Reading Memorial High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Reading, MA)

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THE PIONEER shining shores on the ‘Mayflower?’” “Of course,” I acquiesed. “Why, my dear Mrs. de Van Veryrich, the red blood of the sturdy Miles Standish runs through my veins. Not only that, but I am also a direct descendant of Noah Webster, Queen Isabella, and Calvin Coolidge.” After this remark I was the hero of the evening, the sweet young de¬ butantes and their parents fluttering around me, like flies around a drop of molasses. At another time I was paying a visit to Monsieur Henri Wemours, the Count of Touraine. One evening at dinner, while conversing with the Duke deTrouivoir (which I was able to do very fluently, having taken a corre¬ spondence course entitled, “How to Speak French in Two Months by Mere Reading”), I was asked from what family tree I had sprung. When I replied that I was descended from the great Charlemagne himself, the Duke immediately grasped me by the hand, exclaiming at the same time, ‘En effet!” Then we two are really brothers under the skin.” Thus another ancestor brought me another evening of triumph ! Only once have I been in an un¬ comfortable position as a result of my little speeches. At the time I was a guest of the well-known English poli¬ tician, Lloyd George. As usual I managed to turn the conversation to my favorite subject. “Yes,” I said, “I am a direct descendant of the King of Siberia.” PAGE FIVE “But my dear chap,” broke in a voice, “Siberia never had a king.” “Oh-er, er,” I stumbled. However my hesitation was brief for a bright thought struck me. “Of course,” I con¬ tinued. “You merely misunderstood me. To have made it clearer I suppose I should have said that I was a de¬ scendant of the Czar of all the Russias. Siberia being a part of the Russian domains, I merely used a part for the whole. “Oh, yes!” responded my fellow guest, “a part for the whole. The whole for a part.” “Metonymy,” I returned blandly, “mentonymy.” But my troubles were not over. A fellow by my side suddenly spoke in a doubtful voice. “I say,” he said, “I thought all the family of the late Czar were executed.” At this point I went over and whispered confidentially in his ear a secret which he promised not to dis¬ close. “My dear sir,” I murmured, “I managed to make my escape from the country. I merely disguised myself as an American and the Communists thought I was.” My position was saved. Thus, although if the truth were known, my real ancestor is Patrick Muredock Mulligan, I have climbed, through my ancestors to the pinnacle of success. You, too, may attain your ambition by merely sending ten cents for the facinating booklet, “How An¬ cestors are useful.” V. H. W. ’30. WHY BROTHER BEAR HAS A SHORT TAIL Well, to start with, it happened long, long ago when the only motor vehicles were bicycles and wheelbarrows, and automobiles and Mack trucks. In our big, thriving city of 1000 people we did a wonderful attempt at business with the outside world. We had a very agreeable community spirit, did we. One day, as Brother Bear was sitting on his front doorstep, his wife came to the door and said, “Rufus, dear! Would you mind going down to Wana- maker’s general store and getting me a couple bolts of mercerized cotton?” “No, my dear, I wouldn’t mind.” So Rufus started off, and was just closing the front gate when she called again. “And Rufus, get a five pound bag of prunes, too.” “Yes, my dear.” Rufus got downtown and with his arms full, was proceeding across Sixty- Seventh st., when he saw approaching

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PAGE FOUR T HE PIONEER “PEGGY AND THE PIRATE’’ A very charming operetta, “Peggy and the Pirate,” was given in Shep- ardson Hall on Friday, April 20th by the High School Glee Club. The musical numbers were accompanied by the High School Orchestra. The principals in the cast wer ' e : Hope Williamson as Peggy Mayfield, a very romantic young person; Viola Martin, Winnie Woodland, Peggy’s chum; Malcolm Weeks, Bill Manning, a polite pirate; Richard Chesley, Don Sterling, a quiet young fellow; Phyllis Gray, Jane Fisher, the hostess; John Beaton, Mr. Mayfield, Peggy’s father; Lucille Ware, Mrs. Mayfield, Peggy’s mother; Gilbert Soule, McGinnis, a clever crook; Francis Merritt, Gassa- way, who thinks what McGinnis thinks ; and William Willson, Bingo, the col¬ ored porter. Solo dances were effectively per¬ formed by Hazel Hach. Ten girls of the chorus also did ensemble dances which were well received. Miss Thompson from Beverly coached the dances. In the first act the girls of the chorus wore sport or summer dresses, as the scene was at the beach club. In the second act the boys wore pirate costumes, and the girls were dressed as gypsies. Much credit is due Mr. Sussmann and Mr. Woods for the work they have done to make the operetta a success. Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Flower have given much asssitance in the matter of costumes. The ten girl ushers and the door men dressed like pirates. The operetta was certainly a credit¬ able achievement and a large audience enjoyed it. Acknowledgement is made for at¬ tractive, ticket-selling posters for “Peggy and the Pirate” to D. Melendy, D. Babine, A. Glaesar, B. Merrill, Robert Spavin and Grace Black. Personally I think I should win the gold medal for having the greatest number of admirable ancestors. No matter where I may be, I am always able to produce one or more to fit the occasion. For instance, last Wednes¬ day evening while dining with the Honorable Mrs. de Van Veryrich, the conversation turned to our forefathers. “Of course,” sighed Mrs. de Van Very- rich, “You are a descendant of some sturdy soul who first came to our

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PAGE SIX THE PIONEER him, a drunken taxi-driver, who was toying with the steering wheel of his car and paying little attention to the course his perambulator was taking. Brother Bear gave a yell of astonish¬ ment and fright, and made for the curb at full speed. The taxi-driver heard the yell, looked up and said, “Well, Helen of Troy, exert your¬ self.” Helen of Troy, alias the taxi, did exert herself, with a most devastating result. She bore down upon Brother Bear and when the dust cleared away, he sat there in the midst of his bundles, —without a tail. J. R. M. ’29. MY DEATH AS PLANNED WHEN I HAD BEEN MISUSED Mildred Freemont was searching in her attic for souvenirs of her girlhood. Down in the very bottom of a large trunk, she chanced upon her diary. With an exclamation of surprise mingled with delight, she reached eagerly for it. Turning the pages slowly, stopping at intervals to read with amusement the confidences of her childhood, she paused as she came to a page written with inevitable haste. It read : August 4, 1911. Today I’ve found that I mean nothing to my family; they no longer respect my timely personage. I was sent away from the table without my ice cream just because I gave big sister’s boy friend some worthy advice. I warned him that he shouldn’t have three serv¬ ings because he wouldn’t have room for dessert. At this my parents rose in revolt, but their reaction was slight in comparison with my sister’s red cheeks and flashing eyes. She ordered me from the table and mother lugged me by the arm out of the room. As I brushed by father, I could hear him suppress a chuckle. I have decided to end it all at twelve-thirty to-night. I choose this hour because it is the usual hour that heroines in books choose to drown themselves. They, however, are always rescued. I’m not going to take a chance of drowning, but shall sneak out to-night, climb our tallest pine tree, and jump off. I can imagine the hollow feeling mother will have when she finds me out of bed in the morning. She’ll rush down stairs to father exclaiming. “I can’t find Mildred! Her clothes are in her room, but she isn’t there.” My father will probably tell her to look again; that’s what he usually says when she can’t find anything. When he is convinced that I’m not in the house he’ll feel nervous and go outside. There, under¬ neath the pine tree, he will find my broken body which will be all that is left of a once active child. They’ll call sister, and she’ll run out in one of those pretty kimonas she always wears, and try to wake me up. They’ll moan and sob when they see a note pinned on my nightgown saying, ‘‘You’ll never have another chance to send me from the table wfithout des¬ sert.” With a chuckle Mildred turned the page, and there written in large letters was, August 5, 1911. I overslept last night and didn’t wake up until one o’c lock so it was too late. Besides father brought me into the spa today and bought me a nice dish of ice-cream, because he said that sister’s boy friend ate my share. E. H. ’28. WHEN MY FLASHLIGHT PROVED ITS WORTH When I pause to consider the times my little flashlight has proved its worth, my heart palpitates, my head whirls, at their very number. I have to marvel at this little instrument, the small boy’s delight, the lover’s scourge, the ordinary human’s humble com¬ panion. With a perfect peace in my heart, a delightful calm over my soul, I, now, instead of picking the most