Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Page 20 text:

“This is infamous!” said the tourist excitedly. “I protest against the mendacious and villainous garbling of my words by this incompetent individual. I-----------” “Mr. Interp’ter,” cjucried the court, “what is th’ cuss a-sayin' ? “Th’ double-dyed homicide. continued the interpreter, “says that if th’ honoruble co’t’ll git ofF'n th’ bench he kin knock th’ head off’n th’ honor- uble shoulders before a jack-rabbit kin bat his ears.” The tourist opened his mouth and got as far as, “I strenuously pro- test against this-------” when the court climl ed over the bench with a whoop and made for him. The tourist gave one look and ran, and the deputies hilariously shot a few holes in the ceiling of the court room. As the judge and the tourist disappeared at full speed around a bend in the road, the interpreter shifted his plug to his other cheek and remarked to the boys who were complimenting his interpreting ability, “I’m right glad that tlier feller come along and give me some practice. I was gettin’ a little rusty on my Boston lingo.” WHAT 1 WILL REMEMBER Tony Mollica:— That famous turkey day affair! Jean Doig:— My Q. H. S. romance. (?) Edna Pagnani:— 312! Dich Grey:— How that big hole got in the boys’ locker room! Tom DeCaro:— I graduated! George Page:— Two years of basketball! Rowley Fallon:— The madhouse in the sleej cr when the football team came home from New York! Linda Monti:— Our lovely walks (to the Coddington) on rainy days. Roger Owens:— If I may pick two things I’d say the ears on one of the kids in my English class. ME:—What a perfect combination those chairs in the cafeteria and my stockings were! Charlie Henderson:— The day we made Hydrogen Sulfide in our chemistry class. Rowland Young :— The time I passed a Latin test. Dexter Gibbs:— Miss Sweeney. (Sigh!) Thelma Steir:— The elevator system we didn’t have! Gerry Turney :— The scramble in the cafeteria at third lunch. Bob Kelcourse:— Stopping people from going down the stairs when they should go up! Margie Moran:— My lovelife in high school! Agnes Barnes:— My trip to Norfolk State Prison, as a spectator, of course! Ed Mullen:— Breaking my 8:29 record; I got here at 8:15 one morning! Fred Dahl:— Almost not getting on the honor roll! Jennie Mucciarone, ’39 ■page Eighteen

Page 19 text:

YOU CAN’T WIN By Leo Dempsey, ’39 and Brands McMiUen, ’40 sheriffs arrived on the scene they found the place cleared with the exception of a tourist from Boston, who was nonchalantly leaning against the railing of the hotel piazza. This tourist, who was stopping in Texas on his way home after inspecting some recently discovered ancient ruins in New Mexico, was taken in charge by the officers and brought before a magistrate. “Did you do that thar shoot in’ ?” asked the magistrate. “It’s scarcely necessary,” replied the tourist, “for me to declare a negative to such a preposterous question.” “I ast you,” said the magistrate, “ef you done thet shootin'.” “I repeat my disavowal of the act,” replied the tourist, fixing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his nose and gazing at the magistrate very much as he would have inspected the ancient ruins. “Whar you frum?” demanded the magistrate, glaring over the top of a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and sizing up the tourist. “I am from Boston,” declared the tourist. “Boh,” called the magistrate to one of the deputies, “you go out and git that co’t interp’eter.” Boh returned in about ten minutes with a weary-looking man in a blue shirt, and a pair of old brown overalls with one suspender. “Jim,” said His Honor, “this here pris’ner at the bar talks Boston. I guess it’s kind 0’ bronco dialeck. Kin you un’erstan’ th’ lingo?” “Sure,” responded the interpreter, “studied it at school.” “Then you go ahead and interp’et what th' critter says.” “Am I to understand,” said the tourist, fixing his gaze upon the interpreter, “that this ignoramus puri oses elucidating or even comprehending my words?” This was a bad break for the tourist. The interpreter gave him one glance sideways and bit off a chew of tobacco from his plug. “Now,” said the court, “blaze away and tell this here co’t whut yer know about thet shootin’!” “I arrived at the hotel,” explained the tourist, “physically fati- gued. Contemplating the imbibation of some restorative beverage, I repaired to the apartment devoted to the dispensing of refreshments. Immediately after my entrance, parties of whom I have no cognizance, began to fusillade in my rear. After this, they precipitately evacuated the apartment, where- upon the emissaries of the law, discovering me. as they supposed, flagrante delicto, apprehended me and arraigned me before this tribunal.” “Mr. Interp’eter,” said the court, “what does th’ forin’ varmint say?” The interpreter frowned wisely and chewed slowly, as if the im- portance of the case demanded a careful answer of the translation. “Th’ criminal at the bar,” he said, “in th’ devious and jaw-breakin’ lingo of his native diggin’s says he done thet shootin’, but says he was drunk, and asks th’ mercy of th’ co’t.” page Seventeen

Page 21 text:

EARS By Arthur Granville, 'jp “I’d rather have fingers than toes; I’d rather have ears than a nose....” These lines may appear to be merely humorous, hut we cannot escape the fact that under closer observation they yield much food for thought. Would you rather have ears than a nose? Naturally, there arc both advantages and disadvantages to having ears. Without ears it would be far more difficult to pick up the latest dirt about the neighbors-----on the other hand, it wouldn’t be necessary to scrub so diligently to remove superfluous dirt. (This is probably not the same dirt). Elephant ears flap; rabbit ears wiggle; engine ears—How did that get in there? If your ears flap or wiggle, you may be considered abnormal. If your ears flap, you will l e ridiculed; if vour ears can be made to wiggle, you are sure to be the life of the party. There are innumerable tyi es of auricles—so many, in fact, that we can only scratch the surface here. The tired-looking, droopy ear is fre- quently observed among the sophomores, who have not yet learned the danger of depositing pencils upon projections which yield so easily. The startled, or eager-looking ear, the type that makes sailing in a light breeze ridiculously easy is seldom a product of Nature alone; it is generally con- ceded that eavesdropping may lx? a contributory factor. Blusher’s ear is rare these days, but is ordinarily sj ectacular enough to repay one’s efforts to discover a specimen. This species is particularly interesting when com- bined with type two above. It was this combination which inspired those thrilling words, “Red Sails in the Sunset.” What is perhaps the most unpleasant type, the curtained or undergrowth is, fortunately, seldom found in the schools of the nation, but toss a discreet glance at Grandpa. The picturesque cauliflower is a worthy climax for any discussion of this type. The desired effect in this case is obtained by swiftly bringing the ear into contact with some solid object, such as a fist. Frankly, this is a foolish thing to do. Since the ignominious defeat of the up-swing hair-do, the feminine ear has been in hibernation, but the next time you confide something to the girl-friend, notice that delicate little ear, pink as an abalone shell. That word is not usually pronounced “ah! baloney!”—but in this case perhaps it should be. =l age Nineteen=