Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD foot, and continuing up a man as rigid as a corpse—in fact, the man was a corpse— it was Red. Slowly the awful truth dawned upon me. In the impenetrable darkness of the night we had actually crossed that trestle and had performed our little act up there above my head, about ten feet above the sand bar on which I was then lying. Red had died of fright, or shock, or something. Any- ways, he was dead. Well, for myself, was I surprised, not to say astounded, at all this f Well, boys, I’ll just leave that to you.” BEAUTY Iris Gladwin, F.’31 At last! . . . the River . . . Standing at its limpid brink . . . the cool water lapped her ankles . . . stinging her scorching flesh . . . cooling the madness and fury in her tortured brain . . . glid- ing . . . swaying . . . deeper . . . now, it caressed her limbs . . . flowed on up- ward . . . swirling over her smooth shoulders . . . lingering at the beautiful curves of her slender neck ... it fluted about her carmine mouth . . . touching her delicate ears . . . then . . . nothing . . . only two wide rings like two large green plates . . . the beautiful body was swept . . . sucked down . . . down into the jade depths shot with rays of liquid . . . turquoise . . . topaz . . . amethyst . . . and . . . firey opal . . . down . . . down . . . into the silken silence . . . flowing . . . flowing . . . CAESAR Sally Bradford, F.’31 Caesar, the genius of Rome, ... its burning mete . . . veiled in the soft light of incense, perhaps jasmine ... a Grecian urn . . . exquisitely figured, both vase and Caesar . . . those eyes, eyes of jewels, jet with power ... a grey tunic, like a dull cloudy sky . . . Caesar fondles a iade pen . . . and writes . . . fire . . . life-blood . . . dripping . . . flowing from his pen ... A command from his tongue . . . mellow as the tones of an organ . . . deep, resonant . . . that conquers countries . . . souls . . . the world out- side ... a seething tumult ... the sky, smoke, blood . . . like greasy new bacon . . . Caesar’s soul ... a carved ivory altar fashioned by the gods . . . and Rome’s soldiers . . . insatiable with thirst of blood . . . made Rome an empire. A schoolroom, . . . youth . . . bub- bling . . . piercing electric lights . . . . . . gleaming like illuminated bafls of flame . . . Eager faces . . . stupid faces . . . whimpering over tattered books . . . books that are weary, yet faithful mes- sages of Caesar . . . His masterful words . . . now only cold, black print ... no longer wine . . . sparkling . . . deep red, but leaden water . . . all . . . charred coals of a once live flame ... a piping hot flame . . . ccld . . . frigid as iron now .... the soul of Caesar . . . gone . . . buried ... in mvhr and frankincence ... in rich purple robes . . . dead . . . leaving only its carcass . . . cold, black print. THE FIRST, SECOND BEST, MAN Wallace Fairfield, June, 1930 Harold Jackson was sitting in the stands, smoking a stogy, very calmly. No wonder, for the maten had been unin- teresting so far. buddemy, he jumped, clamped the stogy with Ins teeth, and pufl'cd furiously. This outburst of his was all because of an error the stranger, who had been playing marvelous tennis all the afternoon, had made. From that time on the match was lost, because he could not control the ball. He wasn’t an- noyed; he walked to the net, shook hands, and began to laugh as though the whole thing were a fine joke, instead of a very important tennis match. Harold, who considered himself a very good judge of men’s characters, thought there was something wrong with this

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 11 over to me. I'll take good care of it in case you don’t get over this.’ “But no, the selfish brute acted peeved rather than relieved at my suggestion. Ah, the crucial moment of his life. He showed none of the characteristics of a true brother Elk, and he even began be- rating me for getting him into what he called a ‘fix.’ As if it were my fault. O, well, some people arc like that; but I was determined that he should do one act, at least, of noble self-sacrifice before he died, so I edged over to get the belt, my- self. He edged away, but I caught up with him. And as I reached over to get it—now here comes the exciting part—my other hand slipped from the rail, and I fell like a rock or even faster. It was over all too soon, when I came to a stop with a shock, hanging upside down! “What was it, you ask:—naturally, curious. Well, believe this one or not, but 1 tell you right here it’s the absolute truth—or I wouldn’t be here, for a fact— but the raw-hide lacings on my high boots, which I always wore loose, had somehow or other—now don’t ask me how, because I really don’t know—had become entangled with those in Red’s boots, as we were angling about, forming what is commonly known as the soldier’s or sailor’s slip-nocse and—well, there you have it. And there was I, my life hang- ing by a thread, so to speak. And behold by some terribly ironical twist of fate, the first thought that flashed through my mind at that awful moment was that famous maxim for embarrassing mo- ments: ‘Be non-chalant. Light a—well, and so on!’ And it was an embarrassing moment; believe me! whether it may ap- pear that way to you or not. Upside down, and hanging by a shoe-string— well, place yourself in my position—that’s all I say. “And Red stood the shock remarkably well, if I say so myself. Like the old rock of Gibraltar, he clung, although his whole frame was probably stretched an inch or two, to say the very least. Good, old Red. But then I suppose it was the sterner side of his nature cropping out. Why, I have seen that man encounter a seething machine-gun fire during our stay at Chicago, and never wince—although— after all, I suppose one doesn’t generally wince while running at top speed. Well, anyways, to return to the plot at hand, I began almost immediately to feel rather uncomfortable, to say the very least— perhaps pardonable under the circum- stances. I sent some helpful suggestions up to Red, but the poor lad was evidently quite flustered. He seemed to be having difficulty in retaining his hold. “After some manoeuvering about, he spoke with what seemed relief: ‘Say!’ he said, ‘my shoe is slipping ofT. Looks like you’re a goner,’ he added with a smirk. “ ‘What!’ said I, ‘well, don’t let it.’ “ ‘I can’t help it,’ he replied. ‘The stocking’s coming off, too.’ “ ‘Well, it looks like goodbye,’ he added, meaningly, and happily too, I think. Confound him! “‘No, no,’ said I, a bit worried. ‘Wait a minute, and give me time to think it over.’ (I needed time.) “But no, he was in a jealous temper, or something, and he just wouldn’t stop that shoe from slipping off. It went lower, and lower, and still lower. I felt my firm nerves faint and my head swoon as I realized that this was the end. Ten thousand feet, possibly. How long woidd it taker And above all I heard Red’s hateful chuckle. Everything grew black, if it was possible for anything to blacken in the denseness of that night. I felt my trained senses leaving me, a falling sensa- tion, and then, ‘calm, peace and quiet.’— “Came a dawn with its usual assort- ment of color and life-giving light, as they say. I reclined stiffly unconscious, I sup- pose, then, behold! suddenly my rigid form stirred, an eyelash quivered, an eye opened, and the first thought that flashed through my awakening brain was: ‘Am I in heaven, or, well, the other place, so to speakr’ If so, it was an ex- ceedingly realistic one, for beheld there above my head a foot was hanging, a bare

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THE GOLDEX-ROD ON TO SCHOOL Lin wood Young, J.’30 13 man who had acted so carefree. Harold walked up to the man, and said: “Why did you teel like laughing at a serious matcn like that:” “Well, it’s a big joke,” said the other, “and since you are inclined to lend me an ear, I will pour forth my grievances, but tell me your name. Mine is John Abbott.” Alter preliminaries had been done away with, Abbott began. “In High School, 1 went out for track, and became a very good runner in the mile. I outdistanced everyone until a new fellow moved in town and then, no matter how hard I tried, I always came in a few minutes behind him. “In baseball, I was a shark at second base, but there was another fellow just a little better. In footbad, I was a Hying streak, but was only second best. So I went through life until the war broke out, and then to my great surprise, I was ap- pointed second orderly to a Brigadier- General. “All went well during the war, and I came home determined to marry Jean Harris, whom I had known quite a while. After two or three weeks, she to’d me that I was to be Best Man at her wedding. Of course, I was very much surprised at this statement, but I bore it like a man, as it was the first time I was first at anything, even best man. “'All went well at the wedding, includ- ing the fact that I met a fine young girl there and eventually married her. But one night she came to me and told me that I was her second husband. I im- mediately blew up, and told her the whole story of my life.” “Never mind, Johnnie,” she said; “don’t you see, that even though you are always second, you are really first in everything, for these other men only get first once in a while, whereas you are alwpvs second.” “Well, that made things look a lot different to me, and now, whenever I do beat a fellow, I look unon the whole thin» as a huge joke. Do you blame Lp and off to school. Yes—I was eany; no, not homework to be done betore the first bell. On the contrary’, I had plenty oi time and didn't intend to hurry. As I slowly walked up the street past new homes, it occurred to me that the houses had ail come since my time. Where my feet waked on hard concrete, perhaps Thomas Morton of textbook fame once trod. Yes, I was coming upon the site of the old farm buildings once belonging to the historical Adams family. As I passed under a row of shady trees, I realized that I was passing under lindens from England that had been carefully planted when the land was still in the possession of the estate. Now I approached the cemetery on my right. Here were the remains of those of wealth, of poverty, of those famed, and of those forgotten. Far out on my left was the opposite. For there lay miles of marshes to be filled in and used by the generations of tomorrow. Strange, but here nearby was represented the hand of the past. So I philosophied as I trudged slowly on. Beyond the marsh lay a silvery’ gleam of water, by it a lumber yard. Farther to the south showed the results of modern industry, the Fere River and Edison plants. Then my eye dropped and saw in the corner of the marsh a city dump, the material remains of the inanimate. Now I passed the marsh and cemetery. My thoughts were taken ud in the swiftly changing Artery traffic. Once across. I studied the school building ahead and noticed again my left and mv right. The left was more marsh, but this time only a large lot of undeveloped land, but my right in contrast was undergoing steadv filling for a city park. A few minutes later and I was at the school. What had I seen with the aid of mv imagination. Why. I trod on histori- cal ground: I had seen the past por-