Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Page 12 text:

16 THE GOLDEN-ROD A PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE MADE PUBLIC Quincy City Hospital, Quincy, Mass. Friday, Sept. 13, 1941. Mi: darling Ruth: I saw in the paper today that you had just returned from touring in Europe. Well, you’ve nothing on me, beloved; I just returned last Wednesday from Colo- rado, where I have been looking over my brass mines. Since I arrived home before you, I thought I might as well waste a few hours writing you a letter, telling what happened after I got home: I have plenty of time, being in the hospital. But first take a look at that date up at the top of this page—Friday the thirteenth—for that will explain what happened to me this morning, and why I’m here at the hospital. But perhaps it would be better to begin to commence at the beginning, so here goes. I told you I arrived home Wednesday afternoon. As I didn’t have anything to do in the evening, I went down to the club. You couldn’t guess what was going on there, so I’ll tell you. It was a chess match for the world’s championship be- tween Karl French and Chester Mellish, the champion. The game was so close that it went into extra innings. Finally, however, Karl took so much time for his moves that Chet’s face was slowly but surely being covered with whiskers, which obstructed his view of the board, and he gave up the game in disgust. By the way, sweetheart, Quincy has another world’s champion, Reginald Palmer, who cleans ’em all out at African Golf. While I was going out of the door, I stumbled over something. I looked down and saw our old friend “Buddy” Bissett. “Leave me alone!” he burst out. “I won’t come here again, I—why, I didn’t know it was you, Art. I thought it was my wife. She doesn’t want me to go out evenings.” “Your wife! You married? Who is it?” I begged him. “It’s Florence Carlson,” he answered. “And George Mortenson — you know him, don’t you?” “I’ll say I do,” I replied, remembering all the inkwells I’ve found in my pockets. “Well, he’s a minister now,—he mar- ried us.” Those two facts nearly knocked me over—George a minister, and those two married! Gee, sugar-lump, they must have followed that rule that Mr. Thomas taught us, that the unlikes attract each other. Well, I didn’t get home until 3 a. m. because of the chess match, so naturally I overslept. As soon as I got up, I mowed my facial lawn, swallowed one of my cook’s solid concrete biscuits, and then hopped into my trusty twenty-cylinder Rolls-Loose. To make up for lost time I hit her up; but my ambition to break the mile record was sadly destroyed when I saw a blue-skirted minion of the law step out and hold out her hand to stop me. I was just expressing my regrets at meeting her, when I saw it was our old friend, Rosalind Listman; so I changed my re- grets to delights. “How’s business?” I asked her. “Pretty fair,—but these mashers—it’s all I can do to arrest them all. I even had to run Louis Merrill in yesterday, and you know who he is!” I gave her a V-spot and she forgot about my speeding. As my exchequer had been sadly reduced by this affair, I went over to Bennett’s Bank to get some more cash. Bennett, you know, has the most reliable bank in Quincy. George Golden is a cashier here, for his name adds to the solidity of the bank. You’ve heard that old proverb which runs along the general line that a substance may be golden and yet not shine; well, George

Page 11 text:

THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 Florence Mae Rizzi Class Song Committee. Wisdom giveth life to them that have it. Josephine Roberts Zealous with her paintings As a Quaker railing at lace. Francis Walton Roets Class Song Committee. 1 chatter, chatter, all day long. Bradford Ropes “Brad” Ask my pen: it governs me;—I govern not it. Richard M. Saunders “Dick” Debating Society. A small man dressed in a little brief authority. Catherine T. Saville Her voice is soft and slow, She will get far! Helen Sellberg Quiet as the hush of evening. Irving Lawrence Shaw “Fat,” “Dicker” Football. Rotund little man is he. Bessie E. Smith “Bess” To eat, to drink, and to be merry. Virginia H. Smith Poets arc like birds: the least thing makes them sing. Margaret W. Souden Cheerful as the birds. Edward M. Speirs “Eddie” Dramatics; Debating Society. The plodder never sets out quickly, but he always arrives. Dorothy W. Spence A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, and sweet as English air could make her, she. Marion Starratt Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye’re wise. Arthur H. Steele “Art” I am happiest when I am idle; I could live for months without performing any kind of labor, and at the expiration of that time I should feel fresh and vigorous enough to go right on in the same way for numerous more months. S. Irene Stephens The thoroughly great are those who do every- thing thoroughly. Annie Stevens Oh! if to dance all night and dress all day, Charmed the small-pox or chased old age away! Errica Stopin She is ever gentle. Jennie Mildred Swanson “Mill” I will sit down now, But the time will come when you will hear me. Anna Tantillo “Ann” Strongest minds arc often those Of whom the noisy world hears least. Mary O. Townsend Dramatics; Thalia Club; Girls’ Glee Club. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her path’s arc peace. Barbara Wells “Barb” Motto Committee; Thalia Club; Girls' Glee Club. She sings like one immortal, And dances as goddess-like. Greta E. Wester Almost to all things could she turn her hand. Lois H. Wetmore What not will woman, gentle woman, dare? Alice M. White Drink ye to her that each loves best. Helen E. White “Blondy” For if she will, she will, and you may depend on’t, And if she won’t she won’t, and so there’s an end on’t. Arthur Whitehead “Art” Class Prophet; Dramatics Committee. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. Grace A. Whitney “Whit” Orchestra; Class Picture Committee. A companion that is cheerful is worth gold. Bertha E. Wight Class Historian; Class Secretary; President Thalia Club; Orchestra; Girls’ Glee Club. She that was ever fair and never proud. Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud. Ruth E. C. Williams Girls’ Glee Club. Thy modesty’s a candle to thy merit. Ruth E. Wilmore A smiling look she had, a cheerful air, And steps both quick and light. Anna M. Wright “Ann” Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech. Edgar Douglas Yule “Doug” Begone, my cares; I give you to the winds. A BALLAD OF SPRING’S UNREST The roots arc budding on the trees, A heavenly smell is on the breeze. A bird is singing on a rock. My overcoat’s been put in hock. All these, you know, arc signs of spring, And a lilting song I gaily sing. But still there is another thing Which to your mind I hate to bring. When the sun shines all the day, And the winter’s gone away, There is a thing I like to dare— I like to shed my underwear. W.m. Houlihan, ’21.

Page 13 text:

TIIE GOLDEN-ROD 17 certainly followed that rule while at school, but now he is a hard-working cuss. After leaving the bank, I drove down to my office. All was going well, so I de- cided I might as well take a few more days off. The first thing I did was to go to Jenkins and Houlihan’s manicure shop. Your old friend, Lois Wetmore, works in this shop. She said she took the job be- cause she could hold hands with fellows all the time. “Quite a bunch of girls you got here,” I said to Willie, running my eyes over Erica Stopin, Mildred Swanson and Sarah Kraus, “but doesn’t Agnes Ferriter’s shop across the street hurt your business?” “Oh, fudge,” swore Willie, “she doesn’t have enough business to hurt a flea!” “That explains why you are surviving,” I said, and beat it before he could see the point. Feeling rather empty, I went home to dinner. Its main constituent was a chicken, and it was so tough I almost blushed. I called in my cook. “Maria,” said I, “what do you mean by serving me an antedeluvian bird like this one?” “Your honor,” she replied, “I bought it down to Cook and Cook’s, the butchers, and they guaranteed it; but I’ll say I had to cook and cook it!” I gave up the chicken in disgust and sat down to read the Traveler. As usual, I turned to the funny pictures first, chuckled over Josephine Ghigli’s “Ras- tus,” which is a continuation of “Pctcy,” and then turned to the social column. The first bit of news I read was: “Margaret Souden was yesterday elected president of the League for the Protection of Chil- dren of Politically Inclined Mothers.” Other bits which might interest you are: “Blanche Messier and Beatrice Martin are starting campaigns to make China, Mexico and the Sahara Desert dry.” “Arthur Mendel, the William Jennings Bryan of the Socialist Party, is now tour- ing in England, France, and Russia, giv- ing exhibitions of his mastery of the vio- lin.” “Ruth Morley and Corine Nelson are respectively the new Commissioners of Cemeteries and of Hair Dressing Parlors.” Beside this column was the daily article on “How to be Beautiful,” by Betty Bres- lyn. A full-page advertisement on the next page now held my attention. It was a picture of Alice McCarron, whose face has lately been used to advertise Colgate’s tooth paste. Below the picture were the words, “After using this dental paste your smile won’t wear off.” Well, darling, I decided I had read enough literature for one afternoon, so I went out and strolled down the street. Hardly, however, had I walked a block when Archie Blair came along. “What are you doing this afternoon?” he asked me. After hearing that I was doing noth- ing, he said, “Then you must come down to the art collection and sec my latest statue.” Archie, you know, is quite a sculptor now. We entered the magnifi- cent edifice which housed the collection, and I soon saw the afore-mentioned mas- terpiece. It was of marble, consisting of one wagon, one barrel, one horse, and one man, and was entitled “The Ashman.” “Is it original?” I asked Archie. “Made it out of my own head,” he an- swered. After I had exhausted my vocabulary of descriptive adjectives in praise of this entirely original and realistic piece of art, I wandered out to see the rest of the col- lection. The only one’s which interested me were portraits of Floyd Macdonald and Beatrice Porter, painted by Margaret Nowell, the famous artist. Floyd and Beatrice, you know, are her models. Oh, yes, there was a portrait of Eleanor Mc- Kinnon there, too, by Charles Dana Gib- son. She’s his favorite model, having practised being one when very young.