Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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.

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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.

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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)