Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Text from Pages 1 - 52 of the 1933 volume:

, . fj iXi ryi L i Quincy Senior High School Golden-Rod FALL ISSUE 1933 Volume XLVI Number 1 The Staff Editor...................Richnrd Coolie Literary..........Margaret Higginbotham News..............................Doris Dennison Alumni...............................Cobi Comoletti Exchange .............Elizabeth Faragnllo ..................Aune Wehter 5port8 ..................Toivo Nousio Jokes.........................Morion Mnrr Art........................Beatrice Bin ten ..............Albert Ferrell ...............Edwin Dalziel Business Class Representatives Albert Crowley '34 John Wilson ‘35 Faculty Advisers Vera Call. Muriel Goudey. Margaret Marr, Catherine Walsh, Leslie Millard Kntcicd ns second-class matter, June 8. t� 2S, nt the Post Office at Boston, Mass. under the Act of March 5, 1870 __ __________________________________________________MM 1 ” RADIO Who are we, Who by the building of a wooden box And the turning of a tiny dial, May snatch from out a boundless void The grandeur or the folly of the race— Who by the power from a tube and wire May harness elements to bring us sound— And clear across the ether reach to hear The stupidness or genius of men? Who are we Who have created this? .... We are Pandoras, Whom time and reason yet must teach To choose wisely from our enchanted box. Margaret Higginbotham STEAK AND POTATO First Prize Story Richard Carlisle HUNCHEON had begun. Merely another meal of the two hundred- odd that composed Copper Kettle's summer season. It was just a pleasant interlude of good food to the guests and transients. But to the kitchen crew it meant two hours of building “Rose Plate Specials from store and ice-box, of pushing mountains of dishes through a one-tray washer, and of forcing minutes into seconds. To Dick Lowell, bookkeeper and kitchen helper, it meant another fast inning of the hotel game—a game of challenging opportunities. Dish washing is not exciting, nor is adding figures, but in a summer inn almost anything can happen and it usually does. “I wish someone would wait on that hen party in the front room, Dick was saying to a waitress. “The big lady in blue was cackling so loud I had to stop ’phoning.” “I was just on my way. Anyhow, this is no time to be 'phoning your sick aunts. Why— “Hey, Dick! the cook informed, “there’s a tramp at the back door. A tramp there was and what a specimen! From the shoulders down he seemed a man in his thirties, but sad eyes peered from a face nearly hidden by whiskers. This full beard was obviously grown to cover scars, for what could be seen of his face was cut into mountains and canyons. “I'd like to work for a meal, sir, the man told Dick. “I can’t think of any work right now, but if you wait in the clothes yard until after lunch, I’ll get you some food. “Thanks. “You seem to have been through quite a lot, remarked Dick, his curi- osity overcoming his natural tact. “I know the brush doesn't cover it all, said the tramp sadly. “That accident—excuse me, I guess my troubles couldn’t interest you. “But they do. The kitchen will not need me for a while. Please go on. “0. K. If you are interested. Right after our honeymoon an auto carved me up and sent me to the hospital. Everyday my wife would come to see me. I knew she was wondering and fearing how I'd look when the band- ages were off. One afternoon after my wife had gone, the ‘doc’ came in and took off the bandages. When I looked into a mirror I wished I was dead. I couldn’t recognize myself. I knew that I could never hold my job. I had been a sales-manager and a good one, too. Right then I decided that my wife would never see me again. She hasn’t. I slipped the hospital that night, leaving a check to my bank account for my wife and a note telling why desertion was necessary and that she could get a divorce. It was a hard thing to do. I’ve been on the road twelve years. She remarried seven years ago. But I—.” “Dick, come in and help. We’ve got a rush!” came a summons from the kitchen. “Wait here. I’ll be out later with something for you.” shouted Dick over his shoulder. Noise, odor, and haste dominated the kitchen. The hum of the washer motor united the clitter-clatter of silver and china, the whir of the venti- lators, and the thud-thick-thud of hurried steps into a wild song of haste. The smell of boiling onions clashed with the sharp odor of soapy steam and the pleasant aroma from broiling steaks. Everybody seemed to be rush- ing to get nowhere by yesterday. No place could be so chaotic and yet so efficient as the kitchen of a summer inn. Dick entrenched himself at the receiving end of the washer and attacked the stream of dripping hot dishes with a dry towel. While mechanically drying the contents of tray after tray, he thought about the bewhiskered tramp. Was his story true? The man had told it with strong feeling as he had probably told it to hundreds of others to gain their sympathy. It was his “line”, and he knew how to use it. If the story were true, the tramp deserved a better “break” than he was getting now. About twenty minutes later Dick went to the other end of the washer to have a pile of plates re-washed. A waitress slid a tray onto the dish board. “Your cackler must be dieting,” she laughed to Dick. “Look— she finished the onions and carrots, but just sampled the steak and left her spud unopened.” “Dieting couldn’t hurt her any,” Dick replied, “but she certainly threw the best part of a dollar-fifty away.” Dick took the steak and the potato with some coffee and bread out to the tramp. “It would be rather embarrassing,” mused the tramp as he pounced on the steak, “if I should ever meet Elsie—she’s got all the money she can use, now; but I beg for my meals. How different life would have been if speed had meant less. I wonder if she ever thinks about me.” “I’ve got to get back to the dishes. When you get through, come to the door and knock. I’ll have some work for you to do.” The rush was at its height. Food was running low. Dick was dispatched to the bakery for bread. When he came back by the clothesyard, he did not see the tramp. He delivered the bread and bolted out to find the man. The cup. plate, and silver were on the window sill. No food was left. It [Cominued on page 36] AUTUMN AFTERGLOW Prize Poem Frances L. Carlson The gold of sunset skies, The deeper gold Of sheaves of grain. The blackbird rests on new-turned mould. And softly chirps his sad refrain ’Ere he southward flies. Soft rustles in the corn, The softer brush Of prairie grass; Old Zephyr sighs, a moment’s hush, With lyric honks, geese stately pass, —A melody is born. How mildly wanes the evening light! And still more mild, With infinite trust, Earth, like a drowsy, homing child, Beneath the western stars seeks rest. —Thus falls the Prairie Night. THE ROMANCE OF NAMES Margaret Higginbotham XWAS examining an atlas recently for the purpose of learning the area of some obscure county in North Carolina, when my eye fell on an attrative name—What Cheer. Immediately good old Grid- ley County, or whatever it was, completely left my mind and I lost myself in mental pictures of what a town with such a jolly name as What Cheer could be like. I visioned a little hill-village, tucked in at the edges with rambling stonewalls, and peopled by sturdy miners with their crisp housewives and rosy-cheeked youngsters. However, I imagine I should be much disillusioned if I should travel to my “little” What Cheer, for statistics say its population is 1310, and probably it is as sober as any New England town. But those are the chances you take in romancing with geography. I hold that it is a fascinating game despite possible disillusion- ment, for if you are at least a couple of thousand miles away, you will probably never have the misfortune to discover that Ferndale has a skyline as ferny as Quincy’s, and that the keepers of Deer Park, Scotland, have to go to a museum to see what that animal called the deer looks like. When I was a child, Iceland was one of the most mysterious and excit- ing places on earth to me. Somewhere, somehow, I had gained the idea that it was, literally, a land of ice, and I can still remember the visions I had of poor, little children who could suck only icicles for candy! To this day, with the resistless force of all my childhood imaginings behind me, I cannot think of Iceland other than an expanse of ice, boasting a few ig- loos and Eskimos, and the Northern Lights every night. Thus can much of the romance connected with names be traced to fan- cies of our childhood. There are other reasons why we are attracted by the names of rivers, mountains, and cities, and even nations. History plays an important part in our tastes. A good many less, for instance, would sail up the Saint Lawrence to Quebec each year, if the French and Indian War and the blending of English and French history in that old town had not woven a glamour about the name Quebec that is irresistible. So it is with the river Tiber. What a sluggish and muddy river it is! Yet who remembers that, when he thinks of such incidents as the heroic battle of Horatio who kept back, almost single handed, a band of soldiers from crossing the bridge, until it had been undermined by the men below. Tiber doesn’t spell romance in appearance, but it certainly does in history. A wealth of beautiful and suggestive names can be had for the search- ing on almost any trip, and the maps are covered with them. It is one of my most treasured ambitions to, some day, go the rounds of all my fa- JCominued on page 38] THE BUSH LEAGUER Second Prize Story Newton MacLeod QS he slowly undressed in the twilight of the Bay view High School locker room, the gloo- my look on the face of “Red” Baker gave evidence of his thoughts. More than midway through its schedule, the highly-touted Bayview basketball team had done little more than earn an even break. The fact that this record was made only over the “warm-up” teams on its list did not give any added luster to the achievement. In the five remain- ing games, the squad faced its fiercest combats, with Middle- town and its crack outfit, their traditional rivals, looming as an insurmountable barrier. Red had diagnosed his fellow players and had come to the in- disputable conclusion that poor basket-shooting was the cause of most of the team's defeats. The Bayview athletes had developed a smooth, fast, passing attack, and this factor alone had enabled them to keep clear of utter rout, for it seemed that when the ball was in Bayview hands, the basket would emulate the bear and go into hibernation. Baker wearily shook his head in disgust, but he determined not to complain and so ran briskly out onto the gym floor. Although it was early in the afternoon, someone else occupied the gym before him,—a tall, rawboned youth with a countrified manner. He was doggedly and systematically shooting at the basket, letting fly with an un- orthodox motion that brought the ball from between his knees. This style was obviously no drawback, for invariably the ball slipped through the basket. Discovering his audience, the player staged an impromptu exhibition and whirled about the floor shooting from all angles and making each shot count. These shots, coming as it were from the nether regions, provided an element of unexpectedness that was startling. Red’s imagination became active; suppose that this element could be in- troduced at a critcal point in a critical game. Would it not disconcert the opponents? It certainly would!! Rousing from his reverie, he rushed across the floor and interrupted en- thusiastically, “Say! That’s the best basket-shooting I’ve ever feasted my eyes upon. Why weren’t you out for the team?” The stranger hesitated and then gave answer quietly, “I’m rather ashamed to admit this, but I’ve never played a real game of basketball in my life.” Red’s excited exclamation shook an echo from the beams above. “What! Never played? Then where did you learn to shoot baskets as well as you do?” More questions followed until it came out that the youth Bill Ripley was a transfer from Sprucehead, Maine. Basketball was foreign to him be- cause the town was so small it could not muster enough material to form two teams. Bill, however, got hold of a ball and, after constructing a regu- lation basket in his yard, had practiced for hours until he acquired the un- canny skill which had astounded Baker. Having no one to imitate and no one to correct him, he had developed a style peculiar to himself. That it was effective, Red had seen. Later that day, at the regular practice session, Baker expounded his theory to the coach, and when the mentor had seen Ripley in action, he agreed with Red that the idea was a reasonably sound one. At the end of the practice session, however, the old apathy had returned, for the newcomer from Maine did not prove to be the help expected. He disrupted the entire passing attack and becoming excited, would shoot for the nearest basket, making no distinction between his own and the opposi- tion’s. Notwithstanding these facts, the coach saw enough promise in the boy to merit a uniform and so one was doled out to him while instructions were given Baker that he was to educate Ripley in the ways of basketball. In the weeks that followed, Baker carried out his instructions faithfully. Every afternoon would find the two in the gym practicing diligently. Red taught Bill the fundamentals, but he did not drill him on the style of play; instead he had the youth concentrate on getting his shots away fast. Meanwhile the Bayview team had continued to hold its own with great effort, but they considered these preliminary games of little account, for they were already anticipating for their objective game with Middletown. The Middletown players, moving with speed and unison, continued the wide swath they were cutting through the competition with an efficiency that prophesied no good for Bayview. As the day of the key game approached, the fruits of Red Baker’s in- struction became evident. Ripley played well, and the accuracy of his shoot- ing was a joy to behold. The coach placed a great deal of hope in him and matched it with a confidence in Bill, when the starting lineup was posted the night before the big game, by establishing Bill at a forward post. Dressing for the game the next day, Ripley vowed to push himself to the utmost and not hamper his teammates by his lack of experience. The referee’s whistle started the game shrilly, and at the tap-off, Bill leaped in towards the center. But before he could lay hands on the ball, tripping himself, he fell flat on the floor while the play went past him. This caused his undoing and he went completely to pieces, snarling up the attack of the hoopsters so badly that he was taken out before the end of the first quarter. As he walked to the bench, a wit among the spectators shouted, “Back to the bush leagues with him!” The ripple of laughter this sally brought rankled in Bill’s mind as he dully watched the game proceed through the third quarter. Bayview’s situation was desperate. By dint of extraordinary play they had held Middletown to a fifteen point lead, but now the rain of baskets was unnerving them. Nevertheless, as they lay panting on the floor in the rest period, they tried not to appear discouraged. The coach knew their feelings, however, and acting on an impulse born of necessity, he called sharply, “Get in there, Ripley, and fight with all you’ve got and try to keep your face off the floor!” The fourth quarter of that game is history. Bill, apparently temporarily demented, and certainly impervious to all shouts from the stands, played like a regiment of tornadoes. He was everywhere; taking a pass and, with his deceptive motion, converting it into a score; blocking a Middletown shot, and generally playing with a skill and polish that enabled Bayview to overtake the opponents and knot the score at thirty-two all. With less than a minute to play, Bill, in midcourt, received a pass and, gathering his fleeting strength, hurled it basketward. Up, up, it soared, between the rafters and, dropping like a plummet, won the game for Bayview when it swished through the basket, In the midst of the tumult which arose from five hundred voices, only one shouted phrase lingered in Bill’s ears, “No bush leagues for him, he can have a whole major league for himself!!” A MIRAGE Honorable Mention Frances L. Carlson Today the wind caressed me with A softer touch than yesterday; Its freshness, rare and sweet, like wine, On phantom wings bore me away. It breathed a hope brim full of life; It whispered tales of love and June. It lured my fancies into dreams Of sunny days, when joy is rife, Of nights, in which a mellow moon Gilds ev’ry rose-cup with her beams. Then, all at once, I came to earth; The wind was cold, the sky, austere. My ravishing mirage was gone, —Had faded, vanished in the air. TRIADE Honorable Mention Charles H. Frome These shall be three sad things— The call of war— The realization of a lost love— And the death of a friend. IN THE DEPTHS Honorable Mention Avis Walker 0 recover the bodies of the S-40’s crew and salvage the submarine £ was no easy matter, for she had sunk bow first after the Sea J Queen had struck her amidships, and buried her nose fourteen feet into the mud and clay that formed the ocean floor. Neither was it a very pleasant job hunting dead men on the bottom of the sea. Tom Evans, one of the five divers on the Ellsworth salvage ship, was seated on deck, his diving suit about his waist, busily soaping his wrists before attempting to wriggle them through the tight wrist bands of his rubber suit. When he had forced his hands through the cuffs, his tender lifted the heavy breastplate and put it over Tom’s shoulders, button-holing it to his suit after smoothing down the bib inside. As soon as the lead shoes were strapped on and the weights hooked up, the tender tested the radio set within the helmet and screwed it to the breastplate. With the aid of two sailors he reached the stage. His headgear and breastplate weighed heavily on his shoulders as the stage swung up and over the side. He heard a tap on his helmet—the signal that they were go- ing to lower away. Down he dropped until the water swirled about his shoulders and covered his face plate. A steady stream of bubbles rose above him. All about was the yellow-green water in which there darted many-colored fish. The stage came to a halt at twenty feet. Tom grasped the descending line nearby which was moored to the submarine. “Off stage. Lower away!” he called into the transmitter as he started downward, hand over hand. Above him his life-line and air-hose faded out of sight, and below, the line also disappeared. It was like climbing from nothingness to nothingness. Deeper and deeper he dropped, opening his air valve to increase the pressure within his suit to cope with that of the water which grow with the added depth. His helmet no longer weighed up- on his shoulders, for the compressed air bore it up. A dark shape appeared below and a minute later he heard a dull clang as his heavy shoes struck the deck. “On the bottom!” he shouted, his voice thick and lifeless under the in- creased pressure. Evans waited impatiently for the second diver who was to help him. Finally he saw a pair of lead shoes take form above him and soon Phil Andrews was standing close by on the sloping deck, a powerful light hooked to his belt. Together they went to the rent amidships and crept in, carefully tend- ing their air-hoses from the sharp edges. Turning sideways Evans forced his way through the narrow doorway into the control room. Andrews followed. Obviously the water had rushed in too quickly to be checked, for the submarine was open all the way to the torpedo room. The first body was found just inside the second door where the rush of water had caught the poor devil before he could escape. Gingerly Evans grasped it beneath the arms and pulled it after him into the control room. He felt quite relieved when he had left that awful sight behind him near the conning tower. Gliding back he found Andrews tugging at a mass of wreckage dislodged when the S-40 had struck the ocean floor. Tom saw him signal and when he answered, Phil pointed to a yellow-haired lad a few years younger than themselves caught beneath it—a look of horror still imprinted upon his face. Unknowingly Evans swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat. Obeying Phil’s signal, he attempted to shift the wreckage in order to release the body. He stepped to one side, after a few tries, to rest a bit and and see how the other diver was getting along. Suddenly he saw the heap waver and begin to fall his way. Involuntarily he shouted, nearly deafen- ing himself. He tried to step aside, but his air-hose was caught on a pro- truding valve. He did not dare to tug the line. The next instant the wreck- age struck and, though it missed him, he was filled with added horror as he saw the severed end of his air-hose from which the life-giving air was streaming in a myriad of silvery bubbles. The little air left in his helmet was rapidly growing foul. He struggled to keep upright for he knew the air would spill out if he fell. His ears began to throb and he felt himself growing dizzy. Tom began to gasp and choke as the air deadened and all the horrible fantasies of a dying man filled his brain. Peace settled upon him as he sank to the floor. Andrews was filled with terror at what had happened. Frantically he raked his brain for some method by which he might save his friend from almost certain death. Just then his eye fell upon a loop of Evans’ air-hose caught in the wreckage. Ripping his razor-sharp knife from its sheath, he cut it loose and pulled the freed end down, then knelt beside the uncon- scious diver and slit the suit just below the breastplate. Into this he thrust the end of the hose from which the bubbles rose steadily. A breath of re- lief passed his lips when he saw the air bubbling through the escape-valve of Evans’ helmet. With the inert diver thrust before him, he managed to get through to the jagged break in the submarine's shell. From this he hurried to the mooring line. He was breathing heavily; the thick air did not seem to fill his lungs. The line was cut in a second from where it was held and he grasped it firmly with one hand. The other still clutched the unconscious diver. [Continued on page 38] NIGHT IN A HOUSE BY THE SEA Spencer Peel I lie at night and listen to the waves upon the beach, And think—It must be God I hear, in wordless, wonderful speech. A whisper low of something sad, a breath of mystery, Waves that wash the ageless sands of shores across the sea, The tall, dim ghosts of sunken ships, and all infinity Come through my open windows and, silent, speak to me. A lonely, faithful lighthouse-beam, a lobster-boat in the haze, Graceful gulls against grey skies—such visions charm my gaze. I lie at night and listen, and the waves upon the shore Sing my soul an old, strange song, a song I’ve heard before: It sings in the rushing roar of surf, in a fog-horn’s haunting call; Dawn’s grey mist can bring it, too, when sails hang limp and tall; It moves through the long, smooth surge of a yacht, in the wind, in the beat of the rain, In the nautical smell of oakom, like an old friend back again. It stirs in me vague longings, goes through me sweet and strong, And I pray my soul may never lose the clear, fresh charm of that song. DURGA THE WONDERFUL An Experience of my grandfather, a Baptist Missionary in India Samuel Evans S I jogged along the Grand Trunk road in my trap. I saw in the distance, a great throng of Hindus congregated under a pepal tree. In their midst was a newly carved statue of Durga, which was being worshipped by the people. I stopped my horse and hailed the haughty Brahmin priest. “What is this great “puja” (worship) V “It is nothing the Sahib-dog would understand, but this I will tell you; the people of the village have suffered greatly from cholera for two years and since there is no temple to Durga here, they have had an image made so that at her pleasure Durga will remove the curse. I am here to invoke the spirit of the goddess and after this puja, Durga will dwell in the idol,” the surly Brahmin replied. “That’s all stuff and nonsense; how can a god be in a stone?” “We know it is a stone, for the man that carved it is in our midst, but you do not realize that all Hindus have progressed further in religion than white men ?” The ceremony began, drums sent forth that weird, throbbing challenge; dancers took their places, and as the ceremony progressed, leaped wildly, uttering wild heart-rending shrieks like frenzied devils. Faster and faster, wilder and wilder, louder and louder, until at last wearied, panting, and breathless the dancers dropped, and a ceremony of prayers began. A goat was killed as a sacrifice and its blood, still warm, sprinkled over the idol, and the people fell down and worshipped it rubbing oil and red ochre over its body. “Does the spirit of Durga dwell in the idol yet?” I put the question to the Brahmin priest, at the end of the ceremony. “Yes!” came the emphatic reply. “How would it be, “I said, “if I should give that greasy, slimy Durga a slap?” The priest, when he had recovered his voice, answered even as he paled at the thought. “Don’t do it, you’ll drop dead.” I ambled over as calmly as I could and to the horror of the worshipping people, gave the idol a terrific slap—nothing happened! “You’ll die to- night,” the disgusted Brahmin muttered. There was a deep well nearby and to show further the sham of the priests, I said, “If I drop Durga into the well, and she flies out of the well by herself and sits under the pepal tree, then and only then will I worship the stone goddess myself. To this the Brahmin moaned and dazedly be- gan to implore me not to do it in terror of my life. I picked up the huge image and staggering to the well’s edge watched her sink with a terrific splash. I was covered with red ochre and oil but triumphant and, I guess, more daring than before, for I said to the Brahmin; Goodbye until next week. I hopped lightly into my trap and started home whistling contentedly. You won’t be alive next week! A week later I set out again to visit the pepal tree. While still a great distance away, I saw an even greater throng of Hindus assembled. A way was opened at my approach and the triumphant face of the Brahmin priest with a grin not unmingled with contempt appeared. Sahib, he said, now you too must fall down and worship Durga. I was at loss for word or action when my eye fell on a Bhisthi Mohammedan water carrier, who hated the Hindus because they were idolators. He was almost in hysterics. I suspected that he might know something that would prove the sham of the priest. The Bhisthi, only too glad to furnish something that would bring ridicule to the Hindus and the Brahmin priest said: Last night these men were frantic because they knew you were coming today and Dur- ga was as deep in the well as before. One of the men found out that my boy could swim and dive, so he paid him eight annas (twelve cents) to dive for Durga. He tied a rope around Durga’s neck and they hauled her up. The chagrinned and dejected Brahmin priest hurriedly disappeared in- to the arms of the crowd. AUTUMN SONG Hurrah, it is autumn! The wind is about, The rollicking, frolicking breezes are out, And all of the leaves, when the North Wind heaves. Go sailing to Kalamazoo! Hurrah, it is autumn! The bonfires glow, The blushing and flushing red apples must grow Till they hang on the trees like lazy old bees. Just ready to drop to the ground. Hurrah, it is autumn! Deep blue is the sky, The hurrying, scurrying squirrels frisk by. And all is a rush, with no time to hush, Till winter comes stealth’ly to stay. But oh, and hurrah! It is autumn to-day, The airiest, merriest season, I say! And life is just fine—no reason to whine— Be happy! It’s autumn—hurrah! Margaret Higginbotham. THE KING OF JAZZ An Interview with Paid Whiteman By William Coleman V—-f FTER leading stage man- s' I agers and secretaries a 2--1. merry chase throughout the backstage of the Keith- Boston Theatre, I finally and thank- fully found myself in the dressing room of Paul Whiteman, “The King of Jazz.” It was a typical dressing room, such as is now found in all the countries’ biggest theatres,—large and clean with at least ten mirrors placed at different angles around the walls. Here in the midst, Paul Whiteman was busily and efficiently making up his rotund face to appear before the glare of the spotlight. The so-called “ice was broken” when I ventured that it was not so hard to see him as would be supposed. Was it because he was not so “big as he used to be?” (I recalled his famous diet.) At this bit of would-be humor, Mr. Whiteman graciously but heartily laughed, putting me fully at ease. Feeling that we had both properly introduced each other, Mr. White- man decided that we should “get down to business” and prepared himself for the usual questions that are asked by interviewers. From him I learned that his father is supervisor of music in the Denver, Colorado Schools. Paul began his own musical career as first viola player (whatever that is) in the Denver Symphony Orchestra; in 1915 he held the same position in the World’s Fair Orchestra in Chicago. (This was only a fair orchestra.) It fared well, however, and gave him a fine local reputation. During the World War he led the U. S. Navy Band and then formed his own orchestra in San Francisco. It was while he was there that he originated the style of playing that was to earn him the title “The King of Jazz.” Whiteman has been generous in backing ambitious radio stars, the most famous of these being the incomparable Bing Crosby. Crosby was first with Mr. Whiteman as a member of a trio named the “Rhythm Boys.” It was while Bing was with the group that he attracted the attention of (Continued on page 35) HERE TIS An Interview with “Little Jack” Little By Ed Pearlin and Joe Ford QS “Little Jack” sauntered off the stage of the “Met” after his performance, we knew his nickname was indeed appro- priate as he stood but five feet four inches. His shoulders, however, were large enough to put a taller man to shame. His increasing popularity is easily understood when one has an opportun- ity to speak with him. His very engag- ing and magnetic personality, and pleasant face put us at ease as he said he'd be glad to answer our questions. Mr. Little told us that he came from Kansas City about fifteen years ago as one of the original “Tinpan Alley” composers. With radio popularity he was one of the first musicians to achieve a name for himself. He modestly told us that his songs were so poor that no publishers would ac- cept them, and he was forced to introduce them over the radio. It is hard for us to believe this, knowing that he is the author of some of the most popular hits including, “Jealous,” “Oceans of Love by the Beautiful Sea”. “Shanty in Old Shanty Town”, “Baby Parade”, and “The Wooden Soldier and the China Doll.” His forte as everybody knows is the piano, but he also plays the violin and several wind instruments. Confidentially, he is a golf bug, and shoots around in the seventies, but he has been so busy that, though he brought his clubs, he has not had a chance to play. He is married and claims New York as his home city where on his re- turn he will start a steady run with his present orchestra at Hotel Lexing- ton. His present group of boys is the first orchestra he ever organized. In our opinion they are equal to any contingent we have ever heard. “What do I think of Boston? Well, I have only been here twice playing five and six shows a day, so----.” Still thinking of his meaning, we shook hands and left, but not before promising a chance to see himself in Golden Rod print. ON THE AIR LISTENIN’ IN As this issue carries out the radio motive, it is an appropriate if not good idea for this writer to express her latent views on a pet topic of our day—radio as an aid to education. That radio is fast becoming an almost essential factor in education there is little doubt. Its benefits are numer- ous, and, fortunately, available to most students. Regarded as a supple- ment to, rather than as a substitute for, book-learning, regularly spon- sored programs, not to mention “special features,” offer to the student capable of applying it a wealth of knowledge—facts of current history which oral delivery vitalizes more than books and records ever could, and past history clearly interpreted in a manner far more expressive, and thus impressive, than the printed page. Authoritative talks and lectures em- bracing a variety of subjects from insects to foreign affairs are sent over the air waves to enrich our leisure moments, while the ever-handy news flashes and commentaries aid many a Problem of Democracy student in appearing well-informed on timely economic and social questions. And finally radio serves to elevate the American speech. We have become word- conscious because such announcers as Bill Haye, Carleton Dickerman, and John Holbrook have taught us correct pronunciation and inflection, often by sending us scurrying to Webster’s, only to find that culinary is right.. If your beliefs are similiar, reach for the dial instead of a balcony ticket. ••NERTZ” Over almost every broadcast from station Q. H. S. we hear the battle cry of equality from the Nertzies. “Five cents for ice-cream” is the war song. And why shouldn’t it be, say the sympathizers. This is a country founded on equality, our ancestors fought for it, and here are we on the noble battle ground ready to take up arms against the foes. “Nertzies for all, all for the Nertzies.” Still some spirit in the bodies of youth, isn’t there? But wait, there must be some solution. If a world war could end in a box car, then shouldn’t the differences-of-a-penny war be ended within the four brick walls of—no, not prison—but Quincy High School? We went to headquarters to interview Maestro Collins on this great and momentous question and we gained the following information: Our high school is run on a basis that aims to make accounts balance each year—no more, no less. Senior High’s cafeteria is of necessity run on a larger scale than any other schools in our city. There are more helpers, larger scale production, two hot dishes instead of the usual one, larger and richer bowls of soup than can be sold for less than five cents, and free crackers for soup and free nabiscos for ice-cream. The school usually allows to lose money on the hot dishes, but the balance is made up by the sale of cake, ice-cream, and candy. Through the preceding years, the amount realized from cake and candy has not been sufficient to reduce the price of ice- cream. We realize the demand of an explanation for the Nertzies is required. They have a right to it, and we know that such a spirit now, rightly ex- ercised, may even avert a depression in the future. But listen, Nertzies! You forgot about the Student Council when you started your campaign. Theirs is the job to keep things running smoothly, and keep everyone satisfied as far as it is within their power. We, as an entire school, should remember our Court of Justice and through its help in the future we may save public explanation and Maestro Collins’ hair. MAGINE living for many years in exotic China as the adopted daughter of the aristocratic Lin family. This is what happened to Nora Wain, Philadelphia Quakeress. Her tale of life in the “House of Exile” takes you to a China seldom found within the covers of a book. There she lived in the most sheltered court of the homestead—the Springtime Bower, considered to be the only safe place, in a Chinese home- stead, for a “maiden of marriageable age.” Close beside this was the Gar- den of Children where the children of the family lived and studied their lessons in the schoolroom court, a peaceful retreat with dividing walls of colorful tile. “The Place of the Meeting Winged Friends”, “Court of the White Jade Rabbit”, and “Within the Orchid Door” are but a few of the poetic names attached to various other courts of this expansive homestead. After twelve years in the splendor of the Lin clan, Nora Wain married a handsome Englishman in the foreign service at China. The first year of her married life she was confronted with the servant problem. Her ser- vant problem instead of being incompetency was the opposite. Since the whole staff had been with her husband throughout his bachelor days, they still regarded the “master’s” word as law and thwarted all the prac- tical jokes she tried to play on him. When she ordered roast lamb with mint sauce for dinner, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were invariably served. Understanding and time soon straightened out all difficulties, but for a while things were very amusing. New Boohs in the Library Reviewed by Betty Paragallo HOUSE OF EXILE Nora Wain Society in Shameen where they later lived is very formal. No Chinese are allowed to set foot on the island, which is strictly a Western Colony made up of the officials stationed in the foreign service at Canton. The women make their calls hatted and white-kid-gloved. The remainder of the book tells of the political situation which was be- coming more and more delicate. There are party uprisings, internal revo- lutions, and the beginning of the present struggle with Japan. Needless to say this delightful book is a real revelation of China. “Clear sky: no wind.” Fabien smiled. If such reports continued, he would end his flight; if not— A few hours later and Fabien knew the rest of the unfinished sentence, but it remained unuttered for the treacherous blackness of night had taken another hero of night flight duty. At home Madame Fabien waited in torturous suspense; waited for what?—the wreck of a man and just broken, cold steel. The once taut, fearless creature whose capable hands had sent the silver plane plunging through the air, lay limp—. defeated,— by a storm. The injustice of it! Riviere, the noble chief behind all the pilots of this story, passionately believed “that man’s happiness lies not in freedom, but in acceptance of a duty.” He loved his men, but didn’t show it. To make the night air-mail service a success he had to go on regardless of the loss of lives. Thus Riviere bore his heavy load of victory. The shining courage of these men who keep their brave deeds in the dark touches us, and our hearts go out to the women they leave behind. Their lot is a constant prayer to the elements for a clear sky and a merciful night. Such are the threads of a story as admirable for its literary qualities as for the portrait of the pioneers of “Night Flight.” NIGHT FLIGHT Antoine DeSa int—Exupery Our Poetry Short Story iVlrs. Helen McCarthy Miss Elizabeth Stone Mr. Roydon Burke Mrs. William Doble Miss Georgiana Lane Mr. Frederick Coates The “Golden-Rod” Editors wish to thank the judges for the time given to the judging of our contest; we greatly appreciate the interest which they showed. September 6 Sophomore day. Sophomores enter school the day before the juniors and seniors. Thus the innocent newcomers are not directed by the latter to imaginary elevators. 7 Big noise. The upper class- men arrive. 22 The F.’34 “Golden Rod” Staff announced. Arrival of the F.’34 class rings. October fi We view our football heroes on the stage. 11 Miss Slattery speaks to the girls and bovs h the audi- torium on “The Youth of the World.” 12 Three cheers for Mr. Chris- topher Columbus! 18 The papers announce that the teachers will be paid in December. 20 The harriers of the school defend Quincy's name at Arlington. 20 Miss Raycroft and her high senior preparatory classes enjoy “Alice in Wonderland.” 27 First social function of the year—-the Hallowe’en Dance. 31 Nertzies open their campaign for lower ice cream and soup rates. November 4 Girls’ Club hikes to the Blue Hills. 8 Sophomore Parents Night. 8-15 Displav in library of Stu- dents' hobbies. STATION ACTIVITIES RADIO CLUB As a result of the tremendous enthusiasm of the boys of the school for the radio, a Radio Club has been organized with Mr. Hud- son as faculty sponsor. The pur- pose of the club is to incite among the boys an interest in short wave radios and also to train them to become amateur operators, Al- though the organization has only recently started, several meetings have been held at which the Morse code has been studied. The group have expressed the desire that sometime they may be able to establish a station at the High School. The officers are: President, John Christiansen; Vice-President, David Sargent; and Secretary- Treasurer, Clyde Bonyman. STAR CLUB In the school there is a very promising group of young astron- omers who constitute the Star Club. These young people are under the capable direction of Mr. Thomas, popular head of the Science Department. Although there is no formal organization, the results are very gratifying. The group meets each Tuesday afternoon. The purpose of the club is to learn some of the constella- tions and their names, the names of the brightest stars, and inter- esting facts concerning them. At a recent meeting, astronomical slides were shown which proved of great value to the members. Ob- servation nights have been held on Third Hill and were most enjoyable ami instructive. THE WEATHER Sunny Weather—If you brought your umbrella to school. Rain if you left it at home. THALIA CLUB The Thalia Cllub, the hono sorority for the girls of the schoc held on Friday, October 20, the in itiation of new members. Ami gales of laughter, thirteen ne girls were welcomed into this elut The names of the newcomers ai’e Gertrude Booth. Lillian Fleish man. Pearl Feldman, Norma Mac Lend, Nancy McGuire, Mildret Melrose. Miriam Mattson, Helm Rizzi. Ellora Sargent, Mirian Stein, Edna Ruscitto, Ethel Amet and Virginia Viner. At the first regular meeting o the club, some teachers of th school who visited the World' Fair during the summer gavi short informal talks on what im pressed them the most. Th« women teachers were presente with bouquets of flowers, and th- men. boutonnieres. CAMERA CLUB A new club, the Camera Club has been organized this year wit] Mr. Buckingham as adviser. Th aim of the club is to learn how t make good pictures. Developing photo-finishing, and enlarging ar also included in the course. Th members expect to add to thei ability and appreciation of th artistry as well as of the tech nique of photography. The club plans to have a bulle tin board of its own and from tinu to time have displays of exhibitioi and competitive photographs. The officers of the club are President and Chairman of Wayi and Means Committee, Arthui Fowler; Secretary-Treasurer, Way: and Means Committee. Erna Koss Ways and Means Committee Toivo Nousio. POETRY CLUB The Poetry Club, a rapidly grow ing organization of this school, ha: started another year of its im portant existence. The club, whicl includes the poetic genius of th school, has a new adviser, Mis: CADCASTS Joy L. Ncvens. The officers are: President, Margaret Higginboth- am; Secretary, Doris R. Dennison; and Chairman of the membership committee, Pearl Williams. Miss Ncvens, who has been affiliated with other poetic groups, has in- troduced novel methods for the study and writing of poetry. NEW HOOKS ARRIVE These include the following fiction group: Ayscough —“Firecracker Land”, Edna Fer- ber—“Cimarron”. Lawrence Mc- Kinley Could—“Cold”, Carveth Wells—“Adventure”, Tomlinson— “The Sky’s the Limit”. Don Class- man— 'Jump”, Why not be the first to read these books? MISS SLATTERY SPEAKS Miss Margaret Slattery, nation- ally famed lecturer, visited our school again on October 11. She was greeted very enthusiastically by the students. Contrary to the custom of other years, Miss Slat- tery included the boys of the school in her audience. It was necessary, owing to the enormous membership of the school, to have two assem- blies. There were several guests present, including Reverend and Mrs. Haskins, who are newcomers to the city. Miss Harrison, and Mr. Muir. This year, Miss Slattery’s in- spiring talk was on the subject of “The Youth of the World.” We were introduced, by means of word pictures, to boys and girls from various foreign countries includ- ing Russia, China, and India. By the. thrilling examples of their leadership in times of changing conditions and upheavals of ideas, we were inspired by Miss Slattery to do our share in shouldering a great part of the burden of our country in these trying years. Quincy High wishes to take this opportunity to thank Miss Slattery for her lectures which are so eagerly anticipated by all the faculty and students. STUDIO PRATTLE By Maker Minchell Flash—Quincy..... The sopho- mores of Quincy High School are certainly receiving a lot of atten- tion this year. The first day of school was called “Sophomore Day.” The object was to let the new :vnd ever-wclcome members of the school learn their way around without the assistance of the helpful (?) juniors and seniors. Hitherto, these novices have spent much of their time in search of fourth floor elevators to which their enlightening brothers and sisters have directed them. The next thoughtful act tendered them was the Sophomore-Parents Night. This will ever be in the minds of these children the memorable night when their distinguished elders were permitted to visit with their teachers, touching here and there throughout their conversa- tion on rather delicate subjects... The first social function of the year was the Hallowe’en Dance. The gym was artistically decor- ated in orange and black. Four hundred tickets were sold this year, fifty of which were for guests outside the school (as these sometimes come in handy) .... There were several new teachers added to the ranks this year: Miss Marr and Miss Carville, who are trying to straighten out in the minds of some of the students (?) the differences between periods and apostrophes; Miss Palmer, who together with her pupils delves in- to the recesses of books to find the answers to such facts as “When did Washington cross the Dela- ware? and Miss Reddy, who has undertaken to produce the next champion typist and bookkeeper .. The rings for the February seniors have arrived. They arc very at- tractive and arouse comment wherever they are worn. Due to j the activities of the Blue Eagle, however, when the second order was mailed, the prices had ad- vanced considerably (e’est dom- mage) ... Miss Florence Rizzi, a very familiar figure in the office, has been ill in the hospital. We sincerely hope that her recupera- tion is very rapid and that she will soon be back with us... At an as- sembly in the early fall, Mr. Col- lins made a statement which pro- voked much worry among indul- gent parents. In referring to the question as to where to put the juniors for chorus, he threatened to solve the problem by throwing these important people into the Town River (gracious!!). Some- thing apparently changed his mind, and the matter was settled l y placing the girls in the senior chorus and the boys in the sopho- more chorus .. The girl cheer leaders are back. My, what a relief after an assembly where some of the other sex tried to excite a little enthusiasm in the audience. At the first appearance of the girls, the school was somewhat animated, and between this atti- tude and the pep of the girl leaders, (after several attempts) a rousing cheer was yelled .. .The customary procedure of choosing the “Golden Rod” Staff by vote of the class members has been dis- continued. The competitive method has been adopted, whereby any- one my try out for membership by submitting material to be judged by the “Golden Rod” faculty ad- visers. It was through this process that the present staff was chosen. This concludes our broadcast for the present... This is Malter Minchell signing off and remind- ing you that not all people have railroad radios . °They whistle at every station. TRAMP—TRAMP—TRAMP Over there it was:— Marching feet, Triumphantly conquering The enemy. Tramping feet, Eagerly charging The lines. Running feet, Victoriously going Over the top. Crawling feet, Slithering through No Man’s Land. Then it was:— Marching feet, Triumphantly back From the war. Tramping feet, Eagerly timed To the music. Running feet, Happily rushing To outstreched arms. Crawling feet, Dragging from The victorious parade. Now it is:— Marching feet, Bravely going On Hunger Marches. Tramping feet, Freezing and Nowhere to go. Running feet, Desperately stealing For little ones. Crawling feet, Hopelessly shuffling In Bread Lines. What is to come?— Marching feet, Triumphantly treking To work. Tramping feet, Swinging a full Lunch pail. Running feet, Eagerly rushing To wideflung arms. Crawling feet, Dragging from a Hard day’s work. Erna Koss. LUIS MARDEN ANNOUNCING Louis Paragallo Feb. ’32 Takes Us The Other Side of The Mike October 24, 1933. To the Alumni Editor: I appreciate greatly your request for a letter to the Alumni column of the “Golden Rod.” Like the legendary busman on holiday, I am glad to hear of a “radio issue” of the school magazine. Though I have done nothing that would make very good copy, I have found the three years that I have spent in radio work interesting. In radio you get practically all of the atmosphere of the stage and screen without the disadvantages of a wandering life. Therefore I would advise all of you who are greatly intrigued by visions of a stage career to try radio first. However, you will find both lines crowded, making it a matter of choice after all. The major part of my radio experience has been gathered in the studios of W L 0 E, an independent Boston station with main studios in the Hotel Bellevue on Beacon Hill. For some weeks I was connected with the Yankee Network key stations, WNAC and W A A B. Since the latter stations are also members of the Columbia Broadcasting System, it is quite interesting to note their method of tying up the three outlets: Columbia, Yankee, and the two locals—N A C and A A B. Thus a program may originate in New York and be picked up or “tapped” by either of the local stations; a local program may originate locally and be sent up and down New England over the Yankee tie-up; or it may be sent out only locally to the Boston area. Besides these combinations, quite often a program is sent “down the pipe”, which is radio cant for a show that is broadcast only over the other member stations of the network, and not through the key outlets, as is usually the rule. So you see, there would be a good deal of room for a mix-up in timing, were not the schedules scientifically and carefully made out. Obviously, the minute is too large a fraction of time to be used in dealing with such complications, and as a result, network programs are worked on the half- minute. There is a main control-room through which everything that goes on the air passes. Connected by wiring with this is what is known officially as an announcer’s booth, usually a little six by ten cell with nothing in it but a chronometer, a loudspeaker, a chair, and a microphone. Here the an- nouncer sits (poor man) and waits the long hours through for “cuts” or “breaks” as they are known, which mean simply station identifications or announcements of the call letters, such as “W N A C in Boston.” These “cuts” come either on the half or the quarter-hour, or usually both. Now, there is always a “cue” so that the local announcer may know when it is exactly the time to make his “cut.” These cues vary with the chains, but on CBS programs it is: “This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.” When the local man hears the network announcer say this, he “punches in” his own microphone by pushing a button on a control box before him. This puts him on the air with his “cut” or news flash. The cue invariably comes thirty seconds before the “nose” or exact half or quarter-hour. This means that at the end of a fifteen-minute program the cue is given at fourteen and one-half minutes past the hour, and on a thirty minute broad- cast, the warning phrase is given at twenty-nine and one-half minutes past. This leaves the announcer, who has cut in his mike at the cue, thirty seconds to make his station announcement and news flash, at the end of which he switches his mike off and the next program starts “on the nose” or exactly on the hour or half-hour as the case may be. The local announcements do not always consume the full thirty seconds allowed them by the networks, and in event of such a shortage of material, the remaining “dead air” or seconds of silence before the start of the next program must be filled in by a “sustainer” which is usually a bit of music or a run of bells or chimes played by some studio musician or recorded for just such emergencies. Despite these many measures of caution, there is often much confusion and scurrying about in radio stations to get pro- grams ofF on time, which the smoothly-running broadcast does not betray to the audience. Altogether it is a pleasant business (but for the hours) and it is educat- ing to meet the many personalities one does encounter in any form of the entertainment business. May I say just one word to those thinking of looking for radio work? Do not let yourselves be misled by the enormous sums reputed to be paid radio announcers or artists, since one hears only of the headliners in each field. For every one of these there are five hundred struggling plodders trying to make network ends meet. Thank you again for the privilege of writing you, and I suppose I should say Signing off: Luis Marden SPORTSFOLIO eOOD afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, members of the Q. H. S. faculty and studes: This is your favorite station, D-O-P-E bring- ing you once again the greatest sports feature on the air—The Sportsfolio. Today, I would like to tell you about a city in Massachusetts, Quincy by name, which happens to possess the fightingest football team between the two poles. I could stand here all day telling you about that team but I’m not going to. I could tell you about the original Hard Luck Team, an out- fit which possesses every quality essential to a consistent winner except for that important item usually called Luck, but I’m not going to do that either. I shall let you judge for yourself; as a matter of fact you are go- ing to witness the major games of Quincy’s season visualized for you by your old standby, Red Hooey.—Here we go! Well, folks, we’re going into the last quarter of this Quincy-Melrose game and there is still no score. These teams have battled forty-five minutes in a deadlock which must be broken this period. It’s Quincy’s ball, first down on their own ten yard line.....There’s the pass from center .....It’s fumbled! They’re all diving for that ball.....one minute, folks and we’ll tell you whose ball it is..It’s Melrose’s ball, first down and just listen to that crowd! . . . They’re lining up . . . The ball goes to Brown . . . .He fades back! . . . . It’s a pass! .... and a tochdown! The score is Melrose 6, Quincy 0. Signals! 1-2-3-4-Hike! We’re broadcasting the game between the Tufts Jay Vees and Quincy High .... It’s Quincy’s ball, first down on Tufts’ 12 yard mark. Ordway is back . . . The pass from center is poor! . . . Ordway is smothered for a four-yard loss ... Second down, fourteen to go .. .Daley back . .. Again the pass from center is bad and Daley is nailed for a two-yard loss . . . Third down, sixteen yards to go . . . Malvesti passes to Troup for a six yard gain . . . Malvesti passes again but the heave is grounded . . . Tough luck, Quincy! . . . Score Quincy 0, Tufts 0. Signals! 1-2-3-4-Hike Here they come and the crowd roars! Quincy High’s football eleven is taking the field. The startinng lineup is Gookin, Service, Finn, Densmore, Alfano, Hughes, and Smollett in the line, Baldovin, Malvesti, Daley, and Ordway in the back field. The score is Quincy 13, Brookline 6. Quincy’s touchdowns were made by Baldovin on a line buck and by Daley on a wide end run. It’s Quincy’s ball at midfield. Ordway is back! He kicks! It’s a long spiralling boot! It falls in the end zone! Smollett, the flashy Quincy wing is down under it and he falls on it over the goal-line and it’s a touch-down. The final score is Quincy 19. Brookline 6. We’re back in the studio again. We could have gone on and told you how the Lynn Classical game was lost because of two blocked punts, how the Newton game went because of poor booting and how a blocked kick gave New Bedford the winning margin of 13-7. To date Quincy High has played three undefeated contenders for the state schoolboy title and has three more of the same calibre yet to play. Considering the type of oppo- sition met. commendation in generous quantities is just what the doctor ordered for the fighting warriors of the gridiron. Today we’re giving you a new slant on football from the view point of the participant. Often the players of a team have much more interesting thoughts than those of the manager or coach, and the worthy trio whose thoughts are hereupon inscribed are no exception. The three brutes who so graciously assisted ye humble scribe are “Pip” Alfano and “Sam” Asnes, a duo whose sideboards and moustaches have sent 9,346 local barbers to a certain institution located at Taunton, Mass., and Buck Densmore. According to Mr. Alfano who holds down that portion of the line gen- erally designated as left guard, the lineman has fully earned the title, “The Forgotten Man.” Mr. Alfano points out that the idea of submitting to several sorts of mayhem in the line would be almost endurable if the fan realized that in order that the four gazelles might romp lightly hither and yon, the seven powerful, patient oxen must strive mightily. He is also under the impression that if the fans gave the lineman his rightful share of credit, there would be more candidates for those positions and less feeling that the homage is unevenly divided. It appears that Mr. Asnes enjoys the opening kick-off just about as much as a polar bear would enjoy a winter in Florida. While the customary pre- liminaries are taking place, ye quarterback is in a daze . . . Pep talk by coach . . . Still in a daze. The team runs out on the field and ye quarter- back finds that “your stummick don’t seem to be there.” The whistle shrills and the game is on! Gone is the daze. Returned is the absent stummick. The game is on! Mr. Densmore, whose job it is to deliver the oval from between his sturdy legs into the hands of the waiting backs, talks about the feelings of the squad before and in the early minutes of the game. The shower room would make an excellent studying-ground for a psy- chologist, for the actions and reactions of the team are both varied and interesting to behold. “Pat” Cleary flashes his nationality by adhearing to a peculiar superstition. He has never played a ’Varsity game with more than one stocking gracing his shapely shank. Walter Ordway sets not his cleats to the turf until every knot or suspicion of a knot has been care- fully removed from his shoes. Some of the fellows are serious, others are gay. No one feels especially happy. The golden tones of Bing Crosby are heard and Bill Coleman is received joyfully by his team mates to whom his mimicry is nearly as pleasant a thing as his playing. Perhaps the Queer Quartet, DiGravio, Baldovin, Alfano and Gookin will with murder- ous intent render a stirring ballad of original theme whose title is no less than “Vincentisio es un Escupatoro” or in English, “Vincent is a sweeper.” Mr. Densmore now takes us to the field of battle. In his position of center he gets an excellent view of the opening play since he remains back on the kick-off. He sees his team going down under the kick, some taken out beautifully, others striding manfully past hopeful interferes to bear the hapless ball-carrier crashingly to earth. Some very cute little tricks are practised by linemen in general and centers in particular. We might mention the really amusing pastime of staving in your opponent’s skull with cleated shoe, lightly nudging your opponent with your elbow so as to knock out all his teeth, and several other little mannerisms all of which make the game more enjoyable—to the fans. It’s a beautiful scene at the stadium here today, folks. A record break- ing crowd is sending cheer after cheer volleying back and forth; cheer leaders are performing their gyrations in perfect accord; two bands are blaring forth school songs of the rivals; the Red and Black of North con- trasts effectively with the Blue and White of Quincy! Numbered in the crowd are students of both schools, frenzied alumni and staid teachers whose customary mantle of stoic dignity has been ripped asunder by the gripping excitement of this terrific struggle between two well-drilled, fighting football teams. Forty-five minutes of this thrilling football and still there is no score! The teams have battled to a dead lock which seems two powerful to break. Four times has North failed to cash in on Quincy’s fumbles. Four times has this gallant Quincy eleven, fighting within the very shadow of its goal posts, resisted the attack of coach Donahue’s Red and Black invaders. Passes, punts, placement kicks, end runs, line bucks, in fact all known ways of advancing the pigskin have figured in the heroic but fruitless at- tempts of the two outfits to break into the scoring. Only one sad incident has occurred to mar the pleasant atmosphere of this game, a report that “Cap” Bryan, North’s great triple threat and fighting school idol, is suffer- ing at Quincy Hospital with a possible fractured hip ... There’s a commo- tion at the gates. They’re bringing Bryan back! They’re carrying him to the bench and just listen to that crowd! There are five minutes to play. It’s North’s ball at midfield. They form into a single wingback formation, Ryan back. There they go! Behind beautiful interference. “Peanuts” Ryan just swept around right end for 25 yards and it’s first down for North on Quincy’s 20 yard line. They’re lining up in kick formation, Nelson back. The ball is snapped! It’s a pass to Joly, far down the right side .. . He’s in the clear. He’s hit by Baldovin and he’s over! Listen to that crowd! They've gone crazy! The police are hard put to keep them off the field! What a play that was! Nelson is back for a place kick and—he just misses and the score is North 6—Quincy 0—with two minutes to go. North kicks off and Quincy starts a march down the field with Daley, Asnes, and Ordway doing the ball toting. But they lose the ball on downs on North’s 20 yard line as the game ends! Next year—North! Before our next broadcast, hockey and basketball are going to be in full swing so we’ll tell you a little about these two sports so that you won’t forget them in the light of enthusiasm for football H. Kenneth Hudson, a gentleman who estab- lished Quincy as a hockey town last winter when he ran his whirlwind outfit within an ace of the state championship, will undoubt- edly enter another team in that same Bay State League which his charges nearly copped last year. His prospects look ex- ceedingly bright as he will have on hand such seasoned veterans as Bill Coleman, Pat Cleary, Walter Ordway, Vic and Bud Gavaza and Joe Neeley. Two promising sophomores, Wilcox and Lundin are ex- pected to bolster up the defenses. Basketball prospects look bright with last year’s sophomore unit expected to form the nucleus of the team. The yearling outfit showed great power last winter and it was only a lack of experience that kept them from breaking more regularly into the starting lineups. The members of the team are; DiGravio, Ollila, Dunn, Pearson, McCollum, Alm- strom and Avery. The ’Varsity men back are MacMulkin, Kangas, Smol- lett and Pendergast. All in all it looks like a cozy winter for the local sports fiends with two promising teams in the making. We hope you have enjoyed our little program, folks. GALLING all sports readers! Calling all sports readers! Coach George Wilson's first call for cross-country candidates resulted in over forty-five harriers rallying for the first workout. Among the veterans who reported were Captain Irving Patten, Howard Davis, Allan Whitelaw, and Ralph Wheeler, a strong nucleus for another undefeated team. After several weeks of muscle conditioning and stam- ina building, time trials were held and Captain Irving Patten, Howard Davis, Ralph Wheeler, Allan Whitelaw, George Deveau, Fred Brennion, Jack MacCarthy, Toivo Nousio and Paul Lyons made Varsity. Calling all sports readers. Calling all sports readers..... Howdy listeners! Here we are down in Braintree bringing you a word picture of the finish of the race between Quincy High and Braintree High. What a race!—What a race! The lithe figure of Baker from Braintree High is just breaking the tape for first place after completely running away from the remainder of the field. Here come Davis, Milne, Patten, Evans, Briggs, Wheeler; and Whitelaw, Nousio, Deveau, Countway, and Thayer, tie. Quincy wins 26-37. What a race! . . . . Sports flash! Quincy cross-country team whips Arlington 27-28 in a bitter race over the latter’s course The meet is packed with thrills. Howard Davis of Quincy loses first place to Captain Hall of Arlington over the last hundred yards of the race. They are followed by Patten, Evans, Cronin, Hanlon, Brennion, and Wheeler. Please stand by for a moment . . Station S-O-C-C-E-R on the air broadcasting from Faxon’s field during one of its practice sessions giving you a week-to-week account of its activities.— O.K. “Doc” Whiting! Take it away!---------- Hello sports followers! This year on ac- count of the financial conditions of the ath- letic association, I have been forced to take over Tommy Fleming’s position as coach of the soccer team. The team deserves more time than I can give it with its informal eight game schedule. Three games have been played already. We opened the season at Exeter, New Hampshire where we were tied 1-1 by the Exeter men in a fast, clever game. Then we met New Bedford High and after a tense, rugged game, we were forced to take it on the chin by a 2-1 score. In the third combat we met North Quincy High. At last we struck the form we had attempted to reach in earlier contests, handing the Northerners their loss. The regular Varsity team boasts Jim Shearer and Stewart Steele, full- backs; Henry Galbcrg, Russ Sullivan, and George Anderson at the inter- mediate positions; Eddie Pyne, John Robertson, John Logan, Jimmy Mc- Guire, and Chisholm, forwards; and Power, goal. ELLO, sports fans! Here we are again with the latest inside story on Q. H. S. girls’ athletics. Each class wins a championship in the fall sports this year. The Sophs beat the Juniors 4-3 in tennis, and scored a surprise upset over the Seniors, 4-2. Frances Bax- ter, Priscilla Baxter. Ruth Bissett, Iola Calderone, Iris Stelfox, Margaret Morin, Tyyne Torvi, and Mary George are the girls of the racquet. The Juniors, led by Captain Christina Brown, whisked away school soccer championship. The first game with the Seniors held a scoreless tie; but in the second, Miss Brown scored the only goal, the winning point for her team. Isabelle McAuley, Mary Grazioso, Eileen Murphy, Edith Mos- cardelli, Sigrid Huovinen, Margaret Mattson, Claire Giarusso, Rita Duffy, Aili Karhu, Captain Chris Brown, Miriam Larson and Reva Paven have earned their “Q’s”. Captained by Helen Spadorcia, the Seniors won the Field Hockey title after defeating the Juniors 1-0, and the Sophs 6-1. The champs, whose names you have heard over this network before, are: Captain Helen Spadorcia, Dot Brown, Mar- garet Crichton, Margaret DeWiee, Ethel Hollman. Mary Little, Esther Osberg, Anna Sheehan, Mae Smith, Marjorie Smollett, Georgiana Gillan, Martha Greenwood, and Avis Walker, Basketball candidates have al- ready signed up, and play will soon be under way. Tune in the same station next issue, and until then...... The King of Jazz [Continued from page 19] people who gave him opportunities for stardom. Mr. Whiteman has a great liking for Bing who he said is the “best of the best.” Probably all of us will agree to that. I was interested but surprised to learn that Paul Whiteman’s son has shown so far no interest in music, but he is a great admirer of Ben Bernie. After a few more minutes of pleasant talk, the back-stage light flashed red, giving Mr. Whiteman exactly six minutes to appear in the wings of the spacious Keith stage, ready for his cue. With the old philosophical story on his lips “Back to Work” and a pleasant good-bye, Mr. Whiteman stepped forth to delight another Boston audience. A few minutes later I heard a thunderous applause greet the popular “King of Jazz.” IN BEHALF OF OUR WATER BOYS DO one has ever written a literary or artistic composition concern- ing our water boys, or, if we must stoop so low, ever mentioned them; the boys who in spite of wind or rain will always carry on. When we attend a football game we see no one but our idols who prance and strut about the field amid the wild screams and cries of the howling mob, while our water boys, like Venus at the pump, fill their buckets and, with head held high, totter back to their places at the bench and await patiently for the cry of “water” from the field. But when our demi-gods are injured, who runs out to assist them, and slops water all over their already muddy uniforms; who nearly drowns them in over-eleva- tion of fancy at helping out a fellow team-mate? Who, when the whistle has blown at the end of the half and the cheering section echoes with the clamoring and loud proclaiming of the names of the heroes who have fought bravely and have scored, runs out to take towels to them, and then staggers back carrying their warm-up jackets and the extra footballs, plus their own ever-present pails? Do they get any applause or tribute, or is any honor bestowed upon them; in fact, is even gratitude expressed? What are we going to do for these valiant and courageous youths who endure the banter and satire of the riotous assembly with a look on their countenance of happiness and peace, which comes only to those who have answered the call? Steak and Potato fContinued from page 6] was all too evident that the tramp did not wish to work that day. Once inside again Dick was told by the meat and vegetable cook that they were nearly out of chicken. They would need more for supper. “I’d better call up Foster’s for about eighteen pounds of dressed fowl to be delivered in an hour,” decided Dick. “About twenty-three would be safer.” Dick went to the telephone and began to ring, but a cackle made him wait: “Yes, and I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him since I left the hospital that afternoon. John was always sensitive and I suppose the scars were terrible. I wish I could help him.” “If he’s living, Elsie,” said another voice. “He must be,” declared the lady in blue, her voice subsiding to a plain- tive tone. “I wonder if he ever goes hungry.” HELEN JACOBS America’s Court Queen An Interview by Oliver Kangas and Toivo Nousio XT was one brisk Monday morning in October that we sat in the attractive library of Mrs. Leslie A. Friend of Melrose waiting to meet Miss Helen Jacobs, queen of American tennis courts. While we were nervously trying to imagine how our subject would ap- pear with only a poor recollection of a picture we had seen in a newspaper to guide us, in walked a figure attired in a chic blue and white pajama ensemble accompanied with white furred slippers. Could this amicable, alluring young lady of the brown hair and hazel eyes be Helen Jacobs? In a few seconds our hopes were confirmed. We found Miss Jacobs as pleasant in words as in looks. Then we fired the barrage of questions. “Where were you born and educated, Miss Jacobs?” “I was born in Bisbee, Arizona and attended a girls’ school in Berkeley, California and later the University of California.” “What first started you off on your tennis career?” “Through a mistake my name was entered in the 1923 Pacific Coast Tennis Championship at Berkeley, California and favored by luck I made the semi-finals. Since then I have participated in all sorts of tournaments in this country as well as in Europe.” “What has been the greatest aid in your achieving the position of being the foremost tennis player in the United States?” “The instructions I have received from “Big Bill” Tilden, Mrs. George W. Wightman, Howard Kinsley, and several other well-known tennis players.” “What are the general requirements of a person wishing to be a better- than-average tennis player?” “One must have natural ability or practice assiduously the mechanics of tennis. A person should not play tennis to win but to emphasize certain tennis principles and perfect difficult shots.” “What do you think about the professional field of tennis?” “Professional tennis has its place, yet here in the United States it is still 37 in its infancy. Our professionals are made up mostly of dethroned amateur tennis champions, while in Europe, where professional tennis has a very high standard, the pros have made it their vocation from the beginning and in most cases have never played as amateurs.” “What are your plans for the near future?” “I expect to take part in the Wightman Cup matches in 1934. At present I am planning to write for magazines and newspapers during the coming winter since writing has always had the greatest appeal of a number of in- terests, tennis included. If successful I may make it my vocation.” Our last question answered, we thanked Miss Jacobs for her time, prom- ised to send her a copy of our magazine, and retired, regretfully knowing all good things must come to an end. In the Depths [Continued ftum p gc Hj “Haul up the mooring line quick!” he shouted into his helmet, speaking slowly and plainly so that there would be no mistaking his orders. After repeating it twice he felt the rope tighten and they started upward. The deck of the S-40 faded out of sight. Although they were rising fast, hours seemed to pass before the stage was reached. Phil propped his friend against the side and hung on. Breath- lessly he shouted: “No decompression. Haul us up quick!” Finally the stage rose from the water and swung over the railing to the deck. Without questions they were rushed to the decompression chamber and put under pressure. It was after dark before the pressure was down to normal and they were carried to their bunks. Evans had regained consciousness after an hour in the “iron doctor” and was almost his own self by the time he was fully de- compressed. In a few days Tom Evans was diving again and though the incident had outwardly blown over, it was deeply imprinted upon his memory and in his heart a stronger bond of friendship had grown for his shipmate. The Romance of Names [Continued fr -m page 8j vorite places over the globe, and become acquainted with towns and countries whose names I have come to love. And What Cheer, Iowa, will be one of the first stops. Rockaway and Point Pleasant, New Jersey, sound like two ideal places for such a lazy person as I, and Spring Hill, England, reminds one of a Stevenson poem. It has the lilt and freshness of eternal spring in its name, and one cannot imagine winter coming to such a place. So could I go on giving innumerable instances of charming names, but I shall leave you your own enchantment to make. Just remember that the only wand you need is a sparkling imagination. TAKIT OR LEAVIT One of our most prominent gradu- ates, George Will- iams, is spending his spare time painting his house to the tune of “I Wake Up Smil- ing, accompanied by his chorus of twenty paint brushes. Tiger Nugent, that well-known sartorial authority on what the well-dressed man will wear, has been appointed oflicial tailor to Mahatma Gandhi. The only way study pupils in the hall can tell the time is to read the calender. Alex and Gus Kuhns, those two most violent advocates of the fu- tility of education, are back at the old Alma Mammy taking P. G's. What would happen if Mr. Rhinehalter should be stricken with aphonia? (loss of speech). We have heard that Jack Gates will write a treatise on how to waste time successfully. How many know that our aus- tere vice principal is taking up a correspondence course on detec- tive work and how to get your man? The sophomores have discovered there is no school Saturdays. Did you know that Jack Can- non’s ambition is to be a glass blower ? ♦ “An effigy is a simile of a man. So That’s the Trouble? Miss Connolly: What does a busi- ness do whose routine becomes monotonous? Voice: Commits suicide. Self Service Tarr (in Biology) : How do the butterflies eat when they’re flying over oceans? Satterlund: They pack a lunch. Stewed? Miss McHardy: What is a grub worm ? Patten: Those are the ones we eat. ... I It’s no wonder that Ed McLeod is sprucing out in lots of . new clothes—he takes up the collection at church now. Not Even Sheepish Mr. Briggs (in Geometry) : Cos- saboom—next example. Bob: Oh! I can’t do this work, but I don’t want to pull the wool over your eyes—I came in here to learn how to make figures. ) Speaking of Nudists Sign on Tennis Court: Players must wear tennis shoes only. Fumble! Ordway (to fair friend): Say, did you ever try listening to a teacher with your eyes shut? She: No, did you ever try listen- ing to one with your mouth shut? A Complete Wreck He spoke in an English derelict. POPULAR SCHOOL SONGS “Hold Me” Library slip Lazybones” Dozing in the study hall. “Stay Out of My Dreams” That deficiency. Butterflies in the Rain” Going home on a rainy day. I'll Be the Meanest Man in Town” Mr. Wilson in detention. “One Hour With You” Detention, also. Try a Little Tenderness” To the teacher at the end of five weeks. I Can't Believe It's True” Quincy beats Brockton. Till the Shadows Retire” Doing homework. Let's Try Again” Chorus. A Little Street Where Old Friends Meet” The first floor corridor. That's My Weakness Now” Mr. Collins making jig-saw puz- zles out of hall scraps. Stringing Along on a Shoestring” Just passing. Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” A call to Mr. Wilson’s office. Hold Your Man” The football tackle. Bless Your Heart” The sophomore. “Don't Blame Me” Dropping a milk bottle in the cafeteria. The Last Roundup” Graduation. Quite a Tie-up Miss Giles: What is a Moor? A1 Keith: I’ve heard about mooring a boat. Get the connec- tion? Love—and Latin! Mr. Briggs: (In test) What does LXXX mean? Joan: Oh I know, love and kisses. The Old Family Essay Miss Giles: Sam, I’m going to write a note to your father and tell him how poor this essay is. Asnes: 0. K. by me—he wrote it. 90° in the Moon Miss Nead: The days in Gren- oble, France are very hot. French Student: Never mind the days, how about the nights? Miss Nead: They’re pretty hot, too. Godfrey was dressed up in his satan suit. Plus Fours Teacher in history class: What happened in 1483? Student promptly: Luther was born. Teacher: What happened in 1487? After a long pause: Luther was four years old. Hand Drawn Work Advertisement: We do not tear your laundry cruelly by machines, we do it carefully by hand. Lempi: I’m getting a permanent tomorrow. Helen: Whereabouts? Lempi: Head, stupid! Powdered? We call Fairfield brown “Sugar” because he’s sweet, but not refined. All Wet! Miss Giles: The brain is like a sponge, it absorbs what surrounds it and then it’s up to me to— Norling: Squeeze it! PERSONAL PIFFLE With profound apologies to my friend 0. 0. McIntyre Milk and spinach I abhor Sewing and housework I deplore In math and science nihil’s my score Snakes and snobs I’d like to claw. Good books and bikes have fascina- tion For jet-black cats I’ve kitty ration Radio lights are a sensation And journalist’s my avocation. Other things that I dislike Are teachers who are always right Those meticulously polite And my unpardonable height. Loads of carmels I could eat 0. 0. ’s a columnist I should meet Leslie Howard is real sweet— Ah---------- At last this poem is complete. A MODERN COLUMBUS A� I stepped from the train at the Grand Central Station, The people were having a great celebration. Vast crowds were filling the air with their cheers. That rattled the windows and deafened the ears, I spoke to a girl who was standing near by And asked her the wherefore and also the why. Said she, “Why, sure, don’t you know that to-day We honor the noted Sir Henry de Kay? A famous discoverer who visits our land Must be greeted with cheers and a ninety-piece band. Jale College has made him a Doctor of Laws; Our statutes need doctors to rem- edy flaws. The papers are full of his state- ments and views, What he eats for his breakfast we read in the news.” She stopped for a breath, and I questioned her then, “What did he discover; and how. where, and when?” “He’s the greatest discoverer the world’s ever seen; In some restaurant soup he dis- covered the bean.” One Ann Lunch A Latin student: The Romans lie on one elbow and eat with the other! Naked Ghost? Miss McHardy: Helen, what is a skeleton ? Spud: Well, er—it’s a man with his inside out and his outside off. Quick. A Murad Soph: I saw a man swallow a sword last night. Sachetti: That’s nothing. Last night I saw a man inhale a camel. He who laughs last, seldom sees the point anyway. IT’S NOT TOO EARLY to start planning what you arc going to do after you graduate from Quincy High School. College may be one of the possibilities, but you might continue the thought further and plan what you want to be doing five years after you are out of High School. Consult Mr. Collins or Miss Harrison about the various careers and their possibilities. Business is one of the main ones, and in times like these a great deal of preparation is necessary before entering it. Yes, a broad education is advisable, and then a training for some special phase. That’s why it’s not too early to start planning, and that’s why we invite you to come in to talk the matter over with one of the officers of this school. We would be very glad to give you our suggestions as to what courses to take to best prepare for your chosen line of business. If you have no choice, we might be able to help you decide. At any rate we hope that it may be convenient for you to come in (we do not employ any outside salesmen or canvassers) to the school at the corner of Boylston and Arlington Streets, to talk over your plans for the future. Or, write or phone L O. White, Principal, Bryant Stratton Commercial School, 334 Boylston Street, Boston. Ship’s Haven Anchor at a Safe GJhclma 2C. 3lnttes School of Dancing All types of Stage Dancing and Ballroom East Milton—Quincy—Adams Shore Phone Granite 4S40-W Port and Eat at this Haven Mayor (Eliarlcs A. ISoss 1237 Hancock Street Angelo’s Quincy Beauty Parlor 25 Temple Street - Quincy, Mass. Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers Mattson Nare ENTERPRISE BARBERS Department Store 390 GRANITE STREET 1487 Hancock St. QUINCY The Biggest Selection of SKIRTS H. A. Sandberg in Quincy Shoe Repairer $1.98 and $2.98 382 Granite Street Pleats, Buttons, Plaids, Tweeds Quincy . . Mass. Black, Brown, Green, Maroon Patterson Flower Stores Barden Cream Co. LLSIE M. PATTERSON Proprietor Florist and Decorator D. H. MOONEY 192 GRANITE STREET QUINCY STORE QUINCY Granite 0392-W 1259 Hancock Street New Tuxedos for Hire Typewriters “Quality Always” Rented Repaired-Sold READ Fountain Pens, Stationery Beni School Supplies WHITE TUXEDOS Ifittf M McKENZIE’S CAPS and GOWNS M Tel. Pres. 5131 3 Temple Street DRESS SUITS—CUTAWAYS 9 Year Advertising in Golden. Rod 111 Summer Street, Boston Woolworth Bid., Providence, R.I. Patronize Golden-Ro l Advertisers QUINT’S Greenhouses 1248 Hancock St., Quincy President 20S4 Fresh Flowers for All Occasions 3lasnn’s luggage attb Jflustc S’ture Musical Instruments Supplies Trunk, Bag and Leather Goods Tel. Granite 6429-W 1514Hanco.k Sireet - - Quincy FOY’S Stores have upheld a standard in QUALITY SERVICE for 34 years JOHN HALL rHJNtKAL HOMfc, 19 COTTAGE AVE QUINCY Our funeral home pro- vides without extra cost a dignified, impressive set- ing for a service that is complete in every detail. 1177 HANCOCK ST. 39 FRANKLIN ST. QUINCY, MASS. CaiaklxbhuL i67o TEL'- President 2670 . NATIONAL CASKETS fm WESTLAND'S 1555 Hancock St. Quincy SPORTING GOODS A Complete Assortment of All Equipment STUDENTS! In response to many requests we have established a Special Price to students only—on days when school is in ses- sion. Come down and enjoy our Feature Picture for IS cts. PUCIIX WOLLASTON THEATRE Patronize Golden-Rod Advertiters Ask For It By Name WARD'S SOFTBUN BREAD The Loaf in the Green Stripe Wrapper WARD BAKING CO. Cambridge, Mass. ft i Scat Hisljes OF City Councillor Artliur H. iDruhatt cyldelle Hat Shop 1460 Hancock St. QUINCY . cTWASS. Quincy Baking Company 1 1 390 Water Street Quincy Edward A. Scolomeino 233 Copeland St. Quincy Mass. You get a lot A New York of Service M Printing for your f Modes of money here! f Today! Pres 1020 SFRV C£ Pres 1020 265 Granite Street, Quincy, Mass. Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers SANDBECe-STUDI© A Flattering Likeness Reasonable Prices Sandberg gives you non-fading proofs, large heads at no extra cost Satisfaction Guaranteed 1479 Hancock Street - Quincy, Mass. Miller’s Shoe Store The Monroe Shoe Co. Expensive Shoes at Operating Inexpensive Prices! 1631 Hancock St., Quincy The Granite Shoe Store Bicycle� Radio� Sporting Good� Popular Priced Footwear for Men, Women Harley-Davidson—Indian and Children Police Motorcycles 1453 Hancock St., Quincy C. E. CROUT Kresge Building 11 Cottage Avenue, Quincy Moorhead’s Shoe Store Gust J. Puska YOUNG MEN BOSTONIAN and FlORSHEIM Real Estate Insurance YOUNG WOMEN 13 COPELAND STREET ENNA JETTICK and FOOT DELIGHT 1547 HANCOCK STREET QUINCY, MASS. B. CERUTI John W. Lindroos Variety Store MARKET 2 Copeland St., W. Quincy 107 Garfield Street Quincy Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers Northeastern University DAY DIVISION SCHOOL of ENGINEERING Co-operating with engineering firms, offers curricula leading to the Bachelor of Science degree in the following branches of engineer- ing: Civil Engineering Mechanical Engineering Electrical Engineering Chemical Engineering Industrial Engineering SCHOOL of BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION Co-operating with business firms, offers courses leading to the degree of Bachelor of Science in the fol- lowing fields of business: Accounting Banking and Finance Business Management The co-operative Plan combines technical theory with practical experi- ence. It enables the student to earn his tuition and a part of his other school expenses. EVENING DIVISION (For Men and Women) Providing complete courses of university grade ir. business ard law, for h’gh school graduates mho fnd it necessary to wotlc during the day but wish to study for further advancement. School of Business Specializes in accounting, and business administration under instructors actually en- gaged in the business that they teach. 73% of graduates hold major executive positions in business. Outstandingly suc- cessful in C. P. A. examinations. School grants B.B.A. and M.B.A. degrees. Individual courses also available to special students. School of Law Four-year course. LL.B. degree. Prepares for bar examinations and practice. Case method of instruction similar to that in best day law schools. A school of high standards adapted to the needs of employed men and women. Alumni outstandingly successful as lawyers, judges, business executives. Graduates of Quincy High School may be admitted without examinations if grades arc satisfactory to the Department of Admissions Catalog or farther information sent npon request NORTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers