Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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18 THE GOLDEN-ROD CUBAN TEA “Oh, dear, I do wish that tiresome storeboy would come. Why, it’s almost two o’clock, and the Ladies’ Club are due any minute. There will be no end of the tales that will go around about the ‘new bride,’ if I don’t serve tea. Mary, has the boy come yet? No? What shall I do, Mary? Can’t you think of a thing? I don’t dare borrow any. Cider? Did you say? Yes, just the thing! We’ll have cider, and Mary, you might warm it just a little to make it seem a little like tea. Hurry, Mary, here comes Mrs. Andrews; she’s always early. How do you do, Mrs. Andrews? Come right in. Yes, it is very cold. How is little Per- cival? Better? That’s fine! Just sit down there, Mrs. Andrews. Oh, here are the rest of the ladies. How do you do? So glad that you all could come. Now are we all here? Mary, oh Mary, bring in the Cuban tea, please. Yes, ladies, I thought you would like to be the first to try it. You know I’ve just re- turned from Cuba and brought back this delicious tea with me. Mary, give Mrs. Chambers some more tea. (Aside) Goodness, she’s had two cups and is asking for more!—What is it, Mrs. Good- ing? Can you dance? Why, certainly, I’m sure we’d all be delighted. Miss Lawrence, please don’t sing, you do make my head ache so! Must you go, ladies? Mrs. Hovey, that isn’t your hat, it’s my sofa pillow. Here, Mrs. Andrews, please don’t put my cat around your neck, he isn’t your fur piece. Why, Mrs. Cham- bers, that’s my husband’s silk hat! Oh, will somebody take Miss Anderson home. She’s walking straight into the telephone post. Oh, dear, what do you suppose makes them all like that?” — Katherine Bean, ’20. ENGLISH C2B Helfrich is the first I take, Tall and thin and quiet. He has black hair and dark brown eyes, You’d surely think him wondrous wise. Next comes Gurney, bright and smart, Awfully cute,—bless his heart! He works and works from morn till noon, He’ll be in college very soon. Now we come to a little dude, In Latin we call him “Liberius” Rood. He likes to play and also fool They say he just adores his school. About young Wendelin next I tell, Of course we like him very well; I don’t know but it seems to me A great ball player he will be. Another chap we all know well Is Herbert Berman, stout and swell, He sits up front in all his classes And watches all the pretty lasses. A very quiet boy is Reed, He’s also very smart indeed; His last report read three big E’s And, no doubt, some nice fat G’s. Now I’ll tell of the tallest one, He is Mr. Whitton’s son, A youth of many words is he, Somebody’s husband soon he’ll be. Next, Miss Swingle, so sweet and fair, With dark brown eyes and braided hair- I’ll tell you what, from the very start She surely has won someone’s heart. Cohen so smart and yet so small, Really, the cleverest of us all, Gets his E in every test, And makes us think it not his best.

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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.

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 19 Now Pactovis, full of glee, A stout old doctor he will be. Some day he’ll visit you and me, Remember this, and wait and see. The next may be no writer, Nor will he be a tailor; He may never join the Navy, But he’ll always be a Saylor. One that everybody knows Is the Schenkelberger boy, He laughs and fools and often shirks, But he’s always full of joy. Olson is, as Olsons are, A bright and brilliant Quincy star, He knows his Latin from A to Z And in his dreams he sees an E. I must not forget Miss Ricker, Modesty she shows. But she’s just like other women, She puts powder on her nose. These words are for fun No offense should be taken, A joke for the class, Not one was forgotten. —George Saylor, ’23, IT’S A GREAT LIFE IF— Between the coal and the sugar What shall the poor people do? The prices are growing bigger, And the quantities getting few. We get all kinds of prices And all kinds of sugar, too, And Mr. Profiteerer, We blame this all to you. You sometimes read in the papers “A million pounds to-day.” And when you look to see where it is, It’s a thousand miles away. “Do you think, my friend Consumer, Because you have scaled my wall That I, Old Profiteerer, Am not a match for you all?” “There is sugar in my storehouse; There is coal in the boats in the bay, And there I shall continue to keep it Till my prices you will pay.” —Bernard Manning, ’22. OUT O’ LUCK With an apology to my readers for the slang used herein. When your head is feeling solid As tho’ made of hardest pine And of all the brains you once had There is not the slightest sign; When your senses all are scattered And your histr’y’s on the bum; When you’re asked an English question And your head begins to hum; When trying to look wide awake And you find that you are stuck, Then I tell you, friends and schoolmates, Then—I say—you’re out o’ luck. —Therese Dunbar, ’20.