Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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JO THE GOLDEN-ROD You’re fired, go and get your pay and give up your suit.” he said laconically. “My Christmas present,” muttered Tom to himself. He received ten dollars which was more than he had expected. As he was leaving the store, the sleeping bag with its price tag, nine seventy-five, struck his eye. The ten dol- lars burned in his pocket. “If I was to be such a fool as to spend it on them kids, there’d be just a quarter left for a drink and a smoke.” he mut- tered. He hesitated. “I s’pose them poor little tikes is expecting me.” With sudden decision he turned back to the store. “Hand me out that smallest sleeping bag,” he said................. An hour later Tom Kelly, no longer a Santa Claus, shivering from the cold breeze but with a warm glow at his heart, stood undecided on the street . Not even his quarter which was to make his Christmas celebration was left him. It had gone for a white woolly dog and a candy cane. “Gee, those kids will be down right tickled tomorrow,” he chuckled, “and as for me, I can always break a plate glass window and get arrested, so I’m settled for a while. Margaret Park. 1915. A Mexican Christmas American children will probably pity little Mexicans' when told that Santa Claus is unknown south of the Rio Grande River. Perhaps he might feel lost in a country with no snow, save on the peaks of the volcanoes, and absolutely no chimneys. Their pity, however, may change to envy when they find that throughout Mexico, Christmas is celebrated by a festival which lasts from the sixteenth to the twenty-fifth of Decem- ber. “The Inns” is a festival in commemoration of the wanderings of Joseph and Mary seeking shelter in Bethlehem. Here, on account of the already over-crowded inns, they were forced to take refuge in a stable. The guests assemble at about half-past eight in the evening, and each holds a lighted candle. Two of the smaller children carry between them a miniature stable, containing wax figures of Joseph, Mary, and the Christ-child, wooden cows in the mangers, and often a tiny Mexican burro in the fore-ground. The other children carry hoops hung with bells. The guests, led by the hostess, form a procession and follow the children. Singing songs descriptive of the birth of Christ and holding aloft the lighted candles, the long procession winds slowly through the parlors, out on the balcony and around it nine times over. During all this time no sound is heard except the singing and the whizzing of the rockets, which are sent off from the roof. At the end of the ninth circling, when the door of the parlor is reached, it is found closed. Such a discovery is followed by responsive singing, those on the outside asking admittance, those on the inside, refusing. At length, with a burst of joyful music, the door is thrown open. The children ring the bells, and every one shakes hands with his friends and offers them his good wishes. Then the company troop down to the stone- paved court-yard to break the pinate, a huge, grotesque figure in the form of a clown, an In- dian, or a goose, which is suspended from the balcony and inside which is a stout paper bag filled with nuts and sweetmeats. Each one, in turn, is blindfolded and with a long stick strikes at the pinate three times. It is a difficult feat to hit the figure, for a man standing on the balcony above twitches it out of the way just as the blow is struck. When, at last, somebody hits the pinate and bursts the bag, the dulces fall in a shower on the mat spread below. In a twinkling every child falls on his hands and knees, grabbing with both hands and pushing with both feet. In the parlors, seed candies are passed in quaint little dishes, which are kept as souvenirs by those present. Cake and wine are served, and the evening closes with dancing. This program is repeated each evening until the ninth, Christmas, which is the last and most important of all. On that night the house is decorated with huge scarlet flowers; the patio

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 9 rest of his now useless life in serving his sen- tence. As he turned to go down the hill, he heard in the distance the village clock strike midnight. It was Christmas morning. In his heart there was peace and good-will toward men. IV A few days later, he rode into the prison yard on a tired horse. He was half frozen, hut his eyes glowed as brightly as the fire in the little cottage had burned on Christmas Eve. Two guards lifted him from his saddle. “What’s that lie’s raving about? one asked. “I don’t know. Something about mercy and heaven. Viola Jackson, 1914. Christmas in an Alley Christmas Eve was almost here. That was plainly evident from the Christmas greens, the crowds of shoppers, and especially the familiar figure of Santa Claus standing outside Mason’s, X--------’s largest department store. Tom Kelly, in regulation whiskers, smile, and red coat, was exhibiting a choice collection of toys and en- couraging the artless youngsters to confide both their desires and their addresses to a sym- pathetic ear. The kind parent would then be in- formed that Mason’s had just what Billy want- ed; the firm found this a very effective adver- tisement. That job had been a great stroke of luck for Tom. Good-natured but inclined to be shiftless, be had drifted along for some time without work and without a prospect of any. lie had always had a soft spot in his heart for children and so he was a great success as Santa Claus; even the little ragged ones were not afraid of him. Early, one particularly cold morning when the largest crowds had not yet appeared, Santa Claus, who was looking in the store and wish- ing he was there, was startled by a hoarse voice behind him. lie turned and saw a shapeless bundle which appeared to be a man’s cast off coat from which a grimy face and purple hands emerged. “Well, my little man. what can T do for you?” asked Santa Claus with his habitual, encourag- ing smile and gentle manner. “Say,honest, does youse bring kids what dcy wants?” asked the urchin. “Certainly, if you are a good little boy,” re- plied Santa Claus, using his carefully prepared stock phrases from habit. “What do you want me to bring you?” For answer the boy pointed to the nearby win- dow. A placard announced an unprecedented bargain sale of campers’ outfits. A prominent position was held by various sizes of sleeping bags. “See that little one; that’d be just right for Jim and me. You see Jim ain’t used to the cold like me. Course I don’t mind it but he’s only a little feller.” “Fer the love of Mike, and where do you live then when you’re wanting a sleeping bag?” de- manded Tom, no longer as Santa Claus. “Don’t tell nobody. The cop mightn’t like it. Back in a corner of------alley we’ve got a bar- rel and a big box. It ain’t very cold neither. I sure was in luck to find it. And say,” he rat- tled on, “I’m in the boot blacking business an’ anytime you want yer shoes shined come to me. I’ll do it fer nothin’. Look at that there shine!” and he stuck out one foot. lie had on a ladies’ cloth topped shoe but with the bottom brilliantly polished. “I have to keep ’em that way fer an advertisement. I’ve got to be going now to tend to my business, he added importantly. “But say,” he turned back once more, “I think Jim, he’s such a kid. would like somethin’ kind of Christmasv, like striped candy or one of them white woolly dogs.” And he darted away before Tom Kelly could answer him. “Say, what do you know about that?” asked Tom. “Gee whiz!, it’d be a shame to disappoint that kid, but what can I do, dog-gone it. On Christmas Eve as Tom entered the store he was met by the manager. “Your time’s up.

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THE GOLDEN-ROD n is hung with colored lanterns; and the pinate is more gorgeous than ever. All the guests wear full dress. A banquet, served at midnight, is followed by dancing until nearly morning. If we told a little six-year Mexican of Santa Claus, of stockings hung in the chimney corner, and of the other delights of our Christmas, he would listen with wide-eyed interest, but when he was asked which Christmas he preferred, he would answer without an instant’s hesitation, “Ours, of course. You have only one and we have nine.” Erlcne Hurd. 1914. The Madonna The mother and the child sat alone in a small, broken-down hovel, situated in one of the dark alleyways of a large city, anxiously awaiting the return of the father, or rather, dreading it. The mother was speaking, “No, my child, Santa will not stop at our house to-night. We are too poor and your father—”. Here the poor mother began to.sob bitterly, thinking of the worthless man who gave her such care, of the life he led, and of what he might be if he would only re- form. But alas, it was of no use. IIow many times had she tried to talk to him but he would not listen to her and would keep on in his lazy, shiftless ways. It was almost more than she could bear. Outside, the father, turning away from a sa- loon. walked up the main street of the city. It was snowing, and in order to find shelter, he stepped into the doorway of a picture shop. He turned to look at the various pictures and the next minute he stood like a stricken animal under the rod of the master. It was the Ma- donna. Ilis thoughts wandered. He saw his wife and child, were they not as beautiful? He looked at the picture again and then with bowed head, went once more out into the storm, but this time an entirely different man. , The next morning the little family of three sat around the table, happy over their new turn of life. A simple breakfast lay on the table be- fore them; a doll was grasped in the hands of the little child. A smile broke over the face of the mother as she heard the little one ex- claim, “Santa was good to us after all, wasn’t he, Mother?” Jennie Gibb, 1915. PERSEVERING “Tomorrow, tomorrow, not today, Lazy people always say. “Today I do not wish to work; Surely it’s no crime to shirk.” Just remember while you’re shirking, Someone else is busy working, Gaining on you and your kind, Till he leaves you far behind. Far ahead you see him rising Why weren’t you more enterprising? Now you work but ’tis too late. Laziness has sealed your fate. Don’t build up awhile and then Tear the whole thing down again; Say “I will,” and stick right to it, That’s the only way to do it. Andrew Deane. 1914.