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

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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

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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

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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