Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 9 WILLIAM McKINLEY. By A. D. W.f L.t '02. N Saturday morning, September i i. William McKinley, the twenty-lourtn president ot the United States, died from the effects of wounds received at the hands of an assassin, 'i he event was not unprecedented in the coun- try's history. But it was, in a way, unlike the two similar ones which preceded it. e can under- stand the assassination of Lincoln at a time when sectional feeling ran so high that it made part ot our country almost a foreign nation, imagining our president its bitterest enemy. We can comprehend the murder of Garfield by a half-insane fanatic, but the well-planned, cold-blooded murder of a man who has always shown himself the best friend and most devoted servant of the people, as Mr. Mc- Kinley has, by a man in his normal condition ot mind, acting entirely on his own responsibility, and with certain death staring him in the face if he suc- ceeded,—this is entirely beyond the range of our comprehension. The fact remains; explain it who can. W illiam McKinley was descended from sturdy Scotch and Irish ancestors, the first of whom born in this country was his great-grandfather, who served in the Revolution. The family joined the great Western movement during the last of the cen- tury. and emigrated to Ohio. At Xilcs, in that state, on January 29, 1843, the future president was born, the seventh of nine children. 11 is education included a course in a common school, a local semi- nary, and a partial course in Allegheny College. A short experience at school teaching, an equally short one as post-office clerk followed, and then, two months after the outbreak of the Civil Was. McKinley, then eighteen years of age. joined the Twenty-third Ohio regiment as a private. His service in the war was conspicuous for bravery. He served until the end. being absent only once on a short furlough, and never on a sick leave: he fought with honor in every engagement in which he took part, and his promotion, either for gallantry or technical skill, was steady from private to major, which rank he held when his regiment was mustered out. After the war McKinley abandoned his inclina- tion to remain in the army, at the request of his father, and took up the study of law in Canton, O., in which town he afterwards made his home. He soon entered politics, and was elected prosecuting attorney for his county. From the first he was an ardent Republican. In 1876, and for six terms thereafter, lie was elected and re-elected to the house of representatives, his final defeat being due to an ingenious re-districting of the state by his op- ponents. lie was active and competent in his ser- vices in congress, and was a most useful man to his party, and, as chairman of the Ways and Means committee, gave his name to the famous tariff measure passed by the fifty-first congress. This caused him to be regarded as a national leader of the Republican party, and in 1896 his nomination for the presidency was hailed by the whole party as logical and strong. His career as chief execu- tive needs no comment, a most effective one being furnished by the fact of his recent re-election by a larger plurality than before. In private life Mr. McKinley was a man of at- tractive personality and kind disposition. It has been said that probably no American in public life had fewer personal enemies or was submitted to fewer bitter personal attacks. His married life, al- though it had great sorrows in the death of two children and the invalid condition of his wife, was beautiful in the affection between the strong hus- band and the weak, almost helpless, wife. Mrs. McKinley has the deep and heartfelt sympathy of the whole country, and, in a large measure, of the whole world. ------------------ O Captain! My Captain! () captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all ex- ulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: Rut. O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my captain lies, Fallen, cold and dead. () captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the Hag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Hear captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You’ve fallen cold and dead. My captain does not answer me, his lips arc pale and still. My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done. From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! Rut I with mournful tread Walk the deck my captain lies, Fallen, cold and dead. —Walt Whitman.

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8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR Faith, she's gone and saddled the Major and gone for a ride, down to the river, 1 think she said. “Good heavens! exclaimed Teddy, raising him- self on his elbow, “you didn't let her go out at this time alone?” I did. then, replied Xora, “for 1 couldn't help myself. I told her mere was Injuns around, and she laughed, and said. ‘Why, Nora, there's no In- juns this side of Little Ring Ranch, and that's thirty miles away.' So she rode off. She said she'd he back in an hour to sec Mr. Teddy, mind ye.” The corporal’s face grew white as he listened. The idea of Indians catching Miss Helen was something too terrible to think of. It’s all non- sense. said he to himself. She'll be back in an hour, as she said, and then we’ll keep her in till the boys get back. That hour seemed days to Teddy, who lay watch- ing the hands of the clock as they slowly crept around to the hour. As it neared the time and Helen did not return, the corporal groaned. I can’t stand it any longer.” he cried, and sprang out of bed. In a moment he was in his uniform and had donned his heavy cavalry boots. He felt a sharp twitching in his wounded side, but he did not heed it. He took down his long pistols, loaded them, and slung them in his belt. Then painfully he descended the stairs to the kitchen. Xora was there, and so was the colonel’s wife, the latter gaz- ing with anxious eyes across the prairie. On catching sight of Teddy, she burst out sobbing, “O. corporal, what shall we do? What shall we do? O. if her father was only here! ‘ Tell the boys about it when they get hack, the corporal cried as he sprang toward the stable. He bridled his own nag, leaped on her back, and galloped toward the river. On the far side was a small wood, and Teddy knew this was Miss Helen’s favorite haunt. Reaching the stream, he forded it and mounted the opposite bank. His eyes rested on the ground, and. with an exclamation of joy. lie threw himself from his horse. There, indeed, were Miss Helen’s soft footprints, but what were those many other marks all along the bank? It needed but a glance from the corporal’s ex- perienced eve to answer that question. He wheeled his horse about, and at a swift gallop made for the mountains, a mile distant. It seemed to Teddy as though he was moving like a snail. Faster and faster he urged the mare. Finally he reached the base of the mountains. Here, between two shelv- ing ridges, a narrow pass was disclosed, which seemed perfectly familiar to the corporal, who dis- mounted from his horse and crept through on his hands and knees. Reaching the farther end, he cautiously looked forth. The scene that met his eyes would have dismayed even the boldest. There, tied to a tree stump, was Helen, her long hair fluttering in the wind, while about her danced a dozen half-drunken Apaches in full war paint. The coronal's mind was made up on the instant. He retreated to his horse and climbed on her back, ilis face was white, and he muttered, Good-by, Nancy, good-by. Save her for my sake, old girl, for my sake. The mare seemed to understand, and whinnied softly. Teddy rode to the opening of the pass, and then clapped spurs to the mare’s flanks. With a hound she sprang forward. They reached the end of the pass and dashed out into the clearing. W hen Helen saw the horse, she gave a glad cry. hut the Indians had time neither to think nor to act. In a Hash Teddy was off. had cut the thongs from the girl's wrists, placed her on the mare’s back, struck the faithful animal, and all was over. The Indians soon recovered from their stui or. and. with grunts and yells, came rushing up, but Corporal O’Shea stood there without flinching, with a pistol in each hand. “Come on, ye varmints, he cried, I’m ready for you.” ' When the soldiers from the fort arrived some hours later, they found all silent in the pass, and, on entering the clearing, they saw three motionless forms lying side bv side. Two were Apaches, shot straight through the brain ; the third was the form of Teddy O’Shea. Gentlv they lifted him and bore him hack to the fort. He was not dead, but the doctor, when he looked at him. shook his head in doubt. But the magnificent constitution of the corporal overcame all obstacles, and Teddy began to mend. His first visitors were Lieutenant Nevcns and Miss Helen. They came in hand in hand, but, on catching sight of Teddy’s poor, battered face, the girl rushed for- ward and seized the corporal’s hand. “O. Teddy.” she cried, “it’s all my fault. I low can I ever repay vou ? By making yourself happy, my girl. That’s the only way. Besides, it was nothing. It was nothing at all,” said Corporal O’Shea. Resolutions. Whereas, bv the divine will of God. our principal, Mr. Whitcomb, has been bereaved of his beloved father: and Whereas, we have learned with great sorrow of his affliction: be it therefore Resolved, that we tender to him our heartfelt sympathy in his great sorrow; and be it further Resolved, that a copy of the resolutions be sent to Mr. Whitcomb, and be also published in the High School Radiator. PERCY UNDERHILL, President Class ’02. BROOKS CROSBY, President Class ’03.

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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR. ‘By A. M. W., Latin School. EXXY MASON sat by the window of his room in the old dormitory, and looked out across the campus. John, the orange man, was slowly making his way through the network ol paths, his sedate little steed stalking along with a degree of dignity that showed him to be fullv aware of the honorable position he occupied as a favorite of the Crimson, and an animal whose privilege it was to precede that proud chariot which the sons of John Harvard had presented to his mas- ter. Now and then a smiling bewhiskered old face peered out from the depths of the cart as John rec- jovs in store for him. In his hand he held a letter. He had pressed it into a crumpled, uneven wad of paper, and time and again he pinched it savagely and angrily. He dared not write home for the money, he told himself. Rut he could not obtain it in any other way. he reasoned. Money he must have, but how. whence? Poor Penny arose and strode rapidly up and down the length of the little room. This was 1 Jenny's first year at Harvard. Being, then, a Freshman, he had indulged in most of the follies common to that animal. He had kept late hours: he had gone in town too often: he had COGAN SHOT A STEALTHY GLANCE AT THE YOUNG FELLOW AND HESITATED. ognized some acquaintance among the passers-by. Once in a while a student strolled by whose ex- cited manner and eager look betokened the coming of some great event. A laundry wagon was pour- ing forth a multitude of newly-laundered shirts and collars; somewhere in the distance a street piano was grinding out cheerfully a few variations of Fair Harvard.’ and an enterprising young Hebrew who had invaded the sacred precincts was selling yard after yard of crimson ribbon and neck- wear. A certain air of suppressed excitement hovered over the place: the game was to come off on the morrow. Benny Mason, as we have already said, looked out upon this scene tinged by the fading light of .the setting sun. The old dormitories and halls, and. in the background, a glimpse of the ivy-robed chapel, seemed to form for the picture a beautiful and artistic frame. Benny’s heart was heavy; the morrow had no moved in a fast set; and now, at the end of the sec- ond month of his college career, he found himself stranded and threatened with a lawsuit. Benny realized that he had been foolish ; also that a sport- ing life docs not agree with a Freshman. If he had come to this conclusion a month earlier—ah, well, we all know those saddest words of tongue or pen”! The strangest part of it all was that our young friend had committed all these misdemeanors in the face of the fact that he roomed with his elder brother Bob. Bob was a Senior. That in itself says much. But when we add that he played tackle on the Crimson eleven, that says a great deal more, and explains, also, why Benny was left too fre- quently to his own devices. Bob was often out of town with the team, and so thoroughly devoted to the cause that lie neglected somewhat the welfare of his younger brother. Witness the result! What ill wind blew Cogan on to the campus just