Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE LAND OF THE LOST It was gone. There was no doubt of that. Search high, search low, my foun- tain pen was nowhere to be found. I could have sworn that it had rolled under the bookcase; yet the flashlight revealed nothing. Exasperated, I dropped onto the davenport before the fire and watched the shadows flicker across the ceiling. Finally, disgusted and perplexed, I mut- tered to myself, “I don’t see why I can’t find it.” “You don’t, eh?” piped a squeaky voice, bubbling with laughter. With a start, I jerked my head in the direction of the sound, and there I saw— well—you probably won’t believe me, be- cause scientists say that they don’t exist outside of fairy tales—but I saw, with my own eyes—a gnome. His wizened little face crinkled into a maze of furrows as he peered at my flab- bergasted countenance through a pair of horn spectacles, perched precariously on a blab of a nose. His hands, peeping from the mysterious depths of his sleeves, seemed to be poised, prepared to swoop down and snatch something away. “Well, who on earth are you?” I gasped. “Oh, I’m not of the earth. Can’t you see my badge of office?” he answered im- patiently, holding a clutching hand beau- tifully worked in gold, which dangled from a long chain about his neck. The fingers of this hand seemed to be ani- mated with the eagerness of a lion watch- ing unsuspecting prey. They so fascinated me that I forgot to answer the gnome, who was waiting expectantly. “Stupid! Don’t you understand yet? Come on, then, and I’ll show you.” So saying, he clambered onto one end of the davenport and slowly waved his wand above his head. The davenport glided forward like a roller coaster, gaining momentum all the time, while the walls receded till I thought I was looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Then, without any warning, the davenport shot over an abyss. There I sat, my eyes bulging from my head, every nerve and muscle tense, watching the head of the davenport reluctandy dip down. Then an agonizing pause before we dived into what seemed to be eternity. Down, down we shot. I felt as if my stomach had lagged far, far behind, yet was still connected to me by some tugging elastic band. After ages, a patch of hard earth jumped up to meet us. I took a long breath, shut my eyes, and awaited the inevitable impact, but much to my surprise we floated gently to a resting place. It was not until I had collected my scat- tered senses and the lagging parts of my anatomy that I discovered we were in the shadow of a towering wall. The old man was standing in front of a curious gate. “Hey! you lazy mortal!” he cried with impatience, “come on.” “If you please, sir,” I said as meekly as possible, “where are we and what are we going to do?” At this, the gnome danced up and down with rage, shrieking: “You numb-skull! Why, you ought to have guessed that long ago! What were you doing during our pleasant ride down? You—you—” Here he paused, inarticulate with fury. I took the safest course and kept quiet. Then he said:

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THE GOLDEN-ROD WHERE, OH, WHERE ARE THE FUTURE MARK ANTON YS? Last, but not least, among the institu- tions of this progressive High School is the Debating Society. It seems as though the Quincy High School Debating Society had this year been entirely overlooked in the maelstrom of our happy-go-lucky High School life. Desperate efforts are being made by the members to stave off a lean year. We call for your personal help. We await your response. The Q. H. S. D. S., when its member- ship is complete, which so far this year is far from being the case, is composed of fifteen Seniors, ten Juniors, and five Soph- omores. Meetings are held every other Thursday at 7.30, beginning with the first Thursday in October, ending with the last regular meeting in June. At every meet- ing a prepared debate on some current topic takes place between two of the sev- eral teams which compose the Society. The execution of business, discussion and expression of personal opinions on the subject debated is the regular procedure. Now and then a lecture, or an interesting talk, or adjournment to the gym for bas- ket-ball varies the usual course. Once, usually toward the end of the year, a ban- quet and dance, or an outing, or a theatre party is held, the condition of the treasury permitting. The training of the future orators and lawyers is supervised by Mr. Jewell, as- sisted by Mr. Dawson, a Harvard man, well versed in the age-old art of oratory. This year, unlike previous years, appli- cations for membership have been few. We do not believe that this implies a lack of earnest, desirable men, men who are looking into the future, who wish to learn how to stand on their own two feet and say what they mean in a straightforward, logical manner. Unfortunately, there are very, very few students who can safely say they can do this. Who has not secret- ly dreamed of swaying vast audiences with a golden flow of oratory? Which one of you has not envied the ease and grace and the connected flow of speech of some plain, quiet-spoken man in contrast with his own stumbling, stuttering red-faced delivery? 5 Take, for instance, the case of the Alumni a short while ago. Every one of them who achieved a fair measure of suc- cess formerly belonged to the Q. H. S. D. S. But this is only a minor example. Fellow classmates: the Q. H. S. D. S. will show you the way to be able to say what you want to say in the right way. No, girls, you are natural-born speakers. Two debates have been arranged for this year—Quincy High vs. Everett High, January 27; Quincy vs. Cambridge Latin, in March. The caliber of these opponents shows the quality of Quincy High’s debating teams. SOMETHING NEW Science students, attention! How in- terested are you in your study? Are you one of those who are fortunate enough to have a radio set? Are you interested in machines or any other practical side of science? If you are, the Golden Rod staff invites and urges you to tell about it in the next issue. This should be both interesting and helpful to every one. Per- haps some other fellow is puzzled by something which you understand. Explain it to him. Perhaps through this column you can make the acquaintance of some- one interested in the same thing you are. Perhaps you can awaken another student to the interesting side of science. Let’s hear from you. VALENTINE’S DAY Valentine’s Day? From the appear- ance of our corridors one would judge that Quincy High had a perpetual Valentine’s Day. This fault, or bliss, spread widely through the school is most pronounced in the upper classes, as we see w. k. faces strung plentifully along the second floor corridor and occasionally a beleaguered couple seeking solitude on the third floor. If only some of the science students could invent a method of sending the vision of the enchanting physiognomy to the en- chanted along with telephone calls so that the faculty need no longer be annoyed by these victims of the mischievous Cupid!

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 7 “If you must know, this is the land where everything you mortals call lost is kept. My brothers and I go up to earth and carry away everything lost or likely to be lost that we possibly can. Do you wish to inspect the place?” As he led the way through a dark tun- nel, I heard him mutter, “Lord, what fools these mortals be!” The walls of the tunnel pressed closer and closer around me, till at length I could stand it no longer. Just as I was about to protest, the next step brought me into broad daylight. I turned to look back through the tunnel, but was confronted by a blank wall with a tiny hole in it. “Did I come through that?” I gasped. “Yes. Our gates are constructed so as to admit anything, but I don’t believe a pin could get out.” He led the way across the bare room into another room beyond. As he opened the door, a babel of complaining voices struck my ears, while mischievous-looking gnomes passed in and out. “Mother, I can’t find my watch,” I heard the whining voice of an American boy say. Immediately a gnome jumped up and rushed past me, grinning impishly. “This is our information room. Here we find out about the things lost on earth,” explained my guide. “ ‘I can’t’ is a great little phrase. Once uttered, your grip on your possessions is weakened, and it is much easier to snatch them away. We’re going to give you your pen simply because you said, T don’t see why I can’t’ instead of the usual T can’t.’ While the others are preparing the presentation ex- ercises, I’m going to show you our collec- tions.” He passed into a long corridor. On either side were enormous compartments in which lost articles were stocked. My head reeled as we went by piles of um- brellas, heaps of needles, tons of pins, and stacks of small change. My companion paused at the threshold of a spacious room. In the center was a neat little pile of papers. “This is where we keep lost home-les- sons.” “Why, surely there must be lots more than that; they vanish by the dozen at Quincy High.” “So there are. The room is full of them, but the rest are imaginary and can’t be seen.” I was then led out-of-doors to a large lake teeming with fish. The size of the perch, bass, and trout that kept the water flecked with foam was astonishing. “This lake is the final abode of the fish- that-got-away.” I noticed one fish which had the ap- pearance and characteristics of a minnow, but the dimensions of a whale. “Who lost that one?” I asked. “You did.” Then and there I privately resolved to keep my next lost fish down to ten inches. Reaching the summit of a gentle slope rising from the lake, I saw a level plain stretching to the horizon, crowded with countless herds of goats. “What are these here for? Why, there aren’t that many on earth.” “Didn’t anyone ever get your goat?” asked the gnome. “People lose ’em all time. See that big herd? Well, they all belong to you.” I stared at my herd of goats till my reverie was broken by the voice of my conductor shouting, as he seized my hand, “Get a move on; we’re two minutes late to the presentation.” The next thing I remember I was standing on a platform before a vast audi- ence of gnomes, while one of their number presented my pen to me. Amid thunder- ous applause, I bowed to the audience. A shrill, insistent cry of “Speech! Speech!” smote my ears like waves beat- ing upon the shore. My heart pounded wildly; my face turned brick-red; my hands grew so large that I couldn’t hide them anywhere; I opened my mouth; not a word could I utter! The faces of the gnomes, grinning diabolically, swam be- fore me.” “She’s losing her self-possession! Let’s grab it!” they shrieked. As they rose en nasse to take it away, the horrid vision grew blurred and gradually faded away. I found myself once more on the daven- port, my pen in my hand, gazing at the dancing flames. How did it happen? That, my reader, I leave to you. Dorothy Kinner, ’23.