Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOEDKN-ROD 15 already begun another day's work. The women kept little shops, and the men worked on the estates. Finally arriving at the school, 1 left the horse in the yard and went to my classroom. When I first started in the school, 1 had a hard time before learn- ing Spanish. Before leaving Bolivia, I mastered Spanish and learned a few words of English. I had many adven- tures in Bolivia, but was not sorry when I left it to come to the United States. WESTERN CANADA Avice Morton, J .’30 Until one has lived in or visited West- ern Canada he can never truly appreciate the wild beauty of that country. When I was seven years old I lived in a very sparsely populated part of Sas- katchewan. The country was inhabitated only by Indians and a few white people. The nearest town, of any importance, was twenty miles away, and in the west, in those days, and today, too, twenty miles was about three times the distance it is now with automobiles. Western Canada in spring, summer, autumn, or winter is always wide, open, and picturesquely beautiful. I do not mean beauty which has lovely hills, bab- bling brooks, and colorful gardens, but 1 do mean the kind of beauty that has wild, spacious plains, rough-rolling prai- rie and miles and miles of uninhabited country. Let me tell you briefly of West- ern Canada during the four seasons. In the spring, when the heavy snows and blizzards of winter have passed, and the prairie takes on a new life, what is so inspiring as miles and miles of slightly rolling country covered with new, green grass and lovely wild croci ? Many times have I sat upon a slight hill, surrounded by these sweet, wild flowers, and seen for miles a picture of fresh life and beauty. The small clusters of trees, the ragged brush, the willow and popular bluffs, and the very air itself seems so gloriously alive. As the summer approaches, with its hot, withering sun, the prairie takes on a brownish, burnt tinge. The trees are darker and flowers are found only in the shaded coulees and deep, grassy spots. The young wheat, thrusting its way up- ward gradually turns to gold, and in the warm breeze, it looks for all the world like a sea of rippling waves. A real Canadian summer is hot and scorching and unless one is used to the heat, he had better stay away. Work for everyone, whether he be in held or kitchen, is hard. The farm help must be fed, and the homestead women slave from early morning 'till late at night, cooking, ever cooking. It is a strenuous life throughout the entire year but es- pecially so during the harvesting time in August. The wheat fields, by this time, are fully grown and their golden heads are bent. Throughout the very short time needed to reap, bind, stack, dry, gather, and thrash the wheat, extra help is hired, and each and every one works feverishly in order to get the crop har- vested before the cold evenings shall start in and the growth and labor of months be ruined in a single night. One can go for miles and miles and miles through the west and see nothing but wheat. Here and there, perhaps, will be a homestead, but otherwise the monotony remains unbroken. The autumn is very colorful. The trees, caught by an early frost, present every hue and tint of the artist’s paint box, and the grass, burnt by the summer’s heat, is but a mass of brownish, curled strands. The a:r is still hot, but the evenings are chilly. It is at this time of year that the crops, providing they have had a poor summer, often get caught and ruined by a sudden change of weather, which brings unexpected hail and snow. Thousands of dollars are lost, some years, by such tricks of Nature and to the farmers, dependent upon the crops, it means ruin and poverty for the com- ing winter. You have often heard, or read, of the twenty degree below zero weather of Canada. It is quite true, and in the

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14 THE GOLDEN-ROD a large and attractive hotel built over this. It took five years of labor to in- stall pipes conducting the water into the building. This hotel has three floors and is made of white marble. The first floor contains the hot baths, which are in little rooms where the hot water surges onto the tile floor. On the second and third story visitors, and especially sick people, have their rooms. The hotel has many balconies and a roof garden which adds much to the grandeur of the building. It also has a back yard on which many fruit trees are raised. Most of these trees are ba- nanas and figs. Next he comes to the Villa Del Fiore at the farthest part of the village. Flow- ers of every type grow here in abundance. All sorts of bushes and trees are also raised. This, although a public garden, is surrounded by an iron fence. A watch- man is always in sight. He sees that no one plucks the flowers Stone benches are built here and there and, when people sit here, they wish to linger longer and remain where there is a sweet odor of flowers and the twittering of birds that fly from one place to another. Leaving this villa the traveler wonders how it is possible to get on the upper part of the village. On inquiring he finds that he must go to Via Grande. This street formed like a stairway contains from 100 to 150 steps. At intervals benches are placed so that the people climbing the stairs can rest when they grow tired. Overshadowing these seats are trees of figs, oranges, and lemons. W hen the traveler arrives at his des- tination he sees a large plaza at the center of which is a monument dedi- cated to the first mayor of the town. Looking to the right he sees a church which has been in existence for over a century. At the left is the town hall, a wonderful building with marble balcon- ies. At the entrance are stationed two lions. Going further he comes to the resi- dential section. Here the streets are made of pebble stones. The houses are made of stucco and are similar to the Spanish haciendas. Grape vines climb on the walls forming an arch over the balconies. As the climate is mild all sorts of fruit and flowers are raised all the year round. 'I'he fragrant odor of these flowers is enchanting. If more travelers would go to these small country places instead of to the big cities, which after all are tiresome and noisy, they would enjoy their trips more. GOING TO SCHOOL IN SOUTH AMERICA Solveic; Liljegren, J.’30 The school I went to was an American private school, in the city of Cochabamba, Bolivia. This city was founded by the Spaniards, and has now a population of about fifty thousand. It lies in one of the most fertile valleys of South America. Orange trees grow in the shadow of snow-capped mountains, there. I lived about ten miles from the city, so I had to get up before dawn to get to school on time. It was quite cold up there, ten thousand feet above the Pa- cific, and I went shivering out to the barn, saddled my horse, and started. The roads were very bad, almost impassable in the rainy season. The horse sometimes sank to his knees in the mud. I had to cross a wide river, whose current was so strong that the horse was all but carried away. On the way I passed several quaintly dressed Indian women, carrying large bundles to market. The outstanding ar- ticle of dress of one of these women was a stiff white hat, which looked as if it had had a coat of white enamel. Around her shoulders a shawl was draped; she wore five or six woolen skirts, each one of a different and brighter color than the rest. When I neared the city I turned around and saw the sun rising over the mountain tops: I often saw sunrises of indescrib- able beauty. 1 passed a mud hut with a thatched roof here and there, and also several large estates. The Indians had

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16 THE GOLDEN-ROD winter at the wildest and fiercest times, it is not unusual for the thermometer to drop to thirty and forty degrees below. Many times snow falls for days, and people in the remote parts are snowed in—the house and barn almost covered. The Canadian snow is quite different from the New England snow. It is dry and crisp, and when ground by bob-sleigh runners, seems to sing. Sometimes the snow is so white and bright, it is blind- ing. One of the most beautiful and unusual sights of a Canadian winter is the North- ern Lights. In January or February of an intensely cold year, the sky at night is lighted up for hundreds of miles by scintilating, colored roads of light from the North Pole crossing and recrossing themselves in the sky. It is difficult to clearly describe this wonderful sight and, until you have actually seen it, you can never realize how truly beautiful it is. Another queer thing is the sun-dogs. Just before a cold spell of weather, the sun has, on either side of it, a great pillar of golden light. The sun itself is hazy, but the two sun-dogs show up quite distinctly and present a rather queer phenomenon. I have tried to tell you briefly of Cana- da but even now, perhaps, some of you don’t think it is beautiful and fine. It may not be to those who have never been there, but to those who have lived in and loved Canada, I doubt if there is a more interesting or fascinating country. A PERFECT COMMUNITY Arthur Donovan, J.’28 As I rode by this perfect community, village, or whatever it might be called, I seemed to feel the strength of the buildings, the perfect formation of the community. Here there was no chance to stray from the straight and narrow path, no pool rooms, cheap dance halls, or other methods by which one could be led astray. In contrast, every member seemed to be busily at work, some in the streets .working as unskilled laborers, others in various buildings working at machines. These workmen all wore working suits made from a striped material. In the main building men were busily at work over their desks. These men were dressed differently from the workmen in the streets and at the machines. They seemed also to have a happier method of going about their work. A third class of workmen did not seem to be doing any special kind of work, just parading up and down the streets, holding instruments on their shoulders. These men were dressed in an entirely different manner from the others. The high tower in the center of the group of buildings suggested ancient times. With this tower as an outlook, one could scan the horizon for foes. But this could not be one of the ancient strongholds as the stone was of very modern appearance. At the side of these gloomy buildings was a bright sparkling river which went sailing by without a pause. A loud shrieking whistle brought my meditation to a close, and I observed the men forming in single file, each man having his hand on the shoulder of the man immediately in front of him. They were coming in my direction. I gazed intently at their faces. Instead of cheer- ful, happy expressions, I saw hard, gloomy, disappointed, sad, and down- hearted expressions stamped on their faces. One would never expect this from contented workmen. They turned and entered the largest and gloomiest build- ing I have ever seen, and were soon swallowed completely by it. Although the building itself was of modern archi- tecture, the very thought of entering it made me shudder. I had seen enough and was just about to move on when I was greeted by a hearty-looking man who asked me if I wished to visit the community. When he saw that I looked surprised, he in- formed me that he was Warden Stevens and that he had complete charge of Sing Sing Prison. Thus, I made a visit to Sing Sing as a guest, not a member; I hope never as a member.