger cub. Cln other words, mean and ornery.J As a bully, he had no equal. Compared with him, Nero and Rasputin were babes in arms, while Attila and Genghis Khan were sissies. Now to get on with the story. One brisk, frosty morning in late October a new arrival made his- ap- pearance in camp, a city feller to take the place of the recently deceased Chinese cook. It seemed that this new hash-sling- er, as he was called, had a very limited knowledge of the culinary art. In fact, his only accomplishment was baked beans. For the past few months the lumber- jacks had been fed nothing but rice fwithout raisinsj and, a filthy mess called chop suey. No one would even hazard a guess as to what it contained, but one of the fellows asserted that he was about to take a spoonful of the ob- noxious mess when a half-drowned snail emerged from the murky black- ness and feebly crawled upon a piece of half-peeled potato, rolling his eyes in such a mournful manner that the poor fellow had to leave the table. He felt a peculiar rumbling sensation in his stomach for the rest of the day and swore never to eat Chinese concoctions again. Ah! beans, there was a m0m's dish. A heaping plateful of golden-brown, mealy goodness, smeared with thick, sticky, black molasses. Sick of the Chinese slumgullion, the lumber men consumed huge quan- tities of beans, and became encouraged by the change in fare. Beans were served three times a day for the first week, second week, third week, and for weeks and weeks after- wards. Beans for breakfast, beans for dinner, and for supper, BEANS! BEANS! BEANS! BEANS! The situation became desperate. The men would have! gladly gone back to rice, chop suey, and spinach. Yes, even spinach would have been welcomed as a change from the ubiquitous bean! Mullaney, hearing the grumblings of revolt among his men, stopped in at the cook house for bean factoryb late one afternoon to see what he could do. As his massive bulk thundered through the door, his shoulders scraped on both sides. The cook was standing in front of the open oven stirring beans, the odor of which permeated the room. By this time, most of the men could not endure the sight of beans, and the odor nauseated even Mugs, the bull of the lumber camps. He flung himself into a chair which creaked submissively and nearly collapsed under his great weight. Whew ! he exclaimed, whipping out a big red handkerchief as large as a cat- boat sail and mopping his huge, pers- piring cranial frontage which stood out like the chalk cliffs of Dover, more beans ? Yes, meekly replied the cook with an air of utter dejectedness that would have wrung a salty tear from Momus, beans were the only supplies we re- ceived before the heavy snows, an' beans we'll eat 'til the spring thaw. Mugs Mullaney, summoning his last ounce of strength, staggered to his feet and threw up a window. He re- mained hanging out of the window with his tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth for the best part of an hour. When he had recovered suffici- ently, he pulled his head out of the win- dow, wiped his massive brow again, and lumbered off toward his cabin. Well, the bean diet lasted for five months and would probably have lasted for five more had not Mullaney chanced to meander past the cook house one eve- ning just as the tempting odor of steak and onions was being wafted into the crisp, night air. He halted, turned, directed his steps to the window of the cook house, and peered in. The sight that met his eyes must have enraged him, for he pulled -L