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

Text from Pages 1 - 160 of the 1939 volume:

News Editors David St. Hilaire ’40 Lois Ives ’41 Business Staff Gilbert Camp, Mgr., Betsy Foxcroft ’40 Donald Hills ’40 David McGee ’40 Donald Whitford ’41 Athletic Editors Alice Goodwin ’40 Glenn Davis ’41 Art Editor Eleanor Pestana ’40 Photographic Editor Richard Fellows ’40 Senior Mary Maling Gregg Brewer Stanley Stembridce Faculty Advisers Miss Devaney —Literary Miss MacIver —Typing Mr. Halpin —Business Mr. Kibbee —Art Dedication As a gesture of hearty welcome, we wish to dedicate this issue of the Pioneer to a man who plays a vital part in our school life—our new superintendent. Dr. Grover. We hope that he already feels at home among us, and we know that we shall soon be better acquainted with him. A CHRISTMAS WISH FROM DR. GROVER For three centuries New England has sent forth from its rugged soil, pioneers who have wended their way to the remote parts of this country. They have taken to new communities those stern qualities which have been our heritage and have built them into the foundations of many a town and institution. The austerity of New England softened under the influence of time, which relieved it from the pressing necessities of hunger, cold, and danger, and gradually the observance of Christmas took on the warmth and heartiness which characterized it in old England. As one who has missed a New England Christmas for twenty- five years, I can, perhaps, see some beauties in it which you may overlook because you have become accustomed to them. I hope this Christmas, therefore, will mean to you, as it will, I am sure, to me, an opportunity to hold a little more closely to the spiritual values by taking whatever opportunity we can find to make other people happy. Let each of us resolve that in the coming year we will do all we can to come to the close of the day with the know¬ ledge that we have done nothing to bring pain or hurt to others and that perhaps we have made conscious effort to ease the burdens of some fellow traveller, and, so, put the eternal spirit of Christmas to work for the happiness of man. Our actions need not be preten¬ tious nor our deeds heralded, but through the little things we do, we may gradually help in the task of making human relationships a more constructive force towards everlasting peace. May I commend to you the dedication of your lives to make this peace possible! “All glory be to God on high. And on the earth be peace! Good-will, henceforth, from heaven to men Begin and never cease.” Van Dyke, “The First Christmas-Tree” HAROLD SHERBURNE STEVENS In conducting a search for old copies of the Pio¬ neer, we came across a human interest story that was as inspiring as it was fascinating. The story concerned a former Reading High School graduate and assistant editor of the Pioneer, and in the hope that this story may be as interesting to you as it was to us, we are de¬ voting some of our editorial space to it. Harold Sherburne Stevens was in all respects an average American boy. He was blessed with fine par¬ ents, not rich and not poor, just fine American parents. He moved through the grades easily because of his bril¬ liant mind, which was to serve him well later in life. He entered Reading High School in 1916 and graduated four years later, in 1921. Harold Stevens was not only a very popular member of his class, but he lent his executive ability to many of the school organizations. The orchestra, a minstrel show, operettas, the Pioneer, student council, and senior play were included in Harold’s brilliant high school career. Because we have accurate material from which to draw, we shall mention his work on the Pioneer. The Christmas issue of the Pioneer of 1920 contained his first literary contribution, the story of his travels of the previous summer. “ ’Neath Caribbean Skies” is, in our opinion, the best descriptive story we have ever read, barring none. When one reads it, one can almost see and hear the tropics in the moon¬ light and feel the warm fragrant breeze that whips over whitened walls and kisses one’s cheek. We are not alone in our opinion. “The Argus” from Gardner, “The Semaphore” from Stoughton, and the “Shuttle from the High School of Practical Arts made specific refer¬ ences in their exchange columns to Harold Stevens continued story. He wrote an essay on spuds and one on public opinion in the same issue. In the March number his story, “ Neath Caribbean Skies,’ was con¬ tinued. He wrote, also, a short story entitled “In The Crater and an essay called “What 1 o Do. In the May number, Harold Stevens concluded his serial. We have gone into detail on Harold Stevens work for the Pioneer because it gave him, as it has several others, a start in the literary field. W alter Pritchard Eaton, a Reading High School graduate, many years later in an interview said, “I have worked for many papers—The Pioneer, The Reading Chronicle, The Bos¬ ton Journal (which ceased publication shortly after I left it!), The New York Tribune, The New York Sun, and others.” Without any effort on our part, we can think of three well known writers who graduated from our school, but we must return to our subject. Harold Stevens left high school early in his senior year due to an enviable chance to sail for Italy on the Pocahontas as one of the stewards. A strike halted the Pocahontas at the Azores and troubled her throughout the rest of the cruise. At Gibraltar, the ship seemed to be laid up indefinitely. Harold Stevens and several other of the boys were desirous of entering American universities in the fall, and now September was nearly over and back home the universities were opening. Har¬ old Stevens organized these boys and they paid a visit to the American Consul, who, impressed by their story, sent a wireless message to another vessel. The next day they were on their way back to the U. S. A. Harold entered Bates College and successfully made up the work that he had missed. After he had left Bates, he went to New York City, where he accepted his first position at a salary of twenty-five dollars a week. He rose rapidly. A few months later he was making twenty- five hundred dollars a year as an advertising agent for a large New York concern. Because of lack of space, we shall skip across the years, past the crash of 1929, to the Chicago World’s Fair, year of 1933. At this time Harold Stevens reached the highest point in his brief career. As an advertising man, he received a salary of seventy-five hundred dol¬ lars per annum, and by writing for different medical magazines, he earned another twenty-five hundred, or a grand total of ten thousand dollars a year. He was one of the principal speakers in the medical exhibit of the Chicago World’s Fair. After one of his lectures, he was greeted enthusiastically by Dr. Mayo, one of the famous Mayo brothers, who told him that Mrs. Mayo would like the pleasure of the first dance with him. No doubt, Harold Sherburne Stevens would have Three THE PIONEER risen far had not death brought his promising career to an abrupt end. That summer, he was killed in an auto¬ mobile accident. It was a tragic end—those who knew him intimately were stunned by it. His mother summed up his life accurately when she said that he had lived eighty years in thirty. We are sorry that death deprived us of the chance of meeting Harold Stevens personally. We did, however, have the honor of meeting his mother, who kindly supplied us with the information we have used here. Harold Stevens was always very neat and precise. Every book in his library was cataloged and all his other possessions were arranged in perfect order. In a box he had some of his most treasured possessions: a few medical magazines that contained his articles, and at the bottom, among other sundry articles and docu¬ ments, seven copies of the Pioneer, whose well-thumbed pages showed that they had been referred to often. We have in our possession these same Pioneers with his penciled notes scrawled on the outside covers. We re¬ gard them with a kind of reverently inspired awe. Far as Harold Stevens climbed since he left Reading High, far as he traveled, he always kept these seven copies of the Pi oneer with him. In the corridor, outside Room 1, hangs a picture. Beneath it is a caption which bears the name of Harold Sherburne Stevens. Carleton Adams ON THE CARE AND FEEDING OF SPIRITS There’s been a lot of discussion lately about school, spirit, so, being naturally curious, we decided to look around for it. We certainly didn’t expect that finding it would be such a task as it turned out to be, so we started our search eagerly. First we looked in all the obvious places: in the classrooms, in the hall and the cafeteria, at the games, in the library, at assemblies—but no luck. Then we looked in desks, in lockers, behind doors, in the stock room, among the ivy. Where could we find a spirit? Desperately we went over the school again, even looking behind the statuary, but finding only dust. Finally we got a stepladder and climbe d up to look in back of the bust of Shakespeare on the first floor. Amazedly we stared at what confronted our weary eye. There, sheltered by the worthy hard, lay a small, curled- up ball of something white; it looked surprisingly like a very little ghost. While we gaped at it unbelievingly, it sat up slowly, rubbed its eyes with a spectral fist, and blinked at us. We stammered, “Are you the School Spirit? It nodded sadly. As it settled its nearly trans¬ parent littleness comfortably against the bard’s white¬ washed shoulder, we sat down dazed on the top of the stepladder. “The Spirit of Reading High School?” we repeated. “Yes,” it said. We stared at it and realized sud¬ denly that it was extremely small, pale, and under¬ nourished, hardly big enough to be called a true spirit; more than that, it looked hungry right at that minute. As if in answer to our thought, it piped, “I’m nearly starved. The students here are supposed to keep me fed, but they hardly give me enough to exist on. I guess they’ve tried to help me, but not very hard. Perhaps they just don’t care.” It choked a little. We choked sympathetically. “Oh, yes, they do,— or, that is, they would if they knew about you. That’s it! They don’t know you! Why, I had never seen you till now. What do you eat, anyway?” The School Spirit sniffed a sniff almost as small as itself and said, “Air. Warm enthusiastic air, even hot air—the kind you find at rallies, football games, in propaganda for Reading High School; you know, when they sing with the band and cheer the team on, whether they’re winning or not. Such things are like spinach to me. I could do with some nice warm atmosphere or a bit of propaganda now. I know there are cheer leaders; they are trying hard to help me, and even though they may not realize it, they are helping me. I felt pretty good not long ago at one of those rallies. When they started to cheer, I wanted to get up and cheer with them.” It patted Shakespeare’s plaster ruff thought¬ fully, and stood up. “The new baton squad helps, too, when they march behind the band and twirl their sticks.” “It sounds as if there were lots of things to keep you fed,” we ventured. “Oh, that’s it,” sighed the Spirit; “lots of things, but not enough of any of them. I think, though, that they’re beginning to wake up.” It put its very little paw into a mysterious pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. Looking at us with its burning dark eyes, it said, “This is a new song; I keep it in my pocket in case I get too hungry. It’s called ‘A Reading Man Am I!”’ We recognized this paper as identical with one in our own possession, and after searching in our purse, found the article in question. We read it: “I am a Reading man, sir, and I live across the green; Our gang it is the joiliest that you have ever seen. Our co-eds are the fairest, and each one’s a shining star; Our yell, you hear it ringing through the mountains near and far; Who am I, sir? A Reading man am I; A Reading man, sir, and will be till I die, Ki! Yi! We’re up to snuff; we never bluff, we’re game for any fuss. No other gang of high school men dare meet us in the muss. F our CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 So fill your lungs and sing it out and shout it to the ? sky, We’ll fight for dear old Reading, for a Reading man am I! We may not live forever on this jolly good old sphere, But when we do we’ll live a life of merriment and good cheer. And when our high school days are o’er and night is drawing nigh, With parting breath we’ll sing that song: A Reading man am I!” r� • We opened our mouths to ask the spirit another question, but it sort of slid behind Shakespeare and off the shelf. As we gazed after it stupidly from the top of the stepladder, it turned. “Tell them about me,” it called, waved a flipper, and disappeared through the wall. Ruth Shumaker WHAT PRICE POPULARITY? Nothing worth having is free! This rule applies to intangible things as well as to the material things in life. We all crave the good opinion of others and right¬ ly so, for what others think of us may be the determining factor in deciding whether we are to be a success or failure in life. We all plan to do some sort of pro¬ ductive work for a living and what our early associates in life think of us may influence us indefinitely. Those who are considering employing us usually depend upon what others say about us to gain their first impressions of us. Anyone who thinks that popularity is just an ac¬ cident fools only himself. One cannot go blundering through life depending solely on his physical attributes; he must cultivate the art of pleasing people. While some people are born with more natural abilities than others in this respect, all may develop a workable imi¬ tation by willingness to practice certain rules of con¬ duct. Most good musicians, athletes, actors, or mem¬ bers of any profession are popular if they please the public. Not all of us can be musicians, athletes, or ac¬ tors, but all of us can please people. This editorial is written without apologies to Dale Carnegie, for surely none among us would presume to set ourselves up among our classmates as examples of popularity. However, we are all familiar with certain types that R. H. S. could do without. Let’s mention a few of these with whom we’ve all come in contact. ho has not been annoyed in class by the boy or girl who laughs loudly at the slight mistakes of others? lhen, there are always those who criticize everything about the school and have no school spirit. 1 hese people never enter into sports activities themselves, et if they go to a game of any sort, they spend the time criticizing the team, the cheerleaders, the band, and anything at all connected with the sport. Is there anyone who enjoys listening to a long harangue on some inconsequential subject by someone who can gain attention in no other way? The student who spreads malicious gossip among his classmates is not only a type which R. H. S. can do without, but is a real menace to society. We all know the heckler, and we hate to see him coming if we are having a good time. He is usually a poor sport and cannot stand the success of others. Perhaps no one annoys us quite so much, however, as the classmate that rushes up to us breathlessly, day after day, and begs the use of our math or Latin homework paper. It always happens, it seems to us, the morning after we have been up until the wee small hours over a parti¬ cularly tough assignment. We feel more like giving him a piece of our minds than the math or Latin paper. In¬ stead, we are foolishly apt to produce the work and hand it over. But the real rub comes when friend bor¬ rower blows around the next day and brags how he rated an “A” in Math, and we, only a “B”! We deserve to suffer, though, for harboring such a shirker. This brings us to the show-off type. He usually has about as much to brag about as the student who sails through on borrowed work. He so rarely does do anything worthy of mention that he surprises himself as well as everyone else, and he simply must talk about his achievement. Quite often he does the same thing over and over again if someone makes the fatal mistake of smiling when he attempts to be funny. He is the fellow who laughs at his own jokes, which are either old or terribly strained from over-use. We have a few of this kind of people in Reading High School and could do very nicely with fewer. Finally we come to one of the most troublesome and annoying types—the one who refuses to listen to committees and tries to improve on the vote of the majority. Invariably, after a matter seems all settled, he pops up in the meeting with a silly question about the whole thing. Well, each one of us has his own weaknesses and he must be willing to recognize them, whether or not they fall into these classes. In other words, if the shoe fits, let’s put it on! There is no sadder spectacle in life than a person who has reached middle age without knowing the joy of having friends. Yet who can hope to have friends without striving to please those with whom he comes in contact, both by doing thoughtful things and by elimi¬ nating those things which are disagreeable to others? If we do the things that make us well thought of by fel¬ low students, we have little to fear about ha ing friends in later life. Being popular is a state to which each and every student in Reading High School should aspire. This does not mean that we must attract the glances of every passerby, nor do we need to be glamorous. Such people are usually rather tiresome as a matter of fact. Popularity means being the sort of person that other people like to have around. Carolyn Campbell THE PIONEER There was once a middle-aged cobbler who sat one blustering winter evening before his fire, hunched over the last which held the boot he was working on. To the left of the hearth hung kettles and pans, which but dully reflected the light. Everything was bare, from the heavy, smoked beams, which were not far above his head, to the wide board floor, from which much of the paint had been worn. No curtains were at the windows or around the bedstead, though one faded chintz drapery hung be¬ fore the closet. The table was bare and so were the chair and the two stools, one of which the cobbler was sitting on. The only piece of furniture which had once seen a more luxurious setting was a grandfather’s chair, now dingy, worn, and spotted. “Good evening, Cobbler Barren,” said a voice some¬ where in the room. The cobbler started, having seen no one enter, and looked around anxiously for his visitor. “Good evening, sir, distinctly repeated the voice in his ear. “Come on, show yourself if you’re an honest fel¬ low! If not, I don’t want anything to do with you! Come on; step up!” shouted the cobbler, both anger and fear rising within him. “Ho! ho! he! he! I bet you can’t find me!” chirped the voice again, this time in his other ear. “So you think it’s a game of hide-and-seek! Well, I used to be a match for anyone at that game, too. But I’d like to know who you think you are, fooling with me like this! You deserve to be hanged,” roared the cobbler, who now arose with a grumble, looked behind him, and stamped around the room searching under the chairs and bed and peering behind the closet drapery. But though the flickering shadows cast by the fire start¬ led h im several times, nothing unnatural could he see. “Am I dreaming?” he queried as he sat down to his work again. “But surely 1 did hear a voice.” Just then he looked up, and his jaw dropped as he beheld his tormentor, a misformed, bandy-legged little fellow glee¬ fully dancing on the stool at the right of the hearth, his fat little sides and hunched back shaking with silent laughter. For a few moments neither could draw him¬ self together enough to speak, but finally the cobbler’s anger overcame his awe and so he spoke first. ”So you think it’s funny to interrupt an honest cobbler in his work—and all for no good reason! Come, speak up for yourself. If you—” “Not so fast, not so fast, my good friend,” respond¬ ed the gnome. “I really didn’t mean any harm to you. Besides, you might as well like me, for you’re going to see me often. My name is Snickersnivel.” But the cobbler’s passion was not pacified, and so Snickersnivel, perching himself on the mantelpiece with his feet dang¬ ling, shifted the subject. “You were thinking of your little lost Hans, weren’t you?” “Yes,” returned the cobbler, staring at the fire in a pensive and gloomy mood, “five years ago, just be¬ fore Christmas, when Hans was only eleven years old, he wandered into the Magic Forest and so was lost. At least, that is what the villagers say. The child believed that the magic of the forest lay in the fact that it held a pool which, if one washed therein, would make one very wise. He said that an angel had told this to kirn in a dream and had also said that the people dreaded the forest because they had forgotten what was magic about it. In spite of my pleadings, he went, and I have never seen him since. Nevertheless, I’m not convinced he went to the forest at all. I think he ran away to seek his fortune. He used to say he was going to.” “But why would he run away?” interrupted Snick¬ ersnivel. “Well, Hans was a disobedient boy, and I often had to punish him. He didn’t like it, but it was all for his own good. He was always dreaming and imagining things. Naturally, I used to get provoked because he would never have his mind on his work. If I set him to watch the gruel while I went out to chop some more wood, he would forget to stir it and it would scorch without his even smelling it.” Here the old man shook his head. “Yes, he was a lazy rascal and I guess he got what he deserved when he was lost, if that is what has happened to him. I wouldn ' t want him back if I weren’t getting old and in need of someone. Hans has got to come back. And if he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll—” but the cobbler ground his teeth for the rest of the threat. Then he sig hed. “No one ever thinks of me now. No one ever comes to visit me. Christmas after Christmas goes by, but no one ever takes pity on me or gives me anything. Hans always used to do something, I’ll say that for him anyway. Every Christmas, I look for him to come back. I don’t know why, but I do.” Having finally finished the boot he had been working on, the cobbler looked up, but Snickersnivel had disappeared. So he decided to go to bed. The next morning he was awakened by someone yanking at his hair. “Come on, Old Cray Hairs,” called Six CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 Snickersnivel. “Get up. Didn’t you know that Hans is coming back today? If you will go to his mother’s grave, you will find him,’ the gnome added in a whis¬ per. With that Snickersnivel vanished and Cobbler Barren was left wondering whether he had been dream¬ ing or not. From early morning to late afternoon the cobbler sat at the grave, but no one appeared. Finally a soap bubble burst on his face, provoking a tickling sensation and a series of sneezes, and Snickersnivel fell into his lap. “What are you doing here—” teased Snickersnivel, “seeking your fortune?” Go away, you rascal, ' sang out the astonished and enraged cobbler, who immediately turned on his heels to go home. “Come back, come back, you old fool,” shouted Snickersnivel; “I just saw Hans near the Magic Forest and came to tell you.” So the cobbler returned to where the gnome was, for he wanted Hans more than he wanted not to please the gnome. On and on walked the cobbler, with Snick¬ ersnivel secretly riding in his pocket. Finally they reached the edge of the forest. Here Snickersnivel told the cobbler to follow the path to a tall fir tree standing in the middle of an open space. Then he was to follow the left path to a poplar grove, where he would find Hans asleep on the ground. Snickersnivel then disappeared and the cobbler trudged on his way. Upon arriving at his destination, he looked high and low, but no Hans could he see. Hark! Footsteps! Were they Hans’ footsteps? They grew louder and louder as if someone were approach¬ ing, and then as they died away he heard a voice airily calling out, “Ha! ha! I’ve fooled you again!” “You wretch!” he cried. “You wait until I get hold of you!” But when he perceived that it was only the air at which he was yelling, he felt very foolish. “What shall I do?” he wondered, for the sun had gone down and he would not be able to get out of the forest before dark. After pondering for a few minutes, he began bunching up a great pile of leaves. When he had piled on some brush to keep the leaves from blowing away, he crawled into the pile and endeavored to go to sleep. But sleep would not come. He was afraid. He was afraid of the damp darkness, of the Magic Forest, of the lunging shadows of the swaying trees. They took on all sorts of horrid shapes—huge monsters with large heads and thin, serpentine bodies; gigantic boulders tha seemed to come relentlesslv toward him and that vanish¬ ed when they were about to crush him; fire-eating drag¬ ons; witches at their cauldrons. I he wolf-like howl o ' the wind, the creaking and moaning of the limbs of the trees, the rustling of the leaves—all made his hair stain, on end and caused the shivers to run up and down hi spine. When he finally fell into a restless slumber, it was only to dream of Hans. In his dream, he saw the boy visiting the hut during the day and finding it emptv. Evidently thinking that his father was dead, he went away, saying he would not return. Cobbler Barren awoke with a heavy heart and returned to his lonely hut the next morning. Hans did not come that year, nor the next, nor the next, though the old man waited for him more feverishly each year. However, each year at Christmas, Snicker¬ snivel appeared to pester him. Thus four more years passed, and the cobbler was still living in seclusion, still thinking only of his own needs and wants, still wondering why someone didn’t befriend him. Then came the tenth year since Hans had disappeared. It was Christmas Eve. A grotesque, little figure was hurrying through the village on his way to the cob¬ bler’s hut, but while he was still in the village with its neat, little, gable-roofed cottages, all alight with Christ¬ mas candles and cheer and festivity, the voices of happy children caroling the yuletide songs arrested his atten¬ tion. “Just one peek, thought Snickersnivel. “It would be too bad to go right to Cobbler Barren’s dreary hut and miss all this fun.” But after watching the children receive a shower of gifts and bonbons from a jolly Saint Nick, he decided he must follow the man. From house to house of the poorer folk went this good Saint Nick, shedding cheer with his every visit, for he told the children little stories and patted each one’s head before leaving. At each house were carols, presents, games after Saint Nick had departed, and always hap¬ piness for everyone. “How lovely, thought Snicker¬ snivel; “I wish old Cobbler Barren would stop thinking only of himself and do something like this. Then he would enjoy life and friends, and people would enjoy him. Ho hum! It’s getting pretty late,” sighed the gnome as he followed Saint Nick, this time down a short, wooded path, probably to the old fellow’s home. “I wonder where he lives, thought Snickersnivel. But suddenly he cried to himself, “Look! The man is taking off his mask! Why, I do believe it is—the cobbler!” and then the gnome stopped short, a look of strange de¬ light crossing his face. “Well, of all things!” was all Snickersnivel could utter as he went on. Once the cobbler was home, Snickersnivel called out from the nether parts of the room, “Good even, Cobbler Barren.” “Ah! tis you again, answered the cobbler, benevo¬ lently beaming upon the gnome, “and glad I am to see you. 1 was hoping you’d come.” Then after a pause he added, “And I hope Hans comes too. I have a feel¬ ing he reallv is coming this year. This last year I be¬ gan to see Hans in a new light. After all, he was a dear lad and tried his best to please me. He couldn ' t help it if sometimes his imagination did get the better of him and he forgot all else. What belaborings the poor boy used to get! Oh, 1 do wish I’d been kinder to him. It seems as if I want him more than anything else now. That is what has made me take an interest in the other children in the village, especially the ones who don ' t have the tops, books, and things they want. You see, 1 saw )ou tonight even if ou didn’t realize Seven THE PIONEER it,” and the cobbler smiled. “Well, anyway, if Hans does come back, he will find a new father, one that will be kind to him and understand him. You see, I am no longer Cobbler Barren, for my life is no longer barren, but beautiful, full of peace and joy. The people call me ‘The Singing Cobbler’ now because doing things for others has made me so happy that I have to sing while l work. I just can t help it.” “Maybe Hans will come,” echoed the gnome. Then looking around at the gay curtains at the windows and around the bedstead, at the new closet drapery, at the large, colored print on the wall, which represented a Salzbury court scene, and at potted geraniums in the window, he exclaimed, “Why, how cosily you have fixed your room. The warm fire and the cheeriness have made me feel quite frisky. Do have a chase!” “Why, I believe I will,” replied the cobbler, and forthwith the gnome scrambled over the chairs and under the bed while the cobbler did his best to catch him. Round and round they went. Finally the cobbler stopped and sank into a chair. “I give up; you win. You’re a lively, little fellow, I’ll say that much for ye.” The gnome flopped himself down at the cobbler’s feet. “Well, well, so you’ve come to visit me again, “and the cobbler chuckled. “Aren’t you a bit hungry, my little man? I am.” The gnome admitted he was, and when the cobbler had set something on the table, they sat down to eat. Now a very strange thing happened. After the gnome had eaten a little, he began to grow. As he grew bigger and bigger, he lost his hunchback, queer legs, and big ears. Yes, you’ve guessed it. The gnome turned into the lost Hans right before the eyes of the astonished cobbler. The overjoyed old man just couldn’t restrain himself but gathered the boy into his arms, and, hug¬ ging him tight, let the tears roll down his happy face without trying to wipe them away. Father and son thus reunited, the boy told of his adventures, of how he had been imprisoned by a wood dryad in the Magic Forest and of how, after he had pleaded for a long time, he had been allowed to go free in the form of a gnome for a few days near Christmas time. He had not been able to be his own self again until his father offered the gnome, of his own accord, something to eat; which, of course, the cobbler supposedly would never think of doing, being a miserly, selfish old grouch. The cobbler, who had gotten much more happiness in giving than the others in the village had in receiving, now received the greatest gift that could possibly be given him and was, indeed, very joyful and thankful. So they lived happily ever after, “The Singing Cobbler” and the boy Hans. Jean Marstaller AN ASTONISHING VENGEANCE Midnight and the end of the nineteenth century were swiftly approaching Merrivale Castle, the ancestral abode of the rich and powerful house whose name the castle bears. In the magnificent, but lonely, library of the mansion, long recognized as one of England’s land¬ marks, sat one of the most proud figures in the history of Cornwall, Sir Cedric Merrivale, the present master of the menage, his eyes intently fixed upon the dying embers of the crackling fire. The interior of Merrivale Castle was, and still is, one of the most surpassingly brilliant in its adornments. Coffered ceilings inlaid with superbly carved wood and ivory were further em¬ bellished by gold and silver. Indeed, in such surround¬ ings Lord Merrivale could well afford such a complacent manner on this New Year’s Eve. Lord Cedric himself was the typical elegant country gentleman of the period, presenting an appearance which was at all times a dignified one. On this particu¬ lar evening his lordship presented a most striking pic¬ ture, his stately figure surmounted by a crown of pure white. At intervals he puffed slowly on his pipe, and, except for this action, his movements were not percep¬ tible. Obviously some weighty problem must have been monopolizing his thoughts, or probably he was merely meditating on past events, for the end of a century al¬ ways gives rise to memories. Certainly he could not have been recalling the prophecy which one of the most illustrious of his ancestors had made so many years be- lore. Even though he was the last surviving Merrivale and even though this evening was the eve of the twen¬ tieth century, the dawn of which, according to the pre¬ diction, no member of his house would ever see, Lord Cedric was certainly not one to reflect upon a fantastic notion. More likely, he was reviewing the sixty-seven years of the past century which he had lived. Maybe he recollected with pride his meteoric rise to power, which subsequently had carried him to the exalted position of Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was reliving, per¬ haps, the moments of anguish when his ascent was ter¬ minated by his bitter political rival, the Right Honor¬ able Percival Rothscrewge, M. P., and the coveted pre¬ miership was forever denied him. Possibly Lord Cedric may have smiled as he recalled the sweetest triumph of his career, his exposure of Rothscrewge as a traitor to his country. Despite the fact that even following this political coup he never was permitted to attain the port¬ folio of prime minister, the thoughts of his enemy’s dis¬ grace and twenty years’ imprisonment would have been ample to suffice. He must have felt that his work had been well done, and at last the bitterness had passed from his heart. But now Lord Merrivale had concluded his reveries He rose from his large comfortable chair to put another log or two on the fire. The warmth and glow of the rejuvenated flames veritably seemed to send joy and happiness back into the cold and empty loneliness of the castle and to cast out the thoughts of the dismal Percival Rothscrewge. As Sir Cedric seated himself once again to await 1 new year and a new century, our attention, had we been present, would have been drawn towards one of the Eight (L CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 large low windows on the opposite side of the room. A noise so slight that it would have been scarcely audible to the sharpest of ears, ears far keener than those of Lord Merrivale, preceded the appearance of a wild¬ eyed figure who was quietly struggling to find some means of entering the library without causing alarm. It could easily be perceived, even in that dim light, that he was near the point of exhaustion. It was in¬ credible, even though the ancient castle defences had long since been abandoned, that any human being could have scaled that rocky hill. Such an act would have been an almost superhuman task, capable of being per¬ formed by only a few men, a feat that indeed would have been worthy of a man of the stamina and perser- verance of—. But now the figure, after several more deft motions at the window, had leaped into the room. Why, it seemed as though—but no, it couldn’t be! “Rothscrewge!” shrieked the terror-stricken Merri¬ vale as he suddenly became aware of the presence of someone in the library. He had been thinking of him after all. He now rose and faced the person who, he was certain without having looked, was his enemy. “Yes, your lordship; Rothscrewge!” calmly answer¬ ed the intrduer, and one noted a trace of irony in his voice. The two rivals stood contemplating each other for several moments. Merrivale noted the grotesque picture which Rothscrewge presented as he stood staring at his oppressor. His ragged clothes were covered with blood, and his skin was torn in many places. Twenty years in Pengann Prison had turned his jet black hair to white, but his features were still the same unmistakable, mis¬ erable, sneering features of his greatest years. “I see that the years have treated you as kindly ac they have treated me badly,” he sneered sarcastically. “I see further you anticipated my return. Has my face haunted you greatly these twenty years?” Disregarding his query completely, the bewildered Merrivale questioned, “But how did you get here ? “Tonight, your lordship, my dreams at last came to fulfillment. After all these years of trying desperate¬ ly to accomplish my revenge, I finally made my escape from that ugly four-walled cell where you put me and ran the gamut of guards quite successfully until the las one shot me in the arm. But that didn’t slop me! Nor did the rigors of the journey stop me! I have come to kill you—and nothing can stop me! Rothscrewge had lost his remarkable composure and now his half-mad tones were becoming even mor shrill. He was rapidly growing more incensed. II continued, shaking with a certain uncontrollable mad delight, and snatched a dagger from his shirt. No Merrivale, nothing can stop me! Prepare to die! H ' yelled the last at the top of his voice and lunged for¬ ward, knife in hand. But Rothscrewge was wrong. Death could sto] him. Even his remarkable endurance had failed, and the miserable wretch fell onto the marble floor in a pool of his own blood. Midnight and the twentieth century were here! The great clock of Merrivale castle was striking! The pro¬ phecy was wrong. But wait! The excitement and near tragedy had been too much for Merrivale. His heart had failed. As the mighty master of British finances slumped into his chair, the words of his ancestor rang in his ears. And before midnight had finished striking, Lord Merrivale was dead. Stanley Stembridge OOPS, CLEMENTINA! Oops! One more slip like that and I’m a goner! Oh dear, my life is fading fast away, or rather slipping away by the feeling. Who ever would have thought that I, Clementina Stinger, prettiest mosquito in all Buzz- ville, would end my existence by drowning in a pool of milk? It’s really quite disgusting. If I have to drown, why couldn’t 1 have picked something besides milk; I ' ve never tasted such nauseating stuff in my life. And what a color—white milk. Ghastly, isn’t it? White looks terrible on me! It makes me seem so pale—as if I were going to a funeral. (Oh dear, I keep forgetting; I really am going to one, my own!) I’m so sad and lonely here in this pool of milk. What a sad finale for such a noble life. I don’t remember me when I was an egg, but all my aunts and uncles say I was the cutest little girl egg in the whole swamp of Buzzville. Course I’m not conceited, you know, but by the looks of me now I certainly must have been beautiful. (A lot of good that’s doing me now! One more beakful of this awful stuff and 1 11 be liquid myself!) Then I was a larva. If you’ve never been a larva, you really ought to try being one some day. It’s perfectly fascinating. All you do is eat and eat and then when you ' re so full that your abdomen feels as if it would pop any minute, you curl up (now a pupa) and take a nice long nap. This is fun, too, only not so exciting as being a larva, for you don’t re¬ member anything about it—at least I didn ' t. But when you wake up, you’re a full grown adult and, if you ' re lucky, a beautiful mosquito like me. 1 can still remember the first day I was an adult. 1 daintily climbed out from underneath the pool of water where I had been sleeping and flew up to a green leaf near by. I picked this special leaf because the color went so well with my wings, and, this being my first pub¬ lic appearance as a full grown mosquito, I naturally wanted to look as attractive as possible. That green leaf must have done the trick, for pretty soon all the other mosquitoes nearby started giving me the once over. The female mosquitoes all looked as jealous as could be, for none of them had the strong beak I had. 1 glanced sh l at the males, who were regarding me with pride. None of them appealed to me, however; that is, none except one. There he was—my dream male! His name was Willie Swat. Isn’t that divine? He was so hand¬ some that I just couldn ' t help falling in love with him. You know, the athletic type. What a build! What poise! Why, I bet he could out-buzz or out-fly an) Nine THE PIONEER � • mosquito in Buzzville. And to top it all off, he had a red and orange striped bow tied around his thorax, ft was so becoming to him. It just made me feel weak all over. But he didn’t even notice me. Well, right there and then I made up my mind that Miss Clementina Stinger had a job on her tarsi, and I vowed that before I finished with Willie Swat, I’d make him notice me. However, I suddenly realized that all the Willie Swats in Buzzville couldn’t take away the hungry ache in my abdomen. I flitted away from the green leaf and started forth to seek nourishment in the great world beyond. 1 was just in the midst of thinking hard as to what my supper would be when my antennae picked up the most won¬ derful odor. I flew in the direction of the smell, and as it grew stronger and stronger, I realized that a great treat was in store for me. I never realized, though, just how great it would be. The smell was coming from an enormous, moving creature called a human being. What a funny thing it was! I nearly split my bazal segment laughing at it. Still, it was ferocious looking. But I was brave, and besides, it smelled delicious. I cautiously lighted upon it. What a surprise I got! It was just like wading through a forest; I could hardly keep my balance. But a Stinger always gets her man! At last I struggled through the obstruction on the out¬ side of the human being and started on my supper. The reward I received more than repayed me. Did it taste good! It was so nice to plunge my beak into this crea¬ ture and draw forth a nice red oozy substance. I’d never tasted anything like it before. (Milk—ugh!) But do you know that selfish creature, instead of letting me have a nice supper, picked up part of himself and threw it at me. Whew! It was a good thing I saw it coming or I wouldn’t be here now. (Oh dear, I wish I weren’t!) That red substance tasted so good that I followed the creature in hopes of getting a bigger meal. That was my mistake! I’ll curse that human being as long as l live. (Only I’m afraid that won’t be long.) The strangest thing had happened—-the air had suddenly become very different. I began to get wor¬ ried and said to myself, “Human being or no human being, Clementina, you’re getting back to Buzzville fast. I was crazy to think it was that easy, though, for I flew awhile and then ran smack into a hard wall. I flew in all directions but I couldn’t escape. I was caught! That old human being had done this to me just because I was looking for a decent meal. Well, I showed him! I flew at him with all the vim and vigor of a true Stinger and dug my beak into him as hard as 1 could. But it didn ' t seem to do any good this time. He just ignored me as Willie Swat had done. He didn’t even try to fight back. Maybe he knew it wouldn’t do any good anyway. By this time I was all in from my attack, so I flew to an object and lit there in order to get rested up a bit. It wasn’t by any means as nice a resting place as the green leaf, this was hard and slip¬ pery. Then, too, there wasn’t any Willie Swat buzzing around that I could make eyes at. However, it served its appointed purpose, and I did feel better after I had rested for awhile. This being the first time I’d really stopped to rest, it was the first chance I’d had to do some thinking. I was thinking about what an exciting life I was leading, and that it really was much more fun being an adult than it had been being a larva or a pupa. I was think¬ ing about the delightful meal I had had from that human being. Then I decided that when I escaped (if I ever did), I’d go right back to Buzzville and tell everyone about my adventures. I was just thinking that that would be the way I’d make Willie Swat notice me when, all of a sudden, I lost my balance and fell right fer- plunk into this pool of milk. And all the flying I can do will never get me out. It’s such a shame, for I’m so beautiful, and—glug! Evelyn Comey A QUIET CHRISTMAS EVE Wooo! Wooo! Wooo! The round house whistle echoed through the hills around Macy, a division point on the Vermont Midland Railroad, shattering the peace of the calm Christmas Eve. As the last reverberations died away into the distance, the vicinity of the railroad yards about the wrecking train became electrified with activity. It was as if some one had suddenly thrown a master switch. People rushed hither and thither, shout¬ ing commands, answering questions, and making a gen¬ eral hullabaloo. “700 piled up at Northfield; bad mess!’’ was on everyone’s lips. “And on Christmas Eve, for Pete’s sake, and us with the night off,” cried one worker to the world in general. Gradually, how¬ ever, out of the hustle and bustle men began to work systematically, and, recovering from surprise and drowsiness, to bring order out of chaos. At last all preparations were somehow completed; the powerful locomotive was coupled to the wrecker, and its train and the men, with the exception of a small group beside the engine, were on board. This group consisted of the yardmaster, the wrecking boss, the en¬ gineer, Bill Jenkins, and one of the work gang, Eddie Somers, a light haired young fellow clad in worn hut serviceable denims. As the knot of men broke up, the latter nervously cleared his throat and asked a question of Bill, to which the engineer replied, “We-ell, we’re not supposed to let anyone ride in the cab, but since you’re working on this road, I don’t see why I shouldn’t let you this once. Climb up there and hurry up! There’s the highball.” Almost before he fully realized the fact, Eddie was perched on the fireman’s box, cau¬ tioned to sit still and keep out of the way. Slowly the engine eased out onto the main line, rolling through clattering switches and gaining momen¬ tum with every turn of the drivers. Louder and louder the exhaust barked, pounding, pounding, pounding un¬ til the sheer rhythm of it seemed to make Eddie’s pulse heat in time. Jolting, jarring, slamming, the cab swayed back and forth with the rolling of the engine until it seemed impossible for the fireman to stand on the pitch- Ten CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 ing deck and at the same time heave the shining coal into the hungry maw of the firebox with such precision and regularity as he did. Finally Eddie turned from watching the untiring efforts of the fireman and the ceaseless vigilance of Bill to gaze at the flying scenery. As the wrecker had a clear track to the accident, there was no slackening of speed at any time. Towns flipped past with the same surprising suddenness with which farmhouses and barns tore by. There was not much to be glimpsed except snow and grim, bare trees; never¬ theless, it was heaven to Eddie just to be able to ride on a locomotive. If the men only knew how much this sort of job meant to him and how much he loved rail¬ roads, perhaps they wouldn’t ride him as they did. But how w ' ere they ever to find out? If he tried to tell them, they’d only laugh at him all the more. Anyway, maybe mere might be something he could do tonight to show mem. Maybe if he worked hard enough, they’d—but mok, here they were almost at the wreck. Sure enough, just one more curve, and then .... What a mess! The engine, a huge Texas type, was nearest to them, wallowing in the right of way like a great hog. Although its fires had been killed, escaping steam hissed gently from its sides making it sound more like a prehistoric monster than a modern locomotive t here, too, in the glare of the floodlights of the salvage train which had already arrived were the cars, some fifteen of them lying in almost impossible positions, piled upon each other and scattered all over the land¬ scape as though tossed about by a playful giant. Clear¬ ing up of the dreadful havoc had begun; already a good deal of work w ith the cars had been accomplished. But now wdth the arrival of the two locomotive cranes which were in Bill’s train, the most important job, that of lift¬ ing the derailed engine, would be accomplished in short order. As Bill brought the train to a stop, the work gang, including Eddie, piled out, eager to get their w ' ork done and return to their homes. From then on for four long weary hours Eddie sweated, strained, and swore; those tedious hours w r ere a nightmare, not horrible, but long to be remembered for their seeming endlessness. Heav¬ ing, lifting, pushing, crawling around under cars, shout ing orders, obeying commands—finally it all came to an end. At last the battered locomotive rested on it; own drivers, secure again upon newly laid rails. B this time, also, the lighter crane had accomplished it task, that of clearing up the cars which had been de¬ railed with the locomotive. I lie last car had bee i either set again on the rails or dumped bodily onto i Hat car. Waiting for the signal to start back, men every¬ where were resting and relaxing for a moment befoi packing up to return home. So it was with Eddie; bu. as he sat on a keg recuperating from his arduous labor his fertile mind was active, extremely so! There ha! been considerable discussion during the work concern¬ ing whether the wreck was accidental or whether sabo¬ tage had been the cause. Finally, however, the argu¬ ment had ended with the consensus of opinion that it was very probable, in view of the circumstances, that it had been caused by someone’s tampering with the rails, but that the person who had done it would be far away by now. Even as the argument had been closed, how¬ ever, Eddie’s mind was working, trying to reason out just what he would have done had he been the criminal. l ow he was still pondering this problem, his eyes star¬ ing moodily ahead. Suddenly their attention was caught and riveted to one spot. On the outskirts of the crowd which had gathered to watch the crew ' work, in fact quite a distance from the wreck, standing in the dark¬ ness surrounding the sphere of light thrown by the floodlights, there stood a dark, overcoated figure. The fellow’s sinister appearance was emphasized by his turned-up collar and his black slouch hat pulled down so as to cover his face. An alarming suspicion popped into Eddie’s mind; here, without a doubt, was the crimi¬ nal himself, returned to view his handiwork. Why else would he take such elaborate precautions against being seen? Certainly, that was it! Immediately a daring plan formulated itself in the boy’s brain. Why, if he could capture this fellow, not only would the other men respect him, but there also was the chance of the railroad’s giving him a better job! Trying to appear nonchalant, Eddie w ' alked slowly off until he was beyond the range of the lights. Then quickly he struck off the right of way down a slight embank ment to the left. This little gully he was in would conceal him until he was within about fifty feet of his quarry; from then on it would make little differ¬ ence. As rapidly and as silently as possible, Eddie W ' orked his way close up to the man, so close in fact that he could hear, through the clear night air which was absolutely still except for the hissing of the air- pumps and the subdued murmur of the crew’s voices, the mutterings of the person he intended to capture. Eddie paused a minute, resting a bit in order to get his breath before he charged. The man in the slouched hat was definitely mumbling to himself. Eddie couldn t catch the words, because they were smothered by the man’s coat collar. For a second he wondered to him¬ self if perhaps, after all, it wouldn’t be best to go back and tel l the men about it and let them do the capturing. Maybe this was a lunatic. But no! He had started it; now he would finish it. Lest he should weaken again. Eddie stood up, let out a shout of help to the crew, and dived for the man. For the next ten seconds Eddie didn ' t reall know what happened. The air seemed to be full of flying snow r , elbows, and feet. Twice his opponent got the upper hand, but each time Eddie somehow, by dint of pure grit, wriggled out of the man ' s grasp and on top again. Finally Eddie got breath enough to shout again for help. With this, the man astride whom he was sit¬ ting stopped resisting him. Instead of struggling, he lav there face down in the snow, his whole body shak¬ ing. “Oh, had enough, eh?” gritted Eddie through his Eleven THE PIONEER teeth. “Well, you just lie right there until they get here.” Then to show the other men where he was, “Here, Bill, over here!” Within a few seconds the crew reached him and helped him to his feet. “There he is, your trainwrecker. Better help him up; he’s crying, I guess.” “Nice work, kid!” praised Bill. “You ought to get a reward for this. The railroad will probably give one, too. You know—ye gods, it’s the Super.” Eddie suddenly felt very sick, as though someone had unexpectedly kicked him in the stomach. The divi¬ sion superintendent! There went the respect, the re¬ ward, and the job all at once. The Super could actually have him put in jail for assault and battery. Golly. With these and other self-reproaching thoughts, Eddie berated himself. If he had only known. But maybe it wasn’t too late to save his job even now. While the Super’s attention was on the group of men from the train, Eddie tried to edge away toward the track. The men wouldn’t tell on him, and perhaps—His thoughts were interrupted; the Super was calling him back to take his medicine. Well, he’d show them he could take it. Some day he’d make those wise guys wipe the grins off their faces. “And now, young man, I want to make an example of you. (Eddie’s heart began to sink.) Your’s was a very foolhardy trick which had almost disastrous effects on me. You should consider yourself lucky that at the moment I could see the humorous side of the affair and laugh—-which incidentally, I was doing, not crying as you supposed. But now to get back to the point: you did jump on me. (By now Eddie’s heart had sunk completely.) In the first place, we officials saw fit to examine the wreck before we sent for the wrecking crews. As you men guessed, this mess was caused by someone’s tampering with the track, someone who, in¬ cidentally, has long since been picked up by the State Troopers. However, the reason I wish to make an ex¬ ample of this young man is to show the difference be¬ tween his vigilance and your negligence. (For the first time Eddie looked up, wondering if he had misunder¬ stood.) Although it was prompted by a justifiable de¬ sire to get home on Christmas Eve, it was still negli¬ gence. Out of all you men this lad was the only one to perceive my suspicious character and to have imagina¬ tion enough to find a way to effect my capture. He was the only one to worry at all about catching the culprit. (Eddie took his turn at grinning.) Although there is no reward out for my apprehension, Eddie, I still feel that you deserve some token of our appreciation of your wideawake attitude. Therefore, I want you to report to the office in the morning; we can always find a better place for one who really deserves it. Now I see that you’re almost overcome by my munificence, so I’ll leave before you faint on me. Goodnight, all. Merry Christ- mas. He strode away toward the engine. Every tongue seemed to be tied, but it was Eddie who first regained control of his: “Who says there isn’t any Santa Claus?” John Hilchey ADVENTURE IN THE ATLANTIC “Mr. Trotsky?” I looked up, very much surprised. Why shouldn’t I be? No one knew what my name was. Why, I had boarded this ship under the name of John Livinsky. My hand slipped up to my shoulder holster, but no, it would be of no use to resist, since I was on the high seas and could not possibly overcome all hands on an ocean liner. “Mr. Trotsky!” The voice rang out again. The first time it had had a questioning note in it; this time it was one of command. I immediately came to my senses and recognized that the man who was speaking to me was the captain of the vessel. I straightened up and answered, “Yes, sir.” “You are Michael Trotsky, are you not?” “Yes, sir, I am.” I noticed that in his hand he held a radiogram. “Michael Trotsky, I place you under arrest by or¬ der of the American Federal Bureau of Investigation. You shall be placed on board a homecoming ship on arrival at the British Isles. It will be of no avail to resist.” However, my thoughts were not of resistance now that I fully realized what his orders were. I was com¬ pletely stunned. All my work in America was destroy¬ ed. The information which I had obtained would never reach Russia. To be sure, many would not consider my occupation an honorable one, but I was and still am a patriotic citizen of Russia. I had been sent to America as a spy to secure information concerning the United States Navy. In the course of my actions, a government official had been shot, through no fault of mine. Yet, I was being sought for that very killing. Here I was, scarcely a day out on the ocean, with home and family taking up the greater part of my thoughts. Now I was to be sent to my death. The captain spoke again. “As you are on the high seas and cannot possibly escape, I give you the freedom of the ship for the rest of the voyage. You shall be treated as any other passenger until we come in sight of the Irish coast.” This was an extremely unusual procedure, for I was known to be a criminal. However, I believe that this man realized my position. He knew that the mind of a spy is not that of a hardened criminal. A gangster has no respect for anyone and breaks any law that he has a notion to break, but a spy has just one goal in view—to get information. In the course of securing it. he may break a law or two, but as soon as his job is finished, he is once more a law-abiding citizen. I thank¬ ed the captain kindly and resigned myself to my fate. In the course of the next few days, I received nu¬ merous invitations from the captain to attend dinner and other social functions with him. 1 accepted these without hesitation and became well acquainted with T welve CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 Captain Hadley. He introduced me to his friends as Count Levinsky. I tried as best I could to eat, drink, and be merry, but not many people realize what it is to know that you are soon to die. Accordingly, I was con¬ tinually moody and was not considered very good com¬ pany. The morning of our arrival at Ireland came, and my mind worked frantically to find some method of escape. The shoreline was just barely visible, and I strolled along the deck considering jumping overboard; however, numerous fins streaking along the surface of the water informed me that to jump would be fatal. I had no thought of suicide, for I have always stuck to the theqry that “While there’s life, there’s hope.” I was gazing dreamily at the fins gliding back and forth when I noticed one that seemed to be taller and thinner than the rest. Suddenly I straightened up. That was no fin. There w’as no mistake about it. What I saw was a peri¬ scope. My first thought was to warn the captain, but there was no need of that, for that gentleman was now advancing toward me—no doubt to place me in one of the ship’s cells. He approached me but never quite got around to speaking, for at that moment there was an explosion that nearly rent my eardrums. I felt myself falling, and I hit the water far below the deck with a force that knocked the wind out of me. I came gasping to the surface, struggling to keep myself afloat. I gazed behind me and saw that the ship was listing sharply to her starboard side. All was turmoil on board. 1 glanced around me to see if there were any pieces of wreckage to which I might cling. Sudden¬ ly, I bumped into a limp form. Lifting its head, I per¬ ceived to my surprise that it was the captain, apparently knocked unconscious in falling from the deck. At once the idea came into my head that if I let this man drown, my escape could not be blocked; that is, taking for granted that a rescue ship should come before long, for Hadley was the only person on the ship who knew 1 was a spy. However, he was a human being like my¬ self, and I could not gather nerve enough to let him die. In the midst of the confusion, I spied a stray piece of wreckage and hoisted Hadley onto it. He slowly opened his eyes and stared stupidly at me. I guess he was just barely conscious of the fact that 1 had saved his life. He attempted to speak but could not find his voice. ! decided that this was a good time to make my departure so after making sure that Hadley was capable of taking care of himself, I struck out for the shore, which wa now only a few miles away, fervently hoping that aP sharks in the vicinity had been sufficiently frightened by the explosion to have their appetities taken away. A report was received by the Federal Bureau o. Investigation a short time ago from one Robert Hadley former captain of the liner Phoenix. It read, Michat ■ Trotsky. Russian spy, lost at sea as result of torpedoing of the liner Phoenix.” Rae Ambaek CO-ED BLUES “—And remember, angel face, you’re coming up for the big game. All the usual XXX, Johnny” A letter like that from the man o’ her life would make any gal’s spinal column do funny things—mice ran up and down mine, anyway—but after the prelimi¬ nary thrill was over, I began to think. Yes, really, l mean think! I’d never, never again face such a critical audience. There would be all of his sceptical frat broth¬ ers and their lynx-eyed beauties. I just had to be super. Consequently, 1 soon found myself treading panther fashion across the thick mauve carpet of one of the smartest dress shops in town. The rug reminded me of Johnny (bless his heart) when his hair needs cutting. Before I had managed to stop reeling from the effects of the chromium chairs and mirrored walls, a small, brown-eyed woman flitted in. She surely must have come over on the same boat with that chic, Paris outfiL she was wearing. Madame scanned me from top to toe for a minute, and then: “Sometheeng sopheesticated, of course. Now Schiaparelli seemply dotes on zeese new cigarette silhouette, and, w T eeth zeese velvet turban, you would be veree, veree—oh, how do you say eet? She fluttered something in my face, groping for inspiration. Then triumphantly, ‘ ' Ze cat’s wheeskers! Cat’s whiskers was right, but I wasn’t going to the game with the cat; I w r as going with Johnny, and the cat’s whiskers and Johnny’s whiskers are two very dif¬ ferent things. It was the most adorable affair that I’d seen in ages. 1 mean actually. Yobody had wasted any material on the skirt; it was, as Madame bad said, like a long, slim cigarette. (Not to boast, of course, I really could wear it, thanks to those banana splits I’d so con¬ scientiously foregone.) There was a steep, apron-like flounce coiling up from what was advertised to he a “meager facade”. The neck was high and turtle-like, and the sleeves were long, with gloves that looked like part of the dress. It was the last word, hut I knew that it would be the last word in more ways than one if Johnny ever saw it, so, very gently, 1 told Madame that it would not do. “Mais oui!” she exclaimed, bobbing her well groomed hair-do. “I understand perfectly. Mademoi¬ selle does not wish to be sleek like ze seal; Mademoi¬ selle weel be too, too effeminate zeese year. Ze waist, she weel vamoosh into theen air, she weel he so tinee, and ze skirt, she weel sweesh and swirl, she weel he so full. Molyneux has designed just ze theeng!” I scrambled out of the “cigarette” and into the “hour¬ glass”, and when I say “hour-glass”, I mean just that! Frankly, my waistline and the waistline of the dress had two different ideas about what was going where. Ma¬ dame noticed this too, for she very tactfully murmured something to the effect that those hips that we gals have ail been doing our hardest to bump off for the past ten years are now expected to be nothing short of a gener¬ ous ogee curve. Then she trotted out—yes, really a Thirteen THE PIONEER wasp-waist corset. Three other salesgirls were called to help before I was finally properly laced into the hid¬ eous contraption, but the results were certainly gratify¬ ing! I hardly knew myself. “And Mademoiselle weel find zat since ze lacings are in place, she weel only have to pull ze zeeper up ze side in order to get into zeese sweet corset.” I wriggled the dress on over the new garment, and, as usual, dear Madame gurgled something poisonous, ending with, “Ah, ma petite, eet ees seemply too, too devastating!” The effect was devastating, and so was the price. I realized that my co-ed budget just wouldn’t stand a Molyneux dress and a Schiaparelli corset. I should have to choose between the two. Snatches of numerous beauty articles came flocking back to me, such as: “Cin¬ derella can wear her rags with the air of a queen, if she only has the ‘figger’, but the richest silks and satins will be nothing more than dowdy rags on a poorly built woman.” Well, the corset won. So there I was with a wasp-waist corset and a very anemic purse. In toto, it was too much. My savoir faire melted completely and I told all. I explained to Madame that was buying this outfit for a football game. I already had an evening dress, which Johnny had never seen before, and a fur great-coat, but I just had to have something to wear to the game, something which would knock my football-johnny over the moon. Madame suddenly seemed to light up as if a fire had been kindled way down inside of her. “Ah!” she cried, with the coziest chuckle I have ever heard, “zen you are not ze debutante hunting for ze tea frock! You are one of those—oh, what do you say?” She fluttered again. “Those co-eds! Oh, how I love you co-eds.” She seemed to beam all over. “Come, follow me. Zeese eez not ze shop for you.” And she led me to the college shop. She drew out rack after rack of skirts and sweat¬ ers. There were plain tweed skirts, skirts with multi¬ color flecks, plaid skirts, and striped skirts. There were straight, slim skirts, full, swing skirts, skirts with inter¬ esting belts at the waist, and pleated skirls. The sweat¬ ers, too, were of all colors, styles, and yarns imaginable. With Madame’s help, I finally chose a tweed skirt of 1 luscious grape color and a long, sloppy cardigan, that was minus the last button. All of this happened two days ago. Yesterday the express truck delivered my bundles, and I opened them as if I had a bad case of St. Vitus’ dance. But the beau¬ tiful castle was doomed to fall, for I opened the last bundle, and found the hill and (oh, horrors!) the wasp- waist corset. The bill was stupendous, but it dwindled into nothingness as the horrible realization came to me that I had spent my hard earned pennies on a wasp- waist corset to wear with a hip-length cardigan sweater. Oh treacherous Madame! The only bright spot left in my tragic life was the date with Johnny. Today the mailman came with a letter, the stamp on whi-h was up side down. Gleefully 1 opened it and scanned a page of details about trains and what-not, until I came to the last paragraph. This is what stared me in the face: “And remember, cherub puss, to wear that soft, blue wool dress that you wore to the house party last spring; it’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen. All the usual XXX, Johnny” Dorothy Babcock POISON! With his finger on the trigger and a horrible sneer on his face, Weasel Shaw prepared to kill the old man before him, and then hesitated. “Wait a minute, Jim,” he said to his friend, and with a sly and meaning look at Red Evans, the old man’s partner, “why waste a bul¬ let on this old codger? Let’s make grandpa take a nice cool drink of water outa this spring of poison water. We’ve only got two bullets and we might need ’em later. Heh, kid? Come on, grandpa, drink that water before I throw you in.” With a bitter laugh, Weasel pushed the old man to the brink of the pool and forced him to drink the deadly water. A horrible grimace on his race and his eyes fixed in the glassy stare of the dead, the old man’s body slumped into the placid water. Red Evans stood still. He just couldn’t realize that “Old Man” Haines, the only father he’d ever known, his bene¬ factor, his partner, and fellow prospector in their mine in the muontains, was dead, murdered by Weasel Shaw, well-known tough hombre and leading criminal of the West. “Come on, kid! Let’s get going! You’re the only one who can lead us out of here, and if you don’t hurry you’ll be pushing up daisies with this old duck.” Kick¬ ing Haines’ body scornfully, Jim Henderson, Weasel’s right hand man and body-guard, slapped Red sharply. Red thought desperately. What could he do? If he didn’t lead them from the desert, they wouldn’t hesi¬ tate to kill him and gamble on finding the way out them¬ selves. On the other hand, if he did lead these two cold-blooded murderers to safety, they would almost undoubtedly kill him, the only witness of their crimes. Red dragged Haines’ body into the shelter of the trees, trying to think of some means of revenge. Suddenly, a desperate plan came to him as he emerged and loitered for an extra minute or two by the pool, sparring for time and pretending to be more stunned than he was. His mind made up, Red slowly set out on the path after Weasel and Jim, a path which only he knew. Sweating and swearing, the two crooks, bearing the bags of rich, gold-studded nuggets which were the motive for their crime, allowed him to take the lead. The hot sun shown without mercy out of a brassy- sky, entirely devoid of clouds, upon the three travelers trudging through the hot, arid wastes that stretched on and on, seemingly indefinitely. Red kept in advance of the others until finally his reminiscences were interrup¬ ted. “Come on, kid. Where’s that water-hole you said was six miles from camp? We’ve been going for four hours and I ain’t seen none yet. Come on! Where is Fourteen CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 it before I smack you with this?” Brandishing a sharp rock, Henderson walked toward the boy. “It should be here,” replied Red. “I can’t under¬ stand it. Honest, Jim. We’ll just have to keep on walk¬ ing until we strike it.” Weighing the rock in his hand, the thug hesitated a moment and then, heaving it away, he set out again without a word, only stopping to drink deeply from the canteen. On and on they marched, the two robbers sweating profusely and slowly exhausting their meager supply of water. Still Red marched forward, not seem¬ ing to mind the extreme heat and the fact that he had had no water from the canteen. Suddenly, to the left, a group of stunted green trees appeared. Racing into the green shrubs, Red soon reappeared and called to the murderers, “Plenty of water here. Hurry up!” Eagerly the others rushed toward the oasis and Red was about to go back to wait for them when he was stopped by Shaw’s harsh cry. “Come here, kid! You ain’t playing no tricks on us. You just stay where we can see ya hereafter.” Weasel staggered forward to the clear pool of refresh¬ ing water. He had just lowered his head to drink when a small sign nearby caught his eye. “Poison! Beware! the piece of cardboard read. Slowly Weasel got up and reeled over to Red. “Thought you’d lead us to a poisoned spring, did ya? Didn’t quite have time to steal the sign, you little rat. Take that!” Red reeled and fell from the heavy blow. “I didn’t know. I must have the wrong path. We can get through this way, though, if you can last out, Red muttered while he wiped his face on his blue denim shirt. “We’ll last out all right,” sneered Henderson; if a little guy like you can stand it, I guess we can. Now get up, and no more tricks or you 11 never get up again. The three men staggered on through the intense heat which was now at its midday peak. Gazing around. Red thought, “If I can only keep them going a few hours, I may yet revenge my pard’s death. Gee, I wish 1 had some water. But no more could he see. Hours and hours they marched. The two bandits were just barely able to walk—their lips swelled from dust and lack of water, their supply of which had long since been exhausted. Then again Red summoned them to an oasis, hut again the fatal sign “Poison! Beware!’ mocked them. The two men were silent now and doggedly plodded on, staggering with weak steps. Red, however, seemed to grow fresher than when he had started out. He walk¬ ed on steadily now, not seeming to mind the heat arid lack of water. “Come on, you tough guys. 1 thought you could take it. It’s only a couple of hours. What s the matter? 1 thought you were tough, you pair of tin¬ horn crooks! “You’ll find out who’s a tin-horned crook, you little rat! If you’re fooling us, you will never fool any- one again. Staggering up with his pistol, easel menaced the boy and then, almost falling, he lurched forward and waved him on. Red laughed bitterly to himself. If all went well, he could soon recover his gold and punish these mur¬ derers. He laughed when he saw the two men weaving their way behind him. They had been used to soft living and luxuries and were not accustomed to the extreme heat of the desert to which Red was inured by his years spent on the hot sands. The time was almost ripe for the culmination of his carefully conceived plan for out¬ witting them. Still another oasis loomed far ahead, just barely visible from where they were standing. “This is a good oasis ahead here,’ said Red. “We can get a rest and finish our trip tomorrow.” Without uttering a word, the two crooks started toward the green oasis at a lurching run. They ran only a few paces, however, and then settled back to their former slow gait. Slowly they strode on, covering step by step the distance separating them from water and cool shade. At last they reached the cool trees and shrubs. A spring bubbled noisily into a limpid pool, making the most welcome sight they had even seen. Throwing down their heavy bags, the murderers knelt and drank deeply in unison from the cool water. For a minute they knelt suspended over the pool, and then they both slumped forward into il with faces horribly distorted by the deadly alkaline poisons of the water. Slowly Red stood up and, reaching inside his shirt, drew out the sign which he had taken from this very pool that same morning. He fixed it again at the water ' s edge. It’s message “Poison! Beware!” had served him well. He smiled feebly and then walked to the little clump of trees. He must bury his partner decently now. Robert Sullivan ON WALLPAPER FOR CONVALESCENTS Have you ever been sick, really sick? Sick as a dog, in plain words? You have? Well, you know what it’s like then to lie abed week upon end and twist and heave like some old ship on her last journey. But at that. I bet you fared better than I ever did. Undoubtedly you had a lovely nurse, a sunny room, candy, atten¬ tion—well, you’re just a piker! The trouble with me G that I’m a bachelor, and whenever 1 get ill I’m stuck up in some hack room out of the way to get well or to die. So far I’ve always managed to get well. Now, since I am an experienced sick man and keep to the bed a hundred days out of every three hundred, I feel I am a fully competent expert at anything or any¬ one pertaining to illness and convalescents. In th vears I ' ve been at it I have been in a great number of rooms, and my pet peeves are those which boast wall¬ paper! I don ' t mind huge cracks that make one reel dizzily to trace them, sway ing chandeliers, squeaky beds, or rattling windows—they are inevitable and must be borne cheerfully by us sufferers. But wallpaper just slays me! I ' ll tell you why. Back in 25 after the long sea journey that I took to Capri, I returned home a wreck, a broken and dis- THE PIONEER illusioned man. I was suffering from a phobia. I was seasick and how terra firma did roll and buckle. Why, I could even smell the salt, and every time I thought of Italian spaghetti—oh! Of course, I was confined to bed for a complete rest, and naturally the bed was in a room, a room with taunting wallpaper. It was green; if I dare presume so, a ghastly pale green that rolled and swirled in hideous scrolls, entwining itself in other green swirls sickening to look at. They twisted too en¬ ergetically and fairly snarled; I was literally knocked to my feet even by looking at them. If I gazed long enough on this piece of creative genius, it seemed to rotate and radiate like a spinning top. By the third day, the white polka dots around the border had grown before my blood-shot eyes into a fluctuating white cap effect. After a week of swirling in that green maze the bed seemed to sprout masts and I felt like yelling out periodically, “Ship ahoy!” After I quite violently threw that plate of hash at my nurse, however, I was moved to a more soothing room. Yes, I recovered. But to get on, I remember once in ’29 after the crash I lay a palsied and moaning wreck in a room just blasted with (of all colors) red! All kinds of red! It hung in suspended animation before my eyes, forming ticker tape. Now, it wasn’t that nice bright red that blinds one. No, it had been on those morbid walls for years, and it had dimmed into a dark red, vengeful, bloody, and all too suggestive of the recent predomi¬ nant hue of ink in the ledgers and books of my firm. I got out of that place by smoking in bed. Wait a minute; don’t go away. You know, I suffer horribly from hay fever and I hate, just hate, all kinds of flowers. Can’t stand the sight of them, even a picture of ' em makes me go off in a paroxysm on the spot. Well, the year I contracted pneumonia I had a room bedecked with lovely clumps and clods of daisies and golden rods worked out in a split complimentary color scheme of pink and yellow-green. I could just see the pollen waiting. Have you ever seen pink and yellow- green together? My old seasickness would return every- time I would glance at it. Of course, my hayfever took a bow and a return engagement. Those limpid, fetid blossoms which hung helter skelter about the room—I hated them so! I attacked those lurid posies with a nail file until there wasn’t a single pink and yellow-green bloom ablooming. Again in ’35, after attempting to come home from a honey of a party at Louie’s, I had rather a bad fall on the ice. (People do say it affected me mentally.) I was confined for six months to a small cell of a room em¬ bellished with a design that its creator no doubt thought a very precocious masterpiece. Personally, I detest those inane scenic wallpapers, and that’s what this was. I might have put up with a south sea theme, or a land¬ scape, or something reminiscent of spring and fair weather, but this was a winter group, depicting winter sports. Ice was the predominating background. A skier skidded across the baseboard, skaters whirled profusely between onrushing toboggans, and leering groups of people toasted one another over roaring fires. Well sir, I amused myself by throwing homemade darts at those inert creatures. I soon became very animated in my work. One day I observed my cousin Spider’s eight guage shot gun leaning invitingly in the corner. I blew three sides of that room to confetti. Well, these little narrations are just to explain and help trace for you that burning, grinding hate I hold for wallpaper. Then came ’39 and I had recovered sufficiently from my numerous maladies to move about. But I lived to regret it about three months ago! It happened at one of those fashionable garden parties given by Mrs. Cor¬ nelius Grieg Van Smuts, to which I rated a coveted in¬ vitation. The party had been a brilliant success and the guests even more so, the gentlemen accoutered in swallow tail coats, ascots, et cetera; the ladies, in long frocks and ridiculous hats. Everywhere guests were laughing and talking in congenial huddles. The younger set were dancing, and the rocking chair brigade were smiling and drooling into their beards. As I say, all went well until it began to rain, driving the guests to shelter. I always have said that “Corny” has a beauti¬ ful home; she keeps it decorated in the very essence of ultraness. Well, anyway, I dashed in to avoid an un¬ called for bath. Before the deluge I had been amusing a few onlookers by cutting, out of a folded newspaper, geegaws which they all called “clevah”. I was still armed with a formidable foot or so of shears. As l remember it, Lucille Batiste de Jaux was on my right and Baron Felix Armand Slush on my left as we turned the corner of the foyer hall. The lovely gilded doors of the drawing room stood open revealing the assembled guests. And then I saw it! I let out a bellow that shook the mirrors. That wallpaper! It was striped in orchid and pale fudge. It was too much for a man who had suffered as I had to bear. I know I didn’t stop scream¬ ing and yelling until I had cut off the tails on every dress coat in that room with those hungry scissors. Bar¬ on Slush’s longies became shorts in double quick time. Yes, I just love it here. It’s so quiet. I am ill, you know! But the walls are such a restful white. Those men in white are annoying at times, and those bars do get on my nerves, but there just isn’t a single solitary inch of wallpaper—that I know. Yeowee! Tom Connelly SAGA OF A CHRISTMAS PRESENT “Only two more weeks till Christmas!” The short printed line in the newspaper struck Lura in the face like a well aimed slap. Why hadn’t she remembered? And this Christmas she had planned to make with her own little lily-white hands a gift for Stanley. Only two weeks left. Whatever could she do; what could she make? 0, why hadn’t she remembered? A big tear rolled down Lura’s pretty, irresponsible cheek and fell into her lap. Stanley and Lura had been happily married for just three months; their quarrels were still silly things Sixteen CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 easily forgotten. Just last night Stanley had told his young wife, “Darling, I feel as if we were still on our honeymoon. She had said blissfully, “We’ll always be on a honeymoon, always, always.” Then he had kissed her, a sure sign that they were still a little giddy from the great blow that had come when they had both first felt that queer sick feeling that is known as love. Now the dust lay an inch thick behind the furniture in the little white house with scarlet blinds, and the toast was always the color of Socrates, the undernourished black cat, but Stanley and Lura wore rose-colored glass¬ es and were surrounded by a rosy haze so that to them the house was spotless and the toast tasted like the most delicious food ever cooked. They also supposed that Socrates was as happy as they were, but Socrates, not being in love and lacking the philosophizing and un¬ derstanding temperament of his great namesake, often stormed around the house sharpening his claws on the upholstery and doing other ill bred things, anything but happy. Another big tear followed the first down into Lura’s dainty handkerchief. Miserably she picked up the magazine that lay beside her and flipped over a few pages. The stories of young love and moonlight seemed uninteresting to her; the latest Paris fashion notes and the gay new patterns were dull and colorless. She turned a page and saw this: “A CHRISTMAS Gif 1 FOR JOHN? MAKE IT YOURSELF!” The young wife could hardly believe her eyes; she brightened noticeably and looked at the article again. It said, “Achieve that individual, smart, hand made look to your gifts, and listen to the compliments. It’s easy. Make them yourself this year. Send 25c to Marjorie Allen, c o this magazine, and you will receive instruc¬ tions about how to make each of the articles pictured on this page. Hurry, so that you will get yours in plenty of time for Christmas. Around the edges of the page were bright illustrations depicting such things as em¬ broidered bedroom slippers, patchwork quilts, hand- painted desk calendars, hand-knitted neckties, pounded copper ash trays, and numerous similar attractive ktiick- nacks. Lura gazed ecstatically at the unexpected de¬ lights. Stanley would love any one of them, and es¬ pecially the slippers done in red w ith purple wild gees: flying drowsily across a luscious golden yellow moon. Or the shellacked green hook jacket with a border o blase hounds alternating with surprised looking rabbit of a peculiar bronze shade. Or the carved wooden wal rus bookends. 0, what luck to find this, she exulted She dashed off in search of pen, envelope, and a twenty - five cent piece. Socrates lashed his tail angrily and laid back hi ears as Lura swept him into her arms. O. Socrates- honey, Christmas is coming in only two more week . Won’t Stanlev he surprised! Socrates pulled away ii ritably as she laid her cheek happily against his smootl black head. He thought that it would he a much better idea if, instead of wasting time on foolish things like hand-knitted neckties, Lura spent a little more on the planning of his, Socrates’, meals. Indeed, he wouldn ' t mind if she didn’t plan them, if only she would remem¬ ber that the dearest pleasure in a cat’s life is eating and give him anything besides oatmeal in the morning and vegetables (!) at night, things that any self-respecting cat would disdain. Lura put him down on the sofa while she ran out to mail the letter to Marjorie Allen. Socrates clawed the blue upholstery savagely. Every day for the next week Lura watched for the postman; on the seventh day her eagerness was re¬ warded, because he brought the letter from Marjorie Allen. She tore it open and looked upon the promised instructions, but never were more complicated instruc¬ tions seen. For a moment Lura was taken aback, but not for long. Nothing was capable of daunting her when her mind was made up and her Stanley’s happiness was concerned. So at the first opportunity which pre¬ sented itself she procured the materials necessary for the making of the slippers. She also bought a book and a pipe; the slippers were not to be Stanley’s only present from his wife. Triumphant, Lura bore her pur¬ chases home, and dropped them on the table. “First,” instructed Marjorie Allen, “spread your materials before you. Be sure you have everything you need so that you can work without being interrupted. Now, using the pattern pieces labeled A. B. As Lura worked happily on for several days, the slippers steadily, if awkwardly, took form so that eventually they could be recognized at least as some kind of footwear. They were of a beautiful scarlet color, heavenly in the eyes of their maker. Gradually, round, mellow, golden moons appeared on the toes, much superior to the pale, small, cold one that appeared outside her window at night, Lura thought. At last the day before the long awaited holiday arrived, and the purple geese were coming along health¬ ily, Lura worked all afternoon on the birds, but they were stubborn. For some reason or other, they looked like crows. Three times she ripped out her work and three times she re-embroidered the lazily flapping purple wings. She was careful to take time out for supper although her work was far from completion, because if Stanley should return to a supperless home, he would be apt to suspect something. She secreted the wonder¬ ful slippers behind the antique red cherry desk in the hall. That evening while Stanley was waiting for supper, he saw one of Lura ' s magazines lying on the floor. Idly he picked it up and just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity turned a few pages. A bright-colored article lay before him. It was headed: A CHRISTMAS GIF I FOR JOHN ? MAKE IT YOl RSELF! His eye roamed down the page. What ludicrous stuff! Look at those slippers, for instance! What man in his right mind could watch purple geese flying over his toes without a qualm? And red slippers at that! Stanley snorted indignantly at the thought, then dropped the magazine guiltily as he heard Lura say that supper was ready. At twel e o’clock the next morning Lura had just Seventeen THE PIONEER taken the roast from the oven and set it on the table. She had cut one slice when Stanley came into the kit¬ chen and said, “Come on, can’t we open our presents now? Do you have to do that? Twelve o’clock and no presents yet!” She waved the carving knife dangerously at him. “All right, but, darling, I’ve been so busy ... no chance at all till now ...” They hurried into the living-room, carving knife and all. “Take this one first,” Lura urged. Stanley divested the package of its red paper and silver reindeer and opened the box. There before his eyes lay, of course, the scarlet slippers, looking like a crude enlargement of the mazagine illustration. He stared at them blankly for a moment, swallowed hard, and then he cried, “These geese look almost real. And to think that my little girl made them all by her¬ self.” Stanley had remembered the mazagine article and the description of the red slippers and the geese; he had thus been able to classify the indeterminate pur¬ ple spotches in the very nick of time. Joyously, they looked at the other gifts. Meanwhile, Socrates had stood all he could; that tantalizing odor was too much for him. He leapt lightly onto the table, seized the first slice of the roast Lura had cut, and pulled it to the floor. When the two young people returned to the kitchen, Socrates was licking his chops with no feeling of guilt whatever. “You know, darling,” Stanley was saying, “I’ve never seen such clever-looking slippers. I’ll be the envy of every man in town.” Lura picked the black cat up and whispered into his silky ear, “Socrates, honey, isn’t this the loveliest Christmas?” Socrates purred happily and for once rub¬ bed his head adoringly against her cheek. Ruth Shumaker THE DE CISION As if blown by the breeze that was sweeping land¬ ward from the Atlantic Ocean, the sun suddenly ap¬ peared out of the blue waters and like an artist tinted the simple homes of the fishermen of Gloucester. On this bit of rock-bound coast the fishermen had chosen to build their homes and leave their wives and children, to whom they returned after the hard months spent at the Grand Banks. Early as it was, however, on this particular spring morning, people were already hard at work, for every day fishing vessels sailed from the harbor, and every day others returned. Even those men who were remain¬ ing at home, for the present were busy mending nets and repairing their vessels. Along the waterfront of this thriving town as it was in 1891 ran the docks, and beyond them in the water the numerous fishing schoon¬ ers were anchored. Sitting on one of these docks and gazing thoughtfully at the ruggedly built fishing schoon¬ ers was a small girl, probably about eleven years old. Her sturdy brown body was clad in a faded shirt and trousers several sizes too large for her, which had doubt¬ less been previously worn by an older brother. Indeed, had it not been for the pigtails which hung down her back, at first glance she might easily have been mis¬ taken for a boy. She was Harriet Staples, the only daughter of a poor fisherman. Harriet was not in a good mood. She angrily kicked the water, and as each drop fell into the ocean again and the ripples went outward in ever widening circles the same question went over and over again in her mind. Why couldn’t she go to the Grand Banks on her father’s fishing vessel when he left in the morning? Hadn’t she always done everything else with her seven brothers? Hadn’t she played ball with them, helped them cut wood, and even mended nets and sails? Indeed, she was as big and strong as the youngest, but now for the first time in her life she was to be separated from them, for on this trip her father was taking all of his sons—all seven—while previously he had taken only those who were old and strong enough to help with the work of sailing the large schooner and pplling in the heavy nets. Oh, how the fact that she, who so wanted to live a boy’s life, was a girl rankled. Suddenly Harriet knew what she would do as if it had been written before her in the water, for she was determined that she would not be left at home if she could possibly help it. That night before she went to bed she bade good- by to her father and her brothers. They would set sail very early in the morning, and she was not expected to be awake to see them go. As she started to climb the stairs that led to her bed up under the eaves, she took one last look at the familiar living room where she had spent so much of her eleven years. She looked at the old clock which set on the mantle above the fireplace; she looked at the small bookcase in one corner of- the room which held the few books that she loved and which she had read so many times over and over again; she looked at the little out-of-tune piano that had been given them by a friend and around which the family had gathered so many times while her mother played the songs they all loved to sing and her father accompanied them on his violin; she looked at her father as he sat slumped in his favorite chair beside the fireplace, sleep¬ ing as was his evening custom; at her mother as she swiftly put stitch after stitch into the stocking she was mending; and then she looked at her brothers who were gathered around a small table excitedly talking of the next day’s adventure. Then turning, she walked deter¬ minedly up the well-worn steps. Hers could hardly be called a room, for the roof which slanted down to the floor made it practically im¬ possible to stand erect except in the center, where the two sloping walls met in a peak. To separate Harriet’s room from the rest of the attic, which was used as a storage room, a large piece of canvas, which she liked to play was a sail, was stretched across just at the head of the stairs. The space behind this partition was barely large enough to hold the tiny cot on which she slept and the small chest of drawers in which she kept what little clothing and treasures she possessed. She set Eighteen CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 down the oil lamp she had carried with her and taking a large burlap bag that had been stuffed around the windows to keep out the cold she emptied all her cloth¬ ing into it; then she pushed the bag under the bed. She did not bother to undress, but only blew out the lamp and sat on the bed. Impatiently she listened to the clock strike the hours and half-hours until her parents went to bed. As soon as the house became quiet, Harriet picked up her bag and slowly descended the stairway to the living room. Here she walked lightly from one braided rug to another until she finally reached the front door, which she pushed open and closed noiselessly behind her. Still silently, lest she rouse the neighbor’s dog, she hurried across the yard and climbed over the picket fence to avoid using the squeaky gate. Now, she could really begin to enjoy herself! As she passed each dark shop, she tried to imagine the expression on the propri¬ etor’s face the next morning as he discussed her disap¬ pearance with the villagers. In the inky blackness of the moonless night, however, the rough road that was the main street of Gloucester was far from a cheerful place. At the head of the common, where during the day cattle grazed but which was now barren and empty, was the little white church with its steeple that seemed to guard over the people in the village. Next to the church was the graveyard, its blackness broken by the irregularly placed headstones. Harriet began to run past the shops, the general store, the bakery, then the small postoffice. As she turned the corner which would bring her to the water’s edge her determniation to go with her father became stronger than ever, for here fac¬ ing seaward was the one spot in Gloucester that Harriet really hated, the grammar school. She resented sitting hour after hour in the stuffy little schoolhouse when she could be out of doors with her brothers. Completely out of breath, she arrived at the water¬ front, and after a short search along the dock found a small rowboat. Carefully she climbed into the boat and directed it toward the schooner. She should be enjoy¬ ing herself immensely, but hers was not the satisfaction of rowing through clear crystal-like blue and watching the ripples caused by the oars as they raked the water for now the harbor was a cheerless black, and the sounc of the oars dipping into it seemed hollow and eerie Hanging from the bow of the fishing schooner was a lamp, which swung hack and forth in the breeze and cas ominous shadows on the water. Guided by its rays, sh soon located the rope ladder that was fastened to th side of the ship and climbed the few steps to the deck She pulled the bag up after her and heaved a sigh o relief. Familiar as she was with the ship, each tim she came aboard it seemed to hold a new fascinatio for her. Below deck were the crowded living quarter which, nevertheless, had always to her seemed com fortable and homelike. On the deck, as usual, were nea piles of nets, mended and ready for use. lowering above all were the strong masts to which the heavv can¬ vas sails would soon be fastened. But Harriet couldn t waste time on reflection. There was but one place on the ship where she felt sure she would not be discover¬ ed—the fish bin. This was the enormous box-like struc¬ ture in which the fish were stored and salted down as they were caught. After lifting the heavy trap door that covered the bin, it was a simple matter for her to slip down to the bottom. Exhausted but happy she lay down, using her bag for a pillow. But sleep was far away. She was much too excited even to think of sleeping, for now it was but a matter of a very few 7 hours before she would hear her father and brothers arrive and prepare the ship for sailing. As time passed, the rough boards that she was lying on seemed to become harder and harder, and in the close air of the bin the disagreeable odor of long dead fish combined with salt seeped from the wood and seemed to be suffocating her. More than once Harriet heard near at hand a small scratching sound. She knew the sound to be mice that lived between the boards ot the ship but she was far from comforted by the thought. The water of the Atlantic slapped rhythmically against the sides of the boat, and as if in obedience to its master the boat rocked in time to the rhythm. This was what Harriet had wanted, but suddenly she sat bolt upright, clasped a hand firmly over her mouth, and as if she were being chased climbed from the bin as best she could. Now that she was once again on the deck, the clear air restored to her the resolve to remain on the ship. Instead of returning immediately to the dreaded fish bin, however, she wandered aimlessly about the dock. Leading downward through a trap door to the living quarters below 7 was a ladder. This Harriet descended, feeling her way until she found herself at one end of a fairly large room. Running practically its entire length was a long table, along the sides of which were backless benches. Most of the space along the walls was occupied by bunks built two deep, and at the end opposite the ladder was a stove which appeared to be very incapable of preparing even the simplest of foods. It seemed funny to her that the cabin had never looked so bare and ugly before, or that she hadn ' t realized how much space there actually was in her cubby hole at home. Disappointed, she returned to the deck again, to find that it was no longer pitch dark. Now there seemed to be a gray veil overhanging the earth. In the distance, where the sky met the water, it was hard to tell the gray of one from the grav of the other. But although the water was no longer black, neither was it the clear blue of a sunshiny day. Suddenly the thought entered Harriet’s mind that every night on the ship would be the same; in fact, nights would be even worse when the boat was on the high seas. No longer did the trip seem so pleasant as it formerly had. There wasn’t much time to think, and—oh dear—she was getting that peculiar feeling Continued on page 28 Nineteen “TAKE IT FROM ME” A best seller, but not so renowned as its author, is the 1939 publication “Take It From Me”. Certainly everyone has heard of Neal 0 Hara! He’s been a sports writer for the Boston Post, a columnist for the New York Evening World, a scenario writer in Hollywood, and now is a writer for the Boston Traveler. What com¬ muter doesn’t look forward to Neal O’Hara’s “Take It From Me” column every evening? What would the sub¬ scribers to the Traveler do without those three daily questions and that daily joke? This book has no theme, it has no struggle; it is merely a collection of curious and unique facts, which are organized into specific chapters and interspersed with jokes and favorite questions and their answers. In the chapter “All About Yourself”, for example, we learn that “While you’re sleeping, your brain becomes slightly smaller and your body a trifle larger.” And in “Around the World”, a story is told of a French banquet to twen¬ ty-five thousand mayors and dignitaries of all France, where the set-up was so vast that the head waiters had to ride around on bicycles to make sure the service was proper! Today most people seem to enjoy a book which they can pick up and read at any time without missing part of it. “Take It From Me” certainly fills the de¬ mands of this hurrying age. Because it includes such varied fields, it will appeal to everyone, particularly those who are interested in the unusual, the incredible. If you have the Ripley type of intellect, read “Take It From Me”. Betsy Foxcroft “NEXT TO VAFOR” “Next to valor, the best qualities in a military man are vigilance and caution,” Brigadier General James Wolfe said in an order issued to the troops before Que¬ bec in 1759. On that statement, “Next to Valor”, by John Jennings, is based. The author’s vivid portrayal of the hardships endured by Roger’s Rangers, a scout¬ ing faction of the Provincial army at one time, and of the excitement of their hard-won victories must produce in the reader of a new and profound admiration for these men. Jennings brings home vividly the high standing of Wolfe, both as a man and as a leader. The main characters are James Ferguson, his fam¬ ily. and his friends. The last stand of the Jacobites against England, in which Ferguson’s family partici¬ pates, and the French and Indian War furnish the early and main backgrounds for the story. This book appeals primarily because it is full of action from beginning to end. Furthermore, it presents glowing accounts of the life and times in Scotland during the heyday of Bonnie Prince Charlie, as well as abundant description of places in New Hampshire and other New England states familiar to most of us. “Next to Valor”, a recent favorite of library pat¬ rons, has a strong appeal to those who like historical novels. Carolyn Campbell “CAPTAIN HORATIO HORNBLOWER” C. S. Forester has produced exciting reading in his “Captain Horatio Hornblower”. The book itself is fic¬ tion, although the background is historical. The story is developed around one Horatio Hornblower, a captain of the frigate Lydia in his majesty’s navy. The story starts in the Pacific Ocean at a time when England was at war with Spain. T wenty CHRI STMAS 19 3 9 1 he adventures that this master seaman encountered in the tranquil waters of the Pacific are nothing short of amazing. The author gives vivid pictorial descrip¬ tions of the terrific sea fights undergone by Hornblow- er’s sturdy little frigate. The plot is ably complicated by the entrance of Lady Barbara, a young English noble¬ woman who is seeking passage to England. The hero’s adventures continue in the service of England in the war with Napoleon, the despotic Corsican. His career is marked with brilliance and with a genteel capacity for leadership. He wins the recognition of his king for valuable services rendered to the crown. Finally there is a happy ending through his reunion with Lady Bar¬ bara. This book is a book principally for masculine tastes. It is crammed full of valuable as well as thoroughly exciting adventure. C. S. Forester put a tremendous amount of research into “Captain Horatio Hornblower”, and it justly deserves all of the credit that the popular literary critics have given it. Boys, if you want to satisfy your lust for adventure books, read the present favorite among historical novels—“Captain Horatio Hornblower”. Irving Holcomb “REACHING FOR THE STARS” “Reaching for the Stars” is a story of Germany during the past four years. The author, Nora Wain, lived there with her husband, who was studying German music, and so was able to observe the customs of the German people very thoroughly. After being in Germany for a little while, Nora Wain naturally became interested in the government, of the country and in comparing it with ours. She points out that Hitler has the majority of the people supporting and worshipping him as their leader. Although the} realize that he has persecuted the Jews, murdered the innocent, and monopolized free speech, they say noth¬ ing because they feel that unless they abide by what Hitler says they are doomed. This book shows that all s not war, sorrow, and grief in Germany, however. On the contrary, the German people are a very industrious and ambitious group, who are loyal to their fatherland They take an immense pride in their forests and high¬ ways, which are the most beautiful in the world. Nor; Wain has a great admiration for them, which shine through this book. She presents interesting descrip¬ tions of many German customs and recreates on papei the atmosphere of Germany just before this war began “Reaching for the Stars” is especially to be recom mended because it presents a trulv unbiased picture o Germany, the most discussed of modern nations. Grace Bowers “THE COUNTRY LAWYER” Young Bellamy Partridge writes his first book about his father and about his home town. In this semi¬ biography one is able to discern clearly the author s nostalgic attitude toward the childhood that was his. Old Bellamy Partridge (the country lawyer), Mrs. Partridge, and the horde of little Partridges laboriously copying in longhand case records, wills, and probates on the dining room table, are presented very clearly and simply to us. Prospective lawyers of today should consider themselves fortunate and thank their lucky stars they were not born in the 1800’s as was this coun¬ try lawyer. In that by-gone era, a lawyer was not only a lawyer, but also a doctor, a storekeeper, a fireman, a setter of styles, a politician when times necessitated, and a philosopher always. “The Country Lawyer” has headed the list of popu¬ lar non-fiction for several weeks. For its directness, simplicity, and humor, it is truly an enjoyable piece of literature. Mary Maling “THE PATRIOT” Almost everyone who enjoys reading has a t one time or another made the literary acquaintance of Pearl Buck. Almost everyone, accordingly, knows that she is famous for books like “The Good Earth” and their de¬ pictions of Chinese life. Her latest book, “The Patriot”, is of special interest to her followers because this time Pearl Buck uses not only China but also Japan as back¬ ground material. “The Patriot” is both a stirring love story and an attack on war. It expresses Chinese life and Chinese people in a way that does not conceal their weak¬ ness and decadence. It is at the same time a book which tells of Japanese life, of Japanese individuals and what has happened to them and why. It is not, however, a bitter book nor in any sense propaganda. Nor is anything concealed of Japanese brutality when discipline relaxes. “The Patriot explains fully the resurgence of a new China and the heroic determina¬ tion of spartan Japan. Donald Hitchcock “ESCAPE” “Escape”, by Ethel Vance, is a recent novel about the situation in Germany and its ellects on those living in that country. In the course of the story, people from our country become involved in a very serious plight and have to strive to save themselves. A young Ameri¬ can goes to Germany to rescue his mother, who has been condemned to death for treason to her country. He has three friends to help him and thev have to outwit the army of German officials. Bv means of a daring plan, these people endanger their own lives to help this woman to escape from the country. “Escape is a good book to read now because it deals with a subject that most of the world is interested in. It is an exciting stor written in such a vivid man¬ ner that it captivates vour interest and holds your at¬ tention from the first page to the last. Lillian Davies Continued un page 38 T uenty-one THE PIONEER V o Cedars and sober spruce against a wood that glistens With every design old Nature’s paint brush knows; Forgotten road that snow has richly carpeted, Where drifts lie and rough brown bracken grows; And silence—utter! save that somewhere near A gentle “click” catches the wailing ear. Drumming of noisy wings ’mid startled trees; Against the sky a swift pattern weaves; Guns roar profanely, and with crumpled wings birds fall: Plump, speckled bodies on a waiting carpet of white; And after—feasting! song and hearty drinking, A rich Christmas feast for one more year. David St. Hilaire A PRAYER FOR PEACE Across the seas the cannons shriek and roar; ’Neath ocean waves and high in heaven’s blue, Torpedoes strike and winged lightings soar: And hosts of clear-eyed youths and fathers too, Do march and wheel and fall to rise no more; Destruction-dealing Mars has loosed his crew, And earth once more is soaked with ruddy gore! But here in this fair land our hearts are true To principles laid down in days of yore By Pilgrim fathers, who did seek to do The right: to live, to love, to worship, to adore The God who knew nor slave, nor sect, nor Jew. May he who rules the nations grant release To hates—that all may love the “Prince of Peace”. Wallace Haselton ANOTHER MORN If I could lonely wander through a dell In summer when the dew is freshly strewn Like sparkling diamonds from a spendthrift moon; If I could hear afar the morning bell And list the echo of its distant knell, And hear the warbling birds their songs attune, And see Aurora then the world festoon With colors bright that weave a magic spell— All loneliness forgot, I’d happy be. The beauty of the bells, the birds, the dawn, The sweetness of the sights and sounds to me Would surely bring to mind another morn When you and I, dear heart, dreamed happily. So, memory would make me less forlorn. Kathryn Conron DEW I like to go out walking In the morning by our pond; The dewdrops seem like jewels Scattered by a fairy’s wand. They glisten on tall white iris In beauty beyond compare, A nd all the other flowers Seem proud to hold their share. Even blades of grass, with their shining heads, Twinkle like stars at night. But the dew that is caught in the spider’s web— Ah, there is the wondrous sight! Betty Parks NO PEACE ON EARTH The telephone rings-ring, ring; Somebody knocks-knock, knock; Horns toot-toot, toot; Hens squawk-squawk, squawk. Sonny drums-drum, drum; Beating, beating-tap, tap. Everybody’s making noise, While I’m trying to take a nap! Nancy Holcomb A PUPPY’S AWAKENING A bustle is heard on the stair at dawn; Then there’s a scratch at the door; I open one eye and give a delicate yawn. While foot-pats are heard on the floor. A small black ball seems to fly through the air; It lands in the middle of the bed; I don’t even breathe; I wouldn’t dare, For the rascal might be misled. A cold wet kiss upon my cheek; I open my eyes with a start. I wouldn’t disappoint this tiny sneak, For it would break his heart. He’s ready for his morning play; His eyes are full of glee; I pretend I’m asleep, to his dismay— He makes a whining plea. I wouldn’t part with this morning routine For all the joys in the world. I feel as wealthy as any great queen When this little black ball is uncurled. Barbara Davis T wenty-two CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 A NOCTURNAL LUCUBRATION All through our lives we need our time to do The things that count, those which add to the score That we present when we claim our just due For work we’ve done. We need that time and more. But there are some of us who’ve neither mind, Nor thoughts, desires, nor energy to lend Effort to worth-while chores, can they but find Some trifling game at which their days to spend. Those men whose labors made some useful thing Had little time to waste. Their hands and brains Were used in needful work, that they might bring To all mankind some profit from their pains. But those who sit up nights with words that rhyme Accomplish naught; they only waste their time. Franklin Hodges WINTER When fields at night Are shiny white From drifts of snow The wind did blow, ’Tis then I love The stars above— Shining there Through crisp, cold air. They seem so near, Now winter’s here. The friendly moon O’er snowy dune Just seems to tell That all is well. Russell Coombs WE GATHER TOGETHER Listen, friends, and I will tell A tale mayhap you’ve heard. If you were there you know it well; If not, please take my word. It happened in Hist’ry class Of period number four. The disturbance was so great It shook the very floor. Speech was made both pro and con On the bill of Franklin D. The subject of that hill was on U. S. Neutrality. The room was calm and very still When Mr. Dixon asked: “Mr. Chairman, if you will. Let’s hear now from the class. Still the calm and silence reigned: The students sat in thought— Right to speak had been ordained Yet there was said hut naught. Then Horace Jones arose and spoke; Gil Camp did not agree. Now on us the storm had broke Was this neutrality? Someone in the back proposed Our country go to war. With flushed face E. Comey rose And stood upon the floor. Loud she cried with voice pitched high; If we must go to war, She wished to know the reason why, And then she said some more. When she stopped, I said my say And then sat quickly down; For who was I to block the way Of shouts that flew around? And thus for half an hour or more The noise continued on, And students bellowed as before Until their speech was gone. Then the chairman left his seat; Sir Dixon voiceless stood As a symbol of defeat, For nothing else he could. At length there came a wondrous thing; The class moved o er the floor. They had heard the bell’s clear ring; All rushed now to the door. To the floor George Whelp ley fell; George True had pushed him down. I saw that it would not be well For me to stick around. To get beneath the desk 1 tried; Norm Putnam, he was there. The one crawling at my side Was David St. Hilaire. We struggled on, I and Dave, Beneath the milling throng; Our object was ourselves to save From being trampled on. From the room the class was gone And quiet spread o’er the scene. Like the still of early dawn Silence reigned supreme. To my feet Dave lifted me. And Norman helped me too; Now toward the door staggered we— We got there and passed through. If the class of history Of period number four Had to guard neutrality, I think we’d go to war! Gregg C. Brewer Continued on page 38 T uenty-three ASSEMBLIES The first assembly in September was a panel dis¬ cussion on “The Press and World Affairs,” with Mr. Louis Lyons, feature writer for the Boston Globe, as guest chairman. Mr. Lyons very ably answered the questions directed to him by the students. He discussed the duties of a feature writer, compared the propaganda of the last war to that of today’s, and touched upon the pros and cons of governmental control of the press, party politics, and other phases of newspaper work. The hour went quickly, as it always does when we have as interesting a speaker as Mr. Lyons. Our most important assembly occurred in October, when Dr. Grover, our new superintendent, was presented to the student body. From his remark about the Quaker seating arrangement in our assembly to his last words, he held the attention of everyone. Dr. Grover stressed the fact that we as members of a democracy must be taught to think for ourselves. He pointed out that we owe three loyalties—to our homes, our town, and our nation—and that youth should extend itself to further loyalties. In conclusion, Dr. Grover urged us to concentrate on our habits, which will enable us to be more competent in years to come. The radius of our circle of knowledge must be ever expanding. On October 13, the seniors and juniors attended the third assembly, which was a travelogue, “Wheels Over Africa,” shown by Carlton R. Thresher. The pic¬ ture revealed many important stopping places along the trek, among them being the inside of a sheik’s strong¬ hold! We were all equally entranced by the sight of an egg being fried on a stone. Our first November assembly was easily one of the most delightful to date. Mr. John Hines, a war veteran whose acting career was interrupted by his participation in the fracas of 1917, brought to life before the en¬ tranced audience the story of Ichabod Crane and the headless horseman. With only the bare R. H. S. stage for a setting, Mr. Hines created a genuine “theatre” at¬ mosphere. We were reluctant to let him depart and were well rewarded for our applause by his very funny pantomine of the little girl and the fly. The hall was filled to capacity on November 22 for the showing of a film entitled “The River.” Here we saw the part that the mighty Mississippi has played in the growth of our nation. In its lengthy career, the Mississippi has been both a menace and a blessing to America. We are indebted to the Reading Junior Hi jh School for enabling us to see a very thrilling and out¬ standing film. On November 24 we were privileged to hear Mrs. Adele Hors Lee, from the Bishop Lee school in Boston, give a very interesting talk on “Theatrical Arts.” Mrs. Lee mentioned the opportunities open for anyone in¬ terested in the theatre. She read two scenes from “Key Largo”, a recent play concerning the loyalists fighting in Spain. She also very effectively interpreted two scenes from “Abraham Lincoln.” The assembly re¬ gretted having her leave and many of us lingered to CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 hear her helpful answers during the question period that she granted us. On November 29 noontime brought about the end of school and the beginning of the Thanksgiving holi¬ day. An appropriate assembly was held and we were reminded of what we have to be thankful for today. Richard Lewis and Carleton Adams represented us on the platforms, and that well known trio—Evelyn Comey, Alma Mansfield, and Vivian Hook—entertained us with song. By now, you have enjoyed several other interesting and varied assemblies. At least, as the Pioneer goes to press, there are planned for the month of December a film entitled “The Symphony Orchestra’’, a performance by Bruce, the Magician, a talk on “The Work of a Sec¬ retary” by Mrs. Thurber, and our annual Christmas as¬ sembly. We know that it is safe to say at this time that they all proved worth while. Erdine Farwell THE TIME TO START IS NOW! In most of the higher class schools in this great country, there are student governing bodies of one sort or another. Reading High is typical of one of the high¬ er types of high schools in Massachusetts. As most of the student body and faculty know, we have in our school this year an organization known as the Student Affairs Committee. The members of the committee were chosen so as to represent thoroughly the different factions of the school. The committee is comprised of the leaders of various school activities: captains of athletic teams, class officers, leaders of organizations like the Hi-Y and the Service Squad, editor of the Pioneer, and last, but not least, the homeroom repre¬ sentatives, who have one vote and who inform the home¬ rooms of what is being done by the committee. We are banded together to work as one unit for solving the problems which are always arising in mat¬ ters involving scholarship, athletic competition, civics, and sportsmanship. If we in the council can make a favorable start towards the solution of these vital prob¬ lems, then we believe that a great part of the task of improving our school will be accomplished. But we can function only with the complete co-operation 6f the student body. We must have that co-operation. Will you give it to us? If you do, we can promise you a bet¬ ter student government than ever before, and also one that will accomplish something for our school. We were not chosen for the committee by any elaborate elections. We were merely selected, as leaders of school activities, to represent you—the student body. It is our duty to carry out fully what is expected of us as mem¬ bers of the committee and also to uphold the standards of Reading High. A student governing organization is a great thin 2 . On our committee we have a very capable and ambitious group of students and a very fine adviser. Mr..Spencer, all ojLwhom take a great interest in school affairs. W • are not politicians; we simply are a body of students all seeking a common goal; mainly, the betterment of our school. We are fervently trying to get the ball rolling. If you can help us give it enough additional push, it is our expressed belief that in future years Reading High School will have a Student Affairs Committee that will really stand for something in school affairs. Irving Holcomb THE HI-Y CLUB “To create, maintain and extend throughout the school and community, high standards of Christian character.” That is the purpose of Hi-Y, its officers, and members. The club has this year the following hardworking set of leaders: Sherman Poland, vice-presi¬ dent and chairman of the program committee; “Dick” Fellows, secretary; “Ray Hutchinson, treasurer; and Tom Connelly, president. We hope this year to pep up Hi-Y socially and scholastically and to give its mem¬ bers some interesting and beneficial programs. We really believe that 1940 will prove a very eventful year for Hi-Y. The season did not begin until quite late in the year and the first meeting was held in the school library on October 5. Plans were made for the future and a program committee was appointed for the remainder of the year. We felt fortunate in obtaining as the guest speaker Mr. Orville Poland, Chairman of the Civil Lib¬ erties Committee of Boston. Mr. Poland gave a very clever talk on the functions and some of the odd experi¬ ences of that committee. On October 20, we met for the second time and this meeting was a regretful one, for we said “goodby to Mr. Pope, who resigned as our advisor. Mr. Pope has been Hi-Y advisor and an active member of the club for four years, and under his guidance our club en¬ joyed a fine position in the State League and in the community. We were genuinely sorry to lose his services, and we wish him the best of luck. On the same night we welcomed Mr. Spencer, the popular young Latin teacher, who very kindly accepted the hard and irksome job of advisor when that position was offered him. The Hi-Y club feels that it has been very fortunate in ob¬ taining his aid, and we hope he enjoys his work with us. On November 2, we had for our guest speaker Dr. Grover, Superintendent of Reading Schools. His talk was on “The Problems of Youth and stimulated one of the best discussions that the club has enjoyed in a long time. Many of the difficult problems of the modern youth were brought out and discussed. Later in the evening we selected twenty-one new candidates for mem¬ bership. November 16, that was the night! At that time we initiated into our cozy circle the selected twenty-one. We might add that the boys took their medicine, their spankings, and other such punishment like troopers. Cheer up, fellows, you’ll have your turn at walloping and frightening 1940’s crop. After “the works were administered by those subtle brains who originated all Tuenty-fiv THE PIONEER this devilment, refreshments were served and the new and old limped home soon after. It was all in fun, and we think that the candidates enjoyed it as much as we did. Or did they? Well, that brings us up to date. However, here’s a word for the future. We are planning the usual Wed¬ nesday evening swims at the University Club; a dance, a sleigh ride, and a ski party are planned when the snow sets in. These, together with an imposing list of good speakers, are all potentialities up the program commit¬ tee’s sleeve. Oh, yes, one more thing. At a recent meeting it was announced that Miss Nichols is seriously planning a similar girls club. Well, you can imagine the enthusiasm that was displayed at this news! Miss Nichols shall never lack support as long as there is one Hi-Yer breathing. The Hi-Y would like to thank both our adviser, Mr. Sussmann, and the school for helpful co-operation with our club and our subsidiary, the Service Squad, which boasts a full complement of Hi-Y men. Tom Connelly RIFLE CLUB A new organization in the High School this year, and one which we feel deserves publicity, is the Rifle Club under the leadership of Mr. Taylor. The group has been meeting every Thursday night at eight o’clock in the American Legion House. Their president is Les¬ lie Kittridge, who was awarded the post when it was vacated by Bill Campbell. Bill was the moving spirit in the organizing of the club, but he had to drop out of it because of increased activity in connection with his National Guard membership. The rules governing the club are set up by the Junior Division of the National Rifle Association of America, of which the Reading Club is a charter mem¬ ber. The object of the Junior Program of the N. R. A. is to develop those qualities of sportsmanship, fair play, manliness, self control, and co-operation which are so essential to success in life. The code which follows is that of the National Rifle Association and should be carried out by every person who picks up a rifle, re¬ gardless of whether he is a member of the N. R. A. or not: (1) I will never allow the muzzle of my gun to point at anything which I do not intend to shoot; (2) 1 will never load my gun when the muzzle is pointed at any part of my body or at any person, nor stand in front of anybody who is loading a gun; (3) I will never cock my gun and pull the trigger for fun; (4) I will never shoot directly at a flat, hard surface, a bottle or similar object, as the bullet is certain to ricochet (glance) from it; (5) I will never handle a gun with¬ out first opening the breech to be sure the gun is empty and looking through the bore to see that it is clean; (6) 1 will never carry my gun loaded except when hunting and will then be sure that it is locked in the “safe” po¬ sition; (7) I will never shoot at a song-bird or harmless animal for the sport and will always be sure that no wounded game is left to suffer; (8) I will remember that a .22 caliber bullet will travel three-quarters of a mile, or through nine inches of ordinary board, and will ricochet a long way across water; (9) I will always put my gun muzzle first through a fence before I climb the fence and will climb over between the next two fence posts; (10) I will always give my gun a thorough clean¬ ing as soon as I am through firing. The first meet was at Beverly with the Beverly High School crack shooting team of girls. The results were excellent for Beverly! The scoring was done on this basis: out of ten shooting for each side the scores of the five highest were counted. The scores for the Bev¬ erly girls speak for themselves. Out of a possible 100, their first shooter got 99; their second entrant, 98; their third, fourth, and fifth shooters tied with 97. The boys have hopes in connection with some of their other meets, however, which are in prospect with Malden, Melrose, Norwood, Braintree, Quincy, and Haverhill. Due to the lightness of their own rifles, which are the only ones they have had for use, the boys have had much difficulty in making good scores so far. This reason for lack of accomplishment will be reme¬ died in the future by the fact that the Reading Post of the American Legion will lend the club their heavier rifles for practice and meets. As the enthusiasm is high, we feel that we shall hear a lot of the Rifle Club in the future. We send them our heartiest wishes for a suc¬ cessful opening season. David St. Hilaire ALL THE NEWS WE DARE TO PRINT Let’s get some support for the 0. F. F. Club! We still believe its aim to be a worthy one and some day we fervently hope that it will receive the recognition due it. The fate of its officers might have something to do with its decline. First President Gunn resigned, Second President Adams was removed from office, and the third president, Andy McLaughlin, was nearly as¬ sassinated in a futile attempt by some females to end the club activities for good. We have news of a law suit: “The Coffee Cup” vs. Mr. Joseph Fitzgerald. Charge—One broken drinking glass, unpaid for. Result—Case settled out of .court. Mr. Fitzgerald, due to the urgings of his friends, paid “The Coffee Cup” management one nickle. What romantic young couple can be seen wending their amorous way home from school every afternoon? We can say, however, that Russell is training her cor¬ rectly. He makes her walk home with him. Who is the cute little blonde whose picture adorns Mr. Dixon’s desk? We know, do you? What two gridiron stars used two lockers apiece? There’s nothing like having plenty of room is there? The things we see on blackboards are many and varied! Mr. Spencer’s fertile brain has matched the titles of modern books with the names of mythical char¬ acters. . We hope that we are not infringing on any copyright by quoting Mr. Spencer’s “original” list: “If I had four Apples”—Atalanta; “The Conqueror”— T wenty-six CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 Caesar; “Royal Road to Romance”—Cupid; “Kidnap¬ ped”—Prosirpina; “Gone with the Wind”—Mercury; “All this and Heaven Too”—Jupiter; “The Wanderer” —Aeneas; “Alone”—Penelope; “With Malice Towards Some”—Juno; and “Full Harvest”—Ceres. Well, at least you classical linguists will get the point! We’ve almost come to the conclusion that some of the “girls” at this school don’t employ kiss proof lip¬ stick. How else are we going to account for that tell¬ tale red smooch on Coach Holgerson’s cheek at the Tramp Dance? Will Robert Perry’s innate hatred of the opposite sex melt before the hypnotic gaze of one of our sopho¬ more charmers? Bob’s a member of the 0. F. F. Club so we guess that they will have to install a new vice- president sometime in the not too distant future. Who is the sophomore girl that is noted for her parties and unique refreshments? Will this get us an invitation, Martha? Well, we’ve held our style show, otherwise known as the Tramp Dance. Pupils who acted as models pre¬ viewed what the well dressed tramp of 1940 will wear. The main event at the Tramp Dance was a mock wed¬ ding. The part of the blushing bride was portrayed by Grace Bowers. The groom was played by Irving Hol¬ comb; the minister, by Clark Nyman; the best man, by “B. F.” Tucker; the shot gun-bearing father of the bride, by Tom Connelly; the bridesmaid, by Betty Dal¬ ton; and the groom’s other wife and family, by Doris Steele. The lovely flower girls were Robert Story and Kenneth Gray. Prizes for the best costumes were award¬ ed to Janet Lawson, Vivian Hook, and Alexander Dis- sel. You missed something if you weren’t there—the bang-up dance of the season. The cross-country team placed eleventh in the B. U. Invitation meet. Mr. Spencer, cross-country coach, placed first with a certain young lady who he still claims is his sister. But we think her name isn’t Spencer— yet. Walter Hilton runs up a lot of mileage in those frequent trips to Malden. We wonder what the attrac¬ tion is down there—or is it a double feature, Walt? School spirit, which some few assert has been dor¬ mant for so long, came to life at the Lexington game. If you don’t believe so, you should ha e been there! A great display of courage is shown by “Professor Bates, not only on the football field, hut in wearing those horn-rimmed spectacles. What is it about “Bunten s’ that makes a girl feel domestic? We noticed that on se eral occasions Bets has avidly engaged in wiping off the tops of tables. Looks like she’s surelx practising. Bill Jaques may not he fast on his feet hut he can certainly jump. On a recent trip to Stoneham he wa- spotted by seven or eight of the fairer sex, who ga e chase. For a while it looked as if they might catch the 1 fleeing Bill, but he hurdled a high stonewall and thus made his escape. Yes, Bill is one of the few members of a certain well known organization who live up to its rules. We notice among other things that Emily Hanley was all but walked off her feet at the Tramp Dance. Her average partner danced about six steps with her before he was cut in on by a new aspirant. Who was the lone football enthusiast who fell down the bleachers during the Punchard game? We’re cer¬ tain that the team appreciates your support, Gracie. The dance for “Speed”, known as “Speed’s Ball”, was a great success financially and socially. The only thing that detracted from the affair was the fact that “Speed” couldn’t be out there on the floor dancing. We can see that sitting out every dance has its points, how¬ ever. We are glad to see that he has thrown away his crutches and is again able to walk around on both of his pedal extremities. The most loyal supporters of our embattled foot¬ ball team were Headmaster Sussmann, Chairman of the School Committee Tanner, and Superintendent of Schools Grover. Day after day these three were seen in the otherwise deserted grandstand silently watching practice. They were at the games, too. Flash!!! This isn ' t exactly a news item, and we certainly do dare to print it; in fact, we would shout it from the house-tops if there were a convenient housetop around. The members of the staff are not the only people who work on the Pioneer. Some of the hardest workers are Eleanor Pestana, Marjorie Wentworth, Margit Courossi, Kay Witham, Virginia 0 Brien, Louise Pattison, Betty Blaikie, Muriel Arthur, and Jean Sar¬ gent. They type the material for the Pioneer from the original manuscripts, and one look at those original manuscripts would make anyone appreciate their efforts. Carleton Adams Ruth Pomeroy ALUMNI NEWS Last June there were one hundred and forty-nine graduates of the class of 1939 released from Reading High School into a waiting world. Through the sum¬ mer months the old home town saw few of the hundred and forty-nine. Now and then word crept through that Linda Twornbly was in Alaska; that our silent factotum, “Dick” Stratton, had been accepted at Maine; that our vice president, “Ruthie” Pol 1 itz, had gone south; that “she” was waiting on table; and that “he”, of all people, was washing dishes in “Cow - ' Hampshire. Well, Sep¬ tember rolled round again and found the follow ing back for a session as post graduates: Louise Clark, Helen Connelly, Claire Delong, “Dottie Doucette, Marion Goodridge, Marion Gray, Ruth Jewett, Doris Kelly, Lois T wenty-seven THE PIONEER Knapp, “Marga” Lane, Janet Lawson, Jean Marstaller, Helen O’Dowd, “Boris” Coombs, Guy Ellison, Carl Gil¬ man, “Larry” Goodwin, Kenyon Hicks, “J. D.” Hilchey, “Andy” MacLaughlin, Earl Sargent, and your scribe. How long we old faithfuls will stay is, of course, a mat¬ ter that rests in the well-known lap of the gods. The bravest, and perchance the brightest, of our original crew are at it again, studying behind more formidable walls than those of R. H. S. “Ruthie” Pol- litz came north again and entered the portals of B. U. She says that so far—compared with R. H. S.—“it’s bor¬ ing and dull,” but she adds, among other things, that she’s “still looking for a man!” Our class treasurer, Marjorie Crosby, after turning over the class funds start¬ ed in at Sargent and is making no comments as yet. . . . “Dick” Stratton is wearing green for Maine and playing- on the freshman football team. . . . The second of the “Three Musketeers”, “Richie” Austin, is at Vermont Academy, where he is playing football. What brought this out? . . . “Barchy” Greenlaw is at B. C. and from all accounts doing well in both school and football. In¬ cidentally, he’s still selling those Xmas cards in his spare time. . . . Marjorie “Windy” Gale is fast riding above the rank and file at Kathleen Dell, where she is learning to become some fortunate doctor’s surgical nurse. . . . Phyllis Downs and Claire Brigham are at Bryant and Stratton; “Bea” O’Connell is struggling through Burdett; Effie Wildon is pounding the keys at Malden Commercial. . . . “Brownie” is sailing through Burdett toward his goal, becoming a public accountant. We wonder if his dog is still his best friend. . . . “Scratch” Abbott pals around at Mass. State with our ex-baseball captain, Frank Weeks. They’re both still drowning their sorrows in coca-cola. . . . Norma Charles is literally slaving away at Cambridge Prep and when queried had no time for idle comment. . . . Irene Sztucinski accompanies Barbara Marshall into Mass. Art where, for the time being at least, they must bow to upperclassmen, design and wear their own hats, and stand while eating! . . . Betty Merrill is also studying art. She says, “Art school is fun-—and how interest¬ ing! ’ . . . Linda Twombly is at Penn Hall and must be very busy, one way or another, for no one seems to have heard from her. . . . Our “Little Red Russian”, Jane Tan¬ ner, is at La Salle and everything is going smoothly ex¬ cept for one complaint: “If only I didn’t have to get up so early!’ . . . Polly “Hot Foot Stembridge is watching new buildings arise at Bradford Junior College. She’s still boosting Benny Goodman. She recently made the rotogravure section as the best part of a group study munching that presidential treat (hot dogs) at the Senior-Freshman Spread. ... At Mt. Hermon, “Gary” Beaudry and “Hoppy” Hopkins, we suppose, are both harboring their private ambitions of being a pilot and a machine gunner, respectively . . . “Loie” Newhouse is still running her jalopy around town and is now at Bishop Lee Dramatic School. We have high hopes ol applauding her from Row C, orchestra, in the not too distant future . . . Jean Nichols has deserted us for a P. G. at Wakefield High. What have they got that we haven’t? A lucky few of the class of ’39 are drawing a week¬ ly pittance, probably in advance, bless their hearts, ii they can get it! The invincible “Austie” Bennett is applying his artistic touch to the fine art of painting— barns . . . Our erstwhile Pioneer editor, Dick ’ Childs, has started his career at the Christian Science Monitor, where as copy boy he delights in reading history in the making . . . “Junie” Blaisdell, the first Musketeer, is working in a radio shop in Malden, but refuses to com¬ ment, saying, “If the boss reads it, I’ll get canned!” . . . The Clarke twins are working Saturdays for Wool worth, where Helen Westcott also holds forth . . . “Jimmy” Heselton is working at McKesson and Robbins and is going to Mass. Art at night . . . “Edie” Brown is now employed at Reading Inn and hasn’t, as yet, seen that “first opera” . . . “Boss” Snyder is slinging a mean hash at Austin’s Lunch, where he may be seen hanging out the window talking with the rest of the mob . . . Alma Putnam is the girl behind that bright smile at White’s Lunch, where she is learning to boil water without burn¬ ing it . . . “Phil” Sears is a free lance photographer and has already had pictures accepted by the Globe . . . “Ed” Beaudry is out west learning to take airplanes apart and, incidentally, put them back together again. Some members not mentioned above may be found either at Torre’s or on the library wall. There are as we go to press no reports of marriages, births, deaths, or overnight successes. No news is good news, we al¬ ways say! Richard Knudson THE DECISION Continued from page 19 again, from staring at the water. If she were to re¬ main at home with her mother, she would have to get back before her parents awoke. It seemed to Harriet that the faster she tried to row the boat back toward the shore the slower she moved, and with each second the sky became lighter, announcing the approaching of day. Her back ached, and she was too busy to brush away the tears that welled into her eyes. With her feet once again on solid ground, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her—past ihe schoolhouse, the village shops, the common, the grave¬ yard, and the church—back to her little room under the eaves. She gave not even a backward glance at the harbor or the fishing schooner that was so soon to sail away from the little fishing village without her. Sleep came with the knowledge that a girl’s life isn’t so bad after all, and besides mother would need someone to look after her! Shirley Field T uenty-eight CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 MU5IC THE GIRLS’ GLEE CLUB You’ll have to admit that we’ve certainly got a “bang-up” glee club this year—the best ever! First of all, we have eighty-seven girls to lend their harmonious voices in song; secondly, we’re working jointly, part of the time, with the Boys Glee Club. (This ought to be enough to induce any girl to join!) At present we are working with the boys on a Christmas cantata. This is a beautiful cantata, and we’re sure that everyone will enjoy hearing it at Christ¬ mas time. Most of our work will come in the spring when the glee club will enter the state and New Eng¬ land festivals. Of course, we’ll bring home all the prizes, just as we did last year. Some of the girls are planning to take part in the All New England Festival, which will be held at Provincetown. Included in Glee Club again this year is our trio, composed of Vivian Hook, Alma Mansfield, and Evelyn Comey. The three girls have done a lot of singing this year and are planning for a big year. One of their activities so far was to sing at the Parent-1 eachers Meet¬ ing, which was held during Education Week. We appreciate Mr. Peck, a genius at conducting, more than ever, and you’ll agree with us, we re sure, that his fine directing has proved a credit to our school. Without his faithfulness and hard work, the Girls Glee Club would not have its present fine reputation. Evelyn Comey BOYS’ GLEE CLUB The Boy’s Glee Club, which has a membership of approximately thirty-five, is a brand new organization around school this year. Our rehearsals ha e oi nece— sity, therefore, been ver numerous. Monda and 1 u - day during second period the sighs of the bo s as Miss Evelyn Giles enters the Library may be heard. Miss Giles is a newcomer to Reading this year, and we feel mighty proud to have her dynamic personality direct¬ ing the Boys’ Glee Club. On Wednesday second period we move upstairs into the assembly hall to join the Girls’ Glee Club under the inspiring and valuable lead¬ ership of Mr. Peck. We might add that the boys are already pretty well drilled in Mr. Peck’s favorite sen¬ tence: “Sit forward in your seats; backs up straight!” Just give us time, however, and we’ll catch on to the finer things of music. We hope to reward Miss Giles’ and Mr. Peck’s tireless efforts when we present, with the Girls’ Glee Club, the Christmas Cantata. This will be our second public appearance; the first was at the Thanksgiving Assembly, at which time the combined clubs sang two songs. This will not be the end of our appearances, as it is our aim to put Reading on the map with a splendid Boys’ Glee Club as well as its contest winning organi¬ zation of girls. David St. Hilaire BAND NOTES This year the band contains more members than ever before, has a wider variety of instruments, and is better balanced than for several years. It has been re¬ hearsing twice a week since September and has added a number of new pieces to its repertoire. The “Beer Barrel Polka” has been and still is, however, our reign¬ ing favorite. On Saturdays about one o’clock during the football season the band, with Elinor Abbott strutting her stuff out in front, could be seen swinging down Woburn Street, accompanied by the baton squad and cheer lead¬ ers in their flashy red and white uniforms. On Wednes¬ day afternoons we may not have looked so chipper, but we played none the less lustily in practice formation. Perhaps apologies are due to the Reading Woman’s Club for one of those Wednesdays, when, unaware that the ladies were listening to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, we swept onto Woburn Street triumphantly playing that certain well-known polka. Then there was October 7 and the game at Andover, when some of our opponents celebrated Saturday in true “bean style” by trying to fill Jimmie’s sousaphone with a quart or two. Needless to add, said sousaphone has “bean’ a bit flat ever since. Yes, we’ve had our little worries, but on the whole it’s been a great season. The band has even managed a concert, with “Red” Davis wielding the baton, for Par¬ ent’s Night on November 7. We want to say that Mr. Peck has been and is w ork¬ ing tirelesslv with the band; before the season is over he hopes to have an organization capable of producing concert music. He certainly has plenty of material, w ith eight clarinets, three saxaphones, six trumpets, two trombones, one euphonium, one sousaphone, five snare drums, one pair of symbols, and one bass drum! I he next time you see us we shall probably be on the stage in symphonic arrangement. Beverly Pitman T wenty-nine THE PIONEER Oute uti uA DR. GROVER After trying for half an hour to interview a mucn sought man, we decided that he is one of Reading’s busi¬ est men, if not the busiest. We sat and watched him dart in and out, talking to people as he dashed, and heard him say to us, “I’ll be right with you!” at least three times. He was the Superintendent of Schools, Dr. Grover. Finally we “got” him, for the time being at any rate, and, afraid that he would escape, shot questions at him, rapid-fire. To our query, “Well, what do you think of our school?”, Dr. Grover replied that he can’t really tell us what his opinion of our school is because he doesn’t know us well enough yet, but he thinks that the school can be judged through the town, which he says, is cordial and friendly. A New Englander at heart, he is definitely glad to return to Massachusetts, Boston having- been his boyhood home. “New England has traditions and standards; it has lived a long time. The West is new and inexperienced; many of its cities were not founded until after 1900. And the people here are closer together socially and physically. Here people walk short distances, as to the station or to school; in the West, they ride, mostly because they are in such a hurry to get wherever they are going.” (We’ve noticed that Dr. Grover, bare-headed and with a brief case under his arm, sometimes walks instead of rides from his of¬ fice to R. H. S.) “Do you mean that New England is old-fashioned? ’ we wanted to know. He hastened to assure us that he did not. On the contrary, he feels that it is more cosmopolitan, more understanding, and more sympathetic. “Each town in New England has individuality; flat western towns are all alike. Trees and hills are important to our perspec¬ tive ' of life, you know.” “Dr. Grover,” we said, “what are you most inter¬ ested in?” He looked thoughtful and leaned ’way back in his chair. “We-ell, teaching is my hobby, especially the teaching of adults. You know, adults must be educated as well as young people.” Then, in less serious vein, he said that he would walk a mile for a good detective story. He has books at home which consist of news¬ paper clippings—serials about Sherlock Holmes and Raffles, the Society Detective, which he cut out of the papers when he was a boy and has kept ever since. Dr. and Mrs. Grover are fond of collecting antiques to re¬ finish and put into their home. It seems that they haven’t picked any up here yet, but he was confident that they soon would. Other favorite pastimes of the Grovers are picnics and invigorating long walks. We told him that we were working on our school spirit and asked if he could suggest anything to help us along. He didn ' t have much to say, because he hasn’t become well enough acquainted with us yet, but he advises us to have pride and a common project. “Youth is the time of enthusiasm and energy. These are the school’s to use.” Then he dashed out again. While he was gone, we looked at a book he had left on his desk. It was “Am¬ erica’s Young Men, an Official Who’s Who Among the Young Men of the Nation—1936-1937”; it contained names of all men who had done anything of any note, and the index ran from “Actors” through “Zoologists” In the midst of all this, we found a long paragraph of barely legible hieroglyphics on “E. C. Grover, Supt. of Schools.” As nearly as we could make out, it told all about his life, what and where he has studied and taught. Pretty soon Dr. Grover came rushing back and we seized the opportunity to ask him what he thought about a student council. He was enthusiastic. “It is the most valuable institution a school can have, and often the best preparation for civic participation in adult life.” One school with which he was familiar in New Hamp¬ shire practically took over the control of the school as far as discipline went and did a good job of it. There is only one trouble with the student council system, Dr. Grover says, and that is the fact that students, because of their great enthusiasm and little experience, are apt to be harder on their fellow students in the matter of discipline than teachers are! “The school in general is very much impressed by the Ph. D. after your name,” we said. “What did you do to get that? We in high school think we are over¬ worked and look up to anyone who has had to work harder.” He laughed heartily and said that he decided on teaching as his life work after a year at the Sorbonne in Paris. He graduated from Harvard, received his M. A. at Columbia University in 1920, and his Ph. D. from New York University in 1925. There was no time off. And for that final degree he had to write a thesis! He asked us if we would like to hear the name of said thesis. Innocently we said “Yes”, so he read it: “The Progressive Value of the Inter-Test Element of General Intelligence Tests Used as Predictions of Success in Certain High School Subjects.” It sounds bad,” we gulped, and Dr. Grover laugh¬ ed boomingly. It appeared to be time for us to be interrupted again, and sure enough the telephone rang twice. He swung around and answered it. While we were waiting for him and looking at interesting sample chairs with price tags, built-in inkwells, and beautiful chromium framework, the telephone rang again—three times. We stared foolishly as Dr. Grover, still talking into tele¬ phone number one, lifted the receiver of telephone num¬ ber two to his other ear and said “Hello.” We had always supposed that such things happened only in Thirty CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 movies, and we hadn’t supposed that there were any movie cameras around taking shots of our interview. A hurried glance assured us that there weren’t and that Dr. Grover was only an extremely busy man. For a person who makes so many speeches, Dr. Grover appears unwearied and healthy, and he always has plenty of anecdotes on hand. When we remarked on this fact, he replied that one has to keep reading and he regrets that he has so little time for it. He is able to draw many illustrations from his years of col¬ lege teaching, which have provided him with the back¬ ground essential to all speakers. He also finds some of the material he uses in the New York Times and gets still more from his wife, who was formerly head of a modern literature department. John Dewey, a shining light in Dr. Grover’s field and an idol of his, furnishes him with yet more. He has only to draw upon all this background reference for whatever he wants. How nice such a background would be for some of us who labor over themes! Remembering what a sensation Dr. Grover’s re¬ mark about the “Quaker meeting arrangement” made in assembly, we mentioned it to him. Again he laughed, and, tilting alarmingly in his swivel-chair, he explained that since he had been accustomed so long to the demo¬ cratic seating plan of New Jersey and the West—that is, with boys and girls sitting together—he was a little surprised to see them separated once more. He said he guessed he thought of the Quaker meeting idea because he once attended a meeting of the Quakers in Philadel¬ phia. For two hours the congregation sat in absolute silence without even a preacher to listen to and just waited until someone “inspired by God” rose and gave a long testimonial. Imagine what a relief the testi¬ monial that broke the silence must have been. It struck us that although Dr. Grover might compare us to the Quakers as far as seating was concerned, there the com¬ parison ended, because could a healthy Reading High School audience at any time keep a dead silence for two solid hours, whether it had anybody to listen to or not? When we asked him if he had anything he wanted to say about our athletic teams, Dr. Grover looked seri¬ ous. “Their spirit has risen in the last month or two, he said. “The team means a great deal to a great main boys. They must learn to co-operate in order to have success. There will be a better team next year and an even better one the next year.” We asked Dr. Grover to send a message to the whole school and he sent this one: “Last year I sat between two seniors at a class ban¬ quet. ‘Why didn’t they do something to make me real¬ ize the opportunities I was missing when I was a sopho¬ more?’ asked the boy on my left. What could they have done to make him more aware of his opportunities at that time? It is very hard for us as teachers to make students understand the importance of getting every - thing possible out of their school careers, l ew young people realize that they are making their own records and will be judged by them. “Parents often say, ‘Oh, well, he is having his fun and will get over it later and settle down.’ This is often true, but when they condone this attitude, parents do not take into consideration the tremendous force of habits. Students who do not get all they can from their school experience regret it later. Not only have they lost much, but they have established attitudes which are hard to overcome. While you are in school, participate in the activities and throw yourselves into your school work with all the enthusiasm you can. “When you leave school, you leave not as an in¬ dividual only, but as a student of Reading High School. Take its spirit with you, and be proud of that spirit! Do nothing to make people question it. Whatever you do later,—whether you become governor of the state, a substantial worker or homemaker, even if you use your abilities in ways that injure society—you will still he known as a Reading High School graduate. I hope that the spirit of good fellowship which holds you to¬ gether as a group will give you courage to follow the high standards set here. Uphold them. We want al¬ ways to feel as proud of you as we do now.” Ruth Shumaker WE NOMINATE Something rustled near our elbows and that was all. The rest of the people in the crowded corridor moved slightly, just as stalks in a cornfield wave when someone, too small to be seen, is moving about in their midst, but we couldn’t for the life of us see the cause of the commotion; w r e could only guess. Then from somewhere up the corridor, a piping laugh floated our way, and we knew that once again he had eluded our grasp. He? Why the most fascinating sophomore, of course, unofficially nominated to that honor by the Pioneer board. You’ve seen him; he went out for the team and he was down on the bench every Saturday, waiting for Coach to send him in—with the water bucket. It’s said he spent the afternoon before the first game carrying a pail of water around his back yard. Really, Coach, don’t you think that such spirit should lie rewarded with a football sweatshirt, a helmet, and per¬ haps a number? One half would do, if you have the other numbers filled! Quite at home anywhere, the subject of this inter¬ view completely eclipsed everybody, including the bride, at the tramp dance wedding. He was the coy I ? ) flower girl who dashed around, bestowing, with his lavishly be-Iipstuck lips, big juicy kisses upon everybody. But if you weren’t at the football games or tramp dance (tsk! you should have been! I you still have no excuse to sav you haven t noticed him. He mav be seen almost any afternoon on his paper route, pushing a bicycle piled high with newspapers. He’s the exact replica of one of the seven dwarves, complete to the big ears and peaked hood. Or you 11 find him in the Glee Club, taking time out between his pranks and T hirty-on THE PIONEER capers, which aptly label him as Mr. Peck’s problem child No. 1, to sing. The biology room is still another favorite haunt of his. Here we actually caught him looking angelic one day. The occasion was a lecture on apples, and he was seated on a broad window ledge (a perch undoubtedly permitted him only by virtue of his size). His hands were actually folded in his lap, and his eyes appeared to stare dreamily into space. Perhaps he was sick—but no, the dreamy stare was directed at the subject of the lecture—the apples! At least you must have seen him flying around the halls between classes, breaking up the between-periods tete a tete of some devoted couple, or, all other amusement forsaking him, humming happily to himslf. As he flew past you, he’d return your greeting with a nonchalant “Hi”, or he’d tell you the time of the next game if you asked him. He seemed friendly enough, so, when we glibly consented to interview him, doing our best to keep him unaware of the fact, we little dreamed what we were in for. The first day, as an ice-breaker, we said, “Hi! We want to see you, some time.” “Oh, yeah!” was the non-plussed reply. And there we were, right back where we started. The next time we saw him, we tried again, begin¬ ning with the usual “Hi!” “Hi!” indifferently. Then, acting on some sudden impulse, we added, “How are you?” “Fine!” and he was gone again. The next day we made a mental list of questions to ask him, such as, “What do you think of Hitler?” and “Do you like spinach?” and, of course, “What’s your ambiton and hobby?” This time we omitted the pre¬ liminary “Hi!” and started with the equally trite, “Hey, wait a minute!” We were completely ignored. After that, we looked up his program (Biology, Glee Club, Bookkeeping 1, Gym, Lunch, Type, English, and Commercial Geography, in case you’re interested) and spent our spare moments standing in the doorways through which he was sure to pass. One day someone found his eraser. Have you seen it? Well, we have the information, but we’re sparing the boy. We beg¬ ged for the privilege of returning it and when we pre¬ sented it to him, he turned a rather peculiar red, and then looked fixedly at us. “Where’s the rest of it?” he asked. “The rest of what?” “Oh, nothing,” he said, suddenly relieved. “It’s here,” and he patted what could have been ehher his vest pocket or his heart. Then, true to form, he rushed off. We were just about ready to give up, but, by chance, we happened to mention our predicament to a few of his close friends one day, and this is what we learned. He’s a Boy Scout. When he grows up, he’s going to be a certified public accountant. Oddly enough, he always seems to claim the honor of passing out class rooms supplies. He’s held responsible for the distribu¬ tion of everything from Miss Zimmermann’s biological tools to Sunday school hymnals. (His Sunday-school teacher insists, “He’s really a good boy, if you only keep him busy.”) He does everything in an awfully big way; his women, his aspirations, even his supersition,. run on a large scale. No little rabbit’s foot is enough to ward off bad luck for him; he flaunts nothing less than a deer hoof! This is our candidate for the most fascinating of all the fascinating sophomores. Of course you know his name—who else could it be? We nominate “Kenny” Gray! Who’ll second the motion? Dorothy Babcock CHARLIE We pursued this jovial wielder of the dust mop into the recesses of the dark and gloomy boiler room. We looked behind ash barrels and other inanimate objects, but soon it became apparent that we were alone except for the roaring furnace. Realizing that our quarry was not to be found here, we scampered upstairs and finally cornered him just outside the library. Everybody knows Charlie! He’s one of the most happy-go-lucky fellows north of the Mason-Dixon line. His quick wit is always ready to supply a funny story or a bit of advice. We decided to interview him for the Pioneer because his long absence last year makes him practically a newcomer in our midst. Realizing that he is a busy man, we “tackled” him hurriedly and threw questions at him in a hodge-podge fashion. When, like all good interviewers, we asked Charlie about his hobby, a puzzled expression came over his face. He scratched his cheek and gazed with a troubled brow ceiling-ward for inspiration. Suddenly, that well known grin spread over his countenance. “Parachute jumping!” he ejaculated. “Boy, oh boy! That sure is something.” Charlie looked as though he were rar¬ ing to go, so don’t be surprised if some windy day you behold an overalled figure gently drifting to earth from the top of dear old Reading High. Don’t be amazed, but rush forward to offer congratulations, for it will be our genial janitor pursuing his hobby: “Now then,” we asked, slyly hoping to hear some newsy bits, “do you know any boiler room chatter that would interest the students?” “No,” drawled Charlie, stroking his head. “I’m not much for gossip. I like the truth and try to stick to it.” Much impressed by his honesty, but nevertheless disappointed in our attempts at being a Winchell, we queried: “How long have you been working here; has the school changed since you came here; and if so, how?” Gasping for breath after that one, we waited for his answer. “Well, I’ve been here six years,” mumbled Charlie, and we looked appropriately amazed. (Charlie’s so much a part of the place that six years seemed an un- T h irty-two CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 believably short time to us.) “I guess the school’s changed, all right. There’s more excitement; it isn’t so dry as when I was here. We didn’t have so many dances then, and—well, the whole atmosphere was dif¬ ferent!” “What about the students—have they changed?” we asked cautiously. “Sure, you bet they have,” said Charlie, grinning from ear to ear. “They’ve got a lot more pep and everything. They can be awful annoying at times though. Do you know the thing that gets me? They tear paper up into little hits and scatter the pieces to the four winds.” Then Charlie gazed searchingly down the hall, just aching to find some paper to prove his point, but the corridor was spotless, of course. We hurried on with our questions. “What’s your favorite breakfast; what book do you like best?” “Well, to tell the truth,” began Charlie, “I like bacon and eggs, but a book—now let me see— He started to laugh then and whispered to me, confidential¬ ly, of course, “Say, now there’s nothing like a good joke hook!” We nodded vehemently in agreement. “By the way,” ventured Charlie, “You may be looking for a new janitor soon. Because I’ve been putting on weight, people are continually pestering me to be Santa Claus for them during the holidays. I don ' t know what I’m going to do, but I think I’d kind of like to succeed Santa Claus.” Well, Charlie had a very wistful look in his eye! We’d hate to lose him, but not wanting to stand in the way of a brilliant career just packed with glamour and excitement, we suppose we’ll have to give him up one of these days. What’s being a janitor compared with being a parachute jumper or Santa Claus? We left Charlie leaning on his broom and chuckling to himself as he nodded to the students hurrying by. Alice Goodwin LUNCHEON A LA “COFFEE CUP” We promised ydu a surprise interview. Well, here it is! This is the story of the Three Mess-keteers: Mr. K—, Mr. H—, and Mr. F—. Every day you’ve seen them leave the High School in that magnificent, flash), red vehicle and you’ve pondered their probable desti¬ nation. Do they stop and dine at the Ritz, the Brad¬ ford Roof, or the Viking? No, never! Such places are below their standing. They parade into I he Coi- ree Cup” for a real good feed. 1 he following is a pla by play account of a typical noon hour jotted down verbatim by your worthy scribe from the safe, ii some¬ what cramped, vantage point of a telephone closet. Out three heroes stalk through the door, assume an ex¬ pectant pose behind the counter, and then: Mr. F—: “Hey, Ruth, got any corn beef and cab¬ bage today? No? Well, I don t want an) more i out cat salmon. (Wc later discovered that Mr. f — once insisted on trying pussy’s dail) ration and ha.I evidently had his share.) Ah, lets see: 111 ha e a gladiola salad, bird wings on toast, and what kind of pie is this? (Before she can answer, he plunges his thumb through the tender crust.) Ah, apple! I’ll have that piece.” Ruth: “What will you have, Luke?” Mr. H—: “Oh, I don’t know; some finn and haddie. I don’t think I’ll like that, though; I’m always getting stuck.” Mr. F—: “What would you suggest, Ruth? Say, by the way, isn’t it my turn to lick the frosting howl today? Who had it yesterday? (At this time Ruth presents an astonished geometry and ancient history teacher with a gladiola salad: a spray of gladiola on a lettuce leaf, topped with salad dressing and paprika, of all things.) Hey, what’s this? Well, I shan’t waste it. Got a pin?” (He scrapes the dressing from the spray, which he pins to his lapel.) Mr. H—: Say, I am getting chiseled; there is warts on these here pickles. (Such grammer for a math teacher!) Who is going to pay for this dinner?” Mr. F—: “Let’s flip for it; got a coin?” Mr. H—: “Well, I know I ll never see it again! Here, catch.’ Mr. F—: “Where did you dig this up? It looks as if had been through the World War.” Mr. H—: “All my half dollars are old. Reggie, let him take one of those half dollars you make. You ' re a rich man.” Mr. K—, (speaking for the first time) : “You won’t see your money again; why should I lose mine, too? Mr. H—: “Misery loves company. Ruth, can we have some napkins?” Ruth: “Sure, right with you. Want some coffee now? Say, how did you like that real Italian spaghetti dinner yesterday?” Mr. F—: “Any more today? I ll take a bottle of wine with mine. Oops, ’scuse me. I thought I was home.” Ruth: “Where’s Mr. T —today?” Mr. K—: “Why, he won’t come within two hun¬ dred yards of the place.” Ruth: “Scared?” Mr. H—: “Yes, and plenty mad, too; he thought twenty-five cents for messenger service was too much. (Our later inquiry disclosed that at a previous lunch hour, Mr. T— left “The Coffee Cup , only thinking he had paid his hill. The next noon when the Three Mess- keteers discovered this error, they at once sat down and sent him a hill: thirty-five cents for lunch, twenty-five for messenger service, and compound interest at 6 ' ! I The next few minutes see our heroes busily en¬ gaged in the process of mastication, and there is not much heard from anyone, although occasionally be¬ tween bites we hear something about the “fifth at Suf¬ folk.” Mr. F—: “Sav, garcon—ess. HovCs about some water?” Ruth: “Well, aren’t you the water boy?” Thirty three THE PIONEER Mr. F—: “Who me? Yes, me.” (He fills three glasses with water and slides them down the counter to his waiting assistant, who fails to see the last one coming. Hence it slips off the edge, nearly drowning that well-dressed personage who owns the flashy red vehicle previously mentioned.) Mr. K—: “Help! Somebody save me, or at least get me a towel!” Mr. F—: “Oh, control yourself, Reggie; you’re worse than a two year old.” Mr. K—:“I am not. Beside it was you who pushed me in. What am 1 going to say to my next period class? They’ll never believe this!” Mr. H—: “Well, then it’s -your fault for not edu¬ cating them corectly. I might suggest this barrel, sir; it’s very chic! So slenderizing and modern.” Mr. K—: “Oh, be quiet! It’s ceasing to be funny. I’ll have to get to class early for a change and sit down before the little darlings come stomping in.” Mr. H—: “Ruthie, what’s that burning?” Ruth: “Nothing here. Anything on your minds?” Mr. F—: “We’ll pass over that. It must be Reg¬ gie’s car.” Mr. K—“No, it’s that stuff they sell for gasoline next door.” At this time your stenographer is interrupted by the hostess, who wants to use the telephone. “How’s it going? That’s all right; don’t move. I just want to use the telephone. Reading 0929 . . . Hello, Larry? Look, could you send over a couple of nice steaks and a few chops, please. All right, thanks.” She hangs up the receiver, leaves the closet, and addressing the assembled professors, says, “What’s the matter with you fellows today? You’re not running true to custom.” Mr. K—: “That just proves that we can be gentle¬ men if we want to.” Ruth: “No, it doesn’t. You’re just scared.” Mr. H.—: “That’s it—we’re scared.” Mr. K—: “Let’s go home now.” And so they exit, with a clash of souvenir cutlery and a “See you tomorrow!” Closeted MISS HAYDEN We’d like all of you to meet Miss Hayden, latest addition to that august body the R. H. S. faculty. They’ve set Miss Hayden to teaching English and arith¬ metic, mostly to sophomores, so that accounts for the fact that many of you have not made her acquaintance. Early as it is in the season, however, she has already ably substituted in classes of typing and chemistry at R. H. S. You see, the possessor of a Ph. D. must of necessity be a versatile sort, but perhaps we’d better not let this be generally known among the rest of the faculty or they’ll all be taking too many days off! Miss Hayden, enjoying life “down on the farm” as she does with Miss Zimmermann and Miss Batchelder, was probably forewarned that as a new teacher she would be interviewed by the Pioneer. We tried, there¬ fore, to catch her off guard and chose as a setting ior this interview Room 9, where she holds forth during the second period. We thought we’d find out about the Ph. D. first of all, so with notebook and pencil poised, we asked her what it signifies. Miss Hayden was stand¬ ing at the rear of the room, surveying with an eagle eye the six rows of studying (?) humanity. Apprehen¬ sively she turned the other eye in our direction and re¬ plied, “I received my P. H. D. in chemistry in 1932.” “Weil, why did you decide to enter the teaching field?” “I enjoy the academic field because I like being with people who are studying, and with students gen¬ erally.” That seemed to be that and very clearly stated, too. This latest answer, however, tended to revert her atten¬ tion to the busy workers under her supervision, and we saw that we’d have to get Miss Hayden’s attention away from Room 9 and back to the Pioneer. We queried, “What besides studying have you liked to do?” She immediately looked more interested. “Well, I enjoy problems dealing with industrial relations—but you did say besides studying, didn’t you? While I was at Oregon State College (Yes, Miss Hayden is a much traveled individual!) some of my spare time was de¬ voted to debating. Minerology has absorbed my atten¬ tion for several years and my collection of stones of many and varied types is still growing. Right now, my chief interests are the keeping of a war diary and assisting in the breeding of cocker spaniels.” Still trying to keep the conversation from becoming bookish, we next asked Miss Hayden what she enjoys eating at our cafeteria. She smiled reminiscently. “In brief, it doesn’t make much difference, just as long as the general result is spelled food with a capital F.” “What do you think of jitterbugs?” “Jitterbugs?” frowned Miss Hayden. “Why, to mv mind they are merely transplanted Indian dances; they are, in fact, a step backward.” (This seemed about as accurate an observation as we’ve ever heard on the subject.) At this juncture our victim began to show signs of wriggling away from us. Miss Hayden informed us confidentially that this was Education Week and that she was supposed to be “guiding” at the moment. We took the hint, after thanking her graciously for the time she had granted us. Since the interview, however, we have heard one or two stories, amusing anecdotes that have actually happened in Miss Hayden’s classes and which she dis¬ closed, with much glee, to another member of the faculty. It seems that one day she was giving a sopho¬ more class a written exercise on letter writing. A hand was raised in the rear of the room and a voice piped up: “How 7 do you spell Lafayette?” Miss Hayden fairly simmered, suspecting that the inquirer was work¬ ing on a history assignment in her class. “What do you Thirty-four CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 want to know that for?’’ she demanded. “Well, that’s the name of the street I live on.” We can sympathize with Miss Hayden and with the trouble in controlling her mirth that she has since confessed to having. We’re not even going to reveal the name of that sophomore! Then there was the day that Miss Hayden was teaching outlining and had taken as an example the problem “Should I leave high school?” With the help of the class she had just finished outlining the affirmative side of the case on the board when the door opened and Mr. Sussmann strode in. Unfortunately we couldn’t get any information from Miss Zimmermann regarding Miss Hayden, or vice- versa, but if you’re ever in North Reading “the farm” is at the top of the hill above that little red brick school. Lois Ives A RIDE IN THE CRUISER It was a damp, misty night. The steady north wind blew the chill into our faces. It was an ideal night for murder or for a tangle with foreign spies, we thought as we dashed across Main Street. Clasped in an iron grip we held our first release slips. Since the police cars carry no insurance, it was necessary for us to procure these slips before we could ride in the cruiser. We ran up the steps, pushed open the green door, and tumbled into the police station. Because most of our readers have no doubt been in the Reading Police Station before, we shall not attempt to describe its interior other than to say that just inside the door there is a counter that shuts one off from the rest of the station. The sergeant at the desk cast an inquiring glance at us and came over to see what we wanted. In reply to his questioning we presented him with our release slips. He read ihem in silence. “So the chief said that you could go?” “Yes”, one of us answered. He looked at us quizzically, but finally he was con¬ vinced that we were not fabricating. He walked over and picked up an instrument that looked suspiciously like a French ’phone and spoke into one end of it. “Car Two, Car Two, come to the station.” We don’t know how much time passed before two officers entered through the rear door, but we’re certain that we did not wait more than a minute. Ihe sergeant at the desk explained in a rather condescending tone to these gendarmes that they were going to play nursemaid for a couple of high school kids. In less lime than it takes to tell, we were settled in the rear seat of squad car No. 2, known to officers O’Brien and Wall as “Jump and Jive”. The first ten minutes were uneventful, but exciting. We stopped in front of Reading Theater for an instant while officer O’Brien changed a bill. fwo Reading High School students ambled by and glanced into the rear seat of the cruiser. W e saw their jaws drop as they viewed the distinguished occupants, St. Hilaire and Adams, two of the editors of the Pioneer, no less. Again, at the traffic lights in the square we were the center of attraction. In the car that had drawn up beside us sat a lady and her husband. In the rear seat was a lad of high school age. The lady glanced into the squad car for a brief instant and turned to her son. “Those poor boys—just think, they’ll be marked for life. They don’t look like bad boys.” We were tempted to wave to her, but the lights changed and we were on the roll again. The night was one of the most interesting that we have ever spent. The officers, O’Brien and Wall, ans¬ wered all the questions that we asked them. There was never one moment which could be considered dull. As we rode along, they supplied us with interesting in¬ formation concerning local crimes. We were surprised to discover how much they knew about crimes that have happened in this town. It surprised us that they have a good idea of who made most of the breaks. It aeeins that every criminal uses a technique. Another thing that interested us was the way that the police cover the town in the cruise car. They slart with the outskirts and work in. By having no regular time for their trips, they are more apt t_ catch the criminals, as the criminals will be uncertain as to what time to expect the cruiser. They told us about the many cases they have had to deal with. Of these there are two that we recall now. One concerned a poor unfortunate whose mental ex¬ amination showed him to be an imbecile. W hen one of our local doctors asked him if he had ever heard of Jack Dempsey, he stated rather vehemently that he didn’t know anybody around Reading by that name. Another case occurred when Officer O’Brien was new to the force. He had to go up to the Highlands section and arrest a tramp. While searching him, Officer O’Brien found over nineteen hundred dollars secreted on his person. Thrills? Yes, there are lots of thrills that these guardians of law and order have experienced. There is one kind of thrill they get when they go into a murky building and see in the half light before them a dark shape, and a less exciting sort of feeling when they puli a battered, lifeless body from a wrecked auto¬ mobile. As the night wore on, we became more and more conscious of one thing. The Reading Police Department is doing a superlative job in covering the town. W hen you go to bed at night, it should give you a feeling of security to know that men such as W all and O’Brien are riding up and down the streets in the cruise car looking for fires and unsavory characters. At all times they are in contact with the station via a two way radio. All too soon our trip was over. Ihe officers very kindly dropped us at our respective homes. We have since w ondered what the neighbors thought v hen they saw the police car bring Mrs. Adams’ little boy Carleton and Mrs. St. Hilaire’s boy David home, but somehow we didn’t care. That evening we had learned a lot about the police department and the men that make it up. Contrary to some of the information that we had before, we discovered that the police officers rea lly have a heart as well as a stationhouse. Carleton Adams David St. Hilaire Thirty-five Mr. Pope: “Howard, how many natural magnets are there?” Bates: “Two sir.” Mr. Pope: “And will you please name them?” Bates: “Blonds and brunettes, sir.” Barbara H.: “Why the camera on the hood of your car, Clark?” Clark: “Oh, that’s a movie machine. You see, I go too fast to look at the scenery.” Miss Nichols: “Frequent water-drinking prevents one’s becoming stiff in the joints.” Barbara Gonnam: “Yes, but some of the joints don’t serve water.” Panhandler: “I beg pardon, sir, hut you wouldn’t want to see a poor man walking the streets all night, would you?” Crooker: “Well, it might be interesting to watch, but I’ve got to go home and go to bed.” Irving Holcomb: “Doctor, are you sure I have pneu¬ monia? Sometimes a doctor prescribes for pneu¬ monia and the patient dies of something else.” Doctor: “When I prescribe for pneumonia, you die of pneumonia.” Mrs. Tilton: “You should have been here at 8:15.” Barbara Currie: “Why, what happened?” Solicitor: “Will you give me a quarter to help the Old Ladies Home?” Carleton Adams: “Gosh, what are they doing out on a night like this?” Mother: T don’t think the man upstairs likes to hear Horace play his drum.” Father: “Why?” Mother: “Well, this afternoon he gave Horace a knife and asked him if he knew what was inside the drum.” Father: “I’ve been thinking, son, of retiring next year and leaving the business to you.” Lennox: “There’s no hurry, dad. You go ahead and work a few more years and then we can retire to¬ gether.” Ship’s officer: “There goes eight bells; you’ll have to excuse me—it’s my watch below.” Mary Maling: “Goodness, does your watch strike as loud as that?” Mother: “What’s wrong, Richard?” Dick: “My razor! It doesn’t cut at all!” Mother: “Don’t be silly; your beard can’t be tougher than the kitchen linoleum.” Mr. Dixon: “What is etiquette, Wallace?” Wallace: “Etiquette is the noise you don’t make when you are eating your soup.” Tom: “Don’t bother me. I’m writing Helen a note.” Harry: “But why are you writing so slowly?” Tom: “She can’t read very fast.” Miss Zimmermann: “Well, Gray, you have flunked this course again.” Junie: “Well, what did you expect? You gave me the same exam.” Mr. Halpin: “Horace, if there were eleven sheep in a field, and six of them jumped over a fence, hovv many would there be left?” Horace: “None.” Mr. Halpin: “Oh, yes, there would.” Horace: “No, sir, there wouldn’t. You may know arithmetic, but you don’t know sheep.” Mrs. Wiens: “Wake up, there; wake up!!” Brewer: “Can’t.” Mrs. Wiens: “Why not?” Brewer: “I’m not sleeping!” Betsy Foxcroft Thirty-six Once again we’re welcoming back old exchanges, introducing a few new ones, and hoping to hear from those of you whose publications haven’t reached us yet. Sooo—to beezness, and we’re starting off with “The Stick”, that well-liked paper from the State Teacher’s College in Fitchburg. Per usual, the news write-ups are simply super, and the campus chatter and what-not is really funny. Reading’s own Herbert Downs made the front page of “The Stick”, and were we thrilled! Punchard sends a well-titled magazine, the “Punch Harder”, which covers everything well and offers a raft of editorials which are really readable. It hurt to read your sports write-up, “Punchard Smothers Reading”, hut thanks for calling us “a fighting team”! “The Cub” of Ipswich is another welcome exchange. The Ipswichers scribbled off an outstanding sports column, and is it any wonder? They have “Jo Jo ' Robishaw as their star player and captain of their team. We would suggest a more extensive literary section, though. Another publication which we always anticipate is Milton’s “Unquity Echo”. Literature, sports, editorials, news, and other departments are done with equal finesse, and the poetry is outstanding—we ' ve seen no other magazine with such excellent blank erse. Hut. just lor curiosity’s sake, what does “Unquity mean? This year “The Spotlight of South Hadle) cele¬ brates its twentieth birthday; and the South Hadle High School, its twenty-fifth birthday. Congratulations, not only for this gala event, but for your excellent news¬ paper! This year the Hume-Fogg High School of Nashville, Tennessee, sends us its newspaper “The Fogg Horn” in place of the magazine “The Echo”, which it sent last year. We like the whole paper and wish to offer con¬ gratulations for your successful football team (and your handsome acting captain, Roy Sherrill!) A new exchange, “The Black and Gold”, hails from the Heights High School of Cleveland Heights, Ohio. e like your well-written paper and we were interested to read that you presented “The Goose Hangs High”; our school presented it a few years ago. We hope to hear more of you. And here’s one of our favorites, the “School Spirit” from the David Hale Fanning Trade School for Girls in Worcester. You girls evidently have plenty of the said school spirit—we’d really like to know you. A magazine that makes us feel that way has personality! If we may judge by “The Blue and White”, Savan¬ nah High School sounds like a grand place, what with your Thursday afternoon tea dances and your band’s three girl drum-majors and, above all, your test sched¬ ule, which prevents pupils from being given more than one exam a day. With five da) s’ notice, your staff got out a newspaper for the first day of school: a paper which would do justice to a month’s work. “The Red and White” of Rochester. N. H., is the first edition to be published in the new Spaulding High School. And your magazine is as fine as your new school seems to be. We think your “Drops of Wit and Humor to be one of the most unique articles we’ve Thirty-seven THE PIONEER read. But please—some of your poetry has neither rhyme nor meter, but it has the mood and spirit never¬ theless! Good luck with the new school. “The Aegis” of Beverly has an excellent literary section. “Prayer of “Thanksgiving” and “Fair Ex¬ change” are especially outstanding. Apparently the pupils of Walpole High School have been studying and writing essays, for the ‘W. H. S. Hill Quill” arrived filled with essays on the most unique subjects and may we thank you for the compliment you paid us; “Of the exchanges received, ‘The Pioneer’ is enjoyed the most.” In return, we just love that un-titled column of yours about what everybody thinks; we love it so much we’re going to quote some of it! A sophomore thinks: I’ll make this Honor Roll this year. What girls? Senior boys are gods. I’ll be a G-Man. I’m a big shot now. The H. S. is a beautiful building. The band plays good music. Dances look like fun. I’ll be true to Jack. We ought to have more school spirit. A junior thinks: I’ll make the Honor Roll— Girls are 0. K. Prep School boys are gods. I’ll be a fireman. I’ll be a big shot now. The H. S. could be altered. The band plays. Dances are fun. I’ll be true to Jack and Bill. They ought to have more school spirt. A senior thinks: What Honor Roll? Some are. College boys are gods. W. P. A. pays good wages. I’m a big shot now . The H. S. is a dive. Have we a band? Do they still have those things? I’ll be true. Somebody ought to have some school spirit. And so until June—farewell! Thanks to those of just the same, and we’ll give you a grand splurge in the you who sent us your issues, and to those of you whose June issue. issues got here after the Pioneer went to press, thanks Dorothy Babcock BOOK REVIEWS Continued from page 21 “THE GRAPES OF WRATH” There is little doubt that a great many people today read the best sellers to “keep up with the Joneses”. Yet, regardless of the folly of this practice, it will have accomplished something if it makes more people read John Steinbeck ' s typically American novel, “Grapes of Wrath”. This book really has what it takes to call to our attention a pressing domestic problem. It points out that there are poverty, misery, and starvation in this country; there are people who are homeless drifters and have nowhere to go. It cries out to each and everyone of us that the crusade against America’s greatest ene¬ mies must be intensified, and it does this in a manner that is unique and ideal for our pleasure and informa¬ tion. “Grapes of Wrath” tells the tale of a typical Ameri¬ can family of tenant farmers, the Joads. Tom, the next to oldest son, returns from prison to find his family driven from their home by drought, consequent dust storms, and the repossessing of the land by the bank. The family around which the story centers starts for California, where they expect to find Utopia. They pass through many trials and tribulations. Yet, we are made to feel that there are countless families today who are seeking this same way of rehabilitating their fortunes. The author makes excellent use of characterization and local color”. The slow, easy speeches of the charac¬ ters contrasted to the swift movement of events is a masterpiece in itself and truly creates for us the atmos¬ phere vitally needed to tell a story such as this. In the words of Clifton Fadiman of the New Yorker, this book’s “power and importance do not lie in its political in¬ sight, but in its intense humanity, its grasp of a whole people traversing a wilderness, its kindliness, its humor, and its bitter condemnation. The Grapes of Wrath’ is the American novel of the season, probably of the year, possibly of the decade.” Wallace Haselton Thirty-eight FOOTBALL The Reading High football team started the season with great hopes and good material, but before the sea¬ son got under way Captain “Speed” Connelly broke his leg in a scrimmage. “Speed’’ consented to the election of a field captain and John Donovan was chosen and has been a capable leader. “Speed” was greatly missed at tackle. “Blondy” Bates and “Woody” Titcomb, who also played guard, divided honors for his position, while Dick Merritt and Tuttle held down the other tackle. At first there was a lack of guards, but that problem was soon solved by Johnston, Kelly, and Keene. “Curly” Carter, who could always be depended upon to make an accurate pass, did a good job at center as did “Jimmy” Bain at replacing. Hvronowsky and “Blackie” Stephanian handled well the task of breaking down interference and stopping the play. “Spike Davis w r as their substitute. Captain Donovan called the plays and was always a threat, both runnin g and passing. Perkins and Watkins took over much of the ball carrying. “Red” Lawler, a good run¬ ner, always eked out several yards and was one of our best passers. Jack Collins was a good blocker. He was replaced by “Don” Dacey and “Ray” Amback. And let’s not forget the excellent work of the third team, who worked hard to get the first and second team prepared for the game. In the Howe game, an inexperienced Reading squad fought in vain to break the final score of 0 to 0. Against Punehard, bad luck prevented a fighting Reading team from winning. On four blocked kicks and an intercept¬ ed pass Punehard won 31 to 0. The following week Reading was swamped by the offensive power of the championship team from Ipswich, but showed improve¬ ment and scored two touchdowns. Against a hard fight¬ ing Danvers team, Reading held the opponents to two touchdowns. Probably one of the most exciting moments of the season was just after Reading tied Keith Academy i to 7 in the fourth quarter, only to have St. Peter on the play after the kick-off run 70 yards for a touchdown. The next week a fighting Reading team held Framing¬ ham High to three touchdowns. The team played one of its best games of the season for both offensive and defensive work. A high spirited Reading squad, out to win, was again beaten at Lexington, but this time by fourteen men instead of eleven. Lexington scored from the one yard line after an unaccounted for fifteen yard penalty. They failed to convert the point, so the final score was 6 to 0. After an intensive week of practice on offense and defense, the Reading defense collapsed under a well directed bombardment of passes and run¬ ning plays by Wakefield. Reading ' s offense didn’t have a chance to get started, because Wakefield held the ball throughout the game. When the final whistle l)lew r , Wakefield led 32 to 0. Determined to win their last game of the season and break the five-year streak of losing to Stoneham, Reading came from behind in the first half to tie the score 6 to 6 and then went on to win in the last quarter by putting over another touchdown on a Lawler to Hrv- nowsky pass and achieving victory by the score of 13 to 6. Almost everyone of our plays clicked, and it was a beautiful climax to the season. The valuable senior- whoin we’ll lose, however, are Lawler, Donovan, Keene, Merritt, Hrynowsky, Perkins, Amback, and Connelly. We should all give a vote of thanks to Coach Holgerson, and to Coach Ormsby for his help in developing til - team that downed Stoneham. Glenn Davis HERO OF THE DAY “Boy, what a mess of guys! I ll have to step lively. Or—ooh, that was a close one. This is going to take some expert dodging. I can see I ' ll have to keep my eyes open all the time from now on. Ah, there’s an opening; now to use my double and half reverse step. It’ll 1 e a tight squeeze, but I think I can make it. Made it. It ' s a good thing those two blocked for me. I’m sure glad I got out of that fix. About one more minute to go. And they keep coming! Ouch! Right on the shins. I think they’re bleeding, but if I stop to look now someone will knock me off my feet. I here can’t be more than a few seconds left. Look at this big muscle bound mug coming. I ' ll have to use that special side I ' ve been practicing on. She sure works. .Now 1 know Thirty-nine THE PIONEER I haven’t been wasting time practicing it. Come on, all you guys; I’m not afraid. The bigger they come the harder they fall. Gosh, I wonder how much time is left. Can’t be more than a second or two. Oh, at last, the end. I’m fagged, but I couldn’t let you down, Ruth —thanks for the dance.” Natalie Staples CROSS COUNTRY Reading’s “Hot Harriers” are the members of the best cross country team this school has known in many a year! This team won four of its six meets by decisive margins, one by a perfect score of fifteen points. Two days after this perfect score victory, the team went to the Massachusetts Interscholastic Cross Country Meet in Weston. There it proved itself to be the eleventh best team in all this fair commonwealth. In this meet it outplaced Chelsea by two positions. The following week Chelsea came in thirteenth in the New England meet, and we are confident that our team could have again outplaced Chelsea by at least one position, thus becoming the twelfth best team in six states! Our har¬ riers, and especially their enthusiastic coach, Mr. Spen¬ cer, should receive a good amount of well-deserved praise for their work, because the Reading High School Cross Country Team has had the best record of all school sports this year, maintaining a winning average of .667. The team has had just about everything it wanted this year, but one thing it really needs is support. At the first of the year there were thirteen prospec¬ tive Cunninghhams; however, there were soon only eight team members and a manager. The team’s reward for its hard and steady work this season came when, after the state meet, it enjoyed a sumptuous dinner and saw the football game between Boston University and Man¬ hattan. The team members were as follows: Arthur Batchelder, who gave splendid performances by finishing first in four meets and third in two meets; Anthony Tine, who was always up among the first four and was forever whipping up some of his quick quips; Robert Burrows, a junior and one of our best plodders; David Sheldon, the “Atlas” of the team, weighing approxi¬ mately 175 pounds, yet always managing to place among the first four, whether feeling good or bad; Sherman Boland, no lightweight, a “pasher” for Sheldon, always on his heels, and usually in scoring position; Bernard Doucette, who kept the team’s spirits high at all times with his good bag of jokes (but we wonder why he has the marks of a fork on his nose?) ; Stephen Doucette, an¬ other sophomore and a fine first year man, from whom we shall hear more in the future; Robert Piercie, an always willing and needed sophomore; and Richard Lewis, manager. The scores of the meets were as follows: Beading 18 Norfolk Young Men’s Associa¬ tion 31 Reading 17 Stoneham 41 Beading 19 Stoneham 38 Reading 33 Reading 39 Reading 15 At the state meet, points. Chelsea 22 Woburn 21 Essex Agricultural School 45 Reading placed eleventh with 286 Richard Lewis GIRLS’ HOCKEY Our 1939 hockey team has completed a vigorous and thoroughly enjoyable season under the able cap¬ taincy of Jeanette Davis and the capable managership of Olive Skane. Including these our leaders, the seniors on the squad numbered Barbara Currie, Barbara Gon- nam, Theo Farr, Muriel Powers, and May Melanson. Junior team members included Frances Madden, Elsie Mason, and Sonia Courossi. Sophomores were repre¬ sented by Frances Wheeler, Winifred Poland, and Claire Johnson. The opening game of the season was played on Oc¬ tober 10 with Melrose. It was a home game, and the result was 5 to 1 in favor of our opponents. We lost a second valiantly fought battle on October 20 to Wil¬ mington. The return game at Wilmington was called off because of rain. On November 1, we went to Stone¬ ham and managed to bold our own, the final score being 1 to 1. Our last game was played at Swampscott on November 7. We had quite an incentive in the promise of a treat at twenty cents per capita if we won or tied. We came through a hard fought battle with the score of 1 to 1. It seems that we were getting good at the end of the season. Needless to say, our popular coach, Miss Nichols, kept her promise and we journeyed a la beachwagon to “Tedd’s”, where we surprised our hostess with the gift of a book as a token of our affection. ’ We look forward to a better than ever season next year, when Sonia Courossi will be captain and Frances Madden, manager. Claire Johnson SOCCER The Reading High Soccer Team had a highly en¬ joyable season. Twenty-five fellows came out for the squad, and we exchanged games with three opposing teams. Stoneham, our first opponent, won by a score of 1 to 0. This game, being the first, was a tryout game to see how good the team was and to discover its weak spots. However, we can’t find any alibi for Stoneham’s victory by the same score at Stoneham! We honestly feel, however, that the second game was much better played than the first. Our next opponent was Wakefield. The Reading team had the ball in scoring position during the entire first half, but didn’t score. In the last quarter Wake¬ field drew the fullbacks out and scored a goal. With two minutes left to play, Roland Carpenter scored for Reading on a pass in front of the goal. The game stood a tie. The return game at Wakefield resulted in a Reading victory to the tune of 1 to 0. The game was Forty CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 fairly even until during the last quarter halfback Whit- ford took the ball from the sidelines; a pass to Captain Gunn and back to Whitford brought a goal and victory. Next Georgetown, a team with an enviable record, beat us 4 to 0 at Reading. At Georgetown our team was defeated again by a score of 3 to 0. Appropriately enough, the last game was the best game of the season. The bumps on our shins are plenty of evidence that soccer is far from a soft game. The team, coached capably as ever by Mr. Althoff, looks forward to an¬ other season of a game that needs moral support from Reading High. Drop down to the Washington Street Park and see a soccer game next year! Donald Whitford ON THE SIDELINES Reading downs Stoneham! Are we happy? Hm- m-m-m-m-m-m? That Lawler-Hrynowsky combination certainly clicked. In fact, all the boys were terrific! An orchid or two goes to the cheering section which supported the team through some very trying moments. Thanks, kids, you were swell! As for Jeannette, “Edie”, Sonia, “Dot”, “Tina”, “Duggan”, Helen, and Martha—the peppiest gang of cheer-leaders yet—their efforts were sincerely appreciated by the team and students. Captain “Speed” Connelly, whose shoes were so hard to fill, was an inspiration and help to his team, and we’re glad to note that that ankle is well on the way to recovery. “Speed” had to spend his time on the bench, but then the lucky fellow escaped those speeches which most of the captains dread. And by the way, you should meet a swell fellow and one who knows his football—“Jack” Donovan, our new captain, who certainly knows how to put the old fight into the boys. Through the kindness of our local post of the American Legion, our brawny football men received the benefits of a few liquid vitamins each morn—but Charlie’s figure also benefited, for he acted as clean-up man, letting nothing go to waste. Better start reducing, Charlie! We were all amazed to see our happy-go-luck) “Swede” blossom out with spectacles one day. Here, here, Professor Bates! Our all-scholastic center, “Curly , did a great job of plugging up the holes in the line, but we also no¬ ticed that “Curly” and a little lady who hails from up north didn’t do half bad in plugging up the corridors. Calling all football fans:— Missing since Framingham game:— One flashy green felt hat belonging to Coach Hol- gerson. Report all clues to said Coach. “Jimmie” Bain played heads-up football for sixt minutes in the Ipswich game. He had a busy day all right! Why was it that when our carrot-topped halfback was hurt he sat on the bench nearest the cheerleaders. Did they cheer you up any, “Dickie”? That witty little ditty, “A Reading Man Am I”, made quite a hit with the students. It put a lot of spirit into our rallies, and did you notice how our cheerlead¬ ers could swing it? We’ve observed that Coach Holgerson has become quite an expert in the art of making speeches. Maybe it was because of his sense of humor or perhaps be¬ cause of his flashy suits, but, whatever the reason, he surely contributed to the school spirit that was evident at the rallies. “Bill” Ormsby, one of Brown’s “Iron Men”, and Herman Nutter, former R. H. S. player, were also on our coaching staff this year. Their advice and help was greatly appreciated by everybody. One week “Jackie” Collins was an able manager for the R. H. S. football team, and the next week he was out there flashing around in a red and black jersey. He certainly knows how to handle that pigskin, too. That ever popular boy “Reginal” made quite a hit on the buses. We hear that he is also the master mind of the second team. On our football team we’ve a pretty swell bunch of fellows, but it seems that some of them have been given some extraordinary nicknames by the rest of the boys. Now let’s see, there’s “Hiram” Hrynowsky, “Spike” Davis, “Blondie” Bates, “Turtle” Tuttle (we go for that one!), “Chink” Keene, “Curly” Carder, “Woody” Titcomb, “Reginal” Amback, “Mack Johnson, “Perk” Perkins, and last (but in no ways least) “Wrinkle-” Kelly. The season is over, but the boys look forward to next fall with a certain gleam in their eye that means one thing: vengeance! Alice Goodwin Woodbury Titcomb POETRY Continued from page 23 JUST A MEMORY The cheery fire burned merrily on the hearth And cast weird shadows o ' er the darkened room. The moon shone brightly on the snowy path— Upon the young child clinging to her broom And standing on her tip-toes to look in. She saw the shoes so carefully placed before The hearth in perfect row, and saw the tin Cup Santa would drink of, beside the door. She saw, across the room, the Christmas tree With all its parcels decked in bows so gay, And watched the firelight dancing through the sea Of hollv wreath, which o ' er the mantle lay. Then slowly she turned and stumbled away With just a memory for her Christmas Day. Doris L. Kell) Forty-one I g I NORTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY College of Liberal Arts Offers a broad program of college subjects serving as a foundation for the under¬ standing of modern culture, social relations, and technical achievement. The purpose of this program is to give the student a liberal and cultural education and a vocational competence which fits him to enter some specific type of useful employment. College of Business Administration Offers a college program with broad and thorough training in the principles of business with specialization in Accounting, Journalism, Banking and Finance, Public Administration, Industrial Administration or Marketing and Advertising. Instruction is through lectures, solution of business problems, class discussions, motion pictures and talks by business men. College of Engineering Provides complete college programs in Engineering with professiona l courses in the fields of Civil, Mechanical (with Diesel, Aeronautical and Air Conditioning options), Electrical, Chemical, Industrial Engineering, and Engineering Administration. General engineering courses are pursued during the freshman year; thus the student need not make a final decision as to the branch of engineering in which he wishes to specialize until the beginning of the sophomore year. Co-operative Plan The Co-operative Plan, which is available to upperclassmen in all courses, pro¬ vides for a combination of practical industrial experience with classroom instruction. Under this plan the student is able to earn a portion of his school expenses as well as to make business contacts which prove valuable in later years. Bachelor of Arts Degrees Awarded Pre-legal Programs Available Bachelor of Science FOR CATALOG—MAIL THIS COUPON AT ONCE Northeastern University Director of Admissions Boston, Massachusetts Please send me a catalog of the □ College of Liberal Arts Q □ College of Business Administration CJ College of Engineering Pre-Legal Program Name Address H-34 1 f! i! I a j! 1 I i i i i! 1 II 1 1 i i Tk W 11 1 i jfj Attention Hi-Schoolers « ' L 1 BELL’S BARBER SH OP Prompt and Courteous Sanitation Austin’s Block Satisfaction Reading Square FRED’S BEAUTY SALON Compliments of Fred’s Beauty Salon 1 48 Haven Street Telephone Rea. 1599 ADAMS COMPANY LADIES’ AND CHILDREN’S FURNISHINGS Haven Street Tel. Rea. 1360-W EDGERLEY BESSOM FUNERAL SERVICE Frank Lee Edgerley, Proprietor Funeral Home 743 Main St., Reading Telephone Reading 0105 Compliments of SAL’S BEAUTY SALON first NATIONAL MARKET § Permanents Our Specialty 70 Haven Street Reading, Mass. Telephone Rea. 0456 THE FI-NA-ST IN GROCERIES AND MEATS Telephone 1642-1643 M. J. HEGARTY J. C. OTIS I 1 ! i 1 I THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF READING 1 I SALUTES R. H. S. I I - I 1 i I I i! i I 1 it 1 | I | 1 i i 1 1 i i I i w 1 II $ i I i n Our best wishes to the Principal, the teachers and to every boy and girl attending. Our officers and staff are ready to serve you at all times. i 1 I 8 i ! 1 1 i 8 2! 1 8 i i i i I 8 8 NEW ENGLAND BUSINESS SCHOOLS 470 BOYLSTON STREET, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS Operated by Babson’s Statistical Organization, Incorporated Accounting and Economics Executive Secretarial Courses Industrial and Retail Buying Stenography and Typewriting Work Study Program Placement Bureau START HERE imiimmmmimimmiimmimimmmmmmmmmmmiimmimmmmmmmmmmmimmmimmmumii : j NEW ENGLAND BUSINESS SCHOOLS 470 Boylston Street, Boston, Mass. Please send me your catalog and particulars con- Icerning courses. I NAME . I STREET .•. ! CITY . An Interested in ( ) Day Courses ( ) Evening Courses NUACE MOUNTING 10 US JL m. pat: OFF. : CORNERS TRANSPARENT These fam- ous corners will handle every thing from a pos- tage stamp to a large map, draw- ing, or pho- JUNIOR tograph. Popular for mounting snapshots on cards or in albums. Four styles, as shown above. In black, white, gray, green, red, sepia, ivory, gold, and silver. Transparent style is of crystal-clear cellulose. NuAce PHOTO HINGES allow prints to be mounted one above the other where album space must be saved. Handy for newspaper clippings or postcards. Ready folded. Just moisten and use. All styles retail 10c package. (15c in Canada). Packed in effective display containers. Ask for sample packages and trade discounts. ACE ART CO. 12 Goul d St. Reading, Mass, ffl I 1 I i Compliments of a Friend Compliments of it I 1 THE READING THEATRE I i- i i I MARION’S BEAUTY SALON � Telephone Reading 0116 Address: Pleasant Street READING SQUARE MARKET! Telephone Readin g 0890 60 Main St., Reading HOME OF QUALITY FOODS — Free Delivery — Compliments of THE IDEAL BEAUTY aiul BARBER SHOP TORRE’S Reading Square Making Quality Candy and Ice Cream for Twenty-Five Years CHARLES L. THORNDIKE MEN’S FURNISHINGS LAMSON HUBBARD HATS ENNA JETTIC SHOES Main St., Corner Woburn St. Family Shoe Store 1 i I n 2 ! 1 ARTHUR L. GRAY f Automobile Repairing $ GASOLINE, OILS and ACCESSORIES Battery Sale, and Service Tire, and Tube. Tel. Reading 0010 STORAGE Reading, Mass. 34 Salem St. •£ ;•« NEVER TOO EARLY . . . OFTEN TOO LATE Lots of young folks starting the first job at a modest salary say to themselves, “As soon as I get a raise, I’ll start to save something”. Raises come along. So do new wants, new desires. That savings account never does get opened. Suddenly the working days are over . . . with no “nest-egg” laid aside for a comfortable old age. Regardless of how little you earn, you can save something. Get the habit. Start NOW. Mechanics Savings Bank Reading, Mass. $ - - $ SAVING BECOMES AN EASY HABIT when you save the systematic way through our saving shares. Just a little each month and soon you have a good-sized sum of money in the bank— for emergencies, or for worth-while spending, or for a growing independence fund. Begin now in the November series — save $1 to $40 monthly to have $200 to $8,000 later. Reading Co-operative Bank 643 Main St., Reading, Mass. L. G. BALFOUR COMPANY Attleboro, Massachusetts Manufacturers of CLASS RINGS AND PINS COMMENCEMENT INVITATIONS DIPLOMAS — PERSONAL CARDS CUPS — MEDALS — TROPHIES Representative—S .G. Lee 234 Boylston Street Boston, Mass HARRY UPSON CAMP Reading Compliments of FRED F. SMITH, INC Wholesale and Retail Dealer in Lumber, Plumbing and Heating Supplies Lime, Brick, Cement and Sewer Pipe Builder’s Hardware of Every Decription 25-37 Harnden St. Phone 0450 M. F. CHARLES SONS DEALER IN SCHOOL SUPPLIES 610 Main Street REAL ESTATE NEW HOMES ROYAL C. JAQUES BUILDER AND CONTRACTOR 93 Grand Street Tel. Reading 1453 Reading, Mass. 1 i l READ WHITE i 1 I a G 61 Ash St. 9 1 1 1 I- i I ALMA’S BEAUTY SHOP ALL BRANCHES OF BEAUTY CULTURE Tel. 1458 Reading READ WHITE MEN ' S and WOMEN ' S FORMAL CLOTHES REIVTED FOR ALL OCCASIONS ' QUALITY ALWAYS ' 111 SUMMER STREET, BOSTON, MASS. WOOLWORTH BLOG., I’ROVIOENGE, R. I. PRENTISS PARKER, INC. I I 1 I I Reading Office Masonic Block i Tel. Rea. 0249 W. H. WIGHTMAN CO. INSURANCE Boston Office 40 Broad St. Tel. Hub. 7880 1- 1 i I i l I Sj I i l % I i i! $ Compliments of GILBERT’S BARBER SHOP Haven St. Reading A Iferrg ffitjristmaB m b A Ifajjpg Nnu to the students and faculty of READING HIGH SCHOOL is the earnest wish of the staff of The Reading Chronicle Reading’s News Medium for nearly seventy years 1--- p PRINTING—by the Reading Chronicle Press is quality insurance at moderate price. 1 I 1 1 i READING PUBLIC LIBRARY READING, MASSACHUSETTS wmm Pioneer V QltAiittnciA. 19 -0 The Editor-in-Chief Carolyn Campbell ’41 Literary Editors Caroline Lumsden ’41 Barbara Davis ’42 Exchange Editor Barbara Blaikie ’41 News Editors Jean Dow ’41 Kenneth Anderson ’41 “R. H. S. News” Editors Ruth Shumaker ’40 Frances Wheeler ’42 Alumni Editor Stanley Stembridge ’40 Business Staff Managers Lucille Gonnam ’42 Louis Bosson ’41 Advertising Donald Pease ’43 Circulation Betty Parks ’41 Staff Sherman Stone ’43 Marjorie Webster ’42 Elinor Abbott ' 42 Board Athletic Editors Glenn Davis ’41 Claire Johnson ’42 Art Editor Lois Ives ’41 Photographic Editor Lillian Davies ’41 Regular Contributors Sophomore Otis Anderson Elizabeth White Harriet Shepardson Jean Maguire Glenn Hodson Junior Winnifred Poland Beatrice Ruderman Alice Robinson Senior Ruth Hicks Donald Taylor Donald Hitchcock Official Typist Virginia Roberts 41 Staff Secretary Elizabeth Burpee ’42 Faculty Advisers Miss Devaney— Literary Miss Rung —Typing Mr. Halpin —Business Mr. Kibbee —Art READING PU READING, MA Dedication Marion T. Pratt By dedicating this issue of the “ Pioneer” in memory of Miss Pratt, we hope to express in some small way our appreciation of the loyal adviser, friend, and teacher, who gave her best for Reading High School. MARION T. PRATT From 1919 until 1940, Miss Marion Pratt was a devoted and vital part of Reading High School. On July 14th, 1940, she passed away, after a long and courageous struggle to regain her health. Tennyson’s words taken from his “In Memoriam” seem almost to have been written for her: “Tis little; but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of her youth.’’ Born in Reading in 1877, the daughter of Frank W. B. and Sarah (Weston) Pratt, she was a member of one of our oldest and most prosperous families. Her an¬ cestor, Daniel Pratt, was famous throughout the country as a manufacturer of fine clocks. Miss Pratt received her early education in the public schools of Reading and graduated from Reading High School in 1895. From Reading High School, she went on to further study at Wellesley College. Like many girls who went to college in her time, Miss Pratt fitted herself for teaching, and upon her graduation in 1899, she obtained her first posi¬ tion in Haverhill, N. H. Always ambitious to go on to better and bigger work, she filled teaching positions in several schools in Pennsylvania, Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts. Perhaps the most outstanding posi¬ tion which she filled before she came to Reading High School was that of preceptress of Gould Academy at Bethel, Maine. For thirteen years she stayed at this school, and left there to come back to Reading, hven during the summer months, when many teachers feel the urge to rest, Miss Pratt continued her work with student ' by chaperoning groups on trips to France for study. She herself attended several summer sessions at the Sorbonne to keep herself always prepared. Her appointment to the faculty of Reading High School proved to be an exceedingly wise thing, for her Continued on page thirty-nine THE CHRISTMAS CUSTOM 4he broad starlit plain suddenly became brilliant. Angels heralding the birth of Christ sang the first Christ¬ mas carol: “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will toward men.” Since that sacred night the whole Christian world is annually pervaded with a joyful spirit, and grudges are subjugated by a feeling of brotherhood for all mankind. Surely, Christmas is the most wonderful time of year. Though the spirit that fills the hearts of the peoples of all the Christian nations on earth is the same, national customs are interestingly varied. The families in England bring in the traditional Yule Log on Christmas Eve, and place it on the kitchen floor until each member of the family sits on it to gain some of the good luck brought by the log. Then it is borne in triumph to the hearth while the family sings festive songs. It is lighted by a bit of the previous year’s log treasured for that purpose. At Christmas time in France small stalls and booths are erected along the boulevards selling all sorts of sweets and novelties. It’s quite like a fair. The French children wait for the “Petit Noel”, the Christ-Child, to come down the chimney and fill their shoes with presents. Friendly gatherings are held in homes and cafe on Christmas Eve to welcome in Christmas, and the evening ends with attendance at a Midnight Mass. In Germany on Christ¬ mas Eve “Christkind”, dressed in white robes and a golden crown and wearing huge golden wings, burst into the room carrying a large parcel. He tosses it into the arms of some member of the group, cries “Yulklapp!’’ and vanishes. Every little while he returns, until he ha; presented gifts to all the children. Northern and central Europe have decorations much the same as ours, and snow, holly, and Christmas trees o hand in hand w ith Christmas, but in Spain and Italy such things are unheard of at Christmas. There the weather is warm and beautiful and garlands of brilliant Continued on page thirty-nine Three Literature ESSAYS and POETRY SNOW He smiled as he felt the icy feather touch his cheek. He always had loved the snow that fell for Christmas; he had not only loved it, he had longed for it whenever it didn’t come. It always muted the bustling city with that reverent, Christmas hush; it lent a clearer, more joyful tone to the church bells; it somehow quickened the happy chatter of passers-by. Christmas snow had punctuated his life at its most important turns, he mused. Suddenly he was no longer the well-dressed old gentlemen, swinging down Fifth Avenue with his slender, gold-headed cane, but the shivering little boy in the park fifty years ago. It had been snowing then, too, and the snow had crept in through the holes in his high-buttoned shoes, and the wind had cut through his thin, carefully patched jacket. He had crept to the park after the boys in his tenement block had snow r -balled him when he tried to build a snowman like theirs. Well, he had start¬ ed another snowman, but somehow this creature had taken on more feminine proportions. Its head had not sat squarely on its shoulders, as other snowmen’s heads w ere wont to do, but had seemed to bend over something, and the usually stiff hack had a very human curve to it. His snow lady had seemed to be protecting something for even her snow skirts fell in a gentle sw r eep. He had rolled a little snow bundle, placed it in her arms and then fallen into the deep, soft snow to rest and examine his creation. How comfortable the snow had felt— something like his mother’s arms when she used to sing him to sleep long ago. There had been very little about the young man that had resembled the child. He hadn’t stayed in the old tenement block long after that. A snappy derby had replaced the worn, old cap, a stiff co llar choked the throat that the soft scarf had surrounded, and beneath his expensive top-coat he had worn a checked jacket, the latest thing at that time. Only the dark eyes had been the same, dreamy and gentle for all his attempted cool¬ ness and savoir faire. He’d acquired a wonderful car and how he loved to step on the accelerator and thrill to the power of it. That car had traveled thirty miles an hour—the wonder of the day. To be sure, it had taken a hand crank to start it and when it had done thirty miles an hour its own power had shaken it with a fury that threatened disaster, but it had gone thirty miles, nonetheless. It was “Big Tim” who had given him the beautiful suite of rooms and the fashionable clothes he’d always wanted. It was the boys in “Big Tim’s” gang who had bolstered his eg o arid persuaded him to buy the car with his new earnings. It seemed to Four CHRISTMAS 1940 him that that car had represented all his dreams, his love for luxury, his thirst for power. How indomitable he had felt behind the wheel; nothing could stop him! But something had stopped him. The blizzard had over¬ powered the omnipotent; the car had careened madly from the road one Christmas eve and wrapped itself around a tree. And as he had whirled through space, the snow had lashed rebukingly about him. Later they had told him he had been unconscious for days. Only once had “Big Tim” come to ask for him, for shortly afterwards the gang had “pulled one big job” too many and had walked into a police trap. Days had passed, and, contrary to all professional ex¬ pectations, he had remained alive, yet he had done even that half heartedly. And then someone had walked across his room one day to open a window, and he had heard “Look, the boys are building a snowman! A snowman! A snowman! Yes, he remembered! One Christmas eve he had built one too—but his had been a lady—a madonna, his Snow Madonna! Then he had tried to jump out of bed, but cool hands had forced him back. “Let me go!” he had raved. “My Snow Madonna has melted, and 1 must build her again!” But the inex¬ orable hands had held him. Then he had wept, not as a man does, hut with the deep, shuddering sobs of a heart broken child. It had made his whole head throb to weep so, but the torrent of tears had only been redoubled by the pain. “Please let me find my Snow Madonna,” he had pleaded. Then someone had said, “It will kill him to cry like that; let him build his Snow Madonna with this, and they had given him clay. He had worked for days and days, and when his Snow Madonna was finished and lived again in the soft, dull, white clay, people had marvelled. The newspapers had picked up the “human interest story. Collectors had struggled to get it; great artists had prophesied fame for him. they had brought him more clay, and it proved to be the best possible cure for him. After his recovery, there had been more sculpture, there had been years abroad, and finally there had been fame. W ith each new creation that he made, the Snow Madonna had gained added value as the first work of a rising artist; yet he had never sold it, for he had always known that even the greatest admirers of it thought of it only as beautiful clay; to him it had always been snow. The old man stopped at the door of his studio and entered. He walked to the low table where the Snow Madonna was always kept and touched her lovingly. “Peculiar,” he thought to himself, “how a little thing like snow can change a whole mans life from bad to good.” Ironical, he thought, how much more than ever before he had seen since the night the snow had sent his car hurtling into that tree—and he had been stricken blind. CHRISTMAS EVE Gay candles, twinkling from a casement, light The shiv’ring carol singers on their way; Sad hearts are cheered by “Silent Night”; Once more the earth has lost its cares in gay And hurried preparations for a morn When all should joyous be; the clear air rings With shouts of “Merry Christmas!” “Christ is horn! It seems again to men an angel sings. Proud firs are decked with presents, glittering balls— The children’s toys brought forth with loving hand; Then quiet comes and rests within all walls; The peace of “Silent Night” is o’er the land. A bell peals out twelve strokes, and in the west, Above the world, one star outshines the rest. Elisabeth White “EASY DOES IT!” When fire was discovered in the forward hold of the Dvina every man except “Easy” Reilly turned pale. The fire didn’t seem to excite him much, but then, I couldn’t remember ever seeing him in a panic about anything. He just let out a few good American cuss words and bellowed, “Well, let’s put the fire out. Easy does it, fellas!” But the rest of us had just one idea about that fire— to get away from it. You see, there were ten tons of am¬ munition, everything from machine gun cartridges to fifty-pound bombs, packed in boxes marked Ham and stored in that hold. Besides, there was the South Ameri¬ can coast within sight. No, sir, we didn’t bother to put out the fire. We made a rush for the two lifeboats, ripped off the canvas covers and climbed in. That is, everyone did except “Easy”. He had one leg over the gunwale of my boat when Dutch Joe said in German, “To think of all the money we were going to get out of that ammunition—it makes me sick!” Now, “Easy” didn’t know much German, but he did know f the word for money in almost any language. He lifted his foot out of the boat. “Money,” he said. I gotta have money. Why, Sadie and me can’t get married if 1 don’t get my money.” And he turned right around and started for the hold. “Come back here, you idiot!” I yelled after him. “Maybe that fire ain’t so bad as you boys think,” he said, keeping right on his way. “Maybe it can be put out easy.” I got up with the intention of going after the big boob and dragging him back to the boat, but Captai i Y ost roared, “Sit down, sir! Lower the boat!” The last glimpse I had of “Easy” was his big blond head dis¬ appearing into the hatch. Then the life boat went over the rail and settled into the water. Someone shoved an oar into my hands and I fell into the stroke. Swiftly we be an pulling away from the Dvina and her ten tons of “Ham.” I sat facing the ship. Smoke poured out of the for¬ ward hatch, big, white, billowy clouds of it. The air was still, and the sea was as smooth as glass. That smoke Fiv Dorothy Babcock THE PIONEER spread out and hung suspended in the sky over the uvma like a mg circus tent, and down tnere among tnose Doxes was Easy Keilly—big, dumb, good- natured n.asy ' ’—ironically muttering to himself light men his iavonte expression: Easy does it! I’d run across Easy in—well, no matter where. He was broke and out oi a jod and homesick. When he learned that x was irom me states he nearly cried lor joy. ihen he snowed me bailies picture and told me about a daily xarm somewhere in Wisconsin. He wanted badie and she wauled the iarm-—and well, that took money. How would you like to help run some supplies through the blockade V I’d asked, it s a gamble—a long shot, but it we make it you can buy the iarm and more cows than you and badie can milk in a forty-eight hour day. It s dangerous, but—” “When do I start working?” he’d interrupted. “Easy” wasn’t much oi a sailor, solid bone between the ears, but he had one saving virtue, and that was his strength, lie could carry those boxes of ammunition around as if they were really filled with ham and do it easily. In fact, he could do any kind of hard work easily if someone had the patience to teach him how. That ' s another reason why he got his nickname. In spite of the thick-headedness he wasn’t a bad sort, and since he and 1 were the only Americans on board we were together a lot. He talked most of the time about Sadie. 1 couldn’t help thinking of all this as we put more water between us and the ship. It was really my fault that “Easy” was in this mess, so I leaned back on my oar and said in German, “Captain, that fool kid may come to his senses before it’s too late and jump overboard. Let’s hold up and see what happens.” “No,” Captain Yost said, “we’re too close to stop.” “Look!” cried Dutch Joe. “There’s the fool now.” Sure enough, there was “Easy” leaning over the rail of the Dvina, shouting something we couldn ' t under¬ stand. Yost cupped his hands and bellowed, “Jump, you fool, jump!” Then, remembering “Easy” was pretty weak in German, turned to me: “You tell him, Stanton. 1 got up and shouted, but “Easy” just stood there waving his arms and yelling back. “We’re too far away,” I said at last. “He can’t hear me.” The captain swore in three or four different languages, then sat down and said laconically, “Keep rowing.” “He’s gone,” Dutch Joe said, pointing his chin at the ship. But he wasn’t. Suddenly “Easy” reappeared at the rail with the captain’s megaphone. “Come back,” he called. “Come back! I put the fire out. The ship’s f 99 sale. “What a man!” Capt. Yost said as we rowed toward the Dvina. “What a man! As strong as an ox, as brave as a lion! As soon as were were back on the ship I had “Easy” down in the cook’s galley, smearing his face and hands with lard. “You know, Jack,” he said, “it got pretty hot down there. 1 was about ready to give up once. Even thinkin about Sadie didn’t help much. Then I kept leadin’ the word “Ham” on them boxes and it made me think about those poor hungry devils on shore—I ve been hungry myself, and the first thing I knew, I had that fire licked. Yes, sir, that ham’ll sure taste good to 9 _ 99 em. “Ham!” I laughed. “You can joke at a time like this. You know those boxes were just labeled that way to fool the authorities. Every box is crammed with ex¬ plosives—you know dynamite, bombs! That’s why they were so heavy.” “Explosives?” “Easy” sank down on a stool. “You don’t mean to say . . .?” I never finished the sentence, for “Easy” had fainted dead away. Leslie Scott FAMILIAR SCENE Each morning after eight o’clock is past I stumble up the iron lipped stairs Till wondrously I reach the top at last. I look into the stockroom; there are layers Of books and requisitions stacked up high, And there is Mr. Spencer looking around To see what’s doing. Suddenly a girl, quite shy, Comes waltzing up and acts as though she’d bound Up to the ceiling, but she only asks, “Good morning, Mr. Spencer; how are you?” He grins at her while starting on his tasks And says, “I’m fine, thank you, and aren’t you, too?” She smiles at him, she sighs and glides away, And Mr. Spencer says, “She’s happy for today!” Richard Lewis A REAL SUBSTITUTE All the time he was dressing in the locker-room he could feel the quick beating of the pulse in his throat. This was the biggest and best game of the year. He was glad now that Coach had been “saving” him; he could be at his peak when needed today. He had no time for reviewing plays or speculating about their chances with the rest of the fellows. Everybody was busy scrambling into jerseys or being taped up. Anyway, the first team boys as usual were in an exclusive little group at the captain’s locker. To his other team mates he was merely a lowly and undersized substitute on the team, but to himself, he was the backbone of the squad. Who was it who ran out onto the field to help in injured players? Who was it who gave up his warm blanket and bench on the coldest of days for a fellow just out of the game? Who? Why, Bertram P. Hutchins! (The “P” stood for “Percival” but Bertie had managed so far to keep every¬ one thinking it was for “Pete.”) He had every right to get into the game today. He looked at his number with pride—“48.” Why, last year’s co-captain had had that number. Maybe it would bring him luck today. As Bertie drew T on his pants, he looked at them with pride also. Why not? They were still brand new and if it hadn’t been for practice sessions, they’d be as clean as the first day of training. Six CHRISTMAS 1940 He was all laced up and set to go when Coach walked in. Coach had a jaw that had never taken “No” for an answer. The boys knew most of his pep talks by heart, though, and so his words became distant and far- off as Bertie pictured himself being carried on the shoulders of his winning teammates after the game. For wouldn ' t he make that spectacular run of fifty-nine yards for the touchdown in the final minutes of the game? Of course, it was too bad the captain would be hurt or one of the others on the semi-injured list would collapse, but it would take that to make the team realize how much they needed Bertie. Coach’s words snapped Bertie back into reality. “The team we’re up against today is mighty tough, gang, and there are liable to be some injuries, so I want each of you substitutes to get out on that field and limb¬ er up just as if you were going in to the game to play the whole of it yourself!” Bertie tried as hard as he could to imagine that the coach had been talking to him. He began to look around for encouragement from his team mates, but each was equally busy at his own tasks. Then Coach gave them their final instructions and they jogged out of the locker-room and onto the field amid cheers from the spectators. They formed several lines and proceeded to toss and punt the pigskin around from one to another. Then someone threw a long pass and Bertie, racing madly, made a dive for it—and caught it! As he ran back in line a few of the other scrubs made comments on the catch and patted him on the head. Bertie swelled with pride and glanced as casually as he could over to the benches. He sighed with disappoint¬ ment when he saw Coach busy in conference with the captain. “Oh well,” reflected Bertie, “he’s bound to see me sooner or later, and then maybe he’ll realize.’ Almost as if he had heard, Coach looked up, and seeing Bertie, called him over. Bertie gloated to him¬ self, “Here it comes.” He would probably start in place of Jones, who hadn’t looked too good for the past week. With a smile of expectation, he raced up to meet these words: “Hutchins, run in and tell Doc to bring out some extra tape! Jones’ pants here aren t any too firm. Bertie started to open his mouth, but he changed his mind after one look at Coach s jaw. Bitter thoughts were forming in his brain. Why should he have to run errands for a coach who didn’t appreciate him? When he reached the locker-room he found that the doctor had left, so he went to the cabinet and took out the tape. As he took it down he heard the water dripping in the show¬ ers. Slowly he looked from the tape to the showers and back again. Then, with grim resolution, swiftly he slipped into the showers. The tape would stay just a little damp, but not damp enough to notice. After 4 had been on a suit for a while it would just diop off. Bertie turned and ran out onto the field. The game was about to begin, and all the plavei were on the benches. Coach was reading off the line-up, and after he had finished those called rose quickly and went into a huddle. Sullenly, Bertie pulled his head into his shoulders, his hood yanked over his ears, and with a gleam in his eyes made himself as comfortable as pos¬ sible. Sure enough, after about ten minutes the whistle blew and the doctor ran out with the tape and mendel Jones’ pants. “Can’t last much longer,” thought Bertie, after the resumed game had gone on for another five minutes that seemed like years to our bench-warmer. A shrill whistle blew, the game stopped, and the team gathered in an ominous huddle. Captain Jones was down! The quarter-back ran to the sidelines and yelled, “Send in Hutchins! ' and ran back. With wobbling knees, but determined to do or die, Bertie galloped onto the field. “The situation must be desperate or the quarter-back wouldn ' t have called for me,” thought Bertie joyously. His glee was destined to be short-lived. “Take off those pants!” snarled the quarter-back. “Jones has ripped the seat out of his! In the seemly shelter of a huddle, Bertie took off his pants and swapped them for the much taped and tattered pair. Bertie left the field holding on to his posterior like a man with a misplaced attack of lum¬ bago. The game went on, but Bertie didn’t follow it very closely! Dorothy Stratton THE JALOPY Last September I purchased a car— To me it was the best by far: It had no top, the tires were bad, And a look in the hood would make anyone sad. When we tried to start, the thing wouldn’t work: It sounded as if it were filled with dirt; The front seat leather was tattered and torn, The clutch was shot and the brake was worn. We found that the battery was almost gone When we tried to drive it across the lawn; The rumble seat had a terrific squeak. And two of the fenders were aw full) weak. But we painted it blue and striped it cream: It looked better to me than an A plus theme; And now that it’s ready to go on the road, We’re sure it will carry a happy load. Alfred Doughty SYMBOL OF FREEDOM The flag unfurls its colorful hue Of red and white stripes; stars on blue; This symbol means liberty and justice for all; Our manhood will answer when o ' er comes her call. We’ll do our best to preserve her forever. May freedom rule, its reign ending never. Each boy and girl is proud as can 1 Of the right to live in the land of the free. Nancy Pratt Seven CLOSING TIME “If there is any one thing in this wide world that bothers me most, it is the strain of waiting foi a meal a meal that has already been ordered. This one wait seems to me to be the wait of all waits. I have waited for trains, for dates, for the traffic light, and for the long awaited check from home, but these aie meie nothings compared to waiting for a meal. I sit here now waiting to eat my fill of fried clams and all the fixings. It is torture to smell the odors of food being eaten ail around me. Well, whom can I blame but myself ? If I hadn I been so fussy in putting in an order for something not on the menu, I’d be eating now. I, too, would be biting into a hamburger or chewing tender sweet peas; I, too, would have large, white, hot rolls with deep yellow but¬ ter, a combination that always melts away in my mouth; and I, too, would have a large piece of chocolate cake awaiting me on my table. “I can see all these things in full view on the table of the fellow across from me. He is a large man and is tearing into his food ravenously. He isn’t missing a scrap. In fact, I rather suspect he’s going to lap his plate off when he finishes. There, he has finished and is washing it all down with black coffee. Where the deuce is my food? It should have been here long ago! It is getting late, and I won t have time to finish before clos¬ ing time comes. “Well, at last! The door is opening and my meal, on a tray, is coming toward me. Smell those fragrant odors. Oh! Oh! The old fellow across the way looks as if he wanted some. He’s had his share. Yes, I think that will be all I can eat. There is surely enough here for one person. They have everything right, too! More than I had hoped for. There is a large dish of clams, a dish of french fries, rolls and butter, pickles, the large kind I love to chew on, a dish of clam chowder, a bowl of chowder crackers sauce, and some chocolate cake. Where shall I begin? Each article looks so good that I want to eat them all at once. I guess I had better try the chowder first. A dash of pepper always does much toward making a zesty tang of flavor in a chowder. There! It could he better, but it will serve the purpose. “At such a time as this, when I am eating good food, I can’t stop my memory from wandering back to boy¬ hood days. I was, at that time, living on the coast in a small fishing town. The family was used to gathering all the materials for their meals. A spread like this would be almost all provided by my brother and me. Of course my mother and my sisters prepared the food, but we provided it. My little brother and I were the ones who gathered the shell-fish. We would arise very early in the morning, at low tide, and don heavy clothing, and high rubber hoots. With buckets, spades, and a rope with a slide attached we d set out for the mud flats there in the bay. Upon our arrival, we would pull the boat up high and dry on the flat, drive the anchor deep into the muck behind some rock, and, taking our spades and buckets, slide out of the boat. When all was ashore we’d set the former articles on the slide. Pulling it behind us, we’d start off in search of a patch where we could begin our preparations. It never took us long to ONEER (3 find a likely place, and after much walking around we would wake the quarry, and their little columns of water would rise ail about us. Then we’d dig like wild fire around these little columns, because those pesky little fellows can certainly move along. We would get two or three clams out of the average five squirting columns we dug into. Sometimes we’d excite a lot of them at once. There would be columns of water popping up ail over the place. It was at such choice times, though, that my little brother would choose to flee down the flat in close pursuit of a sand-piper. Then, it’d be up to me to rush about like mad and try to cover all the holes at once. “After about an hour (that was our average time on a good day) we would gather in our tools and return to the boat. Arriving at the boat, we always found one of two situations: either it was yards from the water or the shore line was yards from our too gayly floating boat. If we found the former were the case, we’d have to drag the boat over the ooze and set out for home. We used to give our clams to Ma and then get washed up. The rest of the family had already brought home or prepared the remaining parts of the meal. After par¬ taking of the delicious feast of fried clams and the fix¬ ings that my mother used to cook, it is a source of con¬ stant amazement to me how a person can care for other preparations of the clam. I can’t stand to see some people eat steamed clams, in their fingers at that! Why, some people even prefer other types of shell-fish; raw oysters, for instance. They taste to my way of thinking like wet rubber. “What is that? Oh yes! I’ll be glad to hurry up. Almost closing time, you say? My, how time flies! Yes, I enjoyed the meal very much. I had clams. Funny how the tables are turned. I’m on my way to be fried; much as any clam would be. Yes, closing time has come. All is behind me. “Let’s start that ‘last mile’, chaplain.” Donald Tuttle NIGHTMARE A LA MODE The ni ght was dark, The rain was pouring, And there was I In my armchair snoring. When out of the dark and gloomy mist There appeared a man with a facial twist; His collar was bloody, his face was white, And I d ne’re seen such a terrible sight. With a piercing cry I jumped to my feet, Out he pushed me back with a horrible shriek. As I fell, I quickly awoke— To find it a dream not exactly a joke. That pie I ate a while ago Had never before affected me so. The moral of this, and I do not lie, Is to watch your step on cider and pie. Donald Pease Eight CHRISTMAS 1940 THE WINDS 1 first became fond of the wind when it sailed my boat and played in the leaves with me. I like it now because it is so beautiful and so powerful. Of course, the New England winds are my favorites; I’ve known them for so long. Nothing short of an ice- cold shower braces me up and makes me feel so very much alive as to step from a heated room into the November wind that comes galloping out of the north¬ west. Its clear-cut coldness is as refreshing to me as frosty, sparkling spring water is to the weary traveler. When snow accompanies this wind, it is all the more exciting. When I’m out in a blizzard, I can really feel the force and greatness of nature. To walk facing the snow-filled wind is much more exhilarating than to trudge along in the opposite direction. Even though these storms can only be comfortably taken in small amounts, I find that thoughts of a blazing fire and a hot drink greatly enhance the enjoyment of battling with the elements. The jaunty March winds are an appropri¬ ate compromise between winter and spring. While the winter winds blow steadily and strongly, the winds of March often saucily kick over their traces, doing exactly as they please, whirling around in all manner of curli¬ cues, and playfully snatching away hats. After 1 have scolded and laughed at these winds for a month, I’m ready to welcome the gentle breezes of spring. Carrying the wholesome fragrance of moist earth and just a trace of some brave flower’s perfume, they poignantly remind me that winter has been long and that the delights of summer weather are manifold. The New England fisher¬ man is much more familiar than I with the wind that comes directly from the sea, but I know enough of it to love it. To stand on the lonely shore facing the churn¬ ing ocean, to hear the roaring of the breakers, to taste and smell and feel the salt that is everywhere, and to have the refreshing wind stroke the hair back from the forehead is truly a moving experience and one never to be forgotten. I’d hate to live in Tophet or any of the other fasci¬ nating places that beckon to me if it meant giving up these New England winds. Yet, I do not feci a complete stranger to the winds of far off lands, for 1 have felt them in reading vivid descriptions of their chaiatteiis- tics. The winds of the desert seem to be the strangest winds of all. They are unremitting in their effort to move the great expanse of sand. Ihe wind that blows from this shifting, always shifting, sand is burning, prickling, scorching—it does not cool the check, but at night that same wind, which roars about over that level floor of a hollow, empty dome whose roof scintil¬ lates with stars, is biting and chilling enough to rouse Jack Frost. The wind that patrols the great deserts at the poles is closely akin to that which traverses the des¬ erts of sand, for it, too, goes on and on and on, blowing up tiny white crystals as the other stirs tiny yellowish grains. ' raising and levelling, levelling and raising, gracefully sloping dunes. These winds are the Jobs ol the heavens. One day man realized that the winds that are con¬ stantly about could be put to some use. He built boats that were driven by the moving air. The great, sturdy British frigates and the swift American clipper ships were the culmination of man’s efforts to build trading ships that use to their utmost capability the winds which inhabit the seas. Merchants and captains developed a fondness for one breeze that was especially favorable to them and named it and its closest relatives the “ Trade Winds”. But fortunately, so lasting an invention as sails wasn’t discarded when Fulton brought to the fore a de¬ vice that was more sure than sails, though not nearly so beautiful, for today there is still to be had the pleasure of seeing sleek sail-boats, their snowy sails leaning to touch the sea, flicking through the dark waters. More¬ over, there are ice-boats, which provide fun and thrills for those who can manipulate them and dare to do so. A less dangerous way of utilizing for enjoyment the power of air in motion is to fly kites, the construction of which requires skill and ingenuity. The reward ot seeing a kite soar elegantly skyward is sufficient incen¬ tive for painstaking work. On the other hand, windmills make a very practical tool out of winds. New England¬ ers built theirs high up, supported by a long shaft or two, and consisting of many little vanes. The Dutch and the West Indians, among others, made theirs of onlv four great arms meeting at a pivot, which was attached to a little house wherein the power derived from the windmill’s turning was utilized. Finally, by putting wind, the man-made kind, through small winding tun¬ nels and controlling it by valves and slides, men have evolved musical instruments of excellent calibre. It s comforting to know that, even though most winds aren’t appreciated at their full value, they will always be here. Finally, there are the little breezes that haven ' t any definite place in the world. The wind that fans the fire and makes the flames dance—where does that come from? There’s the wind that always rides in rumble seats and raises havoc with its fellow passengers hair. The wind that races along beside express trains and whisks away all little papers and leaves in its path is a very fast wind. The little wind that isn’t there is the breeze that bothers grandmother. After carefullv searching through the whole house, she still can t locate the draft that makes itself felt every little while. The air is filled with winds ... If I were to be anything but a human being, I wouldn t want to be a bird or a tree, I’d want to be a wind! Ruth Hicks IF I WERE A FROG If I were a little frog, frog, frog, I’d sit all day on a log, log, log; Out in the big black pool, Out in the big black pool. I’d sit all day and I’d blink, blink, blink, And I would not tell what I’d think, think, think: Out in the big black pool, Out in the big black pool. Now froggies all can swim, you know. Which simplifies the matter, so If ever I were a little frog. I’d sit all day upon a log. Lorraine Loughlin Nine THE PIONEER THE PIE “Anatofsky, if you so much as set a foot inside the door ol my shop, Fll kill you with my own hands, police¬ man or no!” shrieked the wisened old book-seller. “And if you ever set foot outside the law, 111 see you hang!” shouted the brawny young officer. For a year the dingy little street before the shop of Nicolai the bookseller had reverberated with the argu¬ ments and abuses of the young man, possessed of his own importance as a minion of the law, and the old man, independent and resentful of any authority. Ihe very hrst time Anatofsky and Nicolai had met, the officer had said, “Old man, you’d do a much better business it you washed your windows, dusted your stock, and swept the street in front of your shop.” Nicolai, outraged, had replied in fiery tones, “When I want advice from a little boy in a pretty uniform, I’ll ask for it! Though it’s not likely I’ll be wanting any in a hurry!” “Little boy, is it?” Anatofsky had said, his voice rising half a tone. “Mind your manners, old goat!” And the misunderstanding had grown into a quar¬ rel; the quarrel, into a feud, so that although Nicolai managed to keep from breaking any laws, he hurled insults at Anatofsky whenever he saw him, and the policeman, afraid to actually arrest the hot-tempered book-seller because of a mere personal antipathy, tried vainly to catch him in some misdemeanor. On this particular cold winter day, Anatofsky had started to walk highhandedly into the shop to get warm and to show Nicolai what he could do. “I’ll kill you with my own hands!” squealed the little, gray man. “I’m an officer of the Czar!” pompously. “I enter where I please.” “Not without cause, you don’t! Where’s your war¬ rant? Show it to me! Show it to me!” So heated did the altercation over nothing become that neither man saw nor heard the ragged little boy who slipped behind Nicolai into the building. He was about seven years old, one of those children (called by the French “gamins”) that formerly roamed the streets of Europe, particularly in the large cities, living on what they stole or were given and dressed in rags. In modern Russia, such children are well taken care of in youth camps. The thin child shivered as he slipped inside the warm shop. He huddled up to the fire to warm his small, chapped hands. As he stood there, he looked around the dingy little room, and what should his eye light on, but—a pie! There it stood—on the table. A beautiful meat pie, flaky and good-smelling, browned to just the right color, hot and steamy. The urchin sidled over to the table. He reached longingly over—just to draw the delicacy closer so that he might look at it. His hand trembled violently as he seized the dish; the proximity of the pie unnerved him; the dish clattered to the floor! Nicolai whirled suddenly in the doorway, startled by the noise. There stood the boy, with tears in his eyes, staring at the wreck of his temptation. The old book-seller stared, too, but only for a moment. Then he flew toward the child in a flurry of rage, grabbed him by the arm, and shook him and shook him. “Thief! cried the old man. ‘ Little wretch! My pie! The gut of my neighbor! Ah! Thief! Thief! “Here! Here!” shouted Anatofsky, running in. “What’s the trouble?” “This urchin, he has stolen, ruined my pie! My dinner! Arrest him! Arrest him!” “Me?” said Anatofsky. “Why? I saw nothing. Ihis child has done nothing. What is your name, my little one?” “Mikhail, ” stammered the child. “Where do you live?” “Nowhere.” “Who are your mother and father?” “Nobody.” “You have no family?” “No.” “Ah,” said the policeman. “What are you going to do now?” “Nothing.” “He is going to leave my shop!” screamed Nicolai. “Is that so, old one?” said the officer, getting a bright idea. I saw this child do nothing. For all f know he is your grandson, come to visit you. It is not my duty to arrest mischievous grandchildren. You will have to take care of him yourself. Goodbye, Nicolai, my old friend!” The shop-keeper stood dumb-founded while the broad-shouldered young man strode happily out into the street. He turned numbly to Mikhail. “Well, now I’m your grandson,” said the boy, appreciating the situation. 1 he old man stared at a row of huge books bound in red leather, for once in his life speechless. Mikhail sat down beside the fire on a low, well-worn bench. “Shall I go away?” Nicolai was muttering to himself. “That Ivan Anatofsky! Never before has he got the last word in an argument with me!” He scowled at the leaping flames. The little boy sat quietly before the hearth waiting with trepidation to hear his fate but grateful for the warmth, temporary though it might be. It began to snow; outside, the wind howled and white particles fell coldly and steadily. Little whorls and nebulas rose with each gust and fell, drifting, in odd corners. The busy, beautiful, old city of Saint Peters¬ burg was fast being covered with a blanket of snow. It was growing dark, and, struggling through the storm, might be seen two figures, one in a wind-whipped, voluminous skirt, the other in a flaming military cape. They were hastening to get somewhere, and the woman could be heard to scream at the man, “Hurry! Hurry!” Mikhail rose from his bench by the fire, went to the window and looked out onto the cold, white, darkening vvorld. Ibis old man was a grouch; however, he and the boy were in the same plight now: neither had any¬ thing for supper. The child contemplated the door- he would open it quietly, shout goodbye to the old man, and run out. He put his hand on the latch. A sudden Ten CHRISTMAS 1940 banging shook the door; the boy jumped back. Old Nicholai looked up. Without waiting for him to answer the knock, the door flew open and two snow-powdered figures rushed in. “Nicolai! Nicolai! Are you dead? ’ cried the wo¬ man. “Not yet, I trust,” the shop-keeper replied bewild- eredly. “Oh! The pie! The pie! You didn’t eat it! My daughter made it— and when my Dmitri came home, he looked for his box on the kitchen shelf. He said it was gun-powder! And she’d put in in the pie!” “Olga, ’everything’s all right. My—my little— grandson, come to live with me, accidentally knocked it on the floor—and he shall certainly be rewarded for saving my life.” Ruth Shumaker NATURE Today I wandered free as winds that blow Across the fields and up the hills so green, And every where 1 went I was a queen, For nature bowed to show me where to go. Sometimes I ran to catch the wind—too slow— Then, tired, against a lofty tree I d lean To breath the scent of blossoms fresh and clean Until I saw the sun descend aglow. Then, weary after such a pleasant day And loath 10 leave the peace I’d found, I slowly followed home the many steps I ' d trod, Not caring what the busy world might say About my being lonely in this round— For I know I was all alone with God. Katheryn Conron COMMERCIALS! There isn’t anything that irritates me so much as when 1 turn on the radio and hear different announcers handing out the “guff about how wonderful their pro¬ ducts are and what marvelous things they will do for me. It wouldn’t be half so had if they would wait until the program was over; hut no, they have to come in in the middle of the most interesting part of the entertain¬ ment with a whole lot of “bla bla about their product. There are some announcers that peeve me more than others. Rating first on my list in this little group is the ale and beer salesman. I am listening to the world s heavyweight championship fight and, in the mid¬ dle of round 8, when the champ is getting knocked around by the challenger, who is staging a comeback after almost being knocked out himself in the 7th round —what happens? The announcer breaks in and sa words to this effect: “Do you want to have that extra punch that makes a great fighter Do you want to ha e a build like Joe Palooka? If you do, go to our nearest ale store right this minute and get a case of Balleyhoo Pure Ale ! Now wouldn’t that put you in a iienzv, too? Second in this group is the cigarette salesman. I tune my dial to my favorite swing club, and the an¬ nouncer introduces Jane Dreamgirl, who is the singer on the program. The strains of the orchestra begin; then her soit sweet voice flows through the air, render¬ ing me helpless. I lie back in my easy chair while she is singing and think of her as an unspoiled child full of sweetness and innocence, with red lips, rosy cheeks, heavenly blue eyes, and pearly white teeth. After the song, the announcer calls her over to the mike and says, “Jane, why doesn ' t your throat get tired after long hours of practising?” She replies, “Because I open my bright yellow package of cellophane-wrapped, water-cooled cigarettes, take one out, and sit lazily back in my chair enjoying every cool, refreshing puff. They sooth the throat.” I immediately sigh to myself, “A butt fiend.” My dream girl drifts into the past, and another illusion is spoiled. Number three on my list is the tonic salesman. The time that he wastes on the radio could he put to good use by having the latest news or weather report. In¬ stead, comes now a deep, gruff voice saying, “Under the spreading chestnut tree the village smithy stands—hut wait, he’s not standing, he’s sitting. Let’s go over and see what’s the matter.” Then I hear the blacksmith say, “I’m tired and all done in. I’ve been standing for hours and hours.” Out of nowhere comes a hateful little voice: “P’ist, drink this; it’s ‘Pep-up’.” Well, you know the rest! Our hero immediately drinks it, and not only stands up, but starts dancing around under the tree, singing as loud as he can. Personally I don’t believe it. Just think of all the small children that he fools into drinking this beverage. What a cad! The next in this group is the tea salesman. You must have heard him coo, “Are you always tired at the end of a hard day’s work? Do you feel like eating all the food they put before you? Are you cold when you go out in the zero weather? If you are, then drink ‘Kick-a-poo Tea’—to give you more energy, and to make living worth while.” This man would have us feel that if we drink tea, we’ll never become tired after working, or cold in zero weather. Who wouldn’t be cold in zero weather? Who wouldn’t be tired after working all day? I put it up to you. Running close to the tea announcer is the coffee announcer. His program is the “Grownup’s Poetr Hour.” He begins with a soothing poem called “Even- mg. “Peace breathes along the shade Of every hill; The tree-tops of the glade Are hushed and still; All woodland murmurs cease. The birds to rest within the brake are gone. Be patient, weary heart—anon.” But he always manages somehow to add, “A cup of ‘Sax Coffee va ill cheer you up. Bud. And so another beautiful moment is slaughtered. Eleven THE PIONEER It isn’t only men announcers that I don’t like; oh, yes, there are women, too. The program that really gets” me is the daily cooking school ol the air. A sweet charming voice comes over the air waves and be¬ gins, “My dear, dear ladies—today we shall make Josie’s tilled cookies. Are you ready? All right, let’s begin.” Vou get the utensils and start to do as she says—“All right, now ladies, take % cup of butter, one cup of sugar, mix well, adding one egg, S 1 cups of flour, and y 2 cup of milk, slowly stirring it as you do. Be sure, ladies, that it’s ‘King’s Flaky Flour’ that you use. It makes cakes so much better. And now, ladies, I must be going. Tomorrow we shall go on from here.” There 1 am with the cookies half done, and because of that commercial, she didn’t finish the recipe. What a mess! What is this world coming to? In conclusion, I shall relate the circumstances that led me to write this article. The other day I was listen¬ ing to the “Sunday Evening Symphony Hour.” It didn ' t begin with advertisement of any sort. I was already to sit down and enjoy myself for once. The conductor was introduced and the program was on. Soothing music flowed out of the radio. I lay back in the easy chair relaxing at last after a week of hard work. It was so quiet and refreshing; the conductor was half way through the symphony when all of a sudden a terrible thing happened. A voice broke the spell. Oh! that agonizing moment. My stomach began to turn over and over again. My head began to whirl. I became so en¬ raged that I was about to throw the radio out of the window, when someone came in and prevented me. But right then and there I vowed I’d never buy any of “Burpp’s Little Liver Pills” to relieve the agony. Chester Gunn MY DOG There’s a certain little fellow That greets me every day, In whose eyes I see affection In the warmest sort of way. When things become too puzzling And a feller needs a friend, There is one that I can go to, On whose love I can depend. When I feel a wandering mood Getting the best of me, I only have to whistle And at my side is he. And as I stretch my feet at night, I surely never fail To feel that furry something With the little waggly tail. John Lehne SONJA GETS HER MAN Christmas in Hawaii!! Sonja Lee, valuable mem¬ ber of the United States Intelligence Service, was deeply disgusted with the atmosphere of this December twenty- fifth, which she felt should be vastly different. “Women in organdy, men in linen. Whoever heard of holly on organdy and linen? Temperature about ninety, and my new fur coat in storage in Boston just aching to be worn. What I’d give for cold weather, a little ice and snow. That would seem like Christmas.” Having been sent by special orders from Washington to this beautiful climate where the air is heavily perfumed with the ex¬ quisite odor of gardenias, orchids, and all kinds of flow¬ ers blooming in profusion everywhere and compelled to leave her beloved Boston—Sonja was a true Yankee— just a month before Christmas, she could not prevent this outburst. “And ' yet, it is beautiful,” she grudgingly admitted to herself. The duty that necessitated her absence from New England at this joyful season was grave and perhaps dangerous. Hawaii is a large factor in United States defense. Vital knowledge of the mech¬ anism of this defense was reaching the ears of those who would use it to their advantage and Sonja was to prevent this. No small task for a little lady of five feet two, and one hundred and ten pounds! But besides her beautiful auburn hair, contrasting with her deep violet eyes, Sonja had a softly rounded but firm chin, which expressed the great amount of determination she pos¬ sessed. “Well, with nothing better to do, I might as well go over the facts I’ve learned that will help solve this pesky job that keeps me away from a real Christmas.” Sonja was in a decidedly bad humor. “But then,.I am succeeding a little bit. I’m working in the Honolulu warehouse office of Ishii Terauchi, an apparently re¬ spectable Japanese merchant. Up until now I couldn’t possibly imagine why Capt. Sterling suspects him, but now ...” Sonja stopped and softened visibly as she thought of young Tom Sterling, commander of one of the important forts. He was the only compensation in this assignment. He was the one who had put her on the right track as far as Terauchi was concerned, for yesterday, “I’m certain I saw the private file clerk from the War Office leaving Terauchi s private office. But how would he get there? And my telegram to the Sec¬ retary of War, answered in code, proves beyond doubt that Penguin or Pheasant, or whatever his name is”— a hasty glance at her notes showed that the name was Peacock—-“couldn’t have been here. How could he be here and in Washington at the same time?” she argued with herself. “And yet, Terauchi is too smart to take information from anyone who might be mistaken. It would be private file clerk or none with him. I don’t get it.” As she sat at her desk, puzzling over the , .ppear- ance of one man in two places at the same time, she was interrupted by the ringing of her telephone. “Miss Lee? Tom Sterling speaking. Isn’t this a grand day?” “Yes, indeed. At least, it would be if it would only snow.” Sonja was very cordial, but no Christmas could, be beautiful down here, she felt. Twelve CHRISTMAS 19 40 “Snow?” Mr. Sterling was plainly puzzled. Nevertheless, “How would you like to celebrate this Christmas in a very different manner from any you’ve celebrated before? I’ve twelve hours leave and we’ll see the real Honolulu.” “Mister said Sonja very flippantly,” you’ve made a date”. It was August in Hawaii. Still Sonja felt no better about her work than she had in December. Sweltering hot days and nights not a bit cooler! There was really no place like home. “Gee,” she mused as she sat once more in her office in the warehouse, “I’ve certainly ac¬ complished nothing for a long time. November to August and I’m no nearer the solution than I was at Christmas. Parrot or Pigeon—Peacock I mean—must have seen me and let up; though Washington says no more knowledge has been released. But if he recognizes me, why does Terauchi keep me? What if he’s innocent? I hate to think of the time I’ve wasted if he is. This is certainly a difficult assignment—and a long one too. Looks as if I may have to spend another Christmas in this furnace. Still, something ought to happen soon. With the drastic increase in men, ammunition, and the like to be sent here in October, anyone giving out infor¬ mation will get busy. It’s too good to be missed. But I’d have been looney long ago if it hadn’t been for Tom and the candid camera he’s given me.” Captain Sterling was “Tom” to her by now, for many hours of his leave were spent with her, and they had become the best of friends. Their chief amusement was snapping pictures of unsuspecting subjects in per¬ fectly commonplace poses, which later became ridicu¬ lous when Sonja and Tom, in merry spirits, developed the pictures themselves. They had become so interested in this pastime that rarely ever did one of them venture forth without a camera. August was over and it was the middle of Septem¬ ber, with no change in the lanquid heat of Honolulu. Seated side by side on the deserted sands of a beach near the warehouse Sonja and loin were discussing the pos¬ sibilities of an early apprehension of the informer. “But why doesn’t something happen? demanded Sonja. “The United States is paying me a salary simply to hold down another position here. It doesn’t make sense, lorn. I’m afraid we’re on the wrong track. Nothing suspicious has happened at Terauchi’s since 1 thought 1 saw Peli¬ can, 1 mean Peacock, and I must have been mistaken. Besides, I want to get home where there’s snow for Christmas.” Tom was silent. He’d just discovered he loved Sonja and it wasn’t very encouraging to have her say she wanted to leave. Sonja ’, he said quietly. “Yes, Tom?” “Who said, ‘Your home is where your heart is ? “I don’t know, Tom. Why do you want to know ? she replied curiously. “Because if you go back to Boston, it will he my home, too—my heart will be there. There was a short pause, broken by Sonja s glad exclamation, Tom, 1 in so happy ! Then there wa no sound at all except the soft swish of the waves breaking on the silvery shore. One day a month later, Sonja was late in leaving the office. There had been a great deal of extra work and it had detained her more than an hour. She started out the door and then turned back to pick up her for¬ gotten camera. Carrying it in her hand, she turned a corner of the corridor and then drew r back hurriedly. She had seen Peacock, the file clerk, entering Terauchi’s private office and this time she knew that she wasn’t mistaken. “At last,” breathed Sonja, “here’s my big moment and I don’t know what to do. Thinking quickly, she looked at the camera in her hand and an idea flashed into her head. “I’ll do it! she said determinedly. She sped out of the building and around to the side window of Mr. Terauchi’s office. But she was doomed to great disappointment. Despite the heat, it was tightly closed and the shutters were drawn. There was only this one window in the office—and a high transom opening on the wharf. She’d have to try that. Arriving beneath the small aperture, she found that it was open and had no shutters, but that it was about five feet above her head. How could she get up there with every minute counting, too? Some bales of straw matting, about three feet thick, caught her eye. But, it was useless. She could put one over beneath the transom but she certainly couldn’t pile one on top of the other. “Time’s a’wasting” she thought. Then she was disgusted with herself for thinking with such levity at a time like this. Suddenly, as if sent from heaven for her purpose, a coolie appeared, aimlessly wandering along the wharf. She approached him and hurriedly explained her proposition, backing up her statements with the sight of an American bill. Plainly the none-too-intelligent coolie could not understand why this white lady wanted the bales piled. But the sight of the bill persuaded him and he carelessly picked up the matting and set it on the other bale. Then he went his way, a dollar richer, wondering about the undisputed craziness of the white race—women in particular. Sonja mounted her platform, afraid that she was too late, but hoping for the best. W hat a day for dis¬ appointments! Terauchi and Plover—no, Peacock- when would she get that name right?—were discussing commonplace business. She was too disappointed even to climb down. Instead she stayed there, leaning against the building. As she watched, Terauchi got up, ex¬ amined the window, opened the door, looked into the corridor, then shut and locked the door! Immediately Sonja became interested once more, and she was well repaid. “Very well, Mr. Peacock. ' began Ishii Terauchi in his studiously correct English. You may drop the pre¬ tense now. You have information worthy of my con¬ sideration?” Indeed I have.” answered Peacock, and it’s worth more than 1 got for the last, too! “Presently, presently,” said Mr. Terauchi with in¬ stinctive racial dislike for immediate bargaining. Pi i marily, what is the information? uu know that 1 can Thirteen be trusted to pay, even after seeing the documents. Silently, Peacock took an envelope bearing a visible United States seal from an inside pocket and handed it to the Japanese, who awaited it with outstretched hand. “Click!” The shutter of Sonja’s candid camera register¬ ed the scene permanently on film. She had secured valuable evidence. It was enough. She clambered down and rushed to the barracks of the soldiers who patrolled the island, thankful that the station was nearby. Shown immedi¬ ately to the commanding officer, who knew of her as¬ signment, Sonja shouted, “Come on! The case has broken. They’re in Terauchi’s office.” At once the man was on his feet and, beckoning to two soldiers, he sped to the warehouse. Terauchi and Peacock were taken without a bit of trouble. They were completely unsuspecting and ac¬ tually stunned. They had had no intimation that Sonja was on their trail and they had been confident that then- activities were unknown. Sonja was elated and Tom was glad for her sake. But their happiness was not to last, for Washington’s answer to her triumphant tele¬ gram left them vanquished. The telegram, without any regard for condensing words, read as follows: Fear you are greatly mistaken. Peacock been with me in¬ cessantly. Is here now. Do everything possible to clarify mystery. Best, of luck.” After a long silence, Sonja said fearfully, “Tom, what if I’ve had them arrested falsely?” She took from her purse the picture that she had snapped and that had jailed the two men. She and Tom stared at it soberly. Suddenly Sonja fairly screamed, “Oh—!” Then, turn¬ ing to the startled Tom, she talked to him earnestly for the next few minutes. Gradually a smile broadened into a grim on his face, and then he said, “Honey, you’ve got something there. We’ll give it a try. ’ And so it was that Sonja and Tom proved it entirely possible for Peacock to be in two places al the same time. In answer to their telegram, the next clipper ship brought back a picture of Mr. Peacock of the United States Intelligence Service—a picture which refreshed Sonja’s memory and made her wild guess a certainty. Mr. Peacock in Washington had curly hair, but in Hawaii, it was straight—beautifully straight in the eyes of Sonja and Tom as they compared the photographs. There were two Mr. Peacock’s. They were twin brothers! One worked with the Secretary of War and the other sold the information to Terauchi. Confronted with this bit of evidence, which they thought had been carefully hidden, both Peacock brothers confessed and implicated Terauchi. From then on the case went more smoothly than any handled previously by Sonja. All were sentenced to prison terms and were to be exiled from any United States territory upon their release many years hence. “But it had to end smoothly,” Sonja was proclaim¬ ing, “to make up for the bother some start and the long time we had to wait for something to happen.” “Yes, and it looks as if you will spend this Christ¬ mas in Boston—on your honeymoon,” Tom said indul¬ gently. “What will you have as a present on your first married Christmas, Mrs. Sterling-to-be? ’ Mrs. Sterling-to-be looked at him solemnly, but with a twinkle in her eye, as she said firmly, Snow! Donald Hitchcock THE UESSON “Turn on the key, slap off the brake, Step on the clutch for heaven’s sake! First the accelerator, now the gas, Uet up . . . Wait, let that car pass. Here we go—hey, not so fast; I’ve got to make this buggy last. That’s right, slow down We’re coming into town. Around to the left, you little dope; Oh, dear lord, is there any hope? See that big fellow dressed in blue? Well, shove over, chum, he’s after you. Just a minute, officer, I can explain; If you’ll only listen I’ll make it quite plain; I’m teaching her how to drive this bus, So please don’t put up such a fuss. My license? Why, right here—Oh my! Guess you’ve caught me in a lie. Now really, you dop’t have to feel that way; I told you—all right, if we have to play— Yes, we’ll be right behind all the way. Never give lessons is what I say!” Dorothy Stratton OUR GARDEN CROP For ages the greater part of the human race has lived either on a farm or on farm products. Perhaps that is the reason why most people at some time or an¬ other in their lives have been stricken with the urge to plant something and see the young shoots push them¬ selves through the soil and grow into fine healthy plants. It must be a great urge which forces busy men and women to put on old clothes and putter around in the dirt. Many times this urge has come over our familv, and finally we decided to plant a garden. But alas, we had no ground to plant anything in. The only solution was to plant the seeds in pots and grow them on the window sill. Pots were procured and a rich mixture of earth obtained and put in the pots. A dozen peaches were bought and eaten; the stones were planted amid great ceremony, and we sat back to await results. Our days were spent in dreams of magnificent peach trees yielding bushels of fruit. But, alas and alack, as two months had gone by and nothing had hap¬ pened, the earth and the unproductive stones were hurl¬ ed with violence from the window and our first attempt had yielded nothing but failure and gloom. But we were not beaten yet. Our stubborn will rose to our defense and we prepared to make a second and far greater attempt. We decided to plant cactus seeds. Fourteen CHRISTMAS 1940 To aid us we purchased a volume weighty with lore and descriptions on how to plant cactus seeds. We followed the directions to the letter. A mixture of four different kinds of earth was prepared and placed in a pan of the correct size. The tiny seeds were deposited in rows in the pan with the aid of a magnifiying glass and a tiny pair of tweezers. The seeds were covered with exactly one fourth inch of sand. They were watered with water in which several capsules of vitamin B had been dis¬ solved. (That was our own idea.) A thermometer was placed in the pan and a pane of glass covered it. The pan was placed in a sunny window and on top of the radiator. By means of the radiator a steady temperature of ninety degrees was kept up day and night. We lavish¬ ed care on that pan for six weeks (twice the needed time). But our second great and carefully planned at¬ tempt failed brilliantly. Then sympathetic neighbors gave us an envelope filled with seeds, which had been unearthed during the spring cleaning of their attic; we found it impossible, in spite of our past sad experiences, to resist their mys¬ terious lure. We went so far as to buy a new window box and planted them tenderly as was our way. We sat back, awaiting the shower of blossoms outside the living- room window , and we got—four of the sturdiest tomato plants you’ve ever seen! That has been our experience in gardening up to date. It has perhaps been the experience of a great many Americans. But the urge to plant cannot be de¬ nied and I have no doubt that a fourth attempt will be made, wTich I hope will be successful, and thus our ambitions will be realized. Roger Caron THE MAILMAN It’s Saturday morning and down the street Comes the whist’ling mailman, name of Pete. He stops at the walk of Agatha Cate, To deliver a letter at the swinging gate. With trembTing hands, but a gracious smile She receives her letter in her own quaint style. Up a few streets, with stops here and there, He comes to the house of sweet Alice Lamare, W hose heart is a thumping with joy at the thought That a let.er from Gerald the postman has brought. Perhaps he’s away and learning to fight, To protect America with all of his might. So on through the day Pete is bringing joy, Or ma be otherwise for old Mr. Roy, Whose letter is always bound to be A hill for the gas—a tremendous fee! 1 wonder if the town wouldn t just fail Without its Pete to deliver the mail. A MAN AND HIS WORD Marvin Baker walked up to the front door of his home, with his hair more than usually thatched in ap¬ pearance. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his lips moved feverishly. Twice he stumbled on the apparently smooth walk, but this did not disturb his concentration. “It ' s a matter of honor,” he murmured rehearsingly. “A man’s got to keep his word. I said I’d meet her, and 1 got to. I’ll be sixteen next month, and you said I could drive when I was sixteen, didn ' t you? And I got to . . . He bumped into the steps and realized that he had ar¬ rived. Taking them two at a time, he jerked at his collar, swung the door open, and bellowed, “Mom! “I’m in the kitchen, Marvin. Mrs. Baker’s voice took on the slightly weary and apprehensive note it so often did when she addressed her youngest son. “I’ve got to get it,” Marvin muttered to himself as he strode down the hall to the kitchen, upsetting the umbrella stand as he progressed. His forehead frowned determinedly as he came in view of his small plump mother cutting cookies by the window. “Mom—when a fellow’s almost sixteen—and he ought to keep his word —he’s got a few rights, hasn’t he? He’s got a right ■ 55 to ... . “Why don’t you take some soda, Marvin? I be¬ lieve your stomach’s upset again,’ Mrs. Baker remarked. “Stomach! Soda!” Marvin rocked on his heels at the insult. But it brought him to the point. hat 1 mean is,” he said, swallowing, “that I think I ought to have the car a little while this evening. I mean, I drive as well as anybody. And I got to go to the station. Listen ... I gave my bounden word . . . .’ Mrs. Baker’s sigh shook her blue checked bosom. “Now, Marvin,” she said quickly, “you know your papa said you mustn’t drive the car in town, until you were sixteen and had a regular driver’s license. She bent down and pulled a pan of spicy brown cookies from the oven. “But listen, Mom! This is important. I’rn going to sit in the cheering section and the fellows will razz me something awful if I don ' t bring her. Etta Pringle’s coming in on the five o’clock train, and I gave my word I’d drive her to the gym. And 1 got to have the car. In a situation like this . . . .” Marvin picked up a cookie and crammed it into his mouth; he choked over its heat, but he didn’t take his earnest eyes from his mother ' s face. “Don’t you see. Mom? And its getting late, and a man’s got to keep his word. But his heart sank, as he saw his mother ' s round blue eves narrow. “Marvin! How often have I told you you’re too young. Etta Pringle indeed! Doesn’t your mind run on anything but girls? And wanting the car now . . . “But, Mom, this is . . . “Why don’t some of the other boys ha e girls to meet at the station? She can walk, can’t she? Mr . Peggy Crowell THE PIONEER Baker plunged on before he could finish. “Anyway, when I’ve told you .... Familiar words flowed over Marvin, and he was momentarily distracted by the soothing thought that his mother hadn’t yet found out about the picture of bylvia Say that he carried over his heart. Sylvia was the most beautiful movie star of them all, and some day she might answer one of his letters. He stuffed a cooler cookie into his mouth, gathered his forces, and inter¬ rupted thickly, “Now listen, Mom. This is different. This Etta Pringle—why, the Ridgevale basketball team all call her the ‘Battling Behemoth’—and it’ll be some¬ thin 0 ’ when I walk in with her . . . and, anyway, she s not .... “There’s your father,” Mrs. Baker interrupted, re¬ lieved by the sound of the front door. “I’ll let him talk to you. Oh, John . . . .’ “Oh, gosh,” Marvin drooped like the rag mop by which he was standing. He knew how his father felt about his using the car; the hope began to die. “Listen, Mom. If you’ll just listen ...” “John,” Mrs. Baker said brightly as Mr. Baker appeared, “here’s your son wanting to take the car to meet an Etta Pringle, better known to the boys as the ‘Battling Behemoth’, at the station. He says” ... her voice was ironical . . . “that he promised.” “Now, Mom, Dad, listen—” Marvin writhed, and tried to adopt a man to man tone, though his voice had risen to a squeak—“I don’t especially want to. But I said I’d have her at the gym. You see there’s a very important game tonight and everybody and his gal will be there! And Mom’s got it wrong. She . . . ”his voice died away weakly, as he noted the look that passed be¬ tween his parents. “I gave my bounden word,” he whispered. “Listen .... “Strange girls,” Mrs. Baker mused hroodingly, “coming here from out of town for games. I . . . .” Mr. Baker straightened his somewhat paunchy fig¬ ure militantly and spoke, just as Marvin was opening dry protesting lips. “Son, 1—I agree with your mother. But”—he gave his wife the sudden triumphant glance of a man who solves a problem—“you said you gave your word to get her there. I’ve got to go to the station. Those bulbs I ordered have come. I’ll pick your Etta Pringle up and drop her at the gym.” “Huh?” Marvin’s jaw dropped and his Adam’s apple leaped. “B-but, Dad—I better go along because, listen . . . “No, you don’t need to.” Mr. Baker turned towards the door. “Your parents still know what’s best for you, young man. But I’ll see your word’s good.” He was gone, and Marvin slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily, “But, gosh . . . gee . . . .” “Now, Marvin,” his mother said briskly, “why don’t you go see Joe about those yells you were figuring out? It’s best to let papa handle this. There goes Mrs. Nelson. I wanted to speak to her.” She ran to the door, yoo- hooing to the woman across the hedge. She did not notice that her son seemed overcome. He was still in the same place when she returned fifteen minutes later. Only his jaws moved, and the cookies were half gone. “Now, Marvin,” she repeated somewhat guiltily, “there’s no use brooding. Why don’t you . . . .” “If he’d listened I’d a told him to . . . .” “What on earth! Marvin, you mustn’t be so stub¬ born. There’d have been no use in your going along now—she’ll have to realize that she must get home with¬ out our car. There’s the phone. It’s probably your father trying to put your mind at rest.” She bustled into the hall. Her voice floated clearly into the kitchen. “Hello, John . . . Yes . . . What! Wha—at? John, you mustn’t use such language on the phone . . . She knocked you down and tore your suit, but you got her there? Got who? . . . Why didn’t I tell you what? I don’t . . .” And then . . . “Marvin! Marvin Baker . . . .” Marvin slid through the back door. He started down the street toward Joe’s house, staring blankly be¬ fore him. Then a smile of contentment grew on his wan face. “Anyway, she’s there!” he breathed. He went along whistling softly, because now the basketball team had its mascot, Etta Priqgle, the Battling Behemoth, the registered white Angora goat that had brought luck to the Ridgevale team last year before she had grown too mean to handle. Patricia Gray CARNIVAL With dazzling rush of music and of dance From dawn ’til dusk with carefree spirit bold, The whirling feast-day wove its magic trance And held enthralled the hearts of young and old. With floral garlands and with lanterns gay The hamlet roads were brightly decked that night, And vendors called their wares along the way; It seemed the world was full of mad delight! Now, in that cobbled, little village street Lost wretches wander, and their listless eyes Tell all the world a story of defeat, And gayety and freedom are but lies; For through that town the march of feet surplants The havoc and the frolic of the dance. Dorothy Babcock Sixteen CHRISTMAS 1940 STREPTOCOCCI OF THE CINEMA In all the years that I have been living, I’ve never once shown signs of having been born under a lucky star. Eve never discovered a four-leaf clover or stumbled upon a lost horse-shoe. I’ve never even broken off the longest piece of a wish bone. My number is always the first one called in an elimination dance, and although I’ve been buying chances for years, I’ve never yet won a turkey, to say nothing of five dollars. But my worst luck seems to come in the theatres. I can bear the dis¬ appointment of losing out on bank night or being the only one out of eleven people who doesn’t receive a free lamp, but someday I’m going to break down unless I can be lucky enough to pick one seat in a theatre where I and everyone about me can enjoy the picture, the whole picture, and nothing but the picture! Each time I enter a theatre it is with renewed hope and courage. I walk boldly up to the usher and ask if theie are any empty seats in the house. He assures me I will have no difficulty in finding one, there being a seating capacity in the theatre for one thousand six hundred and seventy-three persons. Having thus been encouraged, I decide that this time I can’t fail and set out valiantly to pick a seat at random. After wandering up and down the aisle for quite some time, I spy an empty seat. With a “Pardon me” and “I hope I’m not disturbing you”, I start for my destination. Did I actu¬ ally see a seat? If I had known it was this far over, I would have entered the row from the other side. Ah, I have only two more people to pass now! One of these is a “rusher”, who asks me to please “scram” as he came “to see da piture, not you”. The other man is an extremely fat person who obviously should have a de¬ tour sign on his abdomen. Desperately I struggle to get by him, barring such visions as being caught all evening between him and the seat in front. However, with his assistance, I succeed in getting past him and at last sinking into my seat. What humiliation! But now it rs over, and I can enjoy Spencer Tracy. For fifteen minutes I sit absolutely silent and con¬ tented at the thought of having found a good seat where I shall not be disturbed. Suddenly, however, I am aware of a foreboding presence and I realize that the person in back of me is beginning to be obnoxious. What type will it be this time? Inevitably, a gum chewer, seat- kicker, program rifiler, tapper, know-it-all, heavy breather, or some other variety of the streptococci which poison the bloodstream of the cinema! It is unmistakably a seat-kicker. He begins with soft, light kicks, gradually making a crescendo then a decrescendo. 1 his he varies with thuds in three-four time: first three kicks, then four staccato kicks. 1 oi another quarter of an hour 1 study his technique; then, unable to bear the strain any longer, I turn around and bore my blood-shot eves through his sneering counten¬ ance. Boom! He practically kicks me out of the seat and ostracizes me from the society of my neighbors, who, of course, put all blame for noise on me. line¬ man is no amateur! Something drastic has to be done. Brazen-faced 1 turn around and coldly request him to cease. His only reply is a low grunt of affirmation, but he has soon substituted his knee for his drop-kicking football practice. With his knees wedged against my chair, he begins a rotary motion which starts me swing¬ ing like a sea-sick horse. Next time I’m going to equip myself with a life-preserver so 1 won’t have to “give up the ship”. At an extremely exciting picture, my enjoyment is suddenly shattered by a rat-a-tat-tat on the metal part of my seat. This I instantly label a tapper, otherwise known as a human woodpecker, who is blissfully keep¬ ing time with the music, much to my chagrin and dis¬ comfort. I just cannot appreciate the fact that this par¬ ticular streptococcus handles his cane with the pro¬ ficiency of an impressario. I finally get him to stop, but I hear him brand me “kill-joy” under his breath. The greatest deceivers are the program rifflers. These streptococci run their thumbs quickly over the taut edges of their programs, thereby producing a low moaning sound. Alarmed by one of these, I once sum¬ moned the usher and informed him that there was pos¬ sibly an abandoned baby beneath my seat. His blinding light revealed, however, nothing but a broken doll, half a cheese sandwich, and a moth-eaten rubber. Because he thought I couldn’t help this sudden outburst of lunacy, the usher accepted my apology and departed, whereupon the moaning began again and continued through the entire “Crime Does Not Pay” feature. Gum-chewers are a hated lot whose main interest in life is the appreciation of the acoustic propensities of a human mouth. They try to aid the gangsters of tht picture by snapping their gum in machine-gun fashion. Their jaws never tire, except during the more romantic interludes of a film, at which point their rhythm becomes slower and spasmodic. They can continue chewing through an entire double feature. That is why when evidence of a gum chewer appears, I lose all hope of enjoying the picture. Comedies are always attended by at least one of the know-it-all specie (he who has seen the picture twice before) whose main object in coming is to sit behind me. At each of the actor’s jokes, he’s always right in there fighting to tell the point first. At each exciting incident, which would normally hold me in suspended animation, Sir Know-it-all reveals the outcome pre¬ maturely and brings me down to earth with a crash! The only thing to do is to turn around and say, “It’s a funny picture, wasn’t it?” Sometimes he takes the hint, but more often he says, virtually enthusiastic, “Yeah! I’ve often wondered whether or not the asthmatic type of streptococci (heavy breathers) are hired by the theatre management to aid in air-conditioning. But whether this is true or not, it is certain that they are no less annoying creatures. They creep upon you in the dark, and you never know one is present until your hair starts waving to and fro, or your toupee becomes danger¬ ously unsettled on your head. These streptococci are ex¬ tremely vicious, for they have been known to bend ears back with great facility. Continued on page thirty-nine Seventeen Book Reviews “HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY” Hailed by critics as one of the best books of 1940 is the story of a Welch family, “How Green Was My Valley”. It is apparent that Richard Llewellyn knows his subject—the coal miners of Wales, their troubles with their managers and themselves, their every day family life, their work and recreation, their ways of talking and thinking, and the things that they hold deal —and he writes quite as naturally as if he really were Huw Morgan, who tells the story. The Morgan family were very happy at the first of the story and things went blithely along for a time, but discord and separation soon came in the guise of brothers who belonged to Unions and led strikes, dis¬ agreed with their father, and broke up the family; and other members who fell in love. Some of them died, the family lost all its money and former respected state; Mr. Gruffydd, the friendly minister, was forced to give up his parish. But a spirit of content, a sort of triumph over unhappiness, pervades Huw’s tale, even when at the end he is faced with certain loss of everything he ever loved, utter, crushing ruin of hopes and joys. Huw has the spirit of the valley, struggling under the slag heaps, the modernizing changes, still with memories of what was, and not despairing. You will find “How Green Was My Valley” to be a really moving saga. Do not let the odd expressions and the strange Welsh names scare you away. The characters who possess these names are very real and masterfully drawn. Ruth Shumaker “TRELAWNY” Exciting was the life of Edward Trelawny, born early in the nineteenth century and sent to sea by his father, Sir John Trelawny, at the age of twelve. Here he grew to manhood entrusted to a demanding and cruel mother, the sea. No wonder when a crew member stole his beloved books, he killed him. No wonder he re¬ nounced England and became an Arab war lord, striking terror into the hearts of the French shippers. No wonder after years of piracy and fighting he went to Italy, where he sought at last to live a peaceful life. No wonder he went with Byron to fight for Greek independence. No wonder he came to America and, hating to see others enslaved, bought a slave just to set him free. No wonder he swam too close to the falls at Niagara and almost lost his life. The only wonder is that he did not die an adventurer’s death, but passed away quietly of old age. His ashes were placed next to Shelley’s in Rome. Arden alike in friendship, passion, and love of free¬ dom, Edward Trelawny lived a life of almost incredible adventure. And hi biographer, Margaret Armstrong, brings out all of his good and bad qualities. This is i good book for those sceptics who do not think fact U stranger than fiction. Robert Bingham “MRS. MINIVER” In London about a year ago pieces about a Mrs. Miniver were appearing in the “Times”. These were as much a matter of daily conversation and debate as was the weather, for they were written anonymously. A prize was offered for a satire on Mrs. Miniver. Jan Struther submitted a pseudonymous contribution, and won. She had been the creator of Mrs. Miniver all along. Mrs. Miniver is the wife of an architect and the mother of three children. She is in her forties. Her family has a home in Chelsea, England, and a country cottage in the hop-region of Kent. The family’s social acquaintance ranges from old Lady Chevil, at whose estate they meet the “gamey set,” to the pearl of char¬ women engaged to clean up after a dinner party. Mrs. Miniver was going Christmas shopping one day. Traf¬ fic was extremely slow, and as she stopped for red lights, she became engrossed in watching the windshield wiper. Perhaps it did say “Sea-green . . . sea green.” Later on, it was “Wee Free . . . Wee Free.” Yes, she was getting warmer. When she got home her husband asked her if she had had a successful afternoon, but Mrs. Miniver just looked at him and said, “I believe that screen- wiper says ‘Beef Tea’ !” The book has been called “little masterpieces of gentle humanity.” Mrs. Miniver is the universal symbol of the endurable and pleasant side of life. She is one of the most delightful and amusing characters in recent fiction; she is well on her way to becoming one of the best loved. Dorothy Stratton Eighteen CHRISTMAS 1940 “COUNTRY SQUIRE IN THE WHITE HOUSE” Country Squire in the White House ' has for many weeks been atop the best seller list of non-fiction. Its appearance on the book stands of the nation at a time when pre-election fever was running high was, of course, providential for its author, Mr. John T. Flynn. Since it happened to be a book written by a life long liberal and columnist for the “New Republic,” it supplies straight forward analyses of many important questions about the New Deal and President Roosevelt. The thought expressed by John T. Flynn is that both those who have admired and those who have criti¬ cized the President have been generally in error regard¬ ing his character. The author sets out to prove that Mr. Roosevelt is neither the demi-god of his admirers, nor the unscrupulous mad man of his enemies. In Mr. Flynn’s opinion, he is an agreeable and a charming country squire, a better than average politician, and a leader w 7 ith little background in economics or finance. John Flynn maintains that the President has no funda¬ mental political philosophy whatever, except what ex¬ pediency dictates. Amazing results have come from these contradictory characteristics. Flynn has first ana¬ lyzed his subject brilliantly and then explained, in the light of his conception of the President, important gov¬ ernmental maneuvers of recent years. “Country Squire in the White House” is a slender volume, but every page is interesting and challenging to the reader. Newton Dickie “I MARRIED ADVENTURE” Osa Johnson, a brave and charming woman, has recently written the adventurous story of her life in “I Married Adventure”. This book is her record of one of the most exciting partnerships ever formed—her mar¬ riage to Martin Johnson, explorer extraordinary, who took his bride into parts of the world unexplored by the white man. Osa met Martin Johnson at his camera studio one day. The romance which began then was destined to make these names famous as conquerors of jungles and portrait photographers of wild beasts. Martin, of course, had been on several ventures before his mar¬ riage, one of which had been under the leadership of Jack London. He told his wife many stories of animal life so that, timid as she was, she wanted to prove her own courage to him. After a few encounters with jungle creatures, she stopped shivering and trembling and be¬ came as daring as her husband. Big game did not beset the Johnsons until after their travels into the black country. Later, events car¬ ried the two into many dense parts of the Malay jungle and as far as the forests of Borneo. Iheir hopes for r new trip were shattered when Martin died in California in the year 1937 in a plane crash. 1 his event naturally touched Osa s heart deeplv but in spite of her feeling- she has carried on the adventures that they enjoyed for so many years. Otis Anderson “THE WAVE OF THE FUTURE” Anne Morrow Lindbergh, born the daughter of a former governor and senator from New Jersey, and hav¬ ing resided in state, national and European capitol, has more than secured the experiences and training neces¬ sary to write intelligently on world affairs at home and abroad. Through her marriage to Colonel Lindbergh, she has, furthermore, journeyed to many foreign lands, where she received first hand information on the reac¬ tions and viewpoints of the various peoples she encount¬ ered. Most of us think of Anne Lindbergh as a writer of books about the travels she and her famous husband have taken—books like “North of the Orient” and Listen! the Wind’. In her latest, however, she ex¬ presses her conclusions about the future state of the world, and her opinions are interesting as well as in¬ formative. It is Mrs. Lindbergh ' s opinion that the present cha¬ otic conditions do not represent a fight between Good and Evil, but a contest between economic and national forces of the past and those of the future. She believes that the totalitarian dictators have recognized these forces, which they have perverted to advance their per¬ sonal prestige. She, w 7 hile also recognizing these forces, does not try to commend them as a panacea for the set¬ tlement of world problems. Hers is a very valuable theory since we, the people of America, must become conversant with the forces at work in the world today. America, after this war, will have to rebuild its civili¬ zation to cope with foreign situations. There is, she states, no fear in the warring countries. The odd fact is that fear exists in the w 7 orld today in the countries that are not at war. Mrs. Lindbergh feels that we must have no fear for the future of America. All of these and other convictions she explains in terms that every¬ day people can understand. Marjorie Tonks “COME SPRING” Some of us know Ben Ames Williams as the author of many short stories appearing in the “Saturday Even¬ ing Post and other magazines. Others have heard him parry questions at sessions of the Boston Herald Book Fair with both wit and finesse. His novels always find a place on the current list of best sellers, and his most recent one, “Come Spring,” an historical novel based on the founding of Sterlingtown, Maine, now Union, Maine, proved to be no exception. The story of Come Spring” takes place near the Penobscot Ri er region along the Atlantic coast of Maine. The book deals chiefly with the Robbins family, who are the first settlers in what becomes the town ot Union. They have many hardships, such as fire and hea snow , and are often in the face of starvation, but their determination to live and to conquer the danger- of pioneering overcome these and they sur i e until spring comes. Always the spring of the ear is to them a new beginning, not only in nature, but in planting Nineteen THE PIONEER and felling trees that they may get ready for the long winter months ahead. Barn raisings and husking bees capture the spirit of pioneering and small towns and add flavor to “Come Spring.” Elinor Abbott “COUNTRY EDITOR” “Country Editor” is the story of the twenty years Henry Beetle Hough has spent as editor and publisher of the “Vineyard Gazette”, established in 1846 and pub¬ lished continuously since then. This book tells of a young man and his wife who buy a small town weekly newspaper and keep it financially afloat thiough the vicissitudes of twenty years. It has gained the interest of newspaper men, on rural weeklies and metropolitan dailies. The story is not exclusively the story of editing a country newspaper. Because of the social and political position occupied by the editor of a country newspaper, Mr. Hough is able to present an intimate view of life in the busy community of Edgarton, covering all affairs from those of the town meeting to those of the town drunkard. The book is filled with amusing anecdotes and character studies; it is one of those personal records that add our understanding and appreciation of the American way of life. The stories of the Adams boys, so called by the townspeople even though the “boys” were nearing eighty, are typical ones in a human collec¬ tion. Every year at Christmas they received several boxes of chocolates. As they saved their gifts, they often enjoyed them for months later. So it was not uncommon for them to have on hand in June a box of chocolates. One day, after one of the neighbors had done a little job for them, the younger “boy” did the gracious thing and offered him a chocolate. After the neighbor had selected one, his appetite was far from whetted by the comment, “They were getting rather mildewed, so we washed them.” The book is full of folk who are equally engaging. Elizabeth White QUIETLY MY CAPTAIN WAITS” Evelyn Eaton’s “Quietly My Captain Waits” is a stirring tale of the grand, romantic days when the French were supreme in Canada. Since the Indian naturally occupied a prominent position in the period with which the book is concerned, it has been greatly to Miss Eaton’s advantage that her father was once taken into an Indian tribe as a blood-brother, for thus she has gleaned a vast first-hand knowledge of Indian lore. In¬ deed, the highlight of the story is her masterful and liter¬ ally breath-taking description of just such an initiation as her father underwent. Madame de Frenuse is the character about whom the plot revolves. Although she is brave and courageous, we do not find her a particularly sympathetic heroine, for it is hard to reconcile our customary conception of Continued on page tuenty-six News Do you remember: that first assembly way back on September 13, when a representative group of upperclassmen introduced the sophomores to the various high school activi¬ ties? that on September 20, the seniors met for their first assembly to see three interesting motion pictures: “News Parade of 1939”, which recalled events like Franco’s victory, the Squalus disaster, and the start of the second World War; “America’s High Spots”, with its glimpses of places like the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls; and finally the impressive “Story of Our Flag”? that on Monday, September 23, the juniors had their turn at an assembly and saw “Land of the Free”, a presentation of a dramatic and patriotic theme? that, working at a breathtaking speed of 144 words a minute, the world’s amateur typing champion, Miss Grace Phelan, gave an exhibition of her extraordi¬ nary ability for the benefit of the business students? that on the following day, September 27, the seniors enjoyed an address by Mr. R. L. Howell on the general topic “Radio”, which was followed by a panel discussion about matters such as television and advertising? that on September 31, the Hi-Dime Theatre was born and presented for its opening program the adven¬ tures of that tiny bear cub “Itchy-Scratchy”, as T wenty CHRISTMAS 1940 well as a most amusing cartoon version of the im¬ mortal Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet’ and a sports newsreel? that on Thursday, October 3, our music director, Mr. Peck, presented the sophomores with “Sylvia and “Listen to the Lambs”, sung by the A Capella Choir, after which Mr. Crumren, advertising instruments of interest to those desiring instruction, showed versatility by playing every instrument in sight? that through the courtesy of General Electric, on Octo¬ ber 4, the juniors visited the World’s Fair by means of a motion picture, “The Middletown Family at the World’s Fair”? that on October 7th, the Hi-Dime Theatre presented Mr. Mischa Tulin with a modern musical instru¬ ment not yet on the market, the theremin, on which he played beautifully, among other selections, “Ave Maria”, and on which Robert Meuse tried to play “God Bless America”? that Dorothy Babcock introduced the next Hi-Dime feature by presenting Dr. J. T. C. Blackmore, a re¬ cent arrival from England, who brought us an ac¬ curate and valuable eye-witness view of the England of recent months? that the sophomores sang long and lustily on the after¬ noon of October 11, with Evelyn Comey at the piano and Mr. Peck conducting, a group of varied football, patriotic, romantic, and popular songs of the day? that in honor of Fire Prevention Week, we had as our guests Fire Chief Eames and Officer Gordon Mac¬ Intyre, who became involved in panel discussion under the able chairmanship of Donna Packer? that the assembly of October 18 gave our juniors the privilege of seeing two enjoyable films The Lhiited States Army” and “Cherry Blossom Time”? that day when you purchased your Hi-Dime ticket for the first time at the flashy new ticket booth to see “American Portraits”, a tribute to the inventive geniuses behind the discovery and selling of our modern conveniences, and “Girls Will Be Boys”, a comedy which drew roars of laughter from the audience? that the Hi-Dime showing of the full length film “The Elephant Boy”, first to a high school audience and later in the same day to a most enthusiastic roomful of future R. H. S. men and women culled from the other schools in town, coming as it did just before the election drew from “Charlie the protest—“too much Republican propaganda ? that on November 1, we were treated to an assembly consisting of two motion pictures, “W e Drivers and “W ashington, Shrine of the Patriots”, the latter through the courtesy of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad ? that Monday when the Hi-Dime presented attractive Miss Aloha Baker, extremely traveled young author¬ ess, who told of many adventures in the far Last and illustrated her stories with a motion picture? that Armistice Day Program when we had as our guests three members of the American Legion, Mr. Frank Stevens, Mr. Charles W. H. Smith and Mr. Frank Tanner, who listened with us while Glenn Davis and members of the Dramatic Club high¬ lighted outstanding documents in American history, alter which the orchestra under the direction of Mr. Peck and the chorus led by Miss Giles contributed several numbers? that “How Well Do You Know Your Town and Com¬ munity?” was the theme of an education week as¬ sembly, with Miss Hayden of the faculty acting as Professor Quiz and drawing all sorts of amazing and educational information about our town from the boys’ and girls’ teams on the platform? that on November 20, the Hi-Dime Theater showed as the picture “The Fight For Peace ”, with Hendrich Van Loon, noted author, as commentator on the events which since the Russian Revolution have threatened and destroyed harmony among the nations of the world? that on November 22, the juniors learned interesting facts about anti-freeze processes and the newspaper industry from two worthwhile motion pictures? that the “Hi-Dime” became the “Low Nickel Theatre on November 25, with the showing of three films and our football team as special guests of the management and with the theme “On to Stoneham dominating the program because of the cheers and speeches that filled intervals of changing reels? that the assembly program this year, the most inter¬ esting and varied in the memory of any of us, is the work of Mr. Dixon and that we owe him a debt of thanks? Harriett Parker HI-Y The first meeting of the 1940-41 Hi-Y season was held September 19, ai which time the new officers, presi¬ dent Glenn Davis, vice-president Donald Taylor, secre¬ tary Paul Connelly, and treasurer Woodbury Titcomb, took over their duties. Plans for the year were discussed and the announcement was greeted with enthusiasm that Vernon Williams, one of our active members, was draw¬ ing up a constitution for the club. After the necessary revisions, the Williams’ constitution has since been es¬ tablished as a great asset of the club. On October 17, our induction ceremony was held, and seven new members were admitted to the Hi- clan: Lawience Shaw and Steven Callan, juniors; Harri- Pratt. Horace Lander, Edwin Palmer, Albert Stephanian, and Elmer Lincoln, seniors. Mr. John H. Lehman, state Hi-Y secretarv, spoke about the future of Hi-Y and ex¬ plained its four objectives: clean speech, clean scholar¬ ship. clean living, and clean sportsmanship. After the talk, apple juice and doughnuts were served. T uentv-on THE PIONEER On November 7, our own Mr. Dixon spoke on the causes of a democracy’s downfall in an inspiring talk on citizenship. On November 17, several members of the club attended the Mystic Valley Hi-Y convention at Phillip’s Academy in Andover. The induction commit¬ tee of our club gave a demonstration of its induction ceremony, with Donald Taylor, ernon W llliams, Al¬ lied Gianoscol, joseph Anderson, and Robeit luckei taking important parts. The most important moment lor the Reading delegates came, however, when our own joseph Anderson was elected president of the con¬ vention for the coming year. On November 21, the Hi-Y club accepted the in¬ vitation to attend the induction of the new lri-fii club. This induction proved to be a very laudable affair. We extend our wishes for many successlui seasons to fri-lii ! Paul Connelly ALL THE NEWS WE DARE TO PRINT “It is!” “It isn’t!” “It is!” “It isn’t!” Well, it’s not quite that bad, but many’s the time the walls of our conference room fairly bulge with the heated arguments of that new Debating Club. On sev¬ eral occasions Mr. Fitzgerald has teit it necessary to insert his head into the room to suggest that the hoys quiet down, only to withdraw hastily on account of the high temperature. The society’s president is Robert Burrows, ardent debator and instigator of the club. Can it be that he’s also trying to revive the “0. F. F.”? No girls welcome; how come? How much rehearsing gets done at those private senior rehearsals? Well, maybe they do and maybe they don’t, but we’ll bet the choice scenes get the accent! We all know what our friends do during the sum¬ mer months, but haven’t you ever wondered what our teachers do? Well, we decided to ask them and find out. It makes a very interesting story: Miss Reed took a course in Swedish and went on a bicycle hostel irip through Vermont. . . Mr. Pope, as you might guess, went fishing and worked in the laboratory of the Department of Health in Augusta, Maine . . . Mr. Campbell worked for a month at the largest open air theatre in the United States, making scenery, and for two weeks played nurse¬ maid to his two young hopefuls while his wife was house-seeking in Winchester . . . according to Mr. Bron- ner, who has traveled extensively over Europe, he spent a rather quiet summer—visiting the Fair and his brother in New York . . . Miss Stan wood took a course at B. U. s College of Business Administration and then visited the Fair . . . Mr. Halpin taught at B. U.’s School of Educa¬ tion, so from now on it’s “Professor Halpin” to you . . . M iss kling taught at Burdett in July and then took a trip through the White Mountains and Maine . . . Miss Nichols really traveled and on some of the best stream¬ lined trains. She toured the largest studio in Hollywood and travelled through the Canadian Rockies. Her trip lasted about four and a half weeks, and according to Miss Nichols the ideal place to live is southern California . . . Mr. Kibbee taught riding at Camp “Kuhnawaumbek (or words to that effect) in Convene, Maine. “Incident¬ ally”, says Mr. Kibbee, “it was a girl’s camp” . . . Mr. Taylor took care of Peter (his son) and saw some big league ball games, the best being between the Red Sox and the Yankees . . . Mr. Wheeler, “Farmer Wheeler” it should be, raised eighteen acres of vegetables, half an acre of gladioli, ana gathered about two hundred-finy pounds of honey. Imagine farming from four A. M. till dark every day! . . . Mr. Fitzgerald discovered two real, antique, mahogany tables and doctored them up with one-eighth inch of paint found in his cellar; besides scraping off ait the paint on the rest of his furniture (we wonder why), he spent the rest of the sumer reading . . . Miss Devaney realized a lifelong ambition in learning how to type during a six weeks’ course at Radcliffe and spent the rest of the summer catching up on the books she’d hoarded all winter . . . Miss bimone ran a tiny eating spot called “Davey Jones’ Locker” at North Hampton Beach and got in a lot of swimming on the side . . . Coach Althoff planned nothing but did every¬ thing. He went to New York and enjoyed a stay at the seashore with his family . . . Coach Holgerson worked in q steel plant making drop forgings in Rockport, and, he informed us, had to wear heavy gloves, one inch thick glasses, and woolen underwear alt during the sum¬ mer months. Last, but by no means least, wedding bells rang for Coach on August 17, 1940. Miss Ernst writes enthusiastically of Rio de Janeiro, where the highways have five lanes each way with a bridal path and parkway between; where nobo ' dy is forced to go to school because the brand new buildings just haven’t been equipped for many pupils; where coffee costs a cent a cup, but an eighty-nine dollar re¬ frigerator sells for two hundred; where if a pedestrian is run down by a driver, the custom is for the driver to disappear as rapidly as possible, report the accident af¬ ter three days, and pay a fine if anything can be proved against him; where the maid in her boarding house answers to the name of Arethusa; where bananas grow along the road; where she’s having a wonderful time. Our traffic squad, under the direction of Mr. Fitz¬ gerald, certainly has us going around in circles! We hope you read the “Reading High News” column in the “Chronicle”. It’s doing a grand job of keeping us informed of events as they happen. Credit goes, deservedly, to its many reporters and to its editors, Ruth Shumaker and Frances Wheeler, and to the girls who not only type it every week but have also typed the entire “Pioneer”: Virginia Roberts, Marjorie Owen, the Shaw twins, and Dorothy Cress. e don t guarantee that the following arrangements will hold true by the time this issue of “Pioneer” is presented, but can you identify these devoted twosomes by their nicknames? “Buppy” and “Stonie”, “Peasa” and “Nan”, “Spell” and “Bev”, “Dave” and Jean, “Mugsie” and Lorraine, “Dodie” and “Dot”, John and T iventy-two CHRISTMAS 1940 “Pete , “The Professor and Nancy, “Herbie” and Doris, Mary and “Andy”! We’re all wondering how a certain little blonde sophomore could have been so reluctant about sitting on Mr. Spencer’s lap in that crowded car bound for the Junior High. Mrs. Wiens finds Cleveland Heights, Ohio, people are very cordial but writes that she misses her many friends in Reading. She spent an interesting summer in stock at the Ogunquit Playhouse in Maine. The North Reading girls are laughing up their sleeves. Why, they maintain, the Reading boys even visit the Junior High in their little city. And now more news of the teachers this summer: Mr. Spencer took a motor trip from Boston to Niagara Falls, to Montana, to California and the San Francisco Fair. On the way back he paused to enjoy the Canadian Rockies . . . Mr. Dixon and family spent the summer at Chebeogue Island, Maine, where he indulged in lobster fishing and for the benefit of his history classes com¬ posed some of those extra special tests . . . Mr. Peck and Dr. Koussevitzky, conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, both realized dreams of long standing at the six weeks’ summer school session of the Berkshire Music Center in Lennox, Mass. Dr. Koussevitzky conducted the school and out of one hundred seventy applicants chose nine to be auditioned for a place in his personal conduct¬ ing class. Mr. Peck was considered to be number one man under Dr. Koussevitzky. He and his wife lived this summer in the same house with Paul Hindemith, the great German composer, and all in all had a glorious lime. . . The Misses Batchelder, Hayden, and Zimmer- mann lived together and helped Miss Hayden do her consulting for chemical industrial concerns. Miss Zimmermann had a garden and raised cocker spaniels. They found time for a trip to “Davey Jones Locker . . . Miss Buckley took a vacation at a resort . . . Miss Drury stayed at home in Reading to look after her garden and her cats . . . Mr. Ingersoll, too, spent most of his time right here acclimating himself with R. H. S. and its environs. Did you know that Miss Devaney clips as many recipes this season as she does items for her bulletin board from every newspaper on w T hich she can lay a hand? Sorry we can’t have space to tell you more news. But here we have room to apply a few T song titles to the current R. H. S. situations: “Where do you keep your heart?” . . . “Woody” Titcomb; Little Firefly” . . . Miss Kling’s horse; “The Man’s in the Navy ... Coach In¬ gersoll; “I ' ll Never Smile Again . . . after first quarter marks; “Only Forever . . . Edie Kimball and Bob Hitchcock; “Ooh, what you say” . . . Mr. Campbell ' s dramatics class; “Let’s All Sing Together • - • Capella Choir; “I Cant Love ou Any More . . . Carolyn and “Mac”; “You think of everything . . . teachers assigning homework. Kenneth Anderson Jean Dow r TRI-HI Reading High School has at last the girls’ club for which there has been an under-current of agitation in recent years. The girls are grateful to Miss Florence Nichols of the faculty for the interest she has taken in starting Tri-Hi here. Big doings are expected now that the club has been christened at two induction ceremonies, one for the twelve charter members—four from each class—and the second for the eighteen girls voted in to reach the membership quota of thirty. Tri-Hi has the same aim as Hi-Y, whose purpose is “to create, main¬ tain and extend throughout the school and community high standards of Christian character.’ The brand new officers of this infant organization are Virginia Davis, president; Elinor Abbott, vice-presi¬ dent; Donna Packer, secretary; Harriet Shepardson, treasurer; Barbara Blaikie, press correspondent. They were inducted by a group of girls from the Somerville chapter. Mr. Hurburt of the Somerville Y. M. C. A. gave an interesting and stimulating talk on what our club should mean to us. He offered excellent sugges¬ tions for making Reading Tri-Hi a worthwhile organi¬ zation. The advisor of the Somerville group also spoke to us on the general principles of the club. Following the induction, members and guests enjoyed a social period and refreshments were served. The second meeting, held November 27, was also devoted to a colorful induction ceremony. The club emblem in burning red and white candles made an im¬ pressive background for the eighteen new girls, who listened while Elinor Abbott, Sonia Courossi, Elizabeth Burpee, Jean Maguire, and Alice Larrabee explained the significance of the club emblem and the planks of Tri-Hi’s platform, and then received the triangular pins which proclaimed them full fledged members. The Hi- boys were our guests, and the clubs will work in con¬ junction on several programs we hope. Interesting lec¬ tures and social events are included in our plans. Donna Packer ALUMNI NEWS Just over six months ago, one hundred and seventy- seven R. H. S. students with whom our readers are well acquainted received their long-sought diplomas and left the sacred precincts of dear old Alma .Mater to find their wav in the world. Today, in higher institutions of learn¬ ing, fifty-eight of them (at the latest count) are still laboring, with more or less diligence, o er books and such. Jeanette Davis, class president, is building muscles at Skidmore in preparation for life a a gym instructor . . Dick Fellows and Waldo Gro er are sla - ing away at Wentworth Institute . . Mary Maling, our incomparable “Penny”, is at Mass. State, where, one source has it, she majors in parties . . “Blackie” Leman, still maintaining his band on the side, goes into the School of Practical Arts daily . . May Melanson partici¬ pates in e erv sport known to estbrook Junior College Norm Llovd was the only freshman at Bates to be accepted as a member of the college band, the “Bob- T iventy-three THE PIONEER % cats” . . Our local Stroud Secretarial School can be proud of Barbara Cleveland, who now wears bangs we bear, Dorothy Leach, Muriel Arthur, Barbara Holden, Roberta Smith, Marjorie Moses, and Betty Coan, who has only praise for the homey atmosphere and Venetian blinds at Stroud . . an even greater number are plugging away at Burdett: George Bridges, Kathleen Browne, Margaret Carney, John Hyrnowsky, Chatterbox Hills, Clark Nyman, Ed Selfredge, and Marjorie Wentworth . . At Bentley are “Speed” Connolly, Robert Van Laethem, and “Wild Bill” Hennessey . . Betty Miller goes to Colby Junior College, which, you will recall, is near Dart¬ mouth . . Bob Hitchcock has really settled down to burn¬ ing the midnight oil and has made the honor roll at Huntington Prep . . “Sherm” Poland now totes his familiar green bag to Harvard. He has neither acquired an accent nor abandoned his New Deal tendencies. Asked to express a preference between Wellesley and Radcliffe, “Sherm” refused—out of loyalty to Miss De- vaney . . “Rollo” Sawyer has taken his usual high spirits to Lawrence Academy . . “Reg” Amback enjoys life at Clark University in Worcester . . Helen Foster works hard at Higgins Commercial . . Bette Kimball is taking up arts and fashions . . Theo Farr is at Burroughs Busi¬ ness School . . Harry Barr keeps busy at Governor Dum- mer, where he plays on the football team . . Betsy Fox- croft, our personality girl, left for Beaver College at¬ tired in a stunning black ensemble, according to ob¬ servers . . Bill Hoffman and Tom Lacey go to trade school . . Joe McGrath is at Somerville Vocational . . Among those at Malden Commercial are Jean Sargent, Margery Maguire, and Alice Goodwin . . Allie Benton is also learning to become a secretary . . The dashing Tom Connelly goes to prep school in Westchester, N. T. . . Martha Randall, who recently visited Tom, is going to become a medical secretary via the Kathleen Dell school in Brookline . . “Jay” Quinlan is at B. U. business school . . “Pat” Remick studies interior decorating at Penn Hall . . “Stan” Davis, having survived the first week initiation in which he appeared exclusively in baby clothes, is having a grea t time at Penn. State, where he continues his musical career as a member of the “Penn. State Lions” . . Arthur Batchelder, enrolled in a nine month’s course at the Mass. School of Radio and Television, has on the side: endeavored to sell furniture, sold crullers, wailed on tables, and, this is the pay off, fumigated houses . . And where is Hill? This year he is at Rhode Island State . . Charlie Sullivan, having rounded out his team at Levaggi’s with no more than a toe blister, studies law at Northeastern . . Gilbert Camp is at Willeston Academy, from which both his father and grandfather graduated . . Frankie Bryant, very- business-like with his new brief case, is holding forth at Bryant and StraLton . . Gregg Brewer visits here with frequency since he is a mere three and a half hours from us at Bowdoin College. As a member of a frater¬ nity there, he now calls Mr. Halpin “Brother Luke” . . Walter Hilton is out at the University of Syracuse . . The University of Maine harbors four of our classmen: Dick Henderson, Bob Henderson, B. F. Hodges, who re- cei es a weekly letter from Amherst, and Norm Putnam . . Mary Maguire is pursuing a wicked course at Boston University. She finished in second place on the Honor Parade, you recall. Also at B. U. is Erdine Farwell, who has the president’s daughter for her sorority mother. Their Latin instructor is Mr. Spencer’s old pedagogue, Professor Rice. Mary at once found out where Mr. Spencer got many of his ideas. There is the customary number of P. G.’s; at this writing they are twenty-two in number: Edith Arsenault, Dot Babcock, Dor Barstow, Dot Bailey, Evie Comey, Kay Conran, “Jas” Hawes, “Irv” Holcomb, Dick Lewis, Walter Lewis, Hubert Leiberman, “Duchess” McDon¬ ough, Chester Roberts, Jeanette Sargent, Ruth Shu¬ maker, Robert Storey, Bob Sullivan, Fred Swett, George Whelpley, Elisabeth White, “Herbie” White, and your writer. Janetta Boyd and Grace Schofield formerly were with us, but because of their early rising hour (8:15 A. M.) they went on a long vacation to Andover. Betty Beaudry is also a P. G., but in East Orange, N. J., where she lives with her sister. Many of our erstwhile associates have taken their places in the work-a-day world. Five of them are bank¬ ers of a sort. Grace Bowers is receptionist at the Old Colony Trust Company. After handling one patron in routine fashion, Gracie nearly swallowed her pencil to find it was Governor Saltonstall . . “Carl” Adams, who edited the “Pioneer” last year, works at the National Shawmut Bank. This staunch Republican lost a one dollar bet to New Dealer Poland on Nov. 5 . . Since before graduation, Betty Blaikie has held a position at the First National Bank in Boston . . Barbara Gonnam also works for the First National Bank and goes to night school at Stroud . . George True has found his place with the Merchants’ National . . Wallace Haselton is believed to have been the motivating force behind the break-up of our class couple No. 1. This year “Hezz” has been painting the dorms up at Abbot Academy. Some have all the luck! . . Jack Greenleaf drives for Chase’s Express . Anthony Tine is factotum at Read¬ ing’s Municipal Light Plant . . Willard Perkins is sur¬ veying the countryside with his father . . Christine Ellis is employed at “Parker’s” . . “Bernie” Doucette is now located at the Boston Stove Foundry . . Eleanor Pestana is with Hunt’s Brass Foundry as stenographer in the front office. Out back as machinist is Tony Sarcone . . Barbara Tasney waits on trade at the “Five and Dime” . . George Tedeman holds a position with Boston Mutual Insurance . . Charlie Warren toils in a candy factory . . Edson Gray is at “Bunten’s Grill” . . Horace Jones, known intimately as the “Mouth”, plans to increase Reading’s delegation to Harvard next year after com¬ pleting this year with “Levaggi’s” . . Kenny Gaw works for a knitting mill . . Bob Mason, for the Reading Green¬ houses . . David McGee is with General Electric . . “Babe” Roberts is employed as a carpenter by his uncle . . Jo-Ann Stuart does volunteer work at the Y. W. C. A. . . Dick True and Dorothy Young are engaged by in¬ surance offices . . Anthony Rose is connected with the C. C. C. way out in Wyoming . . Lenny Wright has T uenty-four CHRISTMAS 1940 joined his father and brother at Leopold Morse and seniors can expect him next May to sell them their gray gabardines or whatever . . Earl White can be seen any day at “Stop and Shop . . Dick Young toils for Den¬ nison s . . Norm Atkinson is with the Mass. Gear and Tool Co. . . Bill Campbell, with Bancroft Coal Co. . . George Hamm is a general handy man . . “Irv” Dunn works at a filling station . . Frank Doucette, with the Reading Cash Market . . Winnie Johnson has a job in town . . Betty Dalton has recovered from a serious illness and plans to go t o work again soon . . John Zynsky and William Jacques have gone in with their respective fathers and are now officially contractors . . Functioning as nuisemaids are Eleanor Jayne, Shirley Field, Eileen Peters, Audrey Humphrey, and Gertrude Lorgeree . . Such luminaries as Barbara Currie, Margit Courossi, Virginia O’Brien, Florence Whittaker, and Olive Skane have been assisting in the enrollment of draftees during iecent weeks . . David E. St. Hilaire VI draws a weekly pay envelope from Croston Carr . . Harold Doucette is engaged in masonry with his father . . Dick Lawler has gone to work for W. T. Grant. Late bulletins indi¬ cate that he is rising rapidly and has a man under him now that he is head of the stock department . . Natalie Staples is a salesgirl in Maine . . Lorraine Day is with the B. B. Chemical Co. . . John Dissel joined N. Y. A. last summer and now 7 is engaged in Passomaquoddea, Maine . . Priscilla Carey is receptionist for the N. E. Tel. and Tel. . . Kay Hutchinson, currently at Hood’s and the Fruit Spot, will next year join the ranks of Northeastern . . Bull Richardson works on a farm in the north country . . Dorothy Ruderman is located at the State House in the Department of Education . .Vivian Hook, formerly of the “Melody Gems”, is a medical secretary in N. Y. She has taken up hunting, and has also toured the night clubs, but she misses George . . The smiling laces of Ruth Tooley and Rita Toussaint are behind the counter at the “Coffee Cup . . Alma Mans¬ field, continuing her vocal lessons on the side, has been engaged by an interior decorating company . . Muriel Powers waited on tables at Jackson Falls last summer and now is resting preparatory to taking up physio¬ therapy . . Our other representatives in the nursing profession are Ruth Hamilton and Marion Henderson, who are training respectively at Woburn and Melrose . . Mary Ellen Ward, expects to go in training this month. . Kay Witham and Louise Pattison are working behind counters for John Bradshaw’s Cosmetic Shop . . “We’re in the army now! So sing Dick Avery and Les Kittredge, who are now members ol the Army Air Corps. Various reports reaching here have them placed from Squantum to Dallas, Texas . . Also in the fighting force- is U. S. Marine Charlie Nickerson . . Doris Steele ha- been employed in Dartmouth territory at the Hanover Inn . . Dick Merritt delivers milk and occasionally guards the famed battlements of the library wall, as do several of the nineteen remaining members of the class aom whom we have no word. Stanley Stembridge Music $ A The A Capella Choir, membership in which is greatly coveted by R. H. S. vocalists, is under the in¬ spiring leadership of Mr. Peck, who has this year select¬ ed twenty-eight members for training. So far, we have been practicing sight reading to prepare for future events. The choir has given two performances already, one at a school assembly and the second on November 16, at the Junior High School for the meeting of the Parent Teachers’ Association. Future plans include appearance as carol singers at the R. H. S. Christmas assembly. At that time a new trio discovered at our practice sessions will be introduced to the school. We hope it will be as successful and popular as were The Melody Gems”. Our talented pianist, Mary Bronk, has already appeared as guest soloist with the Reading Civic Orchestra, and the choir is to have that same honor at the January concert of this group. Our Chorus of thirty voices meets during the eighth period on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays under the capable supervision of Miss Giles. During the fir-t few weeks we practiced singing such folk songs a- ”Lo e ' s Old Sweet Song.’’ We then turned to singing patriotic songs; for example, “I Am An American” a ! “Defend America.” The latter we sang for the Arab we Day Program and at the tea given for parents and T verity-five THE PIONEER friends of the High School during Education Week. At the tea two of our members, Emma and Sophie Schwartz, proved to be a popular duet. Chorus will share the spotlight with A Cap el la Choir on January 28 at the concert of the Reading Civic Symphony Orchestra. Both groups are rehearsing diligently for this event. D r Barbara Jones ORCHESTRA Orchestra is the youngest musical organization in Reading High. Its practice sessions are held every Monday during the eighth period, and it seems that our organization gives the “Hi-Dime Theater its heaviest competition, because everyone who walks down the first floor corridor, heading for the theater, is unable to resist looking into the library at us. We don’t know exactly what attracts them, whether it’s our sweet, mellow tones or the all too frequent sour notes which we are per- spiringly trying to eliminate. To Mr. Peck, oui guiding genius, we must be problem children, but he’s convinced us that “practice makes perfect” and we share high hopes of becoming a good orchestra ’ere long. If you don’t believe that we’re well on our way to perfection, just ask anyone who was at the Armistice Day assembly, Friday, November 8. (Not Thursday, be¬ cause after all that was only a dress rehearsal, and they’re notoriously not so good anyway). We like to be judged by that Friday’s performance, our first ap¬ pearance as a group on any public platfoim. We pio- vided stirring entrance and exit marches and various selections during the program, including “Over There” and a medley of World War songs, all of which went very smoothly. We are looking forward to entertaining you again soon. Russell Coombs routines. The game which was most interesting from the band’s point of view was the game with Punchard at Reading. That all girl band in its snappy blue and yellow uniforms certainly won our admiration. After the dismissal of the two bands at the High School, every¬ one in our band was on hand to see the Punchard girls off. Reading won so many victories this season, after which the gay crowd always accompanied the band home, that we were not always in perfect marching or¬ der, but we did our best! Some Saturdays one of our clarinet players led the crowd in wearing their hats with the visors in back, and this always heightened the merriment. Those snake dances which the cheer leaders loved to start on the way home were fun, too. The ever forever faithful baton squad continued to follow us in marching, under the expert leadership of Bette Ellis. Their new military uniforms and those of the cheerlead¬ ers made parading very colorful. Although our masco., “Jacky” Campbell, is rather petite, she certainly com¬ peted with our drum majorettes much older than herself. Finally, there was our star twirler, Lorraine Loughlin, who put on a great show of baton mastership at her every appearance. On the morning of October 12, we journeyed to Stoneham, where we enjoyed marching in a Christian Endeavor Convention parade. The evening of October 23 found us in Shepardson Hall participating in the program for prospective draftees. At the Open House for parents on November 3, the band illustrated the way we “attack” a new piece of music. Mr. Peck plans, among other events, to hold an inter-city festival at which we are to play with bands from three other com¬ munities. Soon the band will be ready for its copcert season, which we hope will be a great success. We should give Mr. Peck all the support we possibly can in making the band progress rapidly. It is not too late for new members to join even now, you know. Richard Robbins Beverly Pitman R. H. S. BAND This year the band has an entirely new system. In¬ stead of a rehearsal once a week, the band has rehearsed, almost without exception, every schoolday since early September, during the new ninth period from 2:30 to 3:30. The many compliments which have been paid to the band’s playing this year belong most of all to our director, Mr. Peck, who has toiled patiently with us from dav to day. When everyone is present, the band is a very complete musical unit that consists of eight trum¬ pets, seven clarinets, three tenor saxaphones, one alto saxaphone, two trombones, one baritone, one sousa- phone, one alto horn, three snare drums, one bass drum, and one pair of cymbals. The football games have this year been quite event¬ ful for the band. Elinor Abbott has continued to strut her stuff as our leader, and she proved especially cap¬ able in putting us through the new marching drills and Twenty-six BOOK REVIEWS Continued from page twenty what a heroine should be with this strange figure who subordinates everything to her personal pleasure. In the final moments of the book, Miss Eaton portrays Madame de Frenuse as an exalted being. It is th: reader’s right to draw his own conclusion, however. The first half of the book reads quickly without a dull moment, but the latter half has too little action and too little suspense in this reviewer’s opinion. However, the author’s acquaintance with her subject and her sup¬ erb painting of the complex and provocative character of Madame de Frenuse make the book worth reading. Stanley Stembridge CHRISTMAS 1940 Interviews MISS KLING Step up and meet that brisk, efficient person who answers to the most interesting name in school, Miss Svea Kling. We cornered her in the stern foreboding atmosphere of Room 5 at 2:40 one beautiful afternoon. Students who bent diligently over their typewriters peck¬ ing away in a confusion ot varying rhythms, while the eagle eye of Miss Kling was upon them, looked up in¬ terestedly as we pulled out notebook and pencil and started firing questions above the racket. How Miss Kling spends much of her time in that bedlam of noise and still maintains her gay smile is beyond our powers of comprehension. But, to the business at hand. “By what route did you come to Reading High?” was the question placed as a starter. “Well, I studied at Burdett College and Boston University College of Business Administration. I taught at Burdett before coming here. “Doesn’t teaching high school shorthand and typing contrast greatly with college teaching? “Well,” she answered, thinking a minute, “it isn’t so very different, except that the students are much older.” It seems that she birds her greatest difficulty is trying to break a custom of long standing. It was con¬ fusing when she brst arrived at Reading High to be greeted with muffled giggles everytime she addressed some tiny sophomore boy as “Mr. Gradually she is acquiring the habit of referring to the male contingent of her classes simply by their surnames, without beneht of that flattering title. Miss Kling had just been asked whether she liked teaching in high school belter than in college, when the door opened to admit two sheepish wrong-doers, who were l ate for their afternoon makeup sessions and who were being personally escorted by a member of the faculty. After properly squelching the display that greeted their arrival, she turned hack to me. 1 here is one thing about teaching in high school that I don’t like,” she said severely, “and that is the disciplinary problem. Even though a minor one, it is annoying and interferes with the ciass work. It just doesnt arise in college teaching.” (From a faculty member, we learned that there is only one other situation that she would like to eliminate and that is the business of teaching brst, second, and third year typing students in one room at the same time. We re betting on Miss Kling to improve or change the situation if anyone can.) “What are your favorite sports? Ibis was asked, of course, anticipating some interesting bits about the Riding Club, her pet extra-curricular interest. We were doomed to disappointment, however, but remembered the news which leaked out at the start of that under¬ taking: Miss Kling, courageous soul, had been on a horse only two or three times before she took her charge- to Melrose. “I love to skate,” she said enthusiastically; “but. she added, as if an unpleasant thought had just occurred to her, “I fall down an awful lot. Because her very precise enunciation is just as outstanding about her as is her enthusiasm, we inquired where she had picked up her “machine gun diction. M iss Kling laughed heartily. “Most people, she ans¬ wered, “think that must have come from teaching Eng¬ lish. hut it is really from teaching shorthand. If 1 don ' t enunciate every letter when dictating, 1 have the whole class jumping on me because they couldn’t understand what 1 said.” By this time the lure of the beautiful weather was beckoning without, and we decided to give Miss K1 ing back to her pupils so that she could finish her work and start on her way home. We still hadn ' t gleaned any in¬ formation about her Riding Club activities, however, and so cornered several of the members to see if they would divulge some. Everyone of them said that the most vivid memory of the entire course of lessons was Mi- Kling’s devotion to “Firefly,” her favorite mount. O. girl even went so far as to say that “Firefly” was as br as he was long, but added that Miss Kling was fi i ( believing him a beautiful horse. After hearing m of Miss Kling ' s adventures on this worthy steed, we vunder T uenty-seven CL THE PIONEER that she got to class on Thursdays at all. One exciting moment occurred when “Firefly,” frightened by a pass¬ ing vehicle, reared and plunged, leaving poor Miss Kling completely without warning. You really should be interested in making the fur¬ ther acquaintance of Miss Kling. She s easily identified by the large assortment of manuals and papers that she lugs upstairs and down, and she’s around school from early in the morning until well past three-thirty. In fact, the day just before Thanksgiving when the “No School” signal sent most of us scampering back to bed, Miss Kling had arisen so early in order to insure her prompt arrival that she received no news of the glad tidings until she drove into the school yard to be greeted by a solitary “Charlie” shoveling paths. Barbara Bryant GLOBE TROTTER As we attempted to enter Room One, a crowd of sophomores flocked into the corridor, gabbling as is their custom, and calling back over their shoulders, “Thanks Mr. Bronner” and “I’ll bring it back tomor¬ row.” There he was, seated at the desk, scratching his head scowlingly over a paper. Suddenly: “But where’s the other ten cents!” Then one of the few boys left in the room (it was Hi-Dime day) said, “Here!” and handed him a piece of paper. While we were still wondering just why a piece of paper took the place of ten cents, another pupil rushed forward and panted, “I forgot my money. Can I go to the movie and bring it tomorrow?” “Sure” Mr. Bronner replied, and another name was added to the paper. He answered the usual interview questions in mat¬ ter-of-fact monosyllables. We learned that he graduated from Worcester Academy, received his AB and MA de¬ crees from Boston University, and took courses at Har¬ vard and Columbia. He grew up in Lowell, Kentucky, where “nothing ever happens and they take the sidewalks in at nine o’clock every night.” Then he added half- apologetically, “I’m afraid I haven’t a very interesting life to tell you about.” We smiled at that: we had heard that he had worked his way around the world and we were there to find out how. He smiled too, and said, “Oh, just as anyone else would have. When I graduated from prep school I got a job as bell-hop on a boat and went to Germany three times. I was there in 1923 when the mark fell from five marks to the dollar to five million marks to the dollar. Later, in 1933, I was there when Hitler was just starting.” “How did people feel about him?” “Oh. he is definitely a man for youth; the older people don’t like him. You know, I’ve a cousin who’s a reporter for Script Syndicate, and he believed in 1933 that the whole situation was merely a local feud between a Jewish steel corporation and a German steel corpora¬ tion. It seems the Jews were backing Hitler!” Such a dull life! He’s been just about everywhere; that is, he’s been just about everywhere except up the Amazon, though a rumor about school would have it thai he’s been even there. After he graduated from college he decided he needed another vacation, so he cruised about the Mediterranean as a steward and returned, ont) to go around the world as an assistant bursar. Some¬ times he would have extra days in ports, provided that he could catch up with the boat at the next one. When we heard that he preferred to travel around alone, we asked him what he did. Oh, it was all very simple. When he was in Tokio, for example, he merely looked up the father of one of his room mates, an Englishman, who was a lawyer in Japan and lived in a Japanese home. Whenever he was in Europe, he looked up the reporter for Script, who piloted our traveller from border to border in his private plane and whose conver¬ sation must be interesting to hear since he has inter¬ viewed Mussolini and other personages important in modern events. All this was interesting to be sure, but Mr. Bronnei had had a yen to teach since he was in prep school. So before he came here, he taught in Greenfield. There, it seems, the school capitalized on every hobby the man has, for he coached the hockey and tennis teams and was adviser for the camera club. He rather sighed as he said this and admitted he had had his fill of clubs. Of course he likes it here (new teachers have never yet said they didn’t), though nothing exciting ever hap¬ pens to him. “Just an armchair existence, I guess,” and then again he apologized, “I’m sorry I haven’t a more interesting life to tell you about.” Just then Mr. Dixon walked in to borrow a Ghair. “Do you want it?” asked Mr. Dixon. “Of course I do!” “Okey, thanks!” and he walked out with the chair. “ There,” murmured Mr. Bronner with a shrug, “lhats’ what they think of me around here!” Poor man, we thought, as we thanked him and said goodbye. Suddenly, as we reached the door, we rememb¬ ered—-“Oh Mr. Bronner! What’s your pet peeve?” What the Hi-Dime Theater had left of his homeroom, roared! He grinned good naturedly and finally shrug¬ ged again. Oh, chocolate sauce on my potatoes, I guess.” Dorothy Babcock MISS CARPENTER Although many a pleasing feature has resulted from the recent renovation of the school office, especially noticeable being the Venetian blinds, attendance and guidance rooms, and new red leather chairs in the most important conference room of them all, perhaps none has proved more agreeable to the eyes than Mrs. Tilton’s new assistant, Barbara Carpenter. Her duties, besides flying from room to room with all sorts of notices, in¬ clude taking dictation, answering the phone, operating the divers machines, hoarding lost and found miscel¬ lanies, and solving various student queries. T ucnty-eight CL CHRISTMAS 1940 A number of R. H. S. lads openly displayed their envy of the writer as he approached the sanctum where Barbara, known at Reading High long before her present job as ‘‘Bubbles,’ holds forth. (We are convinced that no interviewer has ever received more offers of assistance or had more ready-made questions at the start of his assignment.) We were cordially received and proceed¬ ed at once to our task. She told us she was born twenty years ago in Winchester, and the interviewer, who cherishes fond memories of a later day Winchester, was certain that the stars must favor that fair city. Barbara disclosed that she attended the Reading schools, then Beaver College, and finally Malden Commercial before landing back at Reading High this autumn. To quote her, she “loves it” here and she finds all the teachers “very nice.” However, (and that noise we hear will be Lhe cracking of many a boyish heart), the boys of the school she terms “amusing.” Well, we can see what she means—or can we? We discovered that among other things Barbara is a devotee of horseback riding, a collector of stuffed animals, and a lover of modern fiction. These widely different avocations fill her leisure time, which, we gather, has been rare of late. Barbara also confesses she is a cinema addict and after an evening at the movies likes nothing better than to polish off a sirloin on a sizzling platter at any handy eating place. Although reticent concerning her future plans, “Bubbles” did categorically deny the currently circu¬ lated rumor of her engagement. “Absolutely untrue! she branded the report. (We can almost hear the sighs of relief from certain quarters.) At this point we deemed it opportune to procure a few items for some of our more enterprising seniors and we interposed the query, “What is your telephone number?” The hesitant answer was “1279.” Then “Bubbles” revealed a very definite liking for dancing and the question of her attending one of our “proms” is by no means closed. Barbara finds conceited men dis¬ tasteful in the extreme, and lists them as her pet peeve. And here’s a tip—for all it’s worth—the orchid is her favorite flower. We now asked where she obtained her nick-name. Her explanation that her sister tagged her with it when she was in the fourth grade may or may not seem plausible to you. At any rate, she dislikes the name and has asked me to appeal to your better natures that you refrain from calling her “Bubbles.” The interview complete, only one logical question remained: “What are you doing tonight?” Stanley Stembridge MISS REED Having been previously warned by experienced in¬ terviewers, 1 made an appointment ahead of time to see Miss Reed, and so at the appointed moment, which hap¬ pened wisely or not to be the eighth period, 1 arrived at Room E and found her busily getting her home room of senior girls settled. When they had quieted down, we were ready for business. First I asked about her family, because rumors had reached me that it is a very interesting one. She con¬ fided in a stage whisper, which disappointed several would-be listeners, that she grew up in Andover and still lives there, that she has three sisters and five brothers, and that one of the latter—Winthrop—is her twin. “There being seven children already, when it came to twins, my brother got all the brains and looks and there was I,” she said. (But we know belter!) 1 discovered that this really is quite a menage. Her brother Dana, while at Tale, made the All-American football team, two of her brothers fought in the World War, one sister graduated from Radcliffe, another is an office manager, and still another is a trained nurse. We asked for some news of her own accomplishments and she replied “Well, I attended Smith College, and was fortunate to be among twenty-one girls chosen to live in a German house for three years, where we spoke only German, learned all the German folk songs and dances, and ate German food.” “What is your favorite German dish? I asked. “Apfelkuchen,” she responded promptly. “It’s a sort oi pastry with cut apples on the top and it’s covered with cinamon and sugar. Curiously enough there happened to be three sets oi twins living there at the German house, too, and as her twin wasn t with her she was called the “half’ and their friends constantly referred to them as the “three sets and a half’ . While I had been gathering this information, Miss Reed had been interrupted from time to time by assorted queries from various pupils who wanted to know about deficiencies, homework, detention, and related matters. But Miss Reed took it all in stride and answered every¬ thing carefully. It is evident thal the small group oi girls in her home room regard her as a friend and con- hdante. “1 don’t mind the questions or the discussions we have,” she said. “1 feel that during homeroom period after they’ve been inside all day they have a right to be restless, and 1 don’t expect them to be perfectly quiet. (Wow that’s the kind of home room teacher we like). So to the accompaniment of the Chorus’ daily work¬ out in the hall next door, we continued. In answer to my question about her interest in German, she laughed and said, “Well, 1 suppose 1 love German because I did best in it in school. But, really, I’d like some day to become an interpreter in the government service. In 1942 I ' m going to try for the civil service exams in Ger¬ man, French, and Spanish, because you have to know three languages in order to fill requirements. 1 like Spanish very much, and Ed like to see a course in it started here. We hereby hail Miss Reed as the linquist oi Reading High. She comprehends the following langu ages: Greek. Latin, German, French, Spanish, Swedid Gothic, Danish, .Norwegian, and, of course, English. Aren’t you impressed? While a sophomore at college, she met lhomas Tue ity-nine THE PIONEER Mann, the famous German author, in Boston, and also the captain of the German ship “Bremen”, which has been in the news lately. He came to the German house where she was studying with the other girls and gave them a book telling all about the ship, how it could be turned into a man o’ war, and other interesting facts. 1 also discovered that Miss Reed had many interests at Smith, having belonged to the Spanish and French cluns and been president of the German Club; having sung m the choir at all the chapel services, been on both the badminton and bowling teams, and been a junior usher at commencement. After graduation in 1939, she taugnt at Boston University and received her master’s degree. “Of course, my students at B. U. were much older and the classes more serious,” she said, ' “but 1 think my present beginners in German do as well as those be¬ ginners at the university.” Inquiring about her hobbies and how she spends her spare time, I found that, besides playing tennis and swimming, she goes in for archery in a big way. In 1939, through an intercollegiate contest, she was one ol the ten women in the United States to get a pin ior shooting. That is practically the same as being a cham¬ pion so we should be especially proud to have Miss Reed with us. (How about an archery club?) She also likes to go hosteling (bicycle riding and stopping at youth hostels to you). Miss Reed enjoys her work at Reading High tre¬ mendously, but one thing she doesn’t like about the school is detention. She says she feels as though she were being punished, too. She also dislikes study periods and movable chairs, and finds banging lockers a little too noisy. So you people who want to make a good impression on Miss Reed—beware! An amusing incident she tells about happened on the first day she was here: “Two sophomore girls met me upstairs,” she said laughing, and one said, ‘Are you lost?’ I said ‘yes’, and so they showed me the way, and escorted me, one on each arm, to the chemistry lab, tell¬ ing me that it wasn’t far and that I’d soon know my way.” Another time, when she was reprimanding a girl in her homeroom, she was asked, “Don’t you remember when you were young?” “It made me feel simply ancient!” she sighed remi¬ niscently. Alice Robinson COACH INGERSOLL We finally secured by appointment thirty minutes of Coach Ingersoll’s time. The interview took place after football practice and under difficulties, because an uninvited audience consisting of Coach Holgerson and a few of the fellows deemed it too good to miss. Now that the football seaspn is over, there isn’t a boy or gal in school who hasn’t seen Coach Ingersoll. Nevertheless, a few vital statistics are in order: he is five feet five and three-fourths inches tall, weighs one hundred and sixty pounds, has curly brown hair and brown eyes, is one of the latest additions to our faculty and the number one reason why so many girls decided to take up the study of history this year. Sorry, girls, but it won’t do any good; he tells us he already has picked out his favorite blonde. We began the interview with the usual question, “Where and when were you born?” Being as definite about things as he always is, he replied, ‘‘I was born September 30, 1917, in Portland, Maine.” Another ques¬ tion revealed that he went to high school in Melrose and there became interested in football and other athletics. After high school he went to Worcester Academy, where he continued his football career and also enjoyed wrestl¬ ing and lacrosse. At this point, not wishing to leave those eavesdrop¬ pers too disappointed, we asked a question which brought grins of anticipation to their faces—and just when he was getting used to this business of being interviewed too. The question was “How about your social life? Weren’t there any girl friends?” He looked at the fellows, then at Coach Holgerson, and finally admitted soberly, “Well, there was a red head in high school!” Then we came to his most recent career, his four years as a Dartmouth man. He entered Dartmouth in 1937 and majored in history and football. Naturally we had to ask him what the most exciting play in which he took part was. Being the modest fellow that he is, “Coach” looked very uncomfortable, but we were sure he wouldn’t evade the issue. “It was a Princeton-Dartmouth game, I guess, when I managed to stop the Princeton full¬ back on the one yard line after two long passes.” (Just ask Rudy DeRosa if you don’t think Mr. Ingersoll can tackle!) He belonged to the D. K. E. Fraternity and the Sphinx Club as well as the football team at Dartmouth. He decided to become a teacher-coach four years ago when he was a freshman there, and we are not surprised that he realized his ambition with the promise of a job even before he graduated. Coach Ingersoll’s gaze wandered fondly to his ancient ford car parked by the fire escape at the J. H. S. when we inquired if he had done any travelling. He re¬ fers to it as the “cement mixer.” After a bit of joshing from Coach Holgerson, he said, “Well, I went to the west coast to play football in the Stanford game.” “Coach Ingersoll, what do you think of the Reading High School boys and girls?” After a brief pause, “They’re fine! But the girls— well, some of them are pretty silly. There seem to be two types of boys in this school; one group holds the regular, every day good fellows and the other group is the playboys. Pupils in Coach’s’ class are expected to do some work. His motto for success is an old favorite: Ninety pet cent perspiration and ten per cent inspira¬ tion.” In the summer, if your doorbell rings and you see a fellow selling insurance, look twice before you shut the door. It may be Coach Ingersoll. He spends his sum¬ mers as an insurance man for the John Hancock Com¬ pany. After our interview, we walked over to the little ford with him. He stepped proudly forward when we Thirty CHRISTMAS 1940 asked how long he’d had it and said, “I bought this cement mixer in May. He may not have had the chance to travel in it yet, but now that he’s left us to train in the Naval Reserve, he should see considerably more of the world than he has. We’re glad to say that this in¬ terview will be published at Christmas time and we can thus end it with “Welcome back, Ensign Ingersoll in¬ stead of with a lot of farewell wishes. Donald Dacey MR. CAMPBELL The time for our interview was set for 2:30 Friday afternon at a Senior Play rehearsal. Arriving at 2:30, I sal down to wait for Mr. Campbell. At last, at 3:00, he came swinging through the door, and, to my dismay, immediately upon his arrival action began to take place. Before I could open my mouth to ask a question, I was watching the first act of “Through the Night.” Trying now and again to get a question in edgewise was next to impossible, for it seemed every time I opened my mouth to speak Mr. Campbell would rush up onto the stage to show the leading man where to stand or the leading lady how to sit. When the rehearsal was finally over, I did not know any more about Mr. Campbell than when I’d started (except that he was an expert play director!). Upon seeing that I was still there and still trying vainly to ask him questions, he invited me down to his class¬ room, where he said he’d try to answer my questions. Once settled in Room 1, he, sitting with his chair titled back as so many of us have seen him in class and looking more like a P. G. than a high school English ieacher, said, “All right, I’m ready now. Shoot!” My first question was about his background before coming to Reading. He told me that he’d attended Oberlin College, Fenn College, and Western Reserve, all in Ohio. Upon graduating he taught English first in a junior high school and later in Cleveland Heights High. While we were on the subject of education, he vouched the information that he is now at Harvard working for his Ph. D. in English. I then asked, “How do you like R. H. S., Mr. Camp- beii?” There was no hesitation in his reply: “I like it very very much!” Upon inquiring what he considered his most inter¬ esting experience here so far, I was informed that teach¬ ing his dramatics class is. Elaborating, he told me that he is trying an experiment by teaching the class without books and so far it is proving very interesting and suc¬ cessful. Sure-fire proof of Mr. Campbell’s ingenuity , s the fact that he supplied this class with a reference shelf by writing to many publishers and requesting sample books! Of course, he intends to select one of them as their textbook later. Next I asked, “Is there much difference between eastern and western schools?” “There certainly is,” he replied. Of course I don’t know all about the eastern schools any more than I know all about the western schools, but comparing the school in which I taught last year and Reading High School, 1 find that the requirements here seem much sutler lor those preparing for college. I think that the students on the whole are more friendly here. And your faculty here—well, they can only be described as grand!” As Mr. Campbell is the director of the Senior Play, I thought it would be interesting to know about his ex¬ perience in the held of the stage. He said that his in¬ terest in dramatics first started when he helped manage a play or two in high school. At Oberlin he was in charge of ail the lighting on the plays enacted there. On transierring to Western Reserve he took courses in pro¬ duction and did some work in building stage sets. Upon linishing his college education he kept up his interest in dramatics, which finally led to his becoming the stage manager of the Cleveland Heights Open Air Theater, this tfieater being the only one of its kind in existence. “But, Mr. Campbell,” I interrupted, “all that you’ve told me of your stage experience has dealt with technical aspects. What about acting?” “To tell the truth, I’d never done any acting until just two years ago, having always worked behind stage. iNow that I am in the dramatizing end of the business, 1 tike it a lot. At present I’m working and acting with a group in Winchester on the production of a Noel Coward Play.” Thinking this a good time to inquire about the success of the Senior Play, I asked, “How do you think the 1941 Senior Play will turn out?” “It should be very good. The play itself is just the thing for a high school production and those cast seem to be filling the bill very well.” By now it was getting quite late, and I could see that Mr. Campbell wanted to call it a day. 1 thought it time to close the interview with four or five spot ques¬ tions. “Mr. Campbell,’’ 1 began, there has been great speculation on just how many children you have. I d heard it was two or three, but that upon being asked by a young man in your homeroom whether or not you were married you answered, ‘Yes, and I have twenty kids!’ So just how many children do you have?” Grinning, he answered, “1 have two, a girl and a little boy.” “Do you have a hobby?” “Well, at present, I’m very interested in photo¬ graphy. Fishing—fresh water fishing is another one of my favorites.” “Who ' s your favorite movie star?” “Oh, I guess it’s Paulette Goddard. I really don’t ha e any particular one.” “What is your favorite breakfast?” This time my answer was very enthusiastic. “Raised buckwheat cakes. There’s nothing, in my opinion, more delicious than raised buckwheat cakes and sausage! !” i He seemed quite taken back that I’d never heard of raised buckwheat cakes and immediately told me how t make them. As far as I could see, they are really a glorified pancake!) T hirty-one THE PIONEER “And now, Mr. Campbell, my last question—What do you think of Reading High girls?” His blue eyes twinkling, he thought for a moment. “I think I’ll play safe,” he said, “and refrain from com¬ menting until after the Senior Play. Winnifred Poland FIRE! FIRE! When I entered the fire station on November 11, not a sound did I hear. I knew that the fire fighters must be in their apartment upstairs, but hesitated to disturb them without invitation. After all, they couldn ' t be ex¬ pected to be sitting astride the engines raring to go— when sometimes a week elapses between alarms. Being a rather curious child, however, I decided to look around for myself. On Engine 1, a shiny red contraption, 1 noticed a box entitled “Smoke Masks”, a glistening spot light, and simply loads of enticing gadgets. I failed to examine Engine 2, it looking rather worn-out. The ladder truck, however, was indeed handsome with (you couldn ' t guess) ladders on all sides. Engine 4 was quite ancient, but it sported a beautiful lantern, bell, and a pile of weapons that would appear to the uninitiate as fugitives from the W. P. A. The next time I came for an interview, the chief was ready and waiting for me by appointment. As I fired my volley of questions at him amid the comforts of his office (a desk, studio couch, lamp and two chairs—- all very homelike), Fire Chief Eames sat back and told of the thrills of fire fighting. He soon put out of my mind any idea that it isn’t most of the time as routine as any other job. Weekly, for instance, the firemen scrub the floors, polish the brass and silver, and wash all the windows. They subscribe to magazines, read books in their spare time, and make handbags and shawls when so urged. Good training, no doubt, since most firemen get married. By now, most of you boys are no doubt wondering “How can I enter this fascinating profession?” First, you must wait until the age of twenty-one arrives; mean¬ while develop a spotless character and the constitution of an ox. It is rather disheartening to know that fire¬ men generally have heart trouble. Once appointed by the chief to a position on the force (consisting of a chief, deputy chief, captain, lieutenant and five privates), you must attend the school in Arlington which is provided by the State Department of Education. The salaries range from $2100 to $2600 per annum. The regular force is on duty eighty-four hours a week and works in two shifts of four men each. Of course, there are also call firemen, and it has always amazed me how these manage to get onto the trucks almost as soon as the men at the station. I was told that it takes from thirty-five to forty-five seconds for the firemen to get out of the station. Every¬ thing goes like clockwork, as I was soon to find out. Talk about luck! Even as I interviewed Chief Eames, two agitated ladies, one after the other, called up to inform him that there was a lovely fire over in hack ol the Junior High School. Very convenient for me. 1 accepted the chief s offer of a ride in his car, but de¬ clined to slide down the pole as did the others; instead I ran down the stairs and climbed in. We whizzed through the square with the siien going full blast, red lights blinking, and cars and pedestrians frozen to at¬ tention. When we arrived, the flames were leaping high and clouds of smoke filled the air. In amazingly short time, the fire was well in hand and quickly burned itself out. On the way back, the chief informed me that I was the first girl to ride in his car. ( But there now, maybe he tells that to all the girls.) I never enjoyed a ride in a car so much in my lire; never did I feel so sorry when it was over. As for the most exciting fires he has ever been to, Chief Eames found it hard to decide. The most thrilling sights he could recall seeing were the burning of a major part of Chelsea and of Salem. At another time, a large barn full of one-hundred tons of hay was struck by light¬ ening. Our poor fire fighters, swathed in white rubber coats and with boots up to their ears, had to pitch burning and smouldering hay, so that it took four weeks to extinguish the blaze. The Reading Fire Departmen. was called once to a fire on a railroad tressle over a river near the General Electric Plant in Saugus. The firemen boarded boats and tried to fight the blaze from the river, but the tressle was a mass of flames and be¬ yond hope. The Walton Mansion on the Quannapowht lakeside was another spectacular fire, only this time the crowds of people prevented the trucks from getting near the fire as quickly as possible. Recalling one of the very recent fires in which his department has figured. Chief Eames said, “We did a nice rescue job there.” It seems that a two year old child was carried out of the house in the nick of time with the smoke choking the men. Although the child was not breathing, he was re¬ vived by the inhalator. A few years ago at the Red Hill Country Club, fire broke out. The man had to pump water all the way from the North Reading Sanitorium, using over a mile of hose. I asked Chief Eames if there had ever been any serious fires in the Reading Schools. “Well, back in 1889 when the old Center School was the High School of Reading, a music master was plodding down the stairs one day. Suddenly he fell through a stair and found smoke and flames creeping up through the hole. The children were all escorted out of the building with no casualties whatsoever.” Of course the average fire in Reading, fortunately, is not of so dangerous a nature. Chief Eames says that most fires are due to carelessness and indifference and wishes that people would be more careful with combus¬ tible materials. The department has had only two false alarms this year. This is, no doubt, due to the fact that one of the local offenders was caught through the alert detective work of a fireman and now lives behind bars. I tried to prolong the interview in the hope that the alarm would sound again, but it didn’t and I had to leave Chief Eames to take his next trip to Fieryland without me. Frances Wheeler T huty-tuco Humor Mr. Pope: “What is the greatest water power known to man? ' 5 Bob Olsen: “Woman’s tears!” Doc. Wakeling: “Rudy, put this linament on your ankle. There, how does it feel?” Rudy: “Gee, it feels smart.” Coach: “Quick, Rudy, drink some!” A. Doughty: “What was the explosion I heard about on Newt’s farm?” K. Anderson: Oh, he fed the chickens some ‘lay- or-bust’ feed and one of them was a rooster.” Teacher: “I believe you missed my class again yesterday.” Jacobs: “No I didn’t, old man, not in the least. Ed. Palmer: (on one of those hunting trips) “How do you detect an elephant?” H. Lander: “You smell a faint odor of peanuts on his breath.” Mr. Halpin: “Now then, after all, what is geome¬ try?” Bill Morrissey: “The little acorn grew and grew and one day woke un and said, ’Gee-om-etry! The train came to a grinding stop in the wilderness between Reading and Wakefield. “What has happened, conductor?” cried Martha Spaulding. “Nothing much, madam, nothing much, we just ran over a cow.” “Was it on the track?” “No, madam,” the conductor sighed, “we chased it into the barn.” Bosson: (after waiting in line at the R. H. S. cafeteria) “Hey, there’s a fly in my soup.” Babine: “The poor thing must have lost its bal¬ ance. It was sitting on the rim of the bowl when 1 brought your soup in.” Bosson: (the next day! : “Hey, there’s a fly in my ! ” SOUp! Babine: “Shh ... all the customers will be want- ins one.” c Mi - . Sussmann: “This makes the fifth time 1 ha � punished you this week. Have you anything to sa ? Brennan: ”1 m sure glad its Friday. Bosson: (in the R. H. S. cafeteria! : “Who attends to the nuts?” Bette Ellis: “Be patient. I’ll wait on you in a minute.” Dill found that he could write sentences easily to illustrate all the words on the vocabulary test except “evanescent”, “insulate”, and “amazon”. After a mental struggle, he produced the following: 1. “Well, evanescent my old pal Quinlan.” 2. “How come you came insulate?” 3. “You pay for the eggs, but the amazon me..” “Whipper” Marchetti: “Hey, Mr. Wheeler, where are you going with that load of fertilizer? “Pop”: “I’m taking it home to put on my straw¬ berries.” “Whipper”: “Heck, come on in and eat with us. We have cream on ours.” Edgar Davis: “Say, I’ve just figured out why fire engines are red.’ Watkins: “Well, why are they red?” Edgar: “Because newspapers are read, too, and one and one are two, and two and two are four, and four times three are twelve, and twelve inches make a foot, and a foot makes a ruler, and Queen .Mary was a ruler, and the Queen Mary sas a ship, and ships go out to sea. and there are fish in the sea, and the fish have fins, and the Finns fought the Russians, and the Russians are Red, and fire engines are always rushin’, so they’re red, too.” Mr. Pope: “Why does a clock run?” Mary Dickson: “You’d run too if you had ticks.” Continued on page thirty-eight Thirty-three Exchanges We present some exchanges from far and near and all of them have been very exciting reading. We wel¬ come some new members to the column and hope that we may hear soon from old friends who have not yet reached us. First of all, a hearty greeting to two newcomers. One look at the cover of “The Spring Sketch’’ from the Washington Irving High School and we knew the con¬ tents would be fascinating. Welcome to our list of new exchanges and may you stay with us in the future. Our board members should profit much from association with you . . . Surprisingly enough, the other new member to our exchange column is “The Lookout”, which comes all the way from our neighboring town, Wakefield. Your gossip columns seem to be kept very much up to date! Let’s hear from you more in the future! Several of our exchanges come from outside the old Bay State. From the South we have Savannah, Georgia’s “Blue and White.” We want you to know that we en¬ joyed reading about your Harvest Dance. It certainly sounds as though a good time was had by all ... Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, brings us the “Purple and White.” The column “The Editor Speaks” proved very interesting . . . From England, in spite of war and cen¬ sors, we have our loyal friend “The Cryptian” with its superior editorials and sports section . . . “The Red and White” from Rochester, N. H., quoted one of our jokes. W e also liked their quote “The Seven Ages of Women” from another of their exchanges: (1) the baby, (2) the little girl, (3) the flapper, (4) the young lady, (5) the young lady, (6) the young lady, (7) the young lady.” . . . From Ohio we have “The Black and Gold.” We were interested to see how your school felt about the Willkie- Roosevelt election. The column from “The Imprint,” Melrose High School’s semi-monthly newspaper, entitled “Silly But Cute” we especially enjoyed. We wonder of which sex the writer of said column is a member . . . From Barns¬ table we have an old friend, “The Clipper”: a very good literary department and, as usual, a variety of jokes printed here and there . . . From Concord, we received two copies of “The Voice ”, which is published monthly. We see that you also were entertained by Aloha Baker. We enjoyed her very much, and according to the article about her you did also . . . “The Cub” from Ipswich sports excellent sketches to illustrate the articles, especially those for the “Diary” . . . Our faithful friend “The Stick” from State Teacher’s College, Fitchburg, entertained us with the article on what their “men and women” say about the freshmen . . . The Walpole High School’s “Hill Quill” has one of the best literary de¬ partments we’ve seen. We liked the poem “Au Revoir” especially . . . “The Aegis” from Beverly, with its at¬ tractive drawing of a drum major on the cover, has a most interesting page of snapshots. We wish “Pioneer” could afford one like it in our Christmas issue. But we hoard our pennies for one huge pictorial year book issue in June . . . “The Punch Harder” from Andover also made us envious with a very fine page of snapshots. Perhaps an enlargement on your literary section would help . . . “The Spotlight” from South Hadley has a wonderful picture of the cheer leaders and band . . . “The Keyhole from Burlington had a very attractive Thanksgiving Issue with an appropriate cover . . . We ' d like to close this installment of the column with one of the selections which we most enjoyed. We borrow it from “The Focus” of Saugus: Continued on page thirty-eight Thirty-four CHRISTMAS 1940 Sports FOOTBALL 1940 The R. H. S. football team, under the leadership of co-captains “Woody” Tticomb and “Dodie” Carder, came out on top this fall with six wins and one tie against only two defeats. The record speaks for itself and no lengthy write-up recalling the season is neces¬ sary here. Every loyal R. H. S. lad and lass knows those scores by heart, and everybody—players, coaches, and fans included—has been wearing a broad grin this season. Things did look bad for us when Johnston pushed across three touchdowns in that opening game, but Reading came out at the half and diminished the lead to two touchdowns before the final whistle blew. Out to erase the memory of the defeat Johnston High handed them, the Reading team pushed across an early score against Howe in the next one. Howe came back in the second quarter to make the game more interesting with a count of 7 to 6 at the half. In the third quarter, how¬ ever, Reading again scored to put the game on ice. The following week Reading edged out Ipswich (and inci¬ dentally another bad memory—that of “Jo-Jo Robi- shaw’s field-day at our expense last year) in a hard fought 7-6 victory, which saw us victorious in a photo¬ finish. It looked like a third victory when Reading, on the following Saturday, pushed deep into Punchard ter¬ ritory, but a fumble ended our march and for the re¬ mainder of the game Punchard held us at bay for a hard fought scoreless tie. Reading really reached its peak when the team de¬ feated a powerful Danvers eleven 7 to 0 and walked off with the “Knute Rockne Certificate which went to the winning team. As usual, many loyal fans gave splendid support to the team even though this meant a long trip to foreign territory. This entire game was fought by eleven iron men without benefit of substitutes. 1 he fol¬ lowing week a hard charging Reading team trampled Lexington by a score of 33 to 0. This, by way of con¬ trast to the previous week’s fight, was one of the games that everyone on the squad got into. After a lay off of three weeks, caused by the post¬ poning of the Framingham game, Reading held off a heavier team for almost three cold and rainy quarters, only to go down fighting in a 19 to 0 defeat. Out to win a game as a bon voy age gift to Coach Ingersoll, who was leaving for a month’s training with the Naval Reserve, Reading fought in vain to score a touchdown against Framingham, but “Woody’ I itcomb succeeded in lifting the ball gently between the uprights during the last two minutes of play, and Reading won 3 to 0. After ten inches of snow had fallen and been removed the hard way, the Readingites slipped across two touchdowns t defeat our arch rival, Stoneham, 14 to 0 in the annual Thanksgiving clash. The first string line-up. which was composed mostly of seniors, was made up of Blackie Stephanian and “Spike” Davis at ends; “Rudy DeRosa and “Jimmy Bain at tackles; John Crooker, “Snookie’ Johnston, and “Wrinkle” Kelly alternating at guards; “Dodie’ Carder at center; “Woody” Titcomb at quarterback; “Jackie’ Collins, “Gordy” Watkins, and “Bunny” Storti al¬ ternating at halfbacksj and Don Dacey at fullback. A unanimous vote of thanks goes from the squad to Coach Holgerson and Assistant Coach Ingersoll for their team¬ work in making this a successful and memorable season. The senior players wish for them the best of luck next year. A summary of the scores follows: Johnson 19 Readin g 4 Howe 7 Reading 13 Ipswich 6 Reading 7 Punchard 0 Reading 0 Danvers 0 Reading i Lexington 0 Reading 33 Wakefield 19 Reading 0 Framingham 0 Reading 3 Stoneham 0 Reading 14 Gle Thirty-jive THE PIONEER CROSS COUNTRY The R. H. S. harriers turned in a record practically as fine as last year’s excellent one by winning four out of seven meets as compared with last years recoid of four out of six wins. Much of the credit for a successful season can be attributed to the efficiency of Mr. Spencer, our coach, and Dave Sheldon, our speedy captain. Although beaten in our first meet by Woburn, we came back with a victory over Norfolk Y. M. A. Then we suffered our worst defeat at the hands of Winchester, but regained our pride by beating Essex Aggie and Chelsea. We placed twelfth in the State Interscholastic Race at Weston, after which we devoured a delicious meal at the expense of the A. A. Our next race was at Essex Aggie, where we competed against five other teams. As a team we placed third, but our captain, Dave Shel¬ don, placed second and received a medal. We climaxed our season with a victory over Belmont. The team members included Captain David Sheldon (“Basil” to the team), who has to his credit four firsts, two seconds, and one third and who placed second in the North Shore Meet at Essex Aggie and seventeenth in the State Interscholastic Race; “Step” Doucette, our clowning senior who was always in scoring position; Tommy Thornton, a junior, who we hope will help us out next year; Roger Wheeler and Teddy Theordorau, two sophomores who turned in excellent records and will be mainstays of the team in the next two seasons; Richard Beaumont and Walter Gallant, our two he-men from that certain well-known northern metropolis; and Robert Dugan and “Doo Doo” Castine, two members whom we welcomed later in the season. Glenn Hodson, Manager. GIRLS’ FIELD HOCKEY The 1940 field hockey squad was indeed fortunate this year in having two teams on the field. The first included such stars as Captain Sonia Courossi, Elsie Mason, Jean Dow, “Gertie” Dahlquist (to whom we give three cheers for her work as goalie), Alma Towle, Claire Johnson, Barbara Merritt, Betty Campbell, “Bea” Ruder- man, “Pat” Lane, and Helen Poland (the sole representa¬ tive of the sophomores on the first team). The second team members were Frances Madden, “Pat” Donegan, Beverly Johnson, Jean Dodge, Elinor Abbott, “Winnie” Poland, Nancy Holcomb (we hope that next year some¬ body will bring bigger safety pins to hold “Nance’s” slacks up), Agnes McGrath, Caroline Foster, “Winnie” Dahlquist, and Edna Barmby (who seemed somehow to do her very best work whenever the cross country team and its illustrious coach appeared on the scene!). Three out of our five games were played on foreign territory this season. The first game was played at Melrose, with Melrose defeating the first team 5 to 0 and the second team 3 to 0. At the Malden game in Malden, the first team held out for a 0 to 0 score, while the scond team was beaten 2 to 0. A week later Swampscott came to Reading and departed with their first team winning 2 to 1 and their second team, 1 to 0. Our next game was played against our bitterest rival, Wilmington. Taking into consideration Wilmington’s reputation of not having been beaten in ten years and the mud (! !) in which we played, we are very proud of our score of 0 to their 3 and our scond team’s losing by only 2 to 0. The last game with Stoneham at Reading was again a defeat for our squad, Stoneham going home with the score 1 to 0 from the first team and 0 to 0 from the second team. Well, we had a strenuous season, if not a victorious one. Those bus rides were fun. The whole squad wishes to thank our grand coach, Miss Nichols, for being so patient and for working so hard with us. To express our appreciation we surprised and delighted her at the end of the season with two gifts from the teams. The co¬ captains for next year are Alma Towle and “Winnie ’ Poland. Jean Dodge has been elected manager. Under their leadership we certainly hope Lady Victory will be more generous with her smiles in the 1941 season. Winnifred Poland SOCCER Last September over twenty boys got together and, under the able leadership of Coach Althoff, organized the 1940 soccer team. “Chet” Gunn and “Chippy” Bur- bine were elected co-captains, and the next few weeks were devoted to whipping the team into shape at the Washington Street Park. Our first game was with Georgetown and we were defeated 5 -0. However, this game was just a tryout game for us, one in which we could discover our faults and try to iron them out. Complete statistics for the season show that the. team tied three, won one, and lost four games. To quote Cap¬ tain Gunn in a recent statement to the press, there were “no fights—but almost; no riots—but almost.” The second game of the season was with Stoneham, and although we had no excuse this time, we lost the game 3-0. The game after this was supposed to have been with Essex, but they were unable to get their team into shape, and the game was forfeited to us. Our next game proved to be a real victory for Reading and one that we earned. It was played when the gang from Wellesley arrived. They came in an enormous bus and the players had on a shiny new uniform; nevertheless, Reading emerged victorious with the score of 1-0. We then played Stoneham again, and again were defeated, although not so badly this time, the final score being 2 - 0 . Our next three games were all played in one week and all resulted in the same tie score. Georgetown came to Reading for the first of these and started to play with high hopes, but since that first defeat, Reading had had more practice and after a very hard game tied the oppon¬ ent 1-1. After this semi-victory we went to Wellesley to defeat them once more, but instead we had to be satis¬ fied with another tie, 1-1. By this time Essex had a team organized and challenged us to a game. We travelled down to see what we could do, and for the third succes¬ sive time we tied 1-1. Essex scored first and although we had the ball in scoring position for most of the Thirty-six CHRISTMAS 1940 game, we were unable to get more than one goal in re¬ taliation. The final game was with Governor Dummer. We were hoping that this time we wouldn ' t have another tie. Our hopes were fulfilled, the only catch being that Governor Dummer won the game, 4-0. Lettermen on the squad this year are “Chippy” Bur- bine, “Chet” Gunn, Bob Perry, Ralph Foster, Richard Bowser, Gerald Colford, Clifford Toussaint, Leonard Rose, Dave Littlefield, Michael Hennessey, Harris Pratt, George Brennan, and Warren Winn. Richard Bowser ers of the “Pioneer”. Carolyn Lumsden found her ideal horse today, “Blondie”. We are still teasing “Blondie about this. November 20: The Reading girls came today for their final lesson until spring. Miss Kling did not ride me, but 1 got along nicely with Mary Deferrari. We hated to say good-bye to the girls; when the trails are covered with snow we will think of the good times we had and hope they arjp thinking of them too. Priscilla Nichols RIDING CLUB NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF THE “FIREFLY” October 9: Today a group of girls from Reading High School came for their first lesson at Pine Bank Riding Academy here in Melrose. I was assigned to Miss ivling, the genial teacher who accompanied them, because she was very careful to ask for a “quiet and gentle horse.” We horses were amused at the positions some of the girls managed to get into, especially those beginners, who were as anxious as the horses under them not to leave the practice ring. We hope that they will improve by next time. October 16: The Reading girls came again and with them an experienced rider named Mr. Kibbee. A few of the girls had definite preferences: Nancy Holcomb wanted “Peanuts”; Jane Veazie wanted “Little Bronk”; Priscilla Nichols, “Speckles ; Jean Gleason, Red’; Jean Danforth chose “Tip Top . My pal “Watchful . whom Virginia Davis rode, caused quite a commotion when he kicked the horse ridden by Mr. Kibbee. “A fine way to treat a guest!” I admonished “Watchful’ when they’d gone. October 23: By now those Reading girls seem like old friends to us. We have learned the names of all of them and we do have our favorite mounts, we must con¬ fess: Betty Shannon, Jean Danforth, Priscilla Nichols, Martha Spaulding, Mary Deferrari, Carolyn Lumsden, Lois Ives, Virginia Davis, Ruth Shumaker, Kathryn Conron, Jean Dodge, Ann Shaeffer, Nancy Holcomb, Natalie Gray, Edith Kimball, Jean Gleason, Barbara Glover, Ann Richmond, Alice Robinson, Gloria Shane, aud Beatrice Ruderman. October 30: Today was a great day and a lot of girls came to guide us along the bridal paths. We rode through the Fells Parkway as usual, and Miss Kling rode me again. I am afraid she receives a bit of teasing because of me. I guess I’m not so young as 1 used to be, and Miss Kling and 1 found the other horses had to wait for us several- times. Just the same, she didn t have to rename me “Stick in-the-mud”! November 6: We horses were quite flattered toda when the .photographer from Vantine’s took pictures of us witlhMjc .gMU for, their yearbook. “Peanuts’ didn t seem to want hj picture taken and was so lively that Nauity Holcomb just won t appear in the group to read¬ RIFLE CLUB The Rifle Club is getting under way for its second season under the able direction of Mr. Taylor. Started more or less as an experiment last year, it gained the approval of so many that, by popular demand, it just had to continue this year. In the past, the facilities of the Legion rifle range were granted to the club and Legion rifles were used. Contests were conducted among the members and inter-school meets were held with the crack Beverly High girls ' team and the Haverhill and Malden High boys’ teams. We hope to increase our range of competition this season. The first meeting of this year was held one after¬ noon after school in Room 2. When Coach Taylor en¬ tered to address the group, every seat in the room was taken. Girls as well as boys were eager to join, and after a count was taken, it was revealed that there were forty-three boys and nineteen girls present—nearly three times the enrollment of last year’s club. Through the approval of the school committee, the basement of the Pearl Street School will be used as a range. This will provide more room for our greatly expanded club. Competition will be conducted under the rules of the National Rifleman’s Association as it was last year, insuring safety and promoting discipline and a spirit of fair play. Edwin Palmer ON THE SIDELINES —We noticed that Coach liolgerson’s green hat turned up again this year, at the Danver ' s game. In case you don’t know, he wears it only when our team is the under-dog and he’s praying for a victory. The charm really works! And it was on the same day that R. H. S. won the “Knute Rockne Certificate . Yes sir, it was a great day for the Swedes! —There were certainly some colorful games this season what with our beauteous cheer leaders sporting those navy skirts and brillant red, brass-buttoned jack¬ ets. and the band and baton squad, too, in their new uniforms. They all did a grand job in keeping the spirits of the boys on the team high. _It’s “Swifty” Titcomb these da s ever since h beat Shadow” Stephanian in their traditional i 1 race. fYou see, they both still claim to be twenty-ti. e second men.) Thirty-seven THE PIONEER —There’s a certain guard on the squad who’s been tagged “Snookie” by the girl friend. But we want it said here and now that this guy named “Snookie” is no “Snookie” on the football field! —You should have been in the locker rooms the afternoon when “Wrinkle” (Harry James) Kelly sere¬ naded the squad with a few “hot licks” on his trumpet. “Jumpin’ Jivin’ Jimmie” Bain and “Hepcat Jim” Wal¬ lace put on a jitterbug floor show, and there was just no stopping them once they got inspired. —The girls on the hockey squad have been trying to shush the report (which, incidentally, is true) that the first team made exactly one goal all season. They also insist that Wilmington beat them 4 to 0 instead of 5 to 0, because—“If a goalie on your side makes a goal for the other side, it just doesn’t count—or does it?” Better luck next time, gang! —After having opened his gift from the football squad, Coach “Uncle Henry” Ingersoll left the locker room amid shouts of “Bon Voyage” and wavering strands from “Anchors Aweigh ’. All the fellows were sorry to see him go, but felt a lot better whan he ex¬ plained that he’d be back for Christmas. —One feature which was introduced at games this year we’d like to see continued: the impressive flag rais¬ ing before each contest. Another feature, which we appreciated for a very different reason, was the sale of candy by our senior gals. —Co-captain “Dodie” Carder has so far escaped any and all speech making. Are we going to let him get away with this? Some say that “Dodie’s” bashful; others report that he stays away from those assemblies to do his homework. Are we going to believe that? —Let’s give a rousing cheer for two very essential parts of the Reading machine. Hip! Hip! Hooray for the water boys: “Kenny” Gray and “Kenny” Meuse! —Have you heard that “Woody” entertained almost the entire squad at the barber shop one recent after¬ noon? It seems that “Woody” decided to give a pro¬ fessional the task of removing that beard for the first time. Rumors have been spreading that the man with the razor had to use a little milk first on the whiskers they were so tough, and then called the cat in to lick it off. ' —“Doc” Wakeling is still trying to find and reward the sympathetic soul who so kindly dropped him a note relative to the tear in the seat of his pants at the Howe game. Pretty handy with the tape, aren’t you, “Doc” v —The members of the line wish to thank sincerel the Athletic Association for purchasing gloves for the Stoneham encounter. From reports that have reached us, the A. A. could have sold some to the spectators, too. It was rather “breezy” that day, wasn’t it? —Many happy moments linger in our memories. Remember when “Woody” booted the pigskin straight between the uprights for that 3 to 0 win over Framing¬ ham? Remember when “Don” Dacey said, “ ‘Spike , you go out on the sidelines this play and next play we ll toss you a pass”, and just then Lexington called time out but didn’t notice “Spike”, and “Jackie” Collins faded back, whereupon “Spike” jumped up and ran like a deer and successfully completed our first “sleeper pass”? What a season! John Crooker Sonia Courossi HUMOR Continued from page thirty-three Miss Zimmermann: “What two kinds of wood make a match?” Hitchcock: “He would and she would.” Bates: “What is the relation of a doormat to a door?” “Woody”: “Step farther.” Mr. Kibbee: “The picture of the horse is good, but where’s the wagon?” Hubert: “Oh, the horse will draw that.” “Windy”: “Did you mark that place where the fishing was so good.” “Chet”: “Yes, I put an X on the side of the boat.” “Windy”: “That’s silly; what if we should get another boat next time?” Sherman Stone EXCHANGES Continued from page thirty-four A Geometry Tragedy He is my teacher; I shall not pass. He maketh me to go to the board; he compelleth me to draw difficult triangles. He giveth me zero. He maketh me sit down for my class’s sake. Yea, though I study ’til midnight, I will gain no knowledge, For my propositions sorely bother me. He prepareth a test before me in the presence of my classmates; He giveth me F. Surely flunks shall follow me all the days of my life, And I shall dwell in the geometry class forever and ever! See you in June! Barbara Blaikie Thirty-eight CHRISTMAS 1940 MARION T. PRATT Continued from page three term here of twenty-one years was one of loyalty and iaithful service, both to her work and to the hundreds of students whose lives she helped to shape. Anyone wish¬ ing news of a Reading High School graduate had but to ask Miss Pratt; she was always inquiring about her iormer students and many of them owe her a debt of gratitude for the scholarship aid she always managed to contrive for them. She was a willing helper and a tireless worker for the school, whether her task was regular curriculum or extra-curriculum work. Many graduates of R. H. S. think of her as their senior class advisor, and they recall that she faithfully attended all the class meetings and co-operated to the full extent of her ability while she held that position. To many who never studied French with Miss Pratt, she is remembered best in this capacity. It has been said that many men give their all in the few years of their youth, while others continue to grow in stature to old age. Certainly, Miss Pratt belongs to the second group, for she bravely kept up all of her activities until almost the day of her death. One of her most vital interests was the Reading College Club, where she served year after year as chairman of the scholarship committee. Members of the College Club will miss her regular and accurate reports as well as her unfailing attendance at meetings. Other organizations to which she belonged and gave of herself were the Reading High School Alumni Association, Reading Teachers Club, and the Congregational Church of Reading. In all her work and play, Miss Pratt gave her full support to those associated with her and she commanded their respect and admiration. Those who saw her struggle for health over the last few years marvelled at her fortitude and utter gameness against unsurmountable odds. When they heard that she had lost the fight, there was a mingling of regret that she could not have had some time to enjoy some leisure, and of realization that for those like Miss Pratt there is no time for leisure. Hers has been a life of service, to family, to friends, and to her students. It will not be easy to fill her place, but we are grateful that she was part of us and worked with us so long. Carolyn Campbell THE CHRISTMAS CUSTOM Continued from page three flowers bedeck the homes. I he presepio, a miniature reproduction of the place of Nativity containing tie figures of the worshipful men and the beasts, is bioutfit in and the mother of the family places the last little figure in the manger. The nacimiento is the Spanish presepio. In both countries the little miniature takes the place of a Christmas tree. On Christmas Eve in Spain everyone turns into the streets in festive costumes, singing and dancing to the clicking of castinets. Our hearts must be sad when we realize what Christ¬ mas will be like to many families in these war torn countries this year. Smaller family groups will carry out the cherished customs. We know that in these lands Christmas Eve will be, more than ever before, a night of prayer. Let us join our hopes with theirs that the Christ Child will walk on earth at Christmas time and bring a measure of peace and good will to the hearts of men. We must hold our American Christmas more than ever sacred and wonderful now. Merry Christmas! Carolyn Lumsden STREPTOCOCCI OF THE CINEMA Continued from page seventeen The streptococci of the cinema are too numerous for me to warn you of all of them in these brief notes. Perhaps life wouldn’t be complete without them for it is said “it takes all kinds to make a world” (and I ' m just lucky enough to get all kinds, too). But then, life wouldn’t be complete without measles and tooth-aches, either. Evelyn Comey SONNET TO A FICKLE ONE 0 most capricious one, must I beguile, Cajole thee to return again to me? Hast thou but gone from me a little while, Or art thou lost for all eternity? Thou hid’st so coyly just beyond my reach At times; again, I search for thee in vain. Thou wilt not heed my pleas, my threats, my speech; My one desire in life I may not gain. I vow r thou’rt the most volatile creation That e’er man looked on. How thou fill st Me with the most unreasoning vexation! I know ' thou wilt come back when thou so will ' st. Then from my grasp thou glid ' st! I give up hope! Thou wretched, stubborn, slipp ' ry cake of soap! Ruth Shumaker Thirty-nine Compliments of READING DINER A MEAL OF A SNACK Coffee that Satisfies G. H. ATKINSON CO. FINEST OF MEATS CHOICE FAMILY GROCERIES BIRDSEYE FROSTED FOODS I CHARLES L. THORNDIKE Main St. at Haven St. Shoes for all the family MEN’S FURNISHINGS MOHAWK and ARROW SHIRTS BASS and ENNA JETTICK FOOTWEAR Reading 0812-M SCHOOL SUPPLIES FOUNTAIN PENS and MECHANICAL PENCILS M. F. CHARLES SONS 610 Main St. • . n I i v 5 S S i | Reading, Mass. ?! - 1 P ?S 1 Lumber, Plumbing, and Heating Supplies, Lime, jK Zh Brick, Cement, and Sewer Pipe. (I fj Builder’s Hardware of Ev ry Description. TORRE’S Reading Square MAKING QUALITY CANDY AND ICE CREAM FOR OVER 25 YEARS FRED F. SMITH, INC. Wholesale and Retail Dealer in 25-37 Harnden St. Tel. Rea. 0450 5 •i: ft FLOWERS FOR ALL OCCASIONS at WESTON S GREENHOUSES 9 Auburn St. Tel. 0091-W Compliments of THE COFFEE CUP I I 1 I i 1 9 9 i i i a if Heartiest Greetings IDEAL BEAUTY SHOP w 623 Main St. f Reading 1669 Evening Appointments � t 58 Haven St GIL and SAM BARBERS Reading, Mass. $ 1 i I a a i 1 H 1 I - il i i i I i i ADAMS COMPANY LADIES’ AND CHILDREN’S FURNISHINGS aven St. Tel. Rea. 1360-W SAL’S BEAUTY SALON PERMANENTS OUR SPECIALTY I i ' i 70 Haven St. Reading, Mass. Telephone Rea. 0456 Compliments of FRED’S BEAUTY SALON 1 48 Haven St. Tel. Reading 1599 RICHARDS APPAREL SHOP | Reading Square NEWEST SPORTSWEAR Flannel Shirts in Bright Red and Pastels Skirts - Blouses - Bunny Mits - Ski Fogs f ! 1 MARION’S BEAUTY SALON Pleasant St. Telephone 0116 Compliments of ALMA’S BEAUTY SHOP 61 Ash St. I I I i i wj •?: 2 1 Reasonable Prices Good Work Prompt Attention ARCHIE LEVINE CUSTOM TAILOR Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s Suits and Overcoats Made to Order. Cleaning, Pressing, Dyeing and Remodeling. Furs remodeled in the latest styles. Tel. Reading 0073-M 175 Haven St. Reading, Mass. THE FRY KETTLE Specializing in FRIED SEA FOODS and FISH DINNERS Route 28—One mile north of Reading Square. Open Year Around Tel. Reading 0592 Prentiss Parker, Inc. W. H. Wightman Co. INSURANCE — Reading Office Masonic Block Tel. Rea. 0249 Boston Office 40 Broad St. Tel. Hub. 7880 1 I i r • 1 3 i 1 L Compliments of BROOK S EXPRESS Tots and Teens Toggery Shop TEENS—10-20 years We aim to serve you 187 Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0841-M INC. Wakefield Square Compliments of THE READING THEATRE HARRY UPSON CAMP 28 Highland St. § I i i! I I 1 1 2 1 i I I Reading j|j i l elephone 0835 FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF READING extends heartiest greetings to Our directors are graduates, so are the officers and employees, Best Wishes for this New Year nuAce mounting AlO 0 1 A m. PAT OFF. -- CORNERS I SCHiOR 4-TRANSPARENT RANDALL S CRULLER SHOP REGULAR These fam¬ ous corners will handle every thing from a pos¬ tage stamp to a large map, draw- |«-ouNioa ing, or pho¬ tograph. Popular for mounting snashots on caids oi in albums. Four styles, as shown above. In black, white, gray, green, red, sepia, ivory, gold, and silvei. Transparent style is of crystal-clear cellulose. NuAce PHOTO HINGES allow prints to be mounted one above the other where album space must be saved. Handy for newspaper clippings or postcards. Ready folded. Just moisten and use. All styles retail 10c package. 115c in Canada). Packed in effective display containers. Ask for sample packages and trade discounts. ACE ART CO. 12 Gould St. Reading, Mass. I WHITE BREAD OATMEAL BREAD OLD FASHIONED CUP CAKES ROLLS—Fresh from our oven twice daily Now on Haven St. Hot coffee served i i I I I ij - I -■ i ?! I 1 | if Compliments of A FRIEND I | I 1 I i i if i I 1 i i I i i i i i MALDEN COMMERCIAL SCHOOL Secretarial . . . Business Administration We wish you Peace, Strength, Vision, Energy, Hope, and Happiness throughout the year. 1 is I ! Day Division Evening School Summer School 6 Pleasant St. Malden, Mass. Compliments of ROCK PORT FISH MARKET In the Swim to Win EDWARD LAPPIN PLUMBING - HEATING - GAS FITTING Agent of Malden Melrose Gas Co. 76 Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0460 US ' Reading, Mass. Res. Tel. Rea. 1473 1 I I 2 ! I 1 ii i ii -N «! EVERYDAY GREETING CARDS GIFTS APPROPRIATE FOR ALL PURPOSES China, Glass, Pottery and Brass Linens, Leather Goods and Novelties Toys, Dolls and Games H. B. McARDLE Printing and Office Supplies i I Next to Reading Theatre 565 Main St. Tels. 1647 - 1648 1 1 1 II I I 1 i I 1 i j i 1 y. t Northeastern University College of Liberal Arts Offers for young men a broad program of college subjects serving as a foundation for the under¬ standing of modern culture, social relations, and technical achievement. Students may concentrate in any of the following fields : Biology, Chemistry, Economics-Sociology, English (including an option in Journalism)., and Mathematics-Physics. Varied opportunities available for vocational specializa¬ tion. Degree: Bachelor of Science or Bachelor of Arts. College of Engineering Offers for young men curricula in Civil, Mechani¬ cal (with Diesel, Air-Conditioning, and Aeronauti¬ cal options), Electrical, Chemical, Industrial En¬ gineering, and Engineering Administration. Class¬ room study is supplemented by experiment and research in well-equipped laboratories. Degree: Bachelor of Science in the professional field of specialization. College of Business Administration Offers for young men six curricula: Accounting, Banking and Finance, Marketing and Advertising, Journalism, Public Administration, and Industrial Administration. Each curriculum provides a sound training in the fundamentals of business practice and cul¬ minates in special courses devoted to the various professional fields. Degree: Bachelor of Science in Business Administration. School of Law Offers three-year day and four-year evening un¬ dergraduate programs leading to the degree of Bachelor of L aws - A minimum of two years of college work, or its full equivalent, required for admission to undergraduate programs. Case method of instruction. The School also offers a two-year evening program open to graduates of approved law schools and leading to the degree of Master of Laws. Under¬ graduate and graduate programs admit men and women. School of Business Offers curricula through evening classes in Ac¬ counting, Industrial Management, Distributive Management, and Engineering and Business, lead¬ ing to the degree of Bachelor of Business Ad¬ ministration in specified fields. Preparations for C. P. A. Examinations. A special four-year curri¬ culum in Law and Business Management leading to the Bachelor of Commercial Science degree with appropriate specification is also offered. Shorter programs may be arranged. Co-educational. Evening Courses of the College of Liberal Arts Certain courses of the College of Liberal Arts are offered during evening hours affording concentration in Economics, English, History and Government or Social Science. A special program preparing for admission to the School of Law is also available. 1 he program is equivalent in hours to one-half the requirement for the A. B. or S. B. degree. Associate in Arts title conferred. Co-educational. Co-operative Plan The Colleges of Liberal Arts, Engineering and Business Administration offer day programs for men only, a d are conducted on the co-operative plan. After the freshman year, students may alternate their periods of study with periods of work in the employ of business or industrial concerns at ten-week intervals. Under this plan they gain valuable experience and ' earn a large part ot their college expenses. FOli CATALOG — MAIL THIS COUPON AT ONCE NORTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY Director of Admissions Boston, Massachusetts Please send me a catalog of the . ' □ College J JMberM rts □ College of Engineering □ College of Business Administration □ □ [] □ School of Law Evening School of Business Day Pre-Legal Program Evening—College of Liberal Arts Name Address I C IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO SAVE i t I l u $ I 1 I I s I 1 i I I i I I I i i “Start that savings account NOW applies to YOU whether you are just starting out in the business world or not. It’s the starting that counts . . . for soon you get the habit of putting aside a little each week, and as the years roll by, you 11 find a greater feeling of security every time you look at your deposit book. Mechanics Savings Bank 643 Main Street Y- Reading, Massachusetts -Y This Co-operative Bank is an important local institution which was established to promote thrift and home ownership among working people. To this end we offer saving plans to fit almost any budget and home financing plans to meet a wide variety of needs. Whatever your plans for the future if you want to get ahead, it will pay you to find out about our service. Our Purpose To Promote Systematic Saving and Economical Home Financing Reading Co-operative Bank 643 Main Street Reading, Massachusetts 1 1 I I I 1 I 1 I I I 1 1 I 1 1 m 1 I I The P i o n e e r (Christmas 3 0 0 tt e Reading High School Read i 11 g, Massachusetts To Miss Mary Devaney, now Mrs. John Barry, we gratefully dedicate this Christinas issue of the Pioneer; her enthusiasm and industry as former advisor of the Pioneer has been an inspiration to all of us. Editor-in-Chief, Literary Staff Barbara Davis Elizabeth White Beverly Buckler Marshall Davis Kenneth Brown ISeivs Stuff Beatrice Ruderman Alice Robinson Jean Maguire Otis Anderson Charles Field Sports Staff Helen Poland Richard Bowser John Crooker Joseph Anderson Humor Editor W arren Martin Exchange Editor Jean Gleason Frances Wheeler Business Staff Lucille Gonnam, Manager Advertising Elinor Abbott Marjorie Webster Lucienne Dube Anne Richmond Ralph Monegan Circulation Ruth Graupner Marilyn Monegan Art Staff Nancy Holcomb Gloria Shane Barbara Teel Patricia Dow Barbara Co an Photographic Editors Ann Schaeffer Elizabeth Burpee Alumni Editor Francis Doughty Official Typist Bette Ellis Staff Secretary Beverly Winn (Member Faculty Advisors 1941 - 42 ) Miss Reed Mr. Halpin Miss Klinc Mr. Kibbee EDITORIALS HOPE EVERLASTING “Gods fade; but God abides and in mans heart Speaks with the clear unconquerable cry Of energies and hopes that cannot die.” Symonds Today, though the world be shrouded with a mist of pessimism and despair, still does the bright star of hope everlasting, shine through, bringing promise of a brighter tomorrow. The light of hope is a light which cannot fail. In the ages past, even while slavery and the caste system were common, man has grown and developed in wisdom and truth. Christ’s teachings came at a time when fear was ever present, joy and freedom at a low ebb. Yet in our day, through wars, famine, plagues and tyranny, man has progressed—and he will continue to go forth toward peace and liberty. All about us we hear cries of the enslavement of the whole world, of doom for peaceful peoples, of the unavoidable yet final destruction of our rights. We must look above and beyond the din to find “the clear, unconquerable cry of energies and hopes that cannot die.” With calm and serious spirit, with heart knowing of the right, we must set our goal and map out our course toward that goal as we ourselves see best. The only hope for the world is to keep faith with the foun¬ dations of Godly living, and to support that faith by actions. Thus we see that, though the path just ahead may appear difficult, hope can never die. The right way is here and now and everywhere—we have only to find it and follow it. Are we to allow ourselves to be over- Four come by the poisonous smoke from the fire of cruel, tyrannical warfare? No! for hope is everlasting. Frances Wheeler ’42 HOPE FOR WORLD PEACE Practically every nation today is at war—war which in the past has caused only misery, poverty, ill-feeling, and large debts. War—which has taken away from children the rights to a happy, carefree childhood, giv¬ ing them instead, moments of great fear, and horrible, terrifying nightmares. War—which has torn away sweethearts, husbands, fathers, and sons from their homes; often never to be seen again. War—which has shattered the hopes and dreams of millions of people, young and old; painting only a disillusioned picture. Now over the seas, still another war rages. It is merely a repetition of battles in the past, but to us, who feel the influence of it, it seems to be more real and hor¬ rible than any other previous war. Just what is the hope of us Americans—or, should I say, of the entire world? It is the hope for world peace —and everlasting world peace. There is evidence of this not only in the words everyone speaks, but even in the actions which are now taking place. When President Roosevelt makes speeches, usually tucked away in them, this very same hope is expressed. For he realizes that world peace has grown an essential and necessary thing of today, and he is doing his best to help bring it about. Is this hope achievable? Well, we’re trying hard to attain it—and, as the saying goes—“As long as there’s life there’s hope.” Joyce Pollitz 42 Continued on page 18 LITER A TURE THE CHRISTMAS GIFT It was the night before Christmas, 1941, in the little city of Stien, Norway. The heavens were illuminated by a myriad of frosty stars and large snowflakes drifted slowly down over the sleeping city. Here and there a light gleamed forth upon the snow-blanketed earth. 1 he night was hushed and serene . In the north quarter of the city, swinging his arms to his sides to keep warm, a Nazi soldier trudged wear¬ ily down the narrow street past the long line of build¬ ings. He hesitated as he passed one apartment from which issued the soft strains of a violin. As he listened to the sad, haunting melody, his thoughts strayed to some distant little German village he knew as home. Deep in his meditation, he gazed blankly at the snow¬ flakes as they glided through the light of a nearby street lamp. A second later he recovered himself and con¬ tinued on his way. However, all was not so still and peaceful as it seemed, for three crouching figures, unnoticed by the patrolman, now moved quickly out of the shadows, hastened up the steps of the apartment, and heat sottly on the door. Anxiously they peered up and down the street. Inside his dimly lighted room a young man put down his violin and started towards the door. He slowly opened it; apparently recognizing the three visitors, he admitted them and closed the door quickly again. “Good evening, my friends,” he said mechanically, “Tell me, is all in readiness?” “Yes, Karl” replied the large, elderly man, the spokesman of the group, All is prepared. Oui agent in the main office has by this time smuggled enough ex¬ plosives into the plant to demolish it completely. ou will find the dynamite packed in boxes in an unused fil ing cabinet of room thirty-one.’ “Excellent!” exclaimed Karl simply. The elderly man with the tired face looked on sorrowfully, as Karl lifted his revolver from the desk drawer. His two as¬ sociates stared at the floor and shifted their feet uneasily. At length the old man ventured, “Karl, I know you are willing to do as we have planned tonight but the more 1 think of it the more 1 am convinced that this sort of thing is not for you. You are young, Karl, hut I am old and must die soon anyway. Let me go in your place!” “Nonsense, Otto,” replied Karl, “You yourself know as well as, 1, that I alone can carry out this mad scheme of ours tonight. A Christmas gift for Norway! Ah, this is a rare opportunity for me!” He added the last as if trying to convince himself. Karl put on his coat and hat and started towards the door. “W ell, Otto,” he said, ”1 guess this is it.” Five The two men shook hands in silence. Karl walked firmly down the steps and was seen no more by his fel¬ low conspirators. As Karl swaggered briskly along the street, he tried not to think that this was the last Christmas he would ever see, but kept repeating to himself, “This is a rare opportunity for me! It is a great thing that I am doing tonight!” He reached his first destination, the headquarters of the German secret police in Stien, and, on the pre¬ tense of bearing vital information, was admitted to the office of Colonel Schnabel. “Well,” said the Colonel, “I understand you bring important news for me?” “Yes,” Karl replied with pretended excitement, “One of my foolish countrymen plans to destroy th e Stein Munitions Works tonight singlehanded as a Christ¬ mas present to his native land!’ “What!” Schnabel exclaimed, “You have done fine work! Now we must work fast! But it all seems so ab¬ surd! Are you positive of this, my man?” “Quite positive,” answered Karl as he now coolly leveled his revolver at the perplexed Colonel’s head, “for it is I who will destroy the plant and you who will make it possible. Now, take me there: I will follow you closely and the slightest move of betrayal will cost you your life!” The confused Colonel did as he was bid and Karl breathed a sigh of relief as his ruse worked and they marched past the guards into the plant. They arrived at room thirty-one and entered. Karl, still closely guard¬ ing his enemy, proceeded to take the dynamite from the filing cabinet and stack it on the floor. He lit the fuse and the little flame began its steady trip towards the ex¬ plosives. There was anguish in the Colonel’s eye as he heard the taunting tick of the clock and saw the unconcerned Karl staring calmly at the ceiling. Suddenly he leaped to his feet, dashed through the doorway, and ran down the corridor. “You fool!” Karl yelled after him, “Before you can escape this building will be in ruins!” Meanwhile, back in the apartment, the three men stood in the dark before the window looking out over the sleeping city. One man peered at his watch. “Five minutes to the hour,” he said, “He should be half way across the city by now.” They continued their vigil in silence. Once more the man referred to his watch. “One minute to the hour. If all has gone well, Karl should be at the factory already!” A second later a deafening roar blasted the silence of the night. The room seemed to reel, the glass in the panes collapsed, and the three men were thrown to the floor. When they picked themselves up a moment later, they heard people outside shouting in wild excitement. Soldiers were running through the streets. The men gazed momentarily on the spectacle that confronted them, a myriad of lurid flames darting up into the heavens. The little group at length descended to the street and was soon lost in the milling multitudes. It was time now for them to do their part. They must spread the tale of Karl’s Christmas gift to a conquered people. They did until his story became a legend. Kenneth Brown ’42 CHRISTMAS A LA HITLER Unhappy little Nazi Who can’t have Christmas fun He’ll have to say “Heil Hitler;” And shoot his little gun. If he shoots this little gun, And the bullet finds its mark, Do you think any Yuletide joy, Will fill his leaden heart? Before the reign of Hitler The Fatherland was gay But now no ancient festival Completes their Christmas day. “There is no God in heaven;” Shouts der Fuehrur to the skies. Though all his faithful followers Know these are nought but lies. The T uletide log no longer burns, Within the German home. For they now burn another fire, With their allies in Rome. Patricia Dow ’44 SILENT NIGHT The planes zoomed overhead, against a background of black sky, pricked by silvery stars. Suddenly, the children stumbled to a stop in the middle of the road. The eldest of the three, a tall thin child about eleven years old, raised her hand and pointed towards a brilli¬ ant star, which seemed to stand out bravely between the roaring birds which were thick in the sky. “Look,” she half breathed, half cried, “the star of Bethlehem.” As the two stood staring, with a mingled bewildered look of pleasure and awe, a thunderous noise resounded near by, and a wall of flashing flames and black dirt leaped into the air. Startled, one of the youngest child¬ ren uttered a cry of alarm, but was interrupted by the older child who said, Come now, that was only another bomb. Give me your hands and we’U hurry to the near¬ est shelter.” Looking neither to the right nor to the left, and skirt¬ ing the wide gaps in the street, the group darted down a Six g stairway which was nearby. The crowd sat, huddled together, shivering; their faces hard masks to cover the mixture of feelings which they held in their hearts—to be here in a hole in the ground, on Christmas Eve; planes swooping low, bombs destroying what meager homes they had left. No music, no light, no laughter, just a somber silence which hung over all. Christmas Eve! Oh! What could God be thinking? Or, perhaps, he wasn ' t thinking of them at all. The three children stood quietly in the shadow of a corner. They seemed to be far away from all this, in a secret world by themselves. They had seen the star! A rapt expression flickered on each tiny face, faces so alike they might have been molded from the same mask. Softly, in unison, the children began to hum a sweet tune. The music drifted out over the hush of the crowd. Who could be singing at a time like this? Surely— but no, the noise seemed to have disappeared. The planes had gone away. All heads turned toward the children. Of course, God was still with them, they had just forgotten for a few moments, but these three young¬ sters had not. They had had faith, even though their elders had, for a brief moment, lost it. After all, this was Christmas Eve. Hesitatingly, but surely, they join¬ ed their voices with the lilting ones of the trio and sang the beautiful words, “All is calm, All is bright. Connie Ham ’42 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARKNESS Dusk had just fallen over Marblehead Neck as we stopped the car and got out. 1 he sea stretched before us, vast and limitless, and everywhere white caps tossed on the black waves as they rolled towards the shore. Each wave rose higher than the one preceding it, for the tide was coming in. These waves broke endlessly on the jag¬ ged rocks, and then by some unseen force were drawn back again making the water white with foam. Heavy storm clouds moved swiftly across the sky, giving a mysterious appearance to the landscape. In fact everything showed signs of a storm brewing. I he continued roar of the sea made it impossible to heai anyone speak, so we just stood and watched. 1 he in¬ vigorating salt air filled our lungs and made us feel buoyant and glad to be alive. I thought of the main boats at sea tossing bravely about and it made me wish that I were on a ship bound for some far-off land. Suddenly 1 had the inspiration to climb to the peak of the nearbv jagged rocks that I had caught sight of as I glanced about us with wandering eyes. When 1 had mounted to the top, the roar of the sea was so great, as the waves broke against the cliff, that no othei sound penetrated its pounding. As 1 stood on the very edge of a rock, little did my companions visualize that within myself 1 was pretending to be the pilot of one of those Th i o n e e r steamers that could be seen in the distance plowing its way through the black waves. The spray leaped high above the bow of my imaginary ship and then was drawn back as if it had been reaching for something that wasn t there. The wind was growing stronger and overhead storm clouds had gathered. The damp salt air blew my hair so that it stingingly slashed against my cheeks. There in the distance was one lone, friendly, flickering light bid¬ ding myself, the pilot of my new adventure, beware; How could all this have come about so quickly? It made me recall the lines of Joaquin Miller’s “Colum¬ bus”— “This mad sea show r his teeth tonight. He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite.” As we stood watching all this the storm clouds sud¬ denly broke upon us with such furry that we were forced to take one last, longing look and hurry away. Beverly Buckler ’42 NATIVITY In adoration Mary looked At the babe below. His eves were bright, with shining light His face was all aglow. Great was Mary’s wonder, When from afar Three Wise Men came, Telling of a wondrous star. How could she know Fondling him them That her little child Would be a saviour of men? Jessie Altholf 44 Seven r The Pioneer SING YE, NOEL! “Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel Born is the King of Israel!” The golden voices of the choir boys rising and fall¬ ing in silvery cadences streamed forth from the great candle lit cathedral. It was Christmas Eve and the choristers were singing as they never do at any other time of year. “They look-ed up and saw a star Shining in the East beyond them far;” Unlike that first Christmas Eve, the sky was gloomy and overcast. A wet snow beginning to drift earthward fell like sharp needles into the faces of the crowds trudg¬ ing home. “And by the light of that same star Three wisemen came from country far;” A small boy pulling a little girl by the hand could be seen making his way through the milling crowd striv¬ ing to reach a gala department store window filled with toys. Buffeted like paper boats on a windswept sea, the two children finally gained their goal where they flal- ened their noses against the great sheet of glass and peered in. The boy was eight, perhaps nine years old. No cap on his curly head, his hair revealed the need of a long over due trip to the barber. His eyes, deep and dark though God had not meant them to be that way, held a bewildered, yet defiant look that only small boys can have. His face with its hollow cheeks was grimy, his lips, that looked as though they seldom smiled were chapped. Bringing the worn collar of his threadbare coat about his neck with hands that were cracked and bleeding, he revealed beneath too short coat sleeves small thin wrists that were raw from exposure. Below his tattered cotton trousers he had on a pair of worn sneakers that had seen their best days many-a-moon ago. And yet he did not seem to mind his dilapitated appearance but only be¬ came more intent on the view before him. His little sister, like him, was watching the toy-filled window—eyes round with wonderment. She was a very petite child, with her head covered by a faded kerchiet that failed to keep hidden a few stray locks of chestnut brown hair that persisted in falling over her forehead. Her tattered jacket was insufficient clothing and she stood close to her b rother in anticipation of more warmth. A rather forlorn plaid skirt coming to the top of her knees was met by one long gray stocking; the hose of the other leg being minus support had fallen to her ankle, showing a thin spindling leg. With a red mittened paw she clutched fiercely, yet lovingly, a faded rag doli to her thin breast. Their noses hard against the glass, the two urchins peered through the window—into fairyland. The little boy’s somber eyes followed an electric train winding in and out around the great Christmas tree. He saw a shiny red wagon that seemed to be calling out for an owner. There was a cowboy suit with a real pony-hair vest having a silver pistol with a diamond set butt in a leather holster. A football, jack knives, a fishing rod were there all waiting to he spoken for along with a pogo stick , scooter and small airplanes. When his wist¬ ful eyes fell upon a gleaming bicycle, he quickly put a grubby fist to his face and wiped away an escaped tear. As she focused her eyes on a beautiful doll with “real hair” and a fur jacket, the smaller child heaved a long¬ ing sigh and held her own bedraggled love closer. There was a shiny set of cooking dishes along with an electric stove that glowed with real heat. A large wooly kitten was intently watching a silver music box which played a dainty little minuet over and over. Taking the scene all in, her lips began to quiver. Her brother noticing spoke quickly in a none too steady voice, “Don ' t cry, Jennie. Maybe—well maybe Santa Claus won’t for¬ get us this year. He took her mittened hand into his and began to make his way hack into the swarm of passers-by. Suddenly the small child exclaimed in a high voice, “Look! Her brother obediently looked where she’d indicated and saw a diminutive yellow puppy, all round and fuzzy huddled close to the wall not four feet away. His fur was matted and caked with sticky snow and he had big bewildered, brown eyes. Shivering, he made no motion to struggle away as the boy picked him up, but oidy wagged his tail faintly. He snuggled down into his finders thin arms and stuck his cold, damp shoe- button nose into the child’s face. The chapped lips of the boy parted in a smile, and he and his sister began to laugh softly at the armful. “You ' re a sweet puppy,” the younger of the two said, lovingly stroking the small dog’s head. Then not looking at her brother she ventured, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could h ave a puppy for Christmas? Oh, Tom¬ my, do you suppose—do you think we could take him home? Do you Tommy?” Eight The Pioneer Tommy answered gruffly, “He’s not ours, Jennie.” Jennie began to cry. “But he’s lost and he ' ll catch cold in the snow 7 .” Now 7 sobbing. “Oh, Tommy, please, please couldn’t we take him home? The tears left little streaks where they had trickled freely down her pretty face. The boy said nothing. He looked down at the yel¬ low pup which seemed to have already decided that this boy was to be his lord and master. A long minute pass¬ ed, then turning to his sister he said slowly, “All right, Jennie. We ll take him home for tonight, anyway.” The little triumvirate made its way back into the milling thong. The contented yellow puppy in his arms, his sister by his side, the boy began to whistle— “Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel Born is the King of Israel.” Winnifred Poland ’42 TOMORROW THE WHOLE WORLD Yes, I remember now. I was—what—about twenty- one, I guess. Just twenty-one, in fact, for it was on my birthday that we had that terrible accident. Maybe you read about it in your newspapers—about three boys; all were believed drowned as their car crashed through the bridge railing on Canal Street and plunged, head¬ long, into the river. Poor Ralph, he tried so hard to keep us on the road, and Charlie probably never knew 7 about it, anyway. He was sleeping. It really does come back to me now, all so clearly. But wait, I remember swimming from the river, but what on earth have I been doing since then? The newspaper which 1 hold in my hand is dated December 23, 1951. I hat makes me thirty- one years old. What have 1 been doing. 7 ' 1 believe that I will take a little saunter down the street and see if 1 can remember any more. You know, it seems so odd to be myself once again, to walk along and actually see something that looks familiar. 1 hat sign reads Pennsylvania Avenue, and—Ah, here we are, Canal Street. 1 think I ' ll venture along and observe the bridge where 1 was “killed.” There isn’t much to it only a wooden affair with two sides, but, look, carved here in the side, “lhe water passing under this bridge, carries with it the memories of three beloved boys of Washington. Ralph Gibson, Charles Spear, and Russell Coombs.” What! Do they actually believe that 1 am dead! Impossible! Why, 1 am ju t as alive as anyone. There must have been another body claimed as mine. Yes, another buried in my name. I turned around and began to walk in the general direction of the center of town. How 1 got to mv home town and when is still an unsolved mystery. 1 surely couldn ' t have been here for ten years. However, my memory of past experiences (up until 1941) had come back to me clearly and I knew my way around town like a book. Well, here I am in the square. There isn’t much change in anything even to the clothing, although it does look a bit backward. It seems that the world has stop¬ ped with me. I notice no great differences like those which took place from 1930 to 1940, except one thing; namely, there seem to be quite a few more soldiers pa¬ trolling the streets now than in 1940. True, there was Selective Service then, but the soldiers did not guard the str eets such as they are guarding them now. I think I’ll move nearer and observe one of the guards at a closer range. As I slowly crept over, I seemed to sense an odd feeling which kind of warned me to stay away. How¬ ever, not heeding this warning, 1 moved onward, being more careful with each step. Wait, he starts to march and heaven behold, is he joking—or is he sincere? He is walking with a goose step! Oh Lord, don’t tell me that it has actually hap¬ pened—that, which back in 1941 we were so fearing and which we knew could never possibly happen here. There was only one way to find out. I turned around and began to run. Any onlooker probably would have thought that 1 was crazy, but 1 knew well where 1 was going. After five minutes I arrived at my destination, the Capital Building, the only building which keeps the fiag up day and night, rain or shine. 1 stood in front of its vast, powerful pillars at least two minutes before 1 be¬ gan to raise my eyes skyward. I p, up, up, I gazed until I saw the roof of the building and the flag wav ing. Yes, 1 knew it; I knew it. No longer can we have our freedom and our fiag, the greatest blessings owned by anyone. Now, we look at the Nazi swastika flying from every public building in town. We had been warned against it, but yet there were those who insisted that we were safe from all enemies, and those same “fools gathered in groups and talked against our president and European policies—something which divided the people more and more with everv speech. 1 suppose we owe our present state of affairs to them. I moved slowly away from this marvelous building and headed in the general direction of mv home of ten vears ago. On mv three mile journev to Massachusetts Avenue I must have passed at least fifty soldiers, all marching proudly as if they were saying with each up¬ sweep of the leg, “Today we own Europe, tomorrow the whole world. ' Russell Coombs ’42 Nine The Pioneer ‘ALL ANGELS AREN’T IN HEAVEN” The door to Rosie Mulligan’s apartment flew open as a flashing figure in green dashed madly into the small room. “Rosie, hey Rosie, will ya quit gurglin’ in that shower. Come an hear what I got to tell you’ shouted her friend Maisie. A slightly wet and disgruntled figure strode chai- lengingly out into the middle of the room, leaving a trail of water in her wake. “Look Maisie,” she stated firmly, “it isn’t as if 1 wasn’t liking you, but ya hafta quit cornin’ in here like a passin’ cyclone just when I’m doen’ somethin’ I shouldn t be disturbed at. It isn’t so bad this time, but last time, if you remember, I was peacefully stoopin’ over behind that door washin’ the floor, when in ya flashes, knockin me over head first inta the bucket of water. I get’s a dented nose an a black eye, an all you sez is ’scuse me’. You just gotta stop.” “Oh, gee, Rosie,” petulantly, “I’m sorry, honest, but you just hear what I got to tell ya. It’s wonderful. Here, sit down”. Wherewith she vigorously pus hed the re¬ luctant Rosie into a chair, nearly separating her head from her shoulders. “Omph! Masie!” with a sigh of disgust she asked wearily, “Whatsit this time. I suppose that homely butcherboy gave ya another bouquet of frankfurters. Oh, well—”. “Him! Oh, Rosie, ya misjudge me, that’s what”, with the same breath she announced triumphantly, “I’m gonna take ridin’ lessons”. “Ridin’ what, esculators”. “Horses, silly”. “Horses! ya must be possessed. Who ever heard of ridin’ horses when cars are so nice and comfy”. “Well horses isn’t all I’m goin’ for—”. “I thought so”. “ They got the cutest instructor at the ridin’ school. He looks just like Robert Taylor, no foolin’ Gee! Won’t we have fun, Rosie? I can just see us, them horses, and the instructor. “Nope, I don’t guess he’d like to have you ridin’ him Maisie”. “Oh, Rosie! Sometime I wonder about yer intellec¬ tuals.” “Well whether ya ride the horse or the instructor don’t make any difference to me, but nobody’s gonna get me on one a those four-footed reducin’ machines”. “Oh yes you are”. “Oh no I’m not”. And so the battle was waged, far into the night. Next day we see two figures leaning sceptically against a fence, enclosing a few grazing horses. “They look gentle, don’t they Rosie”. “Ya, like my Dad’s watchdog”. Sh-h, here comes the instructor, ain’t he cute?” “Ya, like—” “Neva mind. Ahem, are you the gen-tle-man that’s going to teach us how to ride? ’ “I’m terribly sorry, but I have to teach a group of young people today, but you’ll find horses all saddled for you over by the stables,” and with that he walked away. “Psst. Hey, Maisie, we can go home now, huh?” “No, as long as we’re here we might as well ride.” “I’m not, no sir. As it is I ain’t got no hopes of gett’in’ my old age pension with you breezin’ through my doors.” How long ya think I’d last ridin’ those hay burners. “Why Rosie, you’d make a swell eques — eques - well you’d make a good horse rider.” Giving up hope Rosie walked with Maisie toward the waiting horses. “Hey, Maisie, where’s the step ladder?” “Step ladder? Whatcha’ want that for?” “How else ya think I’m gonna get on this thing? “Put your foot in the—the stirrup stupid.” “Right there, that thing hangin’ down.” “Oh, Hey I thought they called that a tail.” “Oh-h-h.” “All right, I got it, this thing.” “Now, stick your foot in and jump up.” “just like the Lone Ranger only he jumps over the —over the back of the horse.” With a mighty heave, Rosie launched herself into the saddle, but there seemed to be some difficulty. “Maisie—Maisie, where’s his head gone to. I can’t find his head.” “Na dope, your on backwards, turn around.” Finally the chagrined girls started on their way hav¬ ing great difficulty trying to bounce at the same instant their horses did. So engrossed were the girls in trying to keep their unsteady seat, they hadn’t noticed they were wandering out into a field. “Ya know Rosie, I’d like to try gallopin’ like them distressed damsels in the movies.” “They won’t be half as distressed as I am. Ain’t you got no feelings Maisie?” “Sure, but where I got ’em they don’t show.” Without further ado she started her horse gallop¬ ing. As though taking a signal from Maisie’s horse, Rosie’s horse followed suit. Looking back Maisie pe r¬ ceived Rosie struggling vainly to stay in the saddle. “Rosie, hang onta the reins.” “If I-I-I ever get near enough to the s-s-saddle 1 won’t b-b-bother with them tilings. Hey horse, hey you, I’m wornin’ y-ya. Don’t jump o-over that hedge. I ain ' t goin’ with ya if ya do. Come on now, ain’t it jest as-as easy to go around huh! Oh Ma-a-sie, where’s the brake on this thing. Oh gee, Maisie’s gone. Hey stop- sto-o-o-p!” He did, but with such abruptness that he threw the unsuspecting Rosie flying over the hedge. Came a loud Ten The Pioneer splash, a thud, silence, then a slight gurgling moan. Peer¬ ing slowly over the hedge appeared the head of Maisie. There she beheld Rosie stretched out in a mud puddle, supporting her head in one hand, drumming the ground with the other. Mud was oozing from all parts of her. Rosie, with a great effort to control the anger in her voice asked tightly, “What was that horse’s name?” Not at all understanding this question, Maisie timid¬ ly answered, “Angel. A loud splash followed by a thud. Mud oozed over a prostrate form. It really was more than anyone could stand. Betty Campbell ’42 THE DOORS SWING IN AND OUT Trees are living things; but did you know that doors, into which trees are made, are also alive? We are a pair of such doors, swinging in and out in the lower hall of the Reading High School. Through our portals pass many interesting people, who reveal to our ever-alert ears, snatches of private and personal infor¬ mation. Each September finds a new batch of young, frightened Sophomores, usually going the wrong way, but it won’t be long before they become accustomed to us and are really veterans. We think a typical day in our lives might be inter¬ esting to you, who have always considered doors as in¬ animate objects. It’s always hard to get started the first thing in the morning, so it is with extra effort that our first two “passers” give us our initial push of the day about 6:30. Soon we begin to feel warmer, so we know that our two overalled friends are hard at work. Next comes the dark-haired lady with her cleaning equipment. What a funny looking contraption she is carrying! Is it a vacuum cleaner? It must be, for now she is busily cleaning the hall and stairs w ith it. At 7:45 our busy day actually begins as teachers and pupils arrive. Dejected boys and freezing girls push us as if we were a pair of punching-bags. I imid Sopho¬ mores appear frightened lest they get caught between us. High and mighty Seniors push us aside with great in¬ difference and saunter through. No matter how slowly they go, their lofty altitude prevents their getting caught. The first of the male members of the Faculty to ar¬ rive is one who is a very early riser. He always has a “bunch” of kids, to whom he is kind enough to give a lift in his spacious limousine. It is not long before a trio of male I acuity wanders by. First, the one with numbered locks and a paint brush over his ear; next the one-gray-streak, dark-haired one with the nice, deep voice; and then the one who seems to be head traffic officer around here, whose nic eyes seem to change with the color of his suit. One with attractive, gray wavv hair comes b , chattel ing about H20 etc.—we think he must be some sort of a Laplander, ft because of his strange language. With him is the one who is always chosen favorite man teacher, by the Seniors—we think their choice is excellent! Here comes a tall one—he hopes the team will win its next game— but we know they always come through on top. And who is that tall, good looking one, who glances into Room 1 as he passes? The women of the Faculty hurry into the Women Teachers’ Room to doff their hats and don their make-up or fix that stray lock, as the case may be. Some of them hail from parts north; namely, that quiet trio one of whom seems to be bringing in a live frog. Two more people have joined the group, one is the pretty blonde secretary and the pert and pretty little teacher with the braided hair-do. Here comes the teacher with the whistle around her neck, and the tall one who has been among the missing for so long. Some day we’re going to catch her between us and make her tell us of her w on¬ derful trip to South America. Then there is our faith¬ ful head secretary who knows everyone and never gets impatient. Well, who is this coming? Oh, now we know—the typing teachers who, although some of the pupils can still do only 15 words a minute after three years of typing, are always smiling. After the 8:15 bell, we have time in which to rest. The secretaries are the only ones for whom we have to work, and that is a pleasure. But we are brought to consciousness by a roar which could only be outdone by a Blitzkrieg! We stiffen ourselves for the onslaught bui. are surprised to find ourselves held back by traffic lead¬ ers. Thus we are saved another kicking and banging. Another such roar announces lunch periods. Then an¬ other lull. But attention, me lads! Approaching, with silent step, we see our boss, the head-master, and with him is— yes, with him is his boss. They are apparently conferr¬ ing upon the date of a Teachers’ Meeting, but, as door to door, we think ’tis a fishing date which is under dis cussion. At last ’tis time for the 2:30 bell and how we dread that! Our greatest blows and bangs come at this time as the pupils seem to feel that we are keeping them from their freedom and the outdoors. After the mass exit, the speed of our hinges slow down and we have time to listen to the various noises around us. From the old library we hear the band re¬ peating one strain until our nerves begin to crack. We can well imagine the unmanageable lo ck of hair of the maestro bobbing up and down. The rhythmical click of typewriters from Room 5 is pleasant but monotonous. From Room 4 we hear the usual lecture for those in detention. Three Seniors come down the hall and stop. The lean against us and we feel that we are about to learn some secrets. “Girls, you should have been with us la t night! Such wav) hair! Is he grand! and so on and on until our bones begin to ache and we give them a Eleven Tlie Pioneer gentle shove which reminds them to be on their way. Just as we think we have passed safely through an¬ other day, band lets out and some young husk), whose thoughts are on skating rather than music, gives us an extra hard kick which almost cracks our glass. The town clock is striking 5:00. All of the pupils and teachers have left. Soon the blue overalled man closes us for the day, and we think we detect a sigh ot relief from him as we say Good-night, Charlie! ’ Beverly Winn 42 STAGE FRIGHT I feel so weak, so sick at heart I’ll probably faint before I start, Oh, if I could but trade my place With Percy Jones or Mr. Chase, Or even that old lady there, With wrinkled face and stringy hair. Those thousand people, they can ' t see The agony that’s here in me. Now let me think . . . how does it go? “My dearest friends, as you all know . . .” Dear me, I’m saying Mary’s line. I must remember which is mine. I’m sure the crowd would all retreat If once we started to repeat. Oh, misery, why did I say I’d take a part in this darn play. Nancy Holcomb ’42 A NEW “SLANT” ON SCHOOL There’s just a little over a half year of school left for us! Let’s make this half the greatest half year we have ever experienced! Let’s change it, so that we’ll want to go to school and actually look forward to our classes! Impossible? Not at all. In fact many of us already feel this way. The formula for this is simple. All we need to do is to stop being afraid of work. So many of us are afraid of working, afraid of learning something, afraid of do¬ ing what ' s required let alone any extra work. We come into classroom, sit down, and say, “All right, I’m here, now teach me something.” What a difference it would make if we got rid of this defensive attitude. We should say, “What is he trying to teach or what is he trying to point out?” Then, with a bit of work, we could co¬ operate with the teacher and learn what he wants us to learn! We ought to remember that teachers are human and have certain things which they have to teach. We should learn that just a hit of work, just a little effort on our part would make the classrooms much more live¬ able for both ourselves and the teacher. e should try to get along better not only with our teachers, but also with ourselves. Now this may also mean a bit of work on our part; but we should appreci¬ ate the fact that in school we re all working for the same end, and this end can be achieved a lot easier if we work together. Doesn’t this sound like a good idea? I think it’s worth a try. Richard Bowser ’42 THE “BISMARCK” A gallant ship, was the battle-cruiser, “Hood,” For the might of the British Navy, she firmly stood. Thick was her armor and great her fire-power. Directed from her high control tower. But one cold day in North Atlantic waters, The entire crew was called to battle quarters. Upon the distant horizon could clearly be seen High cold steel masts above the rolling gree n. A great ship, and protecting cruisers, too, The “Bismarck” was a “name” whispered among the crew Hooray! Our chance has come at last! But if we wish to sink her, we must all work fast. Crash! and there came a storm of heavy shells Screaming overhead, into the sea they fell. Great geysers around the ship soon began to appear, Into the men’s hearts, they struck not hope but fear. Boom! replied the “Hood s” fifteen inch guns, And shot forth eight shells, which totaled nine tons. There, that will give them a sample of our might. That was but the start of the “Hood’s” last fight. The great ships exchanged many salvos of shells, Closer and closer to each ship the discharges fell. Important sections of the vessels were soon struck, It seemed as though the Nazis had the advantage and the luck. Suddenly the “Hood shook along her entire great length, A hit in the magazine, single source of her great strength, The armor here had been fashioned much too light, This error in design marked the event to end the fight. H. M. S. Hood ” was literally blown to bits, By the “Bismarck’s” numberless true hits. After a great roar she settled into the deep, And with her, eighteen hundred men, it is for them we weep. The victorious Germans could not now rest in ease, For somewhere, other British ships lay in those troubled seas. The “King George”, “Warspite”, and “Rodney” were near they also knew, To steam for conquered France was the safest thing to do. I he celebrated “Bismarck” never reached France, She also was destroyed—she took too great a chance, For on the way she met a large part of the British fleet, Her great viqtory thus ended in her own complete de¬ feat. Harold Holmes ’42 T welve The Pioneer ALL THAT IS LEFT—MEMORIES The luxurious apartment looked very strange these days. It had the appearance of a ghost-house; a cold, forbidding, but luxurious ghost-house. Therese was curled up in her father’s favorite arm chair. Her thoughts were vague for it didn ' t pay to think any more. That morning, a glass of cold water had been her break- rast; for the month’s supply of food lasted, with careful planning, about two weeks. She looked around the spaci¬ ous drawing-room. A table, two chairs, a bench, and her father’s arm chair looked lost in the vast space. No rugs, no lamps, no extras of any kind were found here. Where were these things? Wouldn’t you rather burn useless furniture than stand in line for hours in the snow and slush for a mere three logs of wood? Therese look¬ ed down at her red hands. Her hands crept slowly to her lace. It was repulsive! She, who had used the best creams and soaps, now used yellow laundry soap which was rationed out in small quantities! The maid should have returned by now. Therese knew that it meant there would be no food today. Funny how after a while disappointments don’t penetrate the shell that you’ve formed. People thought it strange that she had a maid. Strange indeed! Where was Marie to go? Two women might as well be frightened and starved together as alone. Marie shouldn ' t stand out in this cold so long. Perhaps some of her friends had something to eat—a snake or turtle! Nothing was disgusting any more. Sitting in her chair Therese heard the clump-clump of the soldiers boots on the liue de la Paix. The Army of Occupation marching on the Rue de la Paix. Ironical thought! Those beautiful leather boots of the Germans made a strange sound, for the French had had to go back to the customs of their ancestors and wear sabots. Two weeks more to Christmas! Two more weeks like the past innumerable weeks. Noel would be a real joy this year, n est-ce pas? Memories hurt but still they are to be cherished. Her mind went slowly back to Christmas Eve several years ago. Mother, Dad, Maurice, and little Therese grouped about the roaring fire. After church a huge party had taken place and the family celebrated its Christmas together, joyfully and lovingly. Therese dreamed on—suddenly her thoughts were interrupted. I beg pardon, mademoiselle, but 1 stood in line so long! 1 he Germans bought all the food for a party and there is none left. 1 protested and said they had no right but Barbara Davis ' 42 SMOKE-JUMPERS Although still in the experimental stage, ttie use of parachuting fire fighters by the United States 1 orestiv Service, has been ver successful. After sixt experi¬ mental jumps in 1939, several units were established m 1940. This year, there are a few units stationed at Missoula, Montana. A smoke-jumper’s equipment includes everything from a football helmet and wire screen to protect his lace, to ankle supports and portable two-way radios, to communicate with the plane. Fire-fighting experience, alertness, steady nerves, and skill, are required for a would-be smoke-jumper. Men must be in top-notch physical condition, to with¬ stand the rigors of jumping and still be able to fight a tire, long, grueling hours, while waiting for assistance to come by foot and pack trains. Each jumper is qualified to boss and organize a large crew of fighters. Some fires caused by natural elements, such as lightning, would require days to reach by horseback. Through the use of the parachuting fighters, who can be on the spot in a lew minutes, a small blaze that might otherwise spread over miles of territory, can be kept under control. With this new method of fire-fighting, the United States Forestry Service hopes to save millions of dollars’ worth of the nations’ vital timber resources. Ralph Gibson ’42 THE FUTILITY OF WAR (As told by the village patriarch to his adolescent grand¬ son) “The sun rose low in the cloudless sky; The birds were quiet o’erhead; The trees stood bare in the autumn air As if twas the home of the dead. In truth, it was; for the day before At the house of the noonday call, Came the bugles note, like the call of death, Summoning, ordering all. Like the call of death was this call to life, That pierced the air so clear; A call for help and a call to arms, Stabbing every ear. From the peaceful homes that had ne’er seen war, Came the people of the land. Be armed was the call, and thus, they came, With weapons in either hand. The youth, the inexperienced youth, ith reckless hearts, and daring Bushed forth in haste to join the fray, Without a thought or caring. Wiser men, the middle aged, Strode on w ith solemn gate. They knew that yonder in that field. Many would meet their fate. But bravely, all both young and old, W ent forth to meet the foe; And ne’er a single one was left, Who was afraid to go. On they marched and on still farther, Thirteen The Pioneer Till at last the field was seen; The place where men would fight each other Not yet bloodstained was the green. A halt was called; a camp was made The weary men sought rest, But out of the night came the enemy force, Prepared to fight their best. With horses and men and glistening arms, The columns onward sped. And though the men fought bravely oh, Many a soul had fled. Such was the strength of the enemy troops That the men were overcome, And all buL the dead were taken away To be killed at the roll of a drum. Thus was the battle, and still I lived on; Around me lay the dead, Without a leg, without an arm, And some without a head. The beautiful turf of the once-green field Was now just blood soaked slime. At last sweet Morpheus took my soul And I lost sight of time. It was on the day, described before When 1 at last awoke Next to me my best friend lay; In blood completely soaked. In that one moment I grew old; I aged a million years. 1 resolved that ne’er again shall fight This man for his fine peers. The thought of war still chills my heart, ’Cause the horrors of the strife Come not alone to the wounded men And he who lost his life. But to friends and kinsmen left at home Whose sorrow never ends And to whom each day brings memories Of those dearest, war-killed friends. So heed, my son, and use your strength For better things than war For peaceful things; for man’s advance But be loyal to the core. If an enemy tries to take our shore However, turn and fight To protect our land from warlike hounds And ke ep our freedom bright. An offensive war, though, never make Think first what it will cost, Not in money, but in grief And human life soon lost. That is all for now, my son We must be on our way But if a crisis e‘er should come Remember, “War Won’t Pay” F. Carroll Magison ’44 Book Reviews BERLIN DIARY Berlin Diary by William L. Shirer, a very brilliant foreign correspondent, is hailed by critics as one of the best books written on the present European war. The Berlin Diary is divided into two parts—Prelude to the War and The War up to 1941. William Shirer seems to have seen everything of importance in the war. He saw Vienna overwhelmed; he was in Czechoslavakia’s capi¬ tal when that country fell; he saw actual battles in Po¬ land and Belgium; he scooped the world with news of the signing of the French peace treaty at Compiegne. Many times he has seen Hitler and Chamberlain and has spoken to such great men as Goering, Goebbels, Ribben- trop, Raymond Gram Swing, John Winant, and William Bullitt. In this book the author tells a revealing story of the conditions in Germany and German occupied lands. The German people were not very enthusiastic when the news that war had been declared was made known to them. The Germans are forbidden to listen to foreign radio reports on penalty of death. Some listen, however, and it is a rare day, that Himmler who has the power to put any German to death, doesn’t prosecute someone. The papers play up many lies favorable to Germany which most of the Germans believe. Shirer says that for the most part the army tells the truth, the navy exaggerates, and the air force just tells lies. Whenever a German goes into a foreign country (that is if Germany hasn’t happened to have invaded it) he immediately buys cig¬ arettes, other luxuries, food, and clothes. William Shirer chides the allies for being so slow Fourteen The Pioneer and for allowing Hitler “‘to get away with so much. He also finds it surprising that all the small countries neither make preparations for war nor join each other to make a combined force against Germany. One of Shirer’s chief reasons for coming home was because he was severely censored. When he returned to America to write the Berlin Diary he didn’t expect to go back to Germany for a long while. Helen Poland 43 THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM A. J. Cronin Exactly ten years ago A. J. Cronin wrote his first novel Hatter s Castle. Now he has added The Keys of the Kingdom to his brilliant achievements. It is a bio¬ graphical novel, more significant than any other by rea¬ son of its spiritual quality. It is an account of the life of Francis Chisholm which starts with his boyhood in Tweedside, a Scottish border town. In much the same style as Dickens, his childhood is recounted with vivid reality. The death of boih parents and his childhood sweetheart impel him Loward the priesthood, in which he goes from a Scotch seminary to a mission in Spain. When he seems a failure to many, the bishop, who understands him, offers him a vicariate in China, a thousand miles from Tientsin. Here for thirty-rive years he struggles against famine, plague, indifference, bandits, and even civil war. 1 he imagin¬ ary diary ol this man lends an aura of reality to the tale. Father Chisholm is a complete individualist w ith an unusual mixture of childlike simplicity and logical di¬ rectness. The nuns sent to him from Europe, the pagan peasants, and arrogant officers all play a vital part in the rapidly moving story. 1 he nook, although not of modern times, presents a picture of invigorating courage. Perhaps when you finish the book you will say as did Monseignor Sleeth: “Oh, Lord, let me learn something from this old man. Anne Schaeffer ’42 “BLOOD. SWEAT AND TEARS” by Winston Churchill Today, at the helm of the British ship of state, there stands a miraculous statesman, who is skillfullv guiding that ship through the perils and reverses that beset England in its tireless quest for universal libeitv. That renowned figure is Winston Churchill, the peisoni- fication of the British attitude of perserverance, whose remarkable achievements and almost incredible undei - standing of present affairs is causing the world to recog¬ nize him as much more than an ordinarv prime minister. In “Blood. Sweat, and Tears”, a recent volume of Mr. Churchill speeches, it is the display of his unusual foresight that makes the book so very interesting and M enlightening. Each development, it seems, reveals its true import to his keen analysis and, therefore, through the eyes of this astute observer, we see a much clearer picture of the entire war situation, and the significance of each event. Here, too, we perceive the answers to the very popu¬ lar questions, “Why did England do this?”, or “Why did England hestitate?”, for the able Prime Minister, in his rousing addresses, seldom spares the truth for public opinion, and is incessantly rewarded for his frankness, by renewed courage and determination on the part of the populace. Throughout the book runs the tenor of British spirit, resigned to “blood, sweat and tears to gain “victory at any cost.” Kenneth Brown ’42 “THE RIVER RISES” Helen Abbott Beals Three towns completely under water! No, not a flood but an act of man has annihilated the quaint old New England towns as well as their people. David Meade, a small town minister, decides that the only way to find peace for his distraught nerves is to move back to his home town, Albany. There he intends to work among his people, his very own people, and to bring them new ' hope and new happiness. David finds that the State has decided to use Albany and several surrounding towns for the site of a reservoir which is to supply water to Boston’s population. Albany is to b ‘ completely under water! Everyone must evacuate! At first, David, through his preachings, eggs his parishioners on to rebellion against the State but his w ife, Kollice, subtly points out to him of how much more assistance he can be to his people by showing them how to accept fate with a forward look. The entire book revolves around this final year which is left for Albany. The characters portrayed are real New England folks and one comes to know these people as one knows one’s own neighbors. This incident that brought chaos to so many lives makes a unique story. (Ed. Note: Helen Abbott Beals is a native of Read¬ ing and was head of the English Department at R. H. S. Her family still reside here and many Reading citizens are her close friends. Mrs. Beals spent many hours with engineers who were building the dam about which her book, “The River Rises, is centered. I Barbara Davis ’42 “SWAMP WATER” ereen Bell, a native of Georgia himself, has cap¬ tured the mood of the mysterious Okefenokee Swamp located in Southern Georgia in his recent book “Swamp W ater”. He became extremely interested in this little ijteen ( The Pioneer ■,Q)(Q) explored region during a visit a few years back when lie was captivated by the air of wildness which still sur¬ rounds it after fifty years of alligator hunting, trapping, and logging. After talking with the sturdy people in¬ habiting its fringes, he became convinced of the possi¬ bility to create an interesting story centering around this weird region. A serial version of Swamp Water was given in the Saturday Evening Post, while at pres¬ ent a moving picture is being made of this interesting and educational story. Ben Ragon, the principal character of this absorb¬ ing tale, represents a typical person of the swamp coun¬ try. In search of his hunting dog, “Trouble”, he dares to venture into the very heart of Okefenokee. Unfortu¬ nately at the same time a supposed killer, lorn Reefer, chose the vast reaches of the swamp to hide from the arm of justice. It is not too great a surprise therefore when Ben is struck down from behind before he even had a chance to see his aggressor. This combination of a killer and a courageous swamp lad with the mysterious background provided by the great Okefenokee Swamp can result in nothing but a fascinating story which holds your attention all the way through. The manner of speech used by the swamp people may surprise you at first, but after reading a little while, you will come to enjoy both the expressions and the people who use them. Charles Field ’44 “THIS ABOVE ALL” Eric Knight “This Above All” by Eric Knight is the first im¬ portant novel to come out of the war and it places its author among the best of young English writers. The book is a cleverly written and sometimes humorous nar¬ rative of the war after the evacuation of Dunkirk. War had come to England, and blackouts and bomb¬ ing raids were daily occurrences and realities. But it was still new and unnerving to Prue as she lay awake in the darkness and heard the German planes overhead. The action of this unforgettable love story of Prue and Clive, both in uniforms for their country is compressed within one tense and critical month in the late summer of 1940. “This Above All seems to have something import¬ ant to say in our troubled time. It brings to a sharp focus the scene of a nation fighting not only to defend its ancient liberties and customs, but to bring to birth the new and better England that is yet to be. During his lifetime, Eric Knight has been touched by all England’s wars. The Boer War left him father¬ less. He serxed four years of the first World War and came through without a scratch but both his brothers were killed. As for the present war—well read “This Above All . Elizabeth White ’43 “I WAS WINSTON CHURCHILL’S PRIVATE SECRETARY” “I Was Winston Churchill’s Private Secretary” in¬ volves the story of Phyllis Moir, who even in her child¬ hood had admired Winston Churchill as her hero. Whe n the narrative begins, Miss Moir tells of her personal life and of her positions previous to that of Winston Church¬ ill’s private secretary. Her work in former years had carried her to various parts of the world, which had been her aim in life, for she declared that if it were im¬ possible to be a leading figure, the next best thing was that in the wings—namely a private secretary. While Mr. Churchill was traveling in America, he advertised his need for an assistant. Learning this, Miss Moir immediately applied. She was immediately ac cepted, not because of her experience with many famous personages, but because she, too, was a native of Eng¬ land. It is of her experiences with Winston Churchill himself that Miss Moir devotes her descriptions and characterizations. Scientifically speaking, she decom¬ poses him—that is, she separates one personal trait from another, fully describes each one with anecdotes; that is, she tells of the man himself, his family, his ancestry, his appearance and actions, his humor and work, his numer¬ ous hobbies and his love of luxury. As these facts un¬ fold, the person of Winston Churchill is revealed and one becomes more and more engrossed in this very in¬ teresting book about a very famous politician. Margaret Iv«rs ’43 0 for a Booke and a shadie nooke, eyther in-a-doore or out; With the grene leaves whisp’ring overhede, or the Streele cryes all about; Where I maie Reade all at my ease, both of the Newe and Olde; For a jollie goode Booke whereon to looke is better to me than Golde. John Wilson EXPLANATION OF COVER The cover of this issue, designed by Gloria Shane, expresses our hope that the star of truth and victory for the right will throw its light upon the world bringing the dove of peace o’er us all. Sixteen THE TRI-HI began this year with many firm resolutions concerning its activities. The meetings thus far have been business meetings with one devoted to playing basket¬ ball. The club has discussed many ideas, brilliant and otherwise. The first meeting was a joint one with Hi- . Joseph Ander¬ son, president of the Hi-Y spoke on the meaning and origin of Tri-Hi-Y. One of the projects for the year is to purchase a bond which will be donated to a scholai- ship fund of some sort. We hope 1 ri-Hi will be stronger this year and many more real accomplishments will be carried out. Katherine Mating 12 THE A CAPELLA CHOIR’S first appearance of the year was at a Sophomore assembly where they proved their reputation once more, as the star vocalists of the school. Thirty-nine strong, they sang again on October thirtieth at a Junior assembly. After their performance at this assembly, the choir really started working; learning selections from the operas: ' Nabuco , ’’1 he hlying Dutchman . and others. These are to be sung at a later assembly. Endei the professional direction of Mr. Peck, and accompanied by pianists Winnifred Fowle, Marilyn Shapiro, and Jean Eisenhaure, the R. H. S. A Capella (.hoir will surely go places this year. Janet Bird 44 NE WS THE HI-Y BOYS so far this year have been very fortunate in the speakers they have heard. At our first meeting Joseph An¬ derson, president of the organiza¬ tion, spoke on the history of the Hi-Y. Reverend Lawson ot the Lhiitarian Church gave us a very inspiring talk on propaganda. Mr. Lehman, president of all Massachusetts Hi-Y clubs, came and told us of the junctions and growth o f Hi-Y. The only social event so far this season was a joint meeting with Tri-Hi. For our coming schedule we have an induction on November loth. At this meeting new members will be taken into the club. On November 16th we are to attend the meeting of the “Mystic Valley HiA of which Joseph Anderson is president. December 5th, 6th. and 7th a few of our members are going to attend the “Two State Hi-Y” convention. Steve Callan 42 THE CAMERA CEL B with Mr. Bronner as its leader meets every Thursday night. The second meeting was an election at which George Arnold Iteeame president. At our last meeting, pictures taken of the town buildings were shown by the mem¬ bers. kodachromes t aken by Mr. Bron¬ ner were also on display. We hope there will Ik more interest shown in thi- new organization, for if there is a large enough attend¬ ance. the school will purchase darkroom equipment foi the club. George Arnold ' Id Seventeen The P WE HEAR THE BAND started a lively season this year with only twenty members, but we who have heard it will agree that under the capable direction of Mr. Peck it plays as well as in previous years. The football games have been the big events on our calendar, with Elinor Abbott, our strutting leader. Al¬ though the baton squad has been missing this year, Jean Cleary has remained faithful. Together with Jackie Campbell, our petite twirling marvel, the two make a very pretty show. Whenever Reading emerges victorious the band marches through the square in V formation amid the din of horns and excited voices. . The band has marched twice this season with the Home Defense Corps. On Hallowe’en night the band, cheerleaders, and football squad paraded from R. H. S. to the Reading Theater. The cheerleaders carried “Beat Winchester” posters. General amusement was enjoyed by all. Everyone agreed it was for a worthy cause for it gave the younger population of the town a chance to have some real fun without roaming the streets. Robert Sansom ’43 THE STUDENT COUNCIL which is made up of repre¬ sentatives from home rooms and presidents of all scho ol organizations held its meeting on October 2, 1941. At this time the following officers were elected: Joseph Anderson, president; Winnifred Poland, vice-president; Jean Ma¬ guire, treasurer; and Constance Ham, secretary. Rul es have been drawn up concerning school dances and class officers. These are posted on the bulletin boards for the benefit of the student body. During the school year the members of the council attend two conventions which are held for the schools in the eastern part of the state. If you have any suggestions or complaints, wh not tell your home room representa¬ tive and have it brought up before the student council? T he council would welcome it. Constance Ham ’42 Editorials Continued from page 3 HOPE PLUS AMBITION EQUALS SUCCESS Everybody in this world hopes to get ahead and be a success in life, but hope alone, although very neces¬ sary, is not enough. A person must have the ambition to work to achieve his goal. Youth today has become obsessed with the idea that the older men have all the jobs and are unwilling to give them up to make way for younger men. To some extent this may be true but, one cannot expect well-trained men to put aside their positions to make way for some one else who would perhaps prove to be incompetent. However, older men do not have all the jobs. The ma¬ jority of young people today are satisfied only if they start with a lucrative job in the business world. If these young people were willing to start at the bottom and work up slowly but surely, they would have excellent jobs in the course of events. These jobs on the lowest rung of the “ladder” are easily found for they are being vacated every day, as their lower occupants advance up¬ ward to better positions. The democracy in which we live provides an equai chance for everyone to succeed. We all can’t be corpo¬ ration presidents and head officials, but in whatever job we are employed, if we are successful and happy, haven’t we reached the goal which we had hoped for? Kenneth Bushway ’43 I’M GLAD I’M AN AMERICAN Today, as a gigantic struggle is being waged on four continents of the globe, the American boy or girl can clearly visualize how fortunate he is to be an Ameri¬ can. While famished Russians scratch through the ruins of their homes for food or clothing, we, at least most of us, have enough to keep us warm and nourished. We are fortunate in not living under a form of government which forbids us to speak freely, act freely, and believe freely. We can look forward to a life full of the things that make it a pleasure to live. We will be able to vote in the elections and to control our government’s actions in so far as it is feasible for us to play a part. There will never he a minor race, one that is persecuted by the government. We hope, not in vain, that the stars and stripes will always wave over our beloved homeland, as long as there are loyal Americans to keep it flying. Burdette Poland ’ l l Eighteen Do you remember? ttTTi i « ? Interviews COACH RADVILAS Last spring a very tall, well built, young gentleman was intro¬ duced to R. H. S. Here is a man who is only twenty-three years of age, but in those twenty-three years one finds a vast number of accom¬ plishments to his credit. Mr. Radvilas worked his way through Columbia University and was graduated in 1939. He was a member of the “Blue Key ’ and the “Nachem Club”, two very exclusive societies, for only fifteen men, chosen from five hundred. He was also an active member of the Alpha Sigma Phi fraternity. He was secretary of his senior class and captain of the college baseball team. Since he was a football man for three years, a basketball “weaver-in-and-outer” for two years, and for three years filled the position of center field on the base¬ ball team; it might be said that he is quite athletic. Mr. Radvilas coached the Columbia Freshmen, a semi-pro team from Manhassett, Long Island. “Coach ’ is also head man on his home town semi-pro team. One might say the Coach’s whole life is athletics. When asked what he thinks of the R. H. S. girls, he unmasked an opinion the girls will be happy to hear. “I consider them lively personalities and very nice indeed!” The natural question followed; what about the boys? Mr. Radvilas considers the boys of Reading a dif¬ ferent type than he has ever come in contact with before, and, in his own words, “a swell group of boys to work with.” At this point he interrupted me to have it made known that the teachers in our high school are the best to be found anywhere. He also believes the school sys¬ tem is run in a democratic manner. Mr. Radvilas’ pet peeve is (as every other sensible gentleman will agree) ; “High School girls smoking”. When not coaching, Mr. Radvilas enjoys reading. He believes reading is the best method of education. What ' s the biggest kick you’ve had in your life? “I was kicked in the head during a game with Army. Army leading 19-0 at the end of the first half; Colum¬ bia came up to beat them 20-19. Our subject has been called to the office at this point so we’ll have to end this account, but come out on the football or baseball field some afternoon and talk to our coach. He’s really a swell guy. John Crooker ’42 T wenty COACH GRIFFIN After wrestling or doing some- j k thing he called “horseplay” with one § I 1 Iki of the members of the football team, Ii I and amid jeers of “Hey, Art” and Jff I 1 “What are you doing, Pop?”; I ■— i L finally secured an interview with that elusive young man about school, Coach Arthur Griffin. This inter¬ view as you’ve guessed took place at the football field on a very raw afternoon, and the jeers issued forth from the mouths of our illustrious football players. Coach Griffin as you probably know by now is one of the latest additions to the faculty of Reading High School. He is just six feet tall, has black wavy hair, blue eyes, a very ruddy complextion, from being out-of- doors so much, and our coach weighs about one hundred and ninety-six pounds. The interview was started with a question about his birthplace. He’s a Massachusetts boy, who first saw the light of day in Medford. I didn’t wish to embarrass him by asking in what year. He went to St. John’s Prep-. aratory School and then to Tufts College where he was captain of the football team. There was no need inquiring about his most excit¬ ing moment in college for he had already mentioned that in his junior year he was married to a very charm¬ ing blonde. The strange thing about it was that he wasn’t quite sure of the year, for he said, “I guess it was my junior year.” He now has a daughter, one and a half years old, named Penelope. I acquired that in¬ formation without even asking, for wherever there’s one who’ll listen, there’s talk of Penelope. After he graduated from Tufts, he taught there for a while and then came to us at Reading High School. Mr. Griffin teaches history, commercial geography, and algebra. His favorite sport is of course, football. He is quite interested in dramatics and likes symphonic music although as he says, “I’m not opposed to swing!” In this way he keeps on friendly terms with all. He thinks the town of Reading is much nicer than the aver¬ age and its girls are very attractive—but alas, he’s mar¬ ried ! When I asked Mr. Griffin the inevitable question fired at every coach about the team, he shyly answered, “You had better ask the head coach about that.” We didn’t have to ask Coach Griffin about the sophomore football team, for we know it has had a very successful season. Keep it up, Coach Griffin. Dorothy Beasley ’42 The Pioneer MISS ERNST Do you seniors remember that carrot-topped teacher who was forever hurrying about the school when we were lowly sophomores? Of course you do; some of us were in her German classes and others enjoyed her Ancient History course. Miss Ernst has returned to our ivy-covered institution with a wealth of stories. On September 20, 1940, Miss Ernst and a friend sailed on the “Argentina” for South America, where they visited Brazil, Argentina, Bolivia, and Peru. It took two weeks to reach Rio de Janeiro with but one stop— the Barbados, an English possession under military rule. i ht.je on board were instructed not to take cameras on the island. Miss Ernst and friend having a lust for adventure which runs side by side with curiosity, bor¬ rowed a camera on shore, purchased a film, and pro- ceded to take the forbidden pictures. On shore they sa v the dark-skinned natives, the fertile land, and were quite intrigued by the women carrying baskets of fruit on their heads. Here was something they had heard of, but to see this fea,t actually performed thrilled them. This being the Christmas season, Miss Ernst was in¬ terested in the manner in which this event is celebrated. She spent Christmas in Ouro Preto, Brazil, but in Brazil little attention is given to this holiday which we hold so sacred. The decorations, the carol singers, all those things she had been used to were missing. The only trace of the Christmas spirit was at one of the old churches where inexpensive gifts were being given to the children of the community. The time of year for which they store up their money and gaiety is the Carnival when all business es¬ tablishments are closed. Carnival begins Saturday noon and ends Tuesday night, for next day is Ash Wednesday. Miss Ernst was in Rio during the Carnival season, where the decorations were all from Walt Disney movies and comic strip characters. Picture yourself strolling along Avenida Rio Branco with huge cartoons of Mickey and Minnie Mouse hanging high above. The trees lining the avenue were filled with lighted bulbs. Everywhere there was dancing; in the streets, on the sidewalks and all the populace in costume. In all the casinos and night¬ clubs there were gay private parties. The funsters carried tubes of perfumed ether which they squirted at dancers. Everywhere there was con¬ fetti. When tired, the dancers would lean against the trees and rest a minute and then continued dancing far into the night. The purpose of the trip was to become better ac¬ quainted with the customs and the people of the land: to live among the natives, not the Americans. I hey wanted to go into the interior; get off the beaten traoc of the ordinary tourist. The South Americans, seeing two women traveling alone and unescorted, raised their eyebrows. Miss Ernst met a number of Germans in her travels. She says they come from Europe, establish a business, learn the language, marry and settle down, and you can’t tell them from the natives. The Nazis are not ob¬ vious because they speak Spanish and Portuguese fluent- !y- Led on once again by their love of adventure, they went by truck through the Chaco country which is still disputed territory. They were garbed in goucho trous¬ ers and boots and once again were stared at by the natives because women don ' t wear men’s clothes in their country. Alter they had completed the trip, they were told about the uncivilized Indians who had been, no doubt, peering at them from behind the trees. In Peru one of the customs is for the women to add each new skirt onto the old ones. Thus she presents a fascinating figure of many colors. Ihe food in the countries she visited had very little nourishment. In Brazil they had rice and beans every day and a good deal of meat. The laborer lives on far- inha, Hour made from a root. The people eat a lot of bananas and very few vegetables. Bea Ruderman ’42 MRS. WTENS Closing the door of Room 9, 1 breathed a sigh of relief, for this interview was more than shooting ques¬ tions, it was necessary to take certain precautions to ex¬ clude would-be listeners striving to get the jump on the Pioneer. Having retreated to the very front of the room and lowered our voices we were ready to begin. My first question was to inquire about her early life. In reply to my questions she told me she was born and grew up in the mid-western state of isconsin. “My grandmother was one of the first white settlers of that region,” she proudly acclaimed “and it was not uncommon for my grandfather when he came home a; night to find it necessary to pick his way among Indians sleeping on the floor. However, by my time all the In¬ dians were gone and my early life was rather uneventful. Her ambition as a child was to go on the stage and she has satisfied this to some extent by acting in summer theatres at Gloucester, Mass, and Thompson, Maine. “What else do you do during your vacation?” “I’ve done a little traveling. I’ve visited the Cana¬ dian Rockies, the Panama Canal, Bermuda, Cuba, and England,” she replied. To balance the simplicity of her childhood, she has unintentionally been on the scene o: action in more than one war while traveling. When sh ■ arrived in Havana, Cuba in 1930, she found herself a first hand witness of a revolution. For a while doubt was ex¬ pressed as to whether the passengers would be allowed ashore. Even when they were finally permitted to leave the boat for shore, practically their oidy scenery was government troops with fixed bayonets. Another thrilling experience occurred nine years T uenty-one The Pioneer later (September, 1939) at the start of the World War II when, Mrs. Wiens was on her return trip from Ber¬ muda. The voyage was made on the British steamei “Monarch” (its last before its adoption by the British Navy for transport duty) which was forced to “black¬ out” and “zigzag” because of the submarine menace. . Following her graduation from high school, she attended the University of Wisconsin and Emerson m Boston. Before she joined us here at Reading High in 1934, she had taught at Cambridge Latin and at Brook¬ line High. In addition to teaching English at R. H. S., Mrs. Wiens has charge of the Senior Play and the Reading High School News Column, which appears weekly in the Chronicle. “Do you have any favorite pastimes?” “I think I care for books, music, and the theatre about the best of anything,” she replied. “What dish do you enjoy most?” “Well”, she answered with a laugh, “I enjoy cream puffs and ice cream the most”. “Have you a pet peeve”? “Many, but my pet one is paying ten cents to call Boston (don’t we all!)”. “Do you have a favorite sport?” “I don’t care a great deal for any sport except swimming, and I’m not too good at that. As a final question, I asked her what she really thinks of R. H. S. pupils. “In my true opinion I think they’re a trifle young,” she answered dubiously. There, children, all you have to do is grow up! Charles Field ’44 MISS TISDALE Miss Tisdale, our new librarian has the laudable ambition for a bigger and better library in the high school. She prepared for her work at Radcliffe and Syra¬ cuse colleges. While acting as chaperone she noticed the grand response to the cheerleader’s dances and considers the pupils of our school extremely enthusiastic as well as progressive. In the fall she accompanied the members of the Riding Club during their afternoons at Pine Banks. A large percent of the R. H. S. journeyed this Octo¬ ber to the Book Fair in Boston and Miss Tisdale acted as their official guide. She looks forward to an increased number of acti- ities based on library practices and reading interests. Otis Anderson ’43 PREVIEW OF A PROSPECTIVE PREMIERE Time: 1951! Place: Madame Wien’s Playhouse—Times Square! Event: World premiere of the first three dimen¬ sional movie, “Gun Valley Masquerade.” Your master of very-phonies, your sidewalk reporter—-Swamp-all Davis. As we draw near we hear his booming voice greeting the throng of celebrated first nighters hurrying into the theater: “Ladies and gentlemen, coming this way are Vero¬ nica Bates and her seven Glamourettes, formerly the streamlined (when it was the vogue) cheering squad of K. H. S. Here’s Stephanie Calian, Joan Crooker, Jo¬ sephine Anderson, Thomasin Hubbard, Mikki Stephani- an, Lucie Putnam, and, last but not least—Butchikins Sletterink. Ten years hasn’t changed you a bit, girls! But wait—who’s this approaching garbed in glitter and glamour? None other than Lorraine Laughlin that blond bombshell—oops! correction folks, she’s a red-head now. Your public is waiting, Miss Laughlin. Won’t you say a few words?” “I’d be glad to, but just a word. I’ve spent the last few months in Dictatorville, that pleasant resort across the sea, but I’ve come back to open my new show which will feature a revival of the old time “Charlie Walk. Oh, yes, Mr. Davis, while in Cheeseburger I came across Barbara Rich, the nightingale of Europe, featured so¬ loist with the A Capella Choir now under the direction of Siggie Pfeiffer. 1 must go now, au revoir.” Next to arrive is that man-about-town Ted Knudson well known as the first to swim the Atlantic without water wings, and he is escorting the deb of the year Dorothea Kelley! They are being mobbed by photo¬ fanatics Bob Lowe, George Arnold, and Thorny Struss. Standing on the sidelines, we catch snatches of the gossip of the crowd. The main topic seems to be those illustrious stars of the feature, The Madeline Carroll and Stirling Hayden of 1951—Jean MacLeod and Ralph Casanova Monegan. They’ve come a long way since those carefree days at Reading High! ! Above the murmer of the crowd, the familiar voice of Swamp-all Davis is heard, announcing the arrival of Lueienne Dube, the author of that stirring best-seller of the year, “Essays and Epitaphs”, which, by the way, was published by the very successful publishing concern, “MacLean and Brennan.” With Miss Dube is Pat Dow, she’s the young lady, folks, whose inspired reading about the honorable Winnifred Poland, the United States’ first woman president, rocked the world on elec¬ tion night. Immediately following the Misses Dow and Dube are America’s Artists Laureatte, Barbara Teel and Maisie Holcomb escorted by their husbands. Tugging at their Twenty-two The Pioneer mother’s skirt are two little McKays—Patrick and Ken¬ neth Jr. “You should see these adorable little boys, folks ' , our sidewalk reporter is saying. “They’re the image of their proud—”. But a sudden warning from the specta¬ tors drowns out his voice, for it seems Hoke’s little darl¬ ings have been playfully picking the pockets of the un¬ suspecting on-lookers. A riotous scene ensues, but is pla¬ cated by the interference of Hiram Hrynowski, top ser¬ geant of the New York Police Department. Mrs. McKay is forced to withdraw from the limelight and take her juvenile delinquents home. The bouncing beat of A1 Gianascol’s Pond Club symphonic orchestra playing “Bach ' s Boogie-Woogie ’, the most recent work of that noted S. A. W. Peck, is heard coming from inside the theatre as the last minute arrival of Frannie Wheeler delays our entrance. Hop¬ ping from her taxi almost before it has jerked to a stop, she hastens to greet Swamp-all who is one of her col¬ leagues of yore of the R. H. S. “Pioneer Board.” Under her arm she clutches a large volume which we recognize as one of the numerous stamp albums of her famed col¬ lection, which is currently on display at the Museum of Conglomerations, Collections, Curios, and Curiosities. Incidentally this museum was founded by Professor Don¬ ald Pease, who is just back from an expedition among the pyramds of Egypt. I he professor is still in search of the tomb of his childhood idol—Cleopatra. As Swamp-all and Frances go into the Foyer with your reporters close on their heels, we see the groups of lobbyists dispersing to find their seats. We catch a glimpse of Bob Perry, R .H. S. ’42, master of ceremonies of the 8:15 club, previously scheduled at 9:20. (People get up sixty minutes earlier since the lleadinooga-choo- choo seldom leaves the station at the same time on two successive mornings.) He has come to witness the stage dehut of his protegees, the Winis—Oliver and Fowle whose twin piano duet has become the talk of the town. A glance at our program reveals that the stage show also includes the trio “Two Thorns and a Rose”, who in reality are Mademoiselle Spaulding and Monsieirs Durney and Condon. Also featured are the Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth of the day, Don Forte and Elaine Austin whose novel idea of being accompanied solely by drummers takes form here tonight with Bill Warren a “paradiddle poppa.” The usher hurries us down the celebrity-lined aisle to our seats, and we settle ourselves comfortably in the theater seats, (something new). A sudden momentary hush replaces the hum of conversation as the lights dim and the curtain rises on Cun alley Masquerade. Alice Robinson ' 42 Jean Maguire ’43 Exchanges If England, as a whole, is as persistent as the “Cryptian”, our exchange from Gloucester, England, it will come out on top of anything, lhe “Cryptian is different from U. S. publications and has a definite style of writing not found in the United States. From England we travel to Ohio. At Cleveland Heights’ High School, where Mrs. Wiens taught last year, we read with interest “The Black and Gold ’, their newspaper. ou certainly get a lot of news from the “Billboard” and for swing fans, “Platter Patter” is right in their line. We travel southward to make a new acquaintance with the “Forest Park Press” of Baltimore, Maryland, where Mr. Scott’s talks are certainly beneficial to all. Now we turn a little towards home stopping on our way to visit “The Purple and WTiite” of Phoenixville, Pennsylvania. Pin sure I he Belles of P. H. S. would be belles anywhere. W e go up country now to New Hampshire, where Rochester’s Senior Favorites would go over anywhere. Farther up we go to Sanford, Maine, where their “Red and White” is full of news of their new school. D. C. ’45 poem on the faculty is excellent. Now for a little traveling in our own state, where the first stop is Lexington. Their “Spotlight” is not on one article hut through the whole newspaper. Congratu¬ lations on your fine paper. Continued on page 30 T wenty-three ' mm — JBI« 4 . JL - 3 ; TMW ] fth. £bvkh 1 fl •■ TfcliL. T ■ ' ’ 1 - L rr— y Sports RIDING CLUB Every Tuesday afternoon, since the beginning oi school, a group of well-known high school girls has started out for Pine Banks Riding Stables, Melrose, to enjoy an hour of companionship with our mutual friend, the horse. Around quarter of three, under the direction of Miss Tisdale, we gathered in front of the school and piled into the cars, one of which was driven by Nancy Holcomb. After the scramble to secure the mounts, we rode over the bridle paths under the supervision of two instructors. Sometimes when the paths were too dusty we rode in the park, which was across from the stables. At the last ride of the season, we enjoyed an added half hour. The members of the Riding Club were: Miss Tis¬ dale, chaperone, Jean Gleason, Alice Robinson, Ruth Cress, Ann Schaeffer, Nancy Holcomb, Martha Spauld¬ ing, Ann Richmond, Gloria Shane, Eleanor Williams, Barbara Teel, Barbara Kommenda, Constance Chesley, Margaret O ' Keefe, Joanne Davis, Barbara Glover, Con¬ stance Parry, Nancy White. Pat Gray ’43 Caroline Foster (who played for both first and second teams and did a marvelous job at stopping those balls). The second team included: Arlene Surrette (who placed a splendid game), Pat Curtin, Betty Hoffer, Natalie Pes- tana, Althea Crilley, Barbara Normine, Anne Barrett, Gertrude Doucette (who was always where the ball was), Pat Bradley, Alberta LeBlanc, Muriel Jones,- Alice Wheeler, and Caroline Foster. Two of the four games were played away this sea¬ son. Reading invaded Swampscott for the first game but both first and second team were driven back by the score of 1 to 0. Because of Wilmington’s reputation of being beaten only once in ten years, we felt we had ac¬ complished a moral victory when the score showed that Wilmington’s hrst team had made two goals and the second team none against no score for Reading. With the excellent playing of Alma Towle and Edna Barmby who made the goal, the hrst team was victorious over Malden, 1 to 0, while the second team lost by the same score. The last game was played at Stoneham where the meeting of the hrst teams resulted in a deadlock. Al¬ though the second team put up a good hght the Stone- ham second team emerged the victors, 2 to 1. GIRLS’ FIELD HOCKEY This year Miss Nichols was more fortunate than usual in finding about twenty-five girls interested in playing field hockey. On the first team were Co-captain Alma Towle (who played exceptionally well), Co-cap¬ tain “Winnie” Poland, Edna Barmby (we hope next year she won’t be bothered by a girl in pink slacks), Betty Campbell, Helen Poland, Jean MacCleod(only sopho¬ more on the first team), Betty Merritt, Claire Jonson, Pat Lane, “Bea” Ruderman, Marilyn Monegan, and On coming down to the girls’ lunch room after the last game, Miss Nichols was greeted by a rousing cheer and “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” Then Co-captain “Winnie” Poland presented her with a gift to which all the squad, the time keeper, and the score-keeper had contributed. We all wish to thank Miss Nichols again for her patience and help and with her to coach us we certainly hope that we’ll be even more victorious next year. T uenty-six Helen Poland ’43 ( The P i o li e e r CROSS COUNTRY Although the R. H. S. hurriers got off to a slow start, near the end of the season, our speedsters began stepping-up the pace quite a bit. We opened the season with a meet with Woburn, at which we suffered defeat, due partly to the fact that half the team got lost at one time, or another. In our second meet, this time with Everett Trade, we pleased the opposing side by “■allowing 7 them to emerge the victors. It was at this race that we realized how import¬ ant we were when we discovered a motorcycle policeman was to escort us around the course. Sweet revenge was secured lor these two defeats, when we overwhelmed Essex Aggie by an almost perfect score. On November 1, we carried the torch for Reading High at the State Interscholastic Meet in Weston. After slogging 2y 2 miles through rain and mud, we finished eighth as a team. The following week, on another rainy day, we met Everett Trade for the second time, and agam were defeated. Running the only meet at home for the season, we proved to Everett that we could put up a good fight. On Armistice Day, November 11, we completed the season by running in the North Shore Meet, sponsored by Essex Aggie. Although we were hoping to carry away the banner, we finished second place, while Evereti Trade and Saugus High were tied tor first place. Cap- lain Wheeler (2nd place) and Tommy Thornton (5th place), both received medals to honor their individual victories. We considered that we had done well to have two of our boys place, out of about sixty runners. Coach Spencer and Manager Glenn Hodson have been on the job, and deserve a great deal of credit ioi their work. The team members included our illustrious captain, Roger Wheeler, upon whom the team leaned heavily, be¬ cause of the excellent record chalked up by him both this year and last; Tommy I hornton the sole representati ' • from the senior class; Robert Lowe, and Richard Mars- ton, juniors; Robert Batchelder, Donald Fort and Charles Field, sophomores. The cross country team is looking forward to nexi year, which holds high promise, since we will have a team composed of this years 7 experienced runners, and some new recruits. Charles Field ' -14 SOCCER The Soccer season brought out Iff boys who wanted to kick a soccer ball between two sticks situated, so that a good run is had by all. The first game was with Stone- ham at Reading which ended in a 1 to 1 tie. Our next game was with Georgetown. We lost that game 3 to 0 which merely proved that we could Ik- beaj- The ride up was a new thrill for those who hadn’t ridden in Bob Bingham’s car. He made good time going because he had the wind with him, but coming home—. We played at Stoneham and it proved to be the big score of the season 12 to 3, Reading the victor. We weren l low ' in spirits even though we were low in points so we played btoneham again and lost once more 7 to 1. We even played Georgetown again, with a resulting score 0 to 0. We went with high spirits to Topsfield where the most exciting moment of the whole season took place. A foul was made by a Topsfield player just as the closing whistle blew but the rules say that the free shot must be played. The foul took place inside the penalty box from which is the nicest place to kick a goal. Cliff” Toussaint took aim and drove a skinning hall into the hands of the goalie that proved to hard to handle. On the rebound of the ball, it was driven through by Bingham to give the game to Reading 1 to U. i almost torgot to mention the fact that Bob’ Bing¬ ham’s iiolls Royce” developed a case of accelerator and tire trouble and had to be dropped for a car with doors that could be opened without completely taxing a per¬ sons strength. 1 in not saying “Bob s” car is no good but someday that kerosene he uses is going to explode and all the wire, string, and rubber bands, holding the mo¬ tor in place are going to surge heavenward. And now back to Soccer again. Our last game was with Governor Hummer and was played in the rain. The rain took off ail ol the dirt we had to protect us from September on. 1 lost 12 pounds during the w ash. We had a good game but lost 2 to 0. Although we only won one game, tied two and lost four, we enjoyed the season. Our plans are not yet decided, but some get-togethers of the soccer team are going to be discussed in our next meeting. Robert Perry was elected captain of the team while Sherman Knight is to be manager. The leltermen are as follows: Robert Perry, Clifford Toussaint, Robert Bing¬ ham, Donald Baisley, Charles Spear, Bolic Schultz, War¬ ren Martin, Walter Schofield, Martin Shapiro. FOOTBALL Headed by the leadership of Captain “Joe Merrill, the squad reported two weeks before school began, to the capable staff of Coach “Art Radvilas and Coach “Art” Griffin. After a month and a half of hard work, the squad was ready for its first game with Johnston High. Although the inexperienced Reading squad fought hard and valiantly, they were defeated 20-U. This de¬ feat meant nothing. The boys were determined to get Swampscott. Swampscott is a newcomer to the Reading football schedule this year. The seashore team proved to be a little too good. I he score w as 18 to 0. The team still showed the effect.- of inexperience. Last year Ipswich invaded Reading and was lK atcn 7- . But this Near Reading invaded Ipswich and the Crimson Raiders were defeated lff-U. The team for its first time en. T ueiity-seven Tlie Pioneer felt the spirit of team work. With this in their minds and bodies, the Crimson Raiders rolled into Andover and won. This was the first victory. They took Punchard High by the score of 20-0. The team tasted its first blood of victory. With this in their bodies they were determined to take Danvers. Danvers was undefeated when it came into the game. Reading had nothing to lose and all to gain but the situ¬ ation was the reverse for Danvers. At the end of the half it tied 0-0. The Raiders came out at the end of the rest period full of fight and determination, but the Dan¬ vers powers proved a little too much, lhe game ended 18-0. Another newcomer to the football schedule was Chelmsford. Chelmsford up to date had beaten Lexing¬ ton, our future opponent and Johnson, by whom we were defeated. The Crimson Raiders played, ran, and fought hard during the game. As a result the outcome was Reading 18, Chelmsford 7. Our next opponent was Winchester. On the day it was scheduled, the rain was falling so hard and the ground was so full of ‘Tittle ponds” that it was postponed until the following Mon¬ day. Last year, Winchester scrimmaged Reading a few times. This year they were an opponent of the Raiders. The Reading team would have held the Winchester team, if they hadn’t made a few mistakes. These mistakes were costly to the tune of 16 to 0. Last year Reading took Lexington 33 to 0; this year they continued by taking them again, 18 to 7. This game was featured by an 85-yard run by George Fennelly and a return of the kick-off into pay dirt by Joseph Pendergast. The following week came the major objective be¬ fore Thanksgiving—Wakefield. They were to walk all over the Reading team, but did they? You know the result. At the end of the half Reading was leading with a score of 6 to 0 as the result of a 20-yard pass from Joe Pendergast to Joe Anderson. The team came out to be¬ gin the second half with determination and the Wake- held team was successfully held except in two instances. These were capitalized upon by Bartnick who turned in two touchdowns making the final score Wakefield 13 Reading 6. The game was rough, hard fought, and mar¬ red with many a penalty. Although the actual victory was Wakefield ' s it was a moral victory for Reading. This showed that the boys had reached their peak and would successfully meet any further opposition. There remains only the Thanksgiving classic with Stoneham with the boys determined to win. Joseph Anderson ’42 ON THE SIDELINES “The Crimson Ramblers”. With a name like that the football team couldn ' t help going places. Even though they didn’t win e ery game the team certainly had what it takes—plenty of fight! A vote of thanks goes to “Doc” Wakeling from the entire football squad, all of whom have been under his treatment at one time or another this year. We sure enjoyed those heat treatments, Doc! Who were the boys who took an overdose of Doc s treatments ever since they had a good look at the new nurse? Well, what have you got to say in self-defense, “Joe” M. and “Johnny” C? We observe that Captain “Joe Merrill stays away from football rallies. But he insists that it isn t because he doesn’t like speech making but because he is doing homework. Are we going to believe that? Something new this year was the sophomore team, who under Captain “Flip” Doucette and Coach Griffin played a seven game schedule. The results were: four wins, one tie, and two losses. We would like to see this continued as it builds a better team for another year. Warning all girls! Warning all girls! Be careful of a certain tough, good looking, guard—by the way “Uncle Stevie” did you really break “Betty’s” nose or did she run into a door? And of course we mustn’t forget the Sports Dance, where those beautiful cheerleaders, “Tommy”, “Joe , “John”, “Steve”, “Butch”, “Mike”, and “Bruce”, headed by “Baronica” Bates cheered the crowd into a frenzy for the Winchester game. Three hearty cheers for those grand girls, “Nancy , “Lucy”, “Betty”, “Nancy”, “Bev”, “Libby”, “Alice”, and “Fl o”; better known as the cheerleaders. They -did a swell job in pepping up the squad and the students. It seems our little Swedish boy, Bates, consumes at least two pounds of steak before every game. We won¬ der how he does it and still manages those long kickoffs of his. Remember Lexington, “Howie”? The members of the squad would like to thank the thoughtful parties responsible for the movies and two dinners given them. We really enjoyed them, especially when “Coach” broke down and let us have “fried clams”. We have to admire that Captain of ours who played “heads up” football in the Chelmsford game with one arm practically in the sling. Although there were strict orders by Coach Rad- vilas that football and girls don’t mix, the following still seem linked together: Andy and Mary, Steve and Betty, John and Libby, Mike and Franny, Joe and Marge, Butch and Phyllis, and last but no means least Bruce and Nancy. A familiar sight this year was “Art” Jr., who fol¬ lowed his father around at practice, to make sure no¬ body hurt his “Daddy”. With another season gone, we would like to extend our wishes to the coaches for a better and more victori¬ ous season next year. Bruce Putnam ’42 T ueniy-eighl k A , ■■ f . ' ..§ a T h e 1 o 11 e e r _AS WE “8” SEE IT — With a T, ’n a E, ’n a A, ’n a M . . . . with a T ’n a E . . My! listen to those fans in the stand co-operate. Leading the cheer are R. H. S.’s eight peppy cheerleaders dressed in their flaming red jackets adorned with sixteen brass buttons and their navy skirts. Under the super- vision of our alert head-cheerleader, Nan White, (other¬ wise known to us as Gladys) are Alice, “Libby , 1 1° , “Nan”, “Lucy”, Lorraine, yours truly, “Bev , and our able substitute, Bette Ham. With this unique cheer, “The Team Yell , we see that the great R. H. S. team is running out onto the field determined to leave this held as victors. Our cheer finished we run back to our usual re¬ s erved bench to witness the game, ready, at frequent in¬ tervals to dash out to perform the “Pop-Up”, or that new catchie number which we call the “Victory Cheer”. (It has its significance). Oh! there’s the whistle for the kick oh. Why does that drummer in the band have to roll his drum- it makes everyone so nervous! The pigskin soars high through the air and drops down on the 15-yard line. A member of the opposing team snatches it up under his arm and comes dashing down the held. “Get that man!”—soon he is brought down by one of our speedy and alert tackles, Rudy De¬ Rosa and right with him is our tall blonde right tackle, Howie Bates. “Come on girls”, shouts Nan White, “time for an¬ other cheer.” She suggests “Aka-Laka-Chee” but “Oh, no!” exclaim those who strongly oppose her idea. It’s too difficult and we just can’t keep our balance. By the time we have all agreed on one particular cheer and all are happy and just bubbling over with energy to do the cheer, something has happened out in the field which is terribly wrong and everyone in the bleachers is uttering a most distressing groan. We cheerleaders guess it is what one calls a fumble and our cheer is forgotten for the time. Some of us, who are supposed to know foot¬ ball inside and out, don’t even understand the phenome¬ non of downs! Football fellows, please excuse our ig¬ norance, but it’s simply too complicated. Listen,—listen to those people in the stand. Why they’re cheering—sure enough, Fennelly, our left half¬ back has made an 80-yard run. What a man! Pender- gast, our other left halfback proves to be another star of the gridiron. We, on the sidelines, at the Lexington game saw only a streak of dust whiz by. This was Joe on his 80-yard dash for a touchdown. Joe Anderson is listed under the column of our heroes, and oh yes, that “Star is Born”, Huggar Stark, along with all the others —Crooker, Putnam, Hubbard, Marchetti, Collins, Slet- terink, the pair of “Mikes”, Frotten, Bob Anderson, and Callan; and all the others, deserve a word of acclaim. Have you noticed those sophomores? Yes, even our sophomores have got into our games. Last, but by no means least, is our very modest captain, Joe Merrill, who so definitely refuses to speak when “Speech—Speech! is bellowed at him in rallies. Because of a shoulder in¬ jury, Joe has been absent in the past few games but he is seen on the bench every Saturday to watch his team¬ mates carry on. Coach Radvilas, our tall coach, and his assistant, Coach Griffin deserve credit for their sportsmanship and fine work throughout the season. Our coaches are loyal rooters and may be seen at every game, side by side with our dependable Doc Wakeling, both giving the team real spirit. Though R. H. S. has failed to be a consist¬ ently winning team this season, good sportsmanship has predominated throughout, and boys, you have all the school spirit behind you. If it’s a defeat, we feel just as disappointed and down-hearted as you. If it’s victorious we’re just as pleased and proud as you. Throughout each and every game we’re all there with hopes as high as yours that our team will come through with a boom¬ ing victory! Beverly Buckler ’42 Exehantjes Continued from page 23 Next stop is at our old friend and rival, Ipswich. Their new title page is excellent and we hope eventually the whole magazine will be printed in a similar manner. Getting near home is the Beverly “Aegis” and their short stories are excellent, particularly “Mother’s are so Useful”—for sure that experience has happened to many of us. We have one more slop before we come home and that is South Hadley. The only word from “The Corn¬ field’ is “swell” for that is what it is. Oh, we almost forgot to stop at our old friend and next door neighbor, Wakefield. The “Lookout’s” column We Have in Our Midst ’ should make any newcomer feel welcomed. Now home to Reading waiting for next June when we’ll revisit our old friends and visit new friends made during the school year. So until then good-bye and the best of luck. Jean Gleason ’43 Th irty ALUMN I NEWS One hundred, ninety-six students left Reading High School last June, to continue their studies at higher places of learning, or to become members of the working world. Let us see what a few of them are doing. Our class President, Glenn Davis is currently at¬ tending Tabor Academy, where he plays end on the football team. Other graduates attending schools are: Lillian Davies at B. U.; “Ken” Anderson, “Don Tay¬ lor and Roger Caron, who commute to Tufts; and Dave Sheldon and Alden Heath who are both at 1 arsonfield Seminary in Maine. Stella Pol 1 itz is the farthest from home. She attends Leland Stanford University in California. “Lewy Bos- son is another one far from home, yet he seems to be really enjoying himself at Duke. Tom Jacob and Cuf- fer” Dagdigian go to Wentworth each morning in Cut- fer s Model-A. Briefly, some of the other students are Newton Dickie, Vermont Academy—“Bunny Stoiti. Don Hitchcock. Bob Taylor and Annabelle W alker, Burdett Carolyn Campbell. Jackson—Carolyn Lumsden, Smith- Jean bow and “Dot” Stratton, Chandler—“Jim Bain. Lawrence Academy—Barbara Bird. Mass. Mate Lois Ives, Art School— Richard Robbins, Northeastern- and “Mac” Johnston who is working during the day, and going to M. 1. T. at night. Lacey, Phyllis Carey, Robert Meuse, Maynard Batch- elder, Donald Douglas, “Bob Dagdigian, Warren Winn, Frances McLaughlin, “Harry Pratt, “Woodie I itcomb, and yours truly. One other P. C. is Betty Shannon, who is taking one at Newburyport High School. Now the working class. “Poog Crooker (he still has the “Green Hornet”, as no doubt you know ) work at M. I. T. Some working in Boston are “Don 1 utile, “Dot” Taylor, “Red” Brennan, Don Daeey, and A1 Doughty. Lenox Schoppelry is delivering milk. “Bill Morr issey and “Ed Palmer are working for Pratt and Whitney at Hartford. Charles Berglund is working in the B. M. car shops in Methuen. Dorothy Arnett i waiting on tables at Abbott in Andover. Ethvl Green- er is in training for the nursing profession. Virginia Roberts and Marjorie Spindler are working at Steel - Furniture Company. Barb Bryant is at the Crouard House, working for the schools. A few still to be seen around Reading, since their jobs are located here are: Edgar Davis. John Kelly, Gerald Colford, Louis Babinc, and Boh Burrows. Then too, currently serving l ncle Sam are Arthur Stiles in the Navv, “Chet Gunn in the ir Corps, and “Dodie” Carder in the Army. There are many loyal alumni who have not had their names mentioned, but even though thev have gone from our portals, they are not forgotten. P. G.’s this year a re “Ed Body Lay) Shaw, Bette Gullam, Ford, John I Leave the Arthur Knapp, Phyllis Francis Doughty 4 Thirty-on o y d fc Lo WvO L.) W. s rvv_a d t Cj i? I tt 0 j J X a ?ov i vis ■% ? v J Ip ' - UJ U. Vjuxa. itfivft- dtow o fe xJbxi Ij AW ' oca. Oo- aJM L eM to . .xd-. , «V 1 N. s : ? umo r ot f) Luoird uxxs V ft C W. J ft j� l Hait c a_m t |aacJ°r £) SChttttcc ujcc r� io tiiyeLcI lovtcjuts c ?J c lac,b T uolv QH J PoV- Hi — io a h J p 1-6 Lfltr cc okTiiti-natj sTo f)ia j ike V) 11 be x b I o tx ft irjie naCj Lt Wdi ncJ () awi °Ilj lost 7 k rv o jy y K t?? ; T3u f Cj OSS I ‘h Co | I j 05J L No Irwa.Tttl ' iCt Cost iV O «• ' ' 3 v 5 2 ’ 3 3 ffS HI n %?■ ty 6 yZsA yf (y, (au l nd - Scl£ J iOcMo SZL-d i 7 LVl of Oc 0 lt4s T H. o $ ■A S ' ■ .XL ' V C r7 V ' r,% VV V s q. 4 v r V VV; Vy SyVx % ■ V ' %c ' , V s o t A ' ? A o vrT y YV sA N? TVi uouQC“i a loot at QeoH j to Wt h c -t Vi C LUcJof his O t| J. VO h O ' V ,vY. , 7 7Z rJ-A- t( yu , 7 o Al d i (M m Aj ; c i i(t y cd ' , SU ZZ, f u Oi aJ UK ' CAt Jlrut LfaAL ' hecM ' f, tr?(f ohclA. (A OAT L fiMyL yV r X A 0 n £ O ' 4 ' ■7 V ■’ V £ ° 5 AWOfrru CA- AU v ' zAc (A £ fnit, . cov w 4) yi 7 3 7’ N ,0 0 x AJsyr? L (t? r U- y y £ Ut uj IA 7 A l AA£ . l wifi ti’ i 5 hA7l ( -C £4J ? isrv ' ) ofoLso $ ' J. A?CU£ , ZO-shvt , cJltt ! d f c 3 d C icuhlA ft A L ) A’ . it ff 2A C AA At- .. . oaXLo u tlJLjl. cy Y ' Z i d iW r-UUL oi ,4 0- v t0i LX Ou Ll a. jJb. tiA xAA o eA- aif aiLi. JLfcrv i 1 cJy. BujulA, laA Lo (LJUSh ' r V ' “X7 , Jv 0 -uj£_cJL W (LtryCX- sd— jiA_ _Gxv vO 1 crvvi ' OJ jtiLe. (j s lcL u u_vt - cxs -d_ (lAajCAjL JL 0-0 JtA- XOvuj «Vyw A.-A- Ajl|i mc L! ‘ £ 3 ,3 Humor DO OR DIE I am all a flutter tonight. You see, I am going to my girl friend’s house to have supper. I start to get ready by setting the alarm clock for six o’clock and proceed to break the hands off. Then the problem of getting dressed confronts me. I put my shoes on the wrong feet and have to take them off and turn them around and, after tying my lacings, discover to my joy and expectation that I have no stockings on. I then pull on stockings that aren’t mates, and so I decide to tell her it’s the fad. (Maybe it is). It is a cold night so I come to the conclusion that I had better wear my long under¬ wear. This means that I have to remove my shoes. 1 am getting along towards the end of getting dressed in my haberdashery, tearing the buttons off two good shirts, and tying a knot in my tie that will never come out. Then I lose my collar button. I find it after tipping the bureau over and consequently breaking the mirror. As I am not superstitious, I only rub my rabbit’s foot twice. 1 am now off to my girl’s house. I take out my watch to see about what time it is, remembering that the reason I set, or tried to set the clock, was to take a bath. Maybe my bath from last week will tide me over. I also re¬ member that in cutting my tie off I have not replaced it and so I turn around and head for home, to discover that someone has stolen my ties from the rack. (Without knowing it, he is helping me with my story. Quaint isn’t he?) I look around and find a piece of rope. I could go as the hanging of some well-known person, but, as this is no party, I decide not to. There is one hope left. Borrow one. I borrow it from my nearest neighbor who looks like the “Wreck of the Hesperus”, so I get a tie that looks like the Chicago Fire. I’m off again to do or die. Upon arriving I discover that the children knew 1 was coming, as I pile up amid numerous toys. As I am still undaunted and in one piece I ring the doorbell. The doorbell also knew I was coming so I have to knock. As no one hears the knock, I proceed to rap on the door lightly with a brick. A head comes out the top window and says, “Take it easy. We haven’t paid for the house.” The door is opened, eventually, and out comes the dog. (The real one and not my girl’s father). As the dog has no pride, he bites me, making himself an outlaw to his race. I am ushered into a room where I see family pic¬ tures. (If I had a family like that I wouldn’t advertise it). The father wakes up just long enough to ask me ii the dog bit me. I find that I am no different than the rest of the callers as they are bitten, too. (When is the hunting season open on dogs?) The mother comes in and sits down and as I only have a pair of dice and can think of only one thing to ask her,—What do you think of the new synthetic gin—I keep quiet. (Smart me). The girl friend arrives and asks if I want to-go out on the porch. To this I answer, “Ye Gods, Yes.” Just as something might start the mother comes out to ask me if I like lemon or sugar in my tea. After seeing those family relations I decide, sugar. Whereupon she goes next door to borrow a lemon. We are called to supper. I am to have the honor of sitting beside baby who can fool mother into thinking she doesn’t know any better, so she makes use of it. She, the cute little darling, starts the supper off by placing pieces of food she has tasted and doesn’t like onto my plate. Mother thinks it is very unusual so I don’t debate the problem with her. It is fun trying to guess whether you have eaten a piece of meat or baby’s shoe lacing. When the soup is put before me so is baby’s hand. Mother immediately scolds baby for getting her fingers all dirty. I enjoy my soup immensely. While waiting for the dessert, baby is trying to bend the fork, but as it is solid silver-plated brass, she makes no headway. But she has as much courage as I had so she decides she can bend it by playing with me. Mother says, “I don’t think he likes that.” And I, with a grin like a Cheshire Cat, say, “Oh, I don’t mind.” Baby thinks I am a great sport so I get both the fork and the knife. The spoon is left on the tray in case the fork or knife should break. The dessert consists of lemon and blueberry pie. Baby decides that blueberry pie is much more messy than lemon, so blueberry pie is added to T hirty-four T li e P i o 11 e e r ihe coloring of the table cloth. In this selection she has me where she wants me. She knows it. All of a sudden she tries to become affectionate. Ihe mother, getting smart says, 1 don’t want to be kissed. Baby is broken¬ hearted at this so I receive one-third of her blueberry pie helped along by her hand. I then think, if she has two-thirds on her and has given me one-third how can she have any in her—but I don’t make a practice of thinking any more than I have to. I leave with the deepest regrets plus a piece of blue¬ berry pie lodged in my pocket. 1 carefully avoid any reference to mothers, fathers, and families in general, so I won’t have to give my frank opinion and lose my girl, or tell too many lies. Warren Mar tin ’42 Good English Mr. Taylor: “How would you punctuate this sen¬ tence? ‘The wind blew a ten-dollar bill around the O? 5? corner: Stevens: “I would make a dash after the bill. Tit-for-Tat Johnnie: Woman is nothing but a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair. Libbie: “Man is nothing but a brag, a groan, and a tank of air.” Action Wanted N. P.: “David, there’s a burglar at the silver, and one in the pantry eating my pies. Go out and call for help.” D. D.: “Police! Doctor!” Robert Lowe: “There’s really nothing I don’t know! 1 pity you cause you re so slow. Bring on your questions and your test, I’ll finish first and beat the rest.” Then afterwards with cheeks much paled Asked how he did— Uh-I-guess I failed. Mrs. S.: “Darling, you were very late last night. I’m afraid I’m dreadfully old-fashioned, but I should like to know where you go. Anne: “Certainly, mummy, 1 dined with - - - oh, well, you don’t know him - - - and we went to se f i al places, 1 don’t suppose you’ve been to and finished at a queer little club. 1 forget its name, but it s in a cel¬ lar somew here in town. It’s all right, isn t it mummy ? Mrs. S.: “Of course. It’s only that 1 just like to know. Bob Durney: “Oh, Senorita, tonight I will steal beneath your balcony and sing you a sweet serenade. Hoke: “Do, and I will drop you a flower. Bob: “In a moment of mad love?’ Hoke: “No, in a pot.” Dot Doherty: “How do you spell sense? Miss Xling: “Dollars and cents or horse sense? Dot Doherty: “Well, like in T ain’t seen him ? ?? sense. Judge: “Do you challenge any of the jury? Spic Shaw: “Well, I think I can lick that little guy on the end.” Miss Zimmerman: “Paul Scott, name an organ of the body.” Paul: “Teeth.” Miss Zimmerman: “Teeth? What kind of an organ would teeth be?” Paul: “Grind organ.” Miss Reed: “Why are the works of Chaucer and Dickens called classics?” Andrew Moores: “Because they are enough to make the class sick.” Harold: “If you promise to keep it dark, I’ll tell you something. ’ Emily: “I promise, shoot.” Harold: “You’ve got a wonderful parlor.” Nancy: “Your boy friend is a lounge lizard.’ Lucy: “You’re wrong. He’s a parlor chameleon.” Nancy: “What’s the difference?” Lucy: “Well, a parlor chameleon turns all colors when a girl’s father walks in. Stern Parent: (to applicant for daughter’s hand!. “Young man, can you support a family? Pendergast: (meekly) “I only wanted Margie.” Two boys were seated together in a crowded street car. One of them noticed that the other had his eyes closed. Herrick: “Wassamater, Joe, feeling ill?” Merrill: “I’m all right, but I hate to see ladies standing.’ First Mosquito: “Why are you making such a fuss?” Second Mosquito: “Whoopee, 1 just passed the screen test. Gianaseol: a hotel guest: (phoning down at 3 a. m. from the fourth floor.) “Hello, is this the night desk clerk?” Bowser at desk: “Yeah, what’s biting you now?’’ Gianaseol: “that ' s what Id like to know. Snug Shaw: “I like work. It fascinates me. I could sit and watch it for hours. ' Thirty-five The Pioneer THE STORY OF OUR FLAG Oh, you stars and stripes of Glory, Waving proudly overhead Proclaiming through the ages Great honor to the dead. Don’t you think we know the hardship That victory must have cost All those staunch and loyal people Who for you their loved ones lost? Could you only speak the message Woven on your every fold T’would reveal to all, the story, That to me you’ve often told, Of a loving, loyal mother Parting from her only son, Smiling bravely as he kisses her She gives her only one. Of the parting from his sweetheart By a lover young in years; Of a tender-hearted sister Forcing back her anxious tears, Of the wounded dying soldiers Lying on the battlefield Breathing prayers for their beloved ones As to death they finally yield; Of the letters being opened By the cherished folks at home, Telling of their hero’s valor Shown for those now left alone; Of so many gallant soldiers Buried deep beneath the sod Honored all the wide world over Still unknown to all but God. Oh, you stars and stripes of Glory, Who to us all this have told, Tell us “Why did all this sorrow Need to come to those of old?” And the answer comes in whispers, “T’was for freedom they were slain, Bravely slain so you, their children, Might live where peace and freedom reign Listen and you’ll hear me whisper Of their glorious victories, Telling simpl y but more fully Than the best of histories, And forever through the ages, Waving proudly overhead I shall still proclaim my story In memory of the sacred dead.” Barbara Courser ’43 Thirty-six ■ � •w w- -w • •w ■� ■ ■� ■ ■ � ■ ■� ■ ■■y , F , � ,, � , ' r , � , , « ,, « , ‘ ' � ; rr- - . • .. Pioneer Boosters Dr. and Mrs. Charles Wakeling Dr. and Mrs. Charles Baisley Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Halpin Dr. and Mrs. Justin Anderson Dr. and Mrs. Edward Halligan Dr. and Mrs. Harry Beasley Dr. Dorothy L. Sidebottom Mr. and Mrs. Arthur W. Coolidge Mr. and Mrs. Philip R. White Mr. and Mrs. Louis Davis Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Davis Mr. and Mrs. H erman Bowser Mr. and Mrs. Henry Davies Police Chief and Mrs. Jeremiah Cullinane Fire Chief and Mrs. Hugh Eames Mr. and Mrs. Thomas W. Beaman Mr. and Mrs. David E. Hersee Mr. and Mrs. Irving C. Austin Mr. and Mrs. Norman L. Duncan Mr. and Mrs. Sidney S. Wheeler Mr. and Mrs. Edward A. Brophy Mr. and Mrs. Frank W. Schaeffer Mr. and Mrs. Frank D. Tanner Dr. and Mrs. Elbridge Grover Mr. and Mrs. Clark S. Robinson Mr. and Mrs. Herbert K. Miller Mr. and Mrs. Edward F. Parker Several anonymous contributors The Reading Chronicle wishes to express to the students and faculty of the Reading High School sincere best wishes for a (Eltristmas and to hope that this splendid issue of The Pioneer will be an incentive to even finer accomplishments in the future. L. G. BALFOUR COMPANY Attleboro, Massachusetts KNOWN WHEREVER THERE ARE SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES Official Jeweler to the Reading High School Represented by S. G. Lee, 234 Boylston St., Boston, Mass. n in -| ifti r - -• - - ■ n A “ Modern Home THE Municipal Light Department IS HEADQUARTERS FOR THE LATEST AND APPROVED ELECTRICAL APPLIANCES KELVINATOR AND GENERAL ELECTRIC REFRIGERATORS UNIVERSAL - G. E. - ESTATE KEEN INA I OR RANGES CASSEROLES CLOCKS WATER HEATERS VACUUM CLEANERS LAUNDRY EQUIPMENT TELEPHONE READING 1340 � i f 1 ' � r i.i .■ i� i n ■. ' ■■ ' � ' � ■ ' EVERY DAY GREETING CARDS GIFTS H. B. McARDLE Next to Reading Theatre 565 Main St. Tels. 1647 - 1648 CHARLES L. THORNDIKE Main St. at Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0812-M — MEN’S FURNISHINGS — MEN’S, WOMEN’S, and CHILDREN’S FOOTWEAR EDWARD LAPPIN PLUMBING AND HEATING 76 Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0460 - 0461 Agent for Malden - Melrose Gas Light Co. MOHAWK and ARROW SHIRTS BASS and ENNA JETTICK SHOES LAMSON HUBBARD HATS Compliments of ROCKPORT FISH MARKET IN THE SWIM TO WIN G. H. ATKINSON CO. FINEST OF MEATS CHOICE FAMILY GROCERIES BIRDSEYE FROSTED FOODS GILL and SAM SCHOOL SUPPLIES FOUNTAIN PENS and MECHANICAL PENCILS M. F. CHARLES SONS 610 Main St. Reading, Mass. BARBERS ‘ 58 Haven St. Reading, Mass. PRENTISS PARKER, Inc, y i W. H. WIGHTMAN CO. — INSURANCE — Reading Office Masonic Block Tel. Rea. 0249 t+m tf mtm A Boston Office 40 Broad St. Tel. Hub. 7880 , J w •w w Northeastern University College of Liberal Arls Offers for young men a broad program of college subjects serving as a foundation for the under¬ standing of modern culture, social relations, and technical achievement. Students may concentrate in any of the following fields: Biology, Chemistry, Economics-Sociology, English (including an option in Journalism), and Mathematics-Physics. Varied opportunities available for vocational specializa¬ tion. Degree: Bachelor of Science or Bachelor of Arts. College of Engineering Offers for young men curricula in Civil, Mechani¬ cal (with Diesel, Air-Conditioning, and Aeronauti¬ cal options), Electrical, Chemical, Industrial En¬ gineering, and Engineering Administration. Class¬ room study is supplemented by experiment and research in well-equipped laboratories. Degree: Bachelor of Science in the professional field of specialization. College of Business Administration Offers for young men six curricula: Accounting, Banking and Finance, Marketing and Advertising, Journalism, Public Administration, and Industrial Administration. Each curriculum provides a sound training in the fundamentals of business practice and cul¬ minates in special courses devoted to the various professional fields. Degree. Bacheloi of Science in Business Administration. School of Law Offers three-year day and four-year evening un¬ dergraduate programs leading to the degree of Bachelor of Laws. A minimum of two years of college work, or its full equivalent, required for admission to undergraduate programs. Case method of instruction. The School also offers a two-year evening program open to graduates of approved law schools and leading to the degree of Master of Laws. Under¬ graduate and graduate programs admit men and women. School of Business Offers curricula through evening classes in Ac¬ counting, Industrial Management, Distributive Management, and Engineering and Business, lead¬ ing to the degree of Bachelor of Business Ad¬ ministration in specified fields. Preparations for C. P. A. Examinations. A special four-year curri¬ culum in Law and Business Management leading to the Bachelor of Commercial Science degree with appropriate specification is also offered. Shorter programs may be arranged. Co-educa¬ tional. Evening Courses of the College of Liberal Arts Certain courses of the College of Liberal Arts are offered during evening hours affording concentration in Economics, English, History and Government or Social Science. special program preparing for admission to the School of Law is also available Lu program is ' equivalent in hours to one-half the requirement tor the A. B. or S. B. degree. Associate in Arts title conferred. Co-educational. Co-operative Flan — f , ;h - ra1 a Fmrineering and Business Administration offer day programs for men only, ' lhe Colleges of lberal Mter the freshman vear. students may alternate their period, of trdv whh periods of work in the employ of business or industrial concerns at ten-week intervals. Lml r Uiis plan they P gain valuable experience and earn a large part of their college expenses. FOR CATALOG — MAIL THIS COl RON AT ONCE NORTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY Director of Admissions Boston, Massachusetts Please send me a catalog of the (“I College of Liberal Arts •- □ □ College of Engineering 0 College of Business Administration □ □ School of Law Evening School of Busines, Day Pre-Legal Program Evening—College of Liberal Art- Name Address i ' in Compliments of Reading’s Up and Coming Foodland ATLANTIC BUTCHERS, Inc. Where You Get QUALITY - LOW PRICES - SERVICE 30 - 32 Haven St. Tel. 0054 - 0055 ARTHUR L. GRAY Sales STUDEBAKER Service 34 Salem St. Tel. Rea. 0010 HOOKIE’S AUTOMOTIVE SERVICE Repairing — All Makes of Cars « Towing - Road Service Ignition and Electrical Work 6 Linden St. Tel. Rea. 0267 HARRY UPSON CAMP - Master Electrician - 28 Highland St., Reading Tel. Rea. 0835 THE FRY KETTLE FIRST NATIONAL SUPER - MARKET FI-NA-ST FOODS Specializing in FRIED SEA FOODS and FISH DINNERS Groceries M. J. Hegarty Meats J. C. Otis Mill Work Jobbing Paints Varnish Fire Insurance Appraisal E. B. CURRELL SON - BUILDERS ■ Route 28 — One Mile North of Reading Square Tel. Reading 0592 WOOD and METAL FURNITURE CO. Established 1914 525 Main St. Shop and Office: 32 Haven St., Reading, Mass. Tel. Rea. 1450 WHAT ABOUT YOUR TOMORROW’S? ICs a Question Worth Consideration The uncertainty of today is sounding throughout the country the clarion cail “Preparedness”. Responding to this call individually NOW is the time to lay the groundwork for later financial security. It doesn’t take much to begin . . . even SI.00 will open a savings account. MECHANICS SAVINGS BANK 643 Main Street Branch Office: Wilmington Starting Early Enough Never Made Anyone Eate It is never too early to inquire about our Systematic Saving Shares. The many advantages of co-operative hank saving appeal to the thrifty. From SI.00 to S40.00 per month builds a co-operative bank saving program. OUR PURPOSE To Promote Systematic Saving and Economical Home Financing READING CO-OPERATIVE BANK 643 Main St., Reading Tel K,,adi S 0193 ► 4 _ _ ► , Compliments of ► THE READING THEATRE ► ► ► ► I READ WHITE - j2LMEN ' S and Kjf WOMEN ' S IfM FORMAL M CLOTHES f!m RENTED jj 7 111 FOR ALL OCCASIONS xijAl r-OUAL TY ALWAYS ’ 111 SUMMER STREET, BOSTON, MASS. • WOOLWORTH BLOG., I ' ROVIOENGE, R. I. 4 4 If you tcant a corsage call , 4 WESTON’S FLORIST SHOP 4 4 4 9 Auburn St., Reading Tel. Rea. 0091-W 4 4 1 GREELEY’S ► BATTERY AND TIRE SERVICE ► ► ' Haven St. Reading 4 4 4 MINERAL CORNER STORE MEATS - GROCERIES - PROVISIONS ' Corner Mineral and Vine Sts. 4 Tel. Reading 1293 4 4 . 4 ► ’ Office Hours: 9 A. M. to 5 P. M. DR. M. E. BRANDE DR. CHARLES G. ROSS • Associate Dentist My specialty is extracting teeth, the making and i repairing of all kinds of artificial teeth 86 Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0170 ■ 4 READING CASH MARKET CHOICE MEATS AND PROVISIONS 4 54 Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0660 ( 4 4 CHRISTMAS GREETINGS TO R. H. S. FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF READING EXTENDS ITS VERY BEST WISHES TO ALL PUP ILS, EVERY TEACHER AND THE PRINCIPAL MOUNTING ' 4—TRANSPARENT 4- JUNIOR These fam¬ ous corners will handle every thing from a pos¬ tage stamp to a large map, draw¬ ing, or pho¬ tograph. Popular for mounting snapshots on cauls or in albums. Four styles, as shown above. In black, white, gray, green, red, sepia, ivory, gold, and silver. Transparent style is of crystal-clear cellulose. NuAce PHOTO HINGES allow prints to he mounted one above the other where album space must he saved. Handy for newspaper clippings or postcards. Ready folded. Just moisten and use. All styles retail 10c package. (15c in Canada) Packed in effective display containers. Ask for sample packages and trade discounts. LEON F. QUIMBY REALTOR National Association R. E. Boards Boston Real Estate Exchange Massachusetts Real Estate Exchange 74 Haven St. Tel. R ea. 1050 ACE ART CO 12 Gould St. Reading. Mai Tel. Reading 1490 Summer Ave. Greenhouses Flowers For Jl Occasions Wholesale - Retail Cut Flowers - Floral Designs - Memorial Baskets 362 Summer A e. Reading, Ma.� J LAING CHEVROLET CO. SALES AND SERVICE 0‘ K’d Reconditioned Used Cars PAINTING, BODY and FENDER WORK AUTOMOBILE RADIO REPAIRS — BEAR SERVICE — Wheel Aligning Wheel Balancing Axle and Frame Straightening Corrects Shimmy — Tire Wear — Hard Steering ACCIDENT WORK OUR SPECIALTY DON GRAY’S DENT SHOP 335 Main St. Phones: 1020 - 0556 Carleton-Walsh Motors, Inc, DODGE PLYMOUTH SALES AND SERVICE 508 Main St. Tel. Rea. 0894 Main and Minot Sts. Tel. Rea. 8540-W S. M. Hodson R. H. Hodson HODSON BROTHERS PAINTERS AND DECORATORS Paints, Wall Papers and Window Shades Store, Haven St., Near P. O. Telephone 0060 Compliments of ROGER KENNEY GULF SERVICE McCANN’S DAIRY STORE £ : ICE CREAM CANDIES FOUNTAIN SERVICE Reading Square Compliments of READING DINER ‘FOOD AS YOU LIKE IT’ 24 Hour Service Compliments of A. J. BEAUDOIN MILK AND CREAM Compliments oj L. G. and M. C. HAWES RANDALL’S CRULLER SHOP WHITE BREAD OATMEAL BREAD CUP CAKES ROLLS 193 Haven St. Tel. Rea. 0015 Heartiest Greetings IDEAL BEAUTY SHOP 623 Main St. Reading 1669 — Evening Appointments — TORRE’S Reading Square making quality candy and ICE CREAM FOR OVER 25 YEARS Reasonable Prices Good Work Prompt Attention ARCHIE LEVINE CUSTOM TAILOR Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s Suits and Overcoats Made to Order. Cleaning, Pressing, Dyeing and Remodeling. Furs remodeled in the latest styles. , -c „ C f Tel. Rea. 0073-M 1 75 Haven St. ADAMS COMPANY Haven St. LADIES’ AND CHILDREN’S FURNISHINGS Tel. Rea. 1360A FRED F. SMITH, Inc. WHOLESALE and RETAIL DEALER in Lumber, Plumbing and Heating Supplies, Lime, Brick, Cement, and Sewer Pipe Builder’s Hardware ol Every Description See Our Gift Department 25-37 Harnden St. Tel. Rea. 0450 Compliments of FREDS BEAUTY SALON 4B Haven St. Tel. Rea. 1599 9- -W ■■■ t ■ r r ■ r 607 MAIN ST. 6n THE SQUARE ' COMPLETE READING SARKIS TEL. READING 0890 F. E. EMERY — FLORIST — 31 Federal St. Tel. Rea. 0485 EUGENE’S SHOES FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY MEN’S FURNISHINGS — Shoes Repaired — Reading Square FREE DELIVERY EMERSON’S COMMUNITY SERVICE STATION JENNEY HY-POWER and AERO GASOLINE JENNEY SOLVENIZED MOTOR OILS JENNEY SPECIAIZED LUBRICATION — An Unbeatable Combination —• Expert service for all your motoring needs Lincoln and Prescott Sts. Tel. Rea. 0916 KNOWN EVERYWHERE FOR FINE SHIRT LAUNDERING Compliments of YOUR ESSO DEALER CARL H. HOLMAN 452 Main St. Tel. Rea. 0887 Compliments of BROOK S EXPRESS BANG S FARM MILK AND CREAM FROM HIGH-CLASS HERD OF COWS — STRICTLY FRESH EGGS — 42 Main Street A A A A Tel. Reading 1444 ■■■ ' • • : ' I I! READING (MA) PUBLIC LIBRARY 3 1995 00506 518 4