Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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16 THE GOLDEN ROD TO OUR FOOTBALL HEROES OF 1919 Listen, my children, and you shall hear, A tale of our football heroes dear, Who’ve labored and struggled the whole season long, And surely are worthy of this humble song. First the captain, Don Bennett is he, The tall youth who plays at left tackle, you see. Right tackle is played by a fellow named Jack, You all know it’s Wentworth; we’ll not stop for that; Next there is Davis, we all call him “Hap,” You never will catch him taking a nap; Then too we have Leavitt, who’s sometimes called “Lariy” He can tear through a line like the very “Old Harry,” He was injured somewhat the first of the season, And was out of the line-up for just that reason. Another one whom we here wish to mention, Is a lad who vindicates every contention; The one whom we speak of is great “Stonewall” Jackson, When he’s in a game there is plenty of action. Mullarkey also deserves a place here, But there’s nothing to rhyme with his name that’s so queer. At the pivot position plays Carter or “Robby,” The latter’s head gear is always on “lobby.” Jenkins and Young are two blood-thirsty ends, And either one backward an end-run bends. Carl Hokenson is another end too, He was manager also I s’pose you all knew. Oh where shall we put Curtis, Lindsay, and Gould, Who so many times our opponents have fooled? Three guards are Houlihan, Fitton, and Hannon, The latter can kick like a shot from a cannon, Three more guards are Vallee, Holden, and Shaw, We has six ’stead of two,—we don’t know what for! In this ballad let us not forget all the scrubs, Who’ve taken so many hard wallops and rubs And who’ve given their best for the good of the team, Without a murmur or symptom of spleen. And last but not least, as the old saying goes, Are those who have taught the team all that it knows. Messrs. Green and Ball have helped keep the works goin’, By helping the coach and by gathering coin. And here’s to THE ONLY coach, Mitchell, himself! Who looks after players when they’re laid on the shelf, And who gives of his time and money and knowledge, To make up a team that could lick one from college. Of course, many trials and setbacks ensue, But not even once has he ever looked blue;

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 It was cruelly scarred. What a pity that such beauty should be thus ruined! Then he wished for the hundredth time, since he became a farmer, that he had led a better life. What difference would the scar make? But it was now too late! too late! He walked up to Jim, his fellow work- man, and inquired about the scar on Miss Parker’s face. “Well! it’s a long story,” replied Jim, “but I’ll try to make it short. One night, about two years ago, Miss Parker heard that a certain young man (she won’t give his name) was living the wrong kind of a life, and she, the good angel that she is, went to him and tried to persuade him to turn over a new leaf. For her kindness the dirty brute (that’s just what he is, and if I could only het a hold o’ him I’d break his dirty neck!), well, he went and hit her in the face with a glass of wine. Now she will be marked for life.” Edmund felt a cold chill go through him. All at once a faint recollection of that horrid night at the Cafe came over him. Weak and faint, he stumbled to his room. For two weeks he lay very sick, faith- fully nursed by Mrs. Parker and her daughter. During the days of his con- valescence he refused to see anyone, expecially June. He resolved to go away and see her no more. If—if he could only make good, probably— probably— A year later the “New York Times” published the following: “Lieut. Edmund Prescott—Killed in Action.” There Teacher: “What kind of a tree is there around here that lives on air and water?” Pupil: “Braintree.” Heard in English:— All birds have wings. The man is a jail bird. The man has wings. were very few to mourn his loss. Possi- bly his comrades in France would re- member him, but that was all or was it all? One evening, some time later, June was seated on the veranda of her country home, knitting socks for the soldiers. (Her whole time was devoted to some form of war work.) As she looked up from her work, she saw an officer coming up the path. Soldiers were not unusual visitors at the Parker home, but why did her sober face suddenly lighten? Why did she drop her work and run down the path? Why? because the one-armed officer who was proudly walk- ing up the path was—Lieut. Edmund Prescott. “Edmund!” “June!” he cried, “I’ve come back to explain, but where—where is the scar?” “It is I who should explain,” she re- plied. “I promised my cousin, Allan Richards, that I would be a sister to you.” “Nothing else?” he interrupted. “Please wait until I have finished. I have tried to keep my promise. If you had been in your right senses that night you would have known that the glass went past me and that the scar that was on my face was put there purposely to bring you to your right senses. It cer- tainly did work.” “Thank God, that scar is gone. It was the only thing that seemed to mar our future happiness. Now with that scar off your face and mine off my heart, and if you have no objections to a one- armed husband, let’s begin life all over again.”—Margaret M. Johnson, ’20. Pupil: (trying to transcribe a word in shorthand) “This word has something to do with water.” Low voice: “Slush.” Our Senior class should surpass all others, past and future, with Shyne, Best, and a couple of Goldens in it.

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 17 And tho there re dissensions and troubles galore, He’s always stiff lipped, and is ready for more. He has built up a team of which to be proud, And his praises we’ll sing both long and loud. I have written these lines with the best of intention, And thank you, dear reader, for your kind attention, I’ll excuse myself now with a graceful adieu, And sign as my name a “RUBE, ’22.” —Elford Durgan, ’22. THE ANSWERS TO THE QUESTIONS OF A CERTAIN IN- QUISITIVE SENIOR What makes Bennett so tall? If J. Lane is aspiring to be a poet? His height of course. (And they shoot men like Lincoln.) Why F. Wilson can’t keep still? I think she must have woolen under- wear. What makes W. Couch so busy? If he brings home a report that isn’t all E’s, he’ll get a licking. What makes E. Hart so short? We’re all a bit “short” after Christmas and New Year’s. How Jackson recovered so quickly November 12? Ask Miss Jones, at the office. What makes E. Shyne so happy? Who wouldn’t be happy, when, like a bear, they’re all set for winter. What or who affects G. Jenkins that way? Maybe there is a connection between Shyne’s happiness and her actions. Why Young looks so sad? Because looks are deceiving. What makes Carter so quiet? It isn’t that he’s so quiet, the rest are so noisy. Why J. Russell so often mismates his socks? Maybe he has a brother, if not, I fear John’s socks are mismates. Why Lundin is interested in French? Who’s his teacher? No. He realizes he hasn’t the right kind of hair. Why W. Middleton blushes in “Math”? Have you noticed the study pupils, or rather, one of them? What interests our girls in Room 32? Ask Lillian Ordway. Maybe it’s the view from the windows. Why our Literary Editor looks so sad before the pub. of the Golden Rod? She realizes what she’s inflicting on us. But if that is inflicting anything on us, well, we’re bears for punishment. Why Kennedy parts his hair in the middle? He has a cowlick on each side. If Crowell likes to have his name mis- pronounced? In classes he doesn’t want it pro- nounced at all. What Freshmen think they don’t know? Nothing, but the teachers soon prove otherwise, that’s why the Seniors are so unostentatious. Where our school spirit has gone and if we’ll ever recover it? I guess it went to war and never re- turned, but we’ve another school spirit and it’s developing into a bet- ter one than the preceding. —By another Senior.