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

Page 9 text:

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

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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”

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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