Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 13 and at two-thirty the grandstands are filled with enthusiastic spectators. Cheers ring out from all sides and ban- ners are waved as the teams take their places for the kick-off. After a few min- utes of waiting, a whistle is blown, then “thud” as a foot kicks the ball, and the game is on. The two teams are evenly matched and they battle back and forth for the first half without either side scoring. Apparently there is no difference be- tween them. The second half begins with Castleton kicking off to Fairhaven. After a series of rushes they take the ball to the middle of the field. It being fourth down and five yards to make, the Fairhaven quarter-back calls for a kick formation and the Castleton captain stations his men in position to receive the kick. But instead of kicking, a forward pass is thrown to the right end, and the Castleton team being taken unawares, he has no trouble in making a touchdown. The try at the goal fails and the score now stands six to nothing in Fairhaven’s favor. Instead of giving up, the Castleton team fights all the harder, but in spite of this they find themselves with two minutes to play, defending their goal. If they are to win, something must be done and that right quickly. Once more the Fairhaven quarter- back calls for a kick formation but in- stead of kicking, passes. This time Castleton is not fooled and their full- back, leaping high in the air, intercepts the pass. With the quarter-back for interference he runs the length of the field for a touchdown and just crosses the goal line as the whistle blows. The score is now a tie. If Castleton kicks the goal the game is theirs. A hush falls on the crowd. To be or not to be, that is the question. The whistle blows, the ball is kicked, and, hitting the post just glances inside. Then an uproar breaks loose. The crowd rushes on the field, seizes the players, and carries them to the locker room on their shoulders. There the game is talked over from be- ginning to end. If you should ever happen to visit Castleton High, have some one show you the banner which now hangs in the assembly hall. After looking at it, glance below it and you will see a neatly printed placard with these three words on it, “Never say die.” —Lawrence Leavitt, ’21. A COUNTRY LETTER FROM A COUNTRY FELLER! “By Tommy'’ ( With an apology to Dear Mable.) Dear Helen: Seeing as I haven’t nothing to do to- nite I thought I might as well write to you. How are you anyway Helen? We are all well down hear on the farm except Sophie, she ate a bushel of apples we had in the barn and they made her sick. (You remember Sophie don’t you Helen, she’s our pet cow.) Aunt Matilda was out from the country to see us last Wednesday, she brought me a pair of knitted socks. I put them on and do you know they nearly tickled me to death, so I gave them to Pa. I went to Sy Brown’s phewnerel the other day and one of the chief morners didn’t show up so they let me ride in the first hack. I enjoyed the ride imensh. They berried him up at Watermouth semitery. The folks down hear are all turning out to a huskin bee up at Andys tonite. I was goin but when I was chasin the cows today I fell in the brook so I’m not dry yet. There’s a regular moving picture theatre hear now same as those in Bos-

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD AN UNUSUAL WASH “There now,” said Mrs. Peters, as she set the small white basket down on the back porch steps and tucked the last soft blanket around Jack Jr., “you just go to sleep and don’t let me hear anything more from you for an hour, at least.” Whereupon Mrs. Peters, with a farewell glance at little Jack, returned to the kitchen and her ironing. Jack Jr. was the pride of young Mrs. Peters’ life, and well he might be, for in spite of his very smooth head and some- what doubtful complexion, he was a promising little chap. Even at the un- inspiring age of two and one half months he had developed an unmistakable talent in vocal expression, much to the dis- tress of his neighbors. Mrs. Peters smiled over her ironing and thought of Jack. Dear little Jack. She could scarcely wait until he should reach the dignity of rompers and mocca- sins. In the meantime a very tired laundry man jumped into his team and drove down a street some distance from Mrs. Peters’ home. At last his work was done! But no, there was another number on his route. He glanced at his card and read, “219 Washburn Terrace, call on Thursdays.” “Oh well,” he groaned, “ ’spose I must make the best of it,” and he started off impatiently in the direction of Washburn Terrace. Even a laundry man has his off days once in a while. Why shouldn’t he? Whoa!—the horse stopped before the small white house, No. 219 Washburn Terrace. The laundry man, Mr. Jack Doyle, strode up the walk, and, as his eyes rested on the basket, he looked a little surprised. “Hmm,” he mused, “she must be a newly-wed! Those clothes look rather too clean to be washed. Never mind, here goes!” He tossed the light straw basket into the back of the team and was off. When he had been driving about a quarter of an hour, his reveries were suddenly disturbed by a very peculiar sound. He listened—the sound grew more distinct. He drove into a side street, stopped the horse, and got out. Then the sound increased to a loud wail. “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed, still perplexed, and climbing back into the team, he drove very slowly to the laundry where a man was waiting to help him unload. Back on Washburn Terrace, a very frantic mother was running down the street. Several of her neighbors were trailing after her, all searching in vain for poor, precious, little Jack. Finally, as Doyle took off one of the baskets and found that the sound was issuing from that basket, the truth dawned upon him! He hastily put it into the wagon and drove off, leaving poor Payton, who was helping him, star- ing wonderingly after the cloud of dust. After the worst twenty minutes he had ever experienced, he arrived at Washburn Terrace where he returned Jack Jr. to his distracted mother who resented the fact that her baby, wrapped in his fluffy blankets, had been mistaken for the family washing.—Helen Handy, ’22. NEVER SAY DIE At last the day of the championship right of having the championship banner game dawns clear and crisp. Castlcton on the walls of their assembly hall. At High is to play Fairhaven High for the two o’clock the crowd starts to gather

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14 THE GOLDEN-ROD ton. Some dude came hear and open it up in Clancy’s Opera House over Paint’s Store. I went their last weak. They had Alexander Bismark in “Smart Aleck” and John Bunny in “Jerry Mira.” There was a terrible crowd their. I counted twenty-seven. The show went on fine until somethin happened to the piano player. She was chewing gum and got some stuck on her fingers and her fingers got stuck on the piano. We thought she was sick or somethin so tel- ephoned for “Miram” the Undertaker (you know lie’s the town doctor also). But before he come the janitor went down with a chizel and scraped the gum off the keys so she started to play again. The rest of the pictures were swell. Our plimoth Rock hen laid three eggs last weak. Thats pretty good isn’t it Helen? Jim and I went fishin the other day and caught two rabbits on the way home. Jake Skinners henhouse burnt down this morning. We had the town pumping apparatus out but the hose was clodded up and it wouldn’t work. It didn’t make much difference anway because the brook was dry. Mary Burns was married to a feller from Yonkers the other night. They served doughnuts and sider. I read about the Boston Police Strike in the Smithy (our paper.) Those fellers want to much. Why I be a cop just to wear the uniform. Uncle Dudley opened a dry goods store last month, he’s sellin meat and groceries and most anything. There was a burglar at Weatherspoon’s Monday night and he took all the nives and spoons but we found them near the orchid. So I guess that he thought they weren’t worth luggin any farther. You know I’ve told you all the news except what I forgot so I guess I close cause I’ve two cows to milk and three chickens to kill in the mornin. I am, as I alwavs was, crazy over you! ARCH IK. —John T. Lane, ’21. A MIDNIGHT ESCAPADE At twelve o’clock I hie away, A worn out, weary guest, To lose my cares as e’er I may In calm and quiet rest. The light is out, the window high; I jump into my bed, And with a deep and settled sigh, I drop my tired head. But lo! upon my peaceful ear A hideous shriek there falls That fills my heart with awful fear, And mocks the coyotes’ calls. “A woman in distress!” I cry, And, quickly springing out, I hurry forth, prepared to die Or put the crook to rout. The moon is shining clear above, And to my dimmed sight Shows plainly on the ground, a glove As black as blackest night. I snatch it from the barren earth And scrutinize it o’er, When sudden comes such fiendish mirth, I’m frozen to the core. I gaze about with nerves alert, And in the yard behold A mass of black and flying dirt,— The scene of crime so bold. I hasten to the fatal spot And clutching, feel a scratch That’s deep and keen and very hot,— And find out—’tis the cats! And though in dire, profound chagrin I softly tiptoe back, I’m glad I silenced such a din Without a single whack. —Dorothy Cole, '20.