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

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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

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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

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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