Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMFRYTLLF HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 9 his father’s ranch, and. as he was a mere lad at tiie time, lie witnessed their secret practice and became their mascot. With a general knowledge of the game. Castleton. modest and cool, thought he stood a chance of making the team and became a candidate. Ilis first brief interview with the coach, and the astonishing size of tiie other candidates, only strengthened his resolution to make the team. In the days that followed the diminutive Texan labored faithfully to win recognition in football practice, and he received all the hard knocks and bruises that the instructor had predicted. After a few days’ practice under the observant eye of the coach, the big squad was cut down to forty men. and in a week’s time but tlire-- eleven remained. Castleton was quarter on the third eleven, which was composed mostly of inexper- ienced men. and was forced to accept some hard heatings from the first and second elevens. Finally, he received injuries that kept him out of the game for some time, but he recuperated quickly when lie learned that the third eleven had been dropped, and only he and one other fellow had survived it, winning places on the second eleven. Marvin, the quarterback on the second team, had been a substitute on the Fssex eleven of the previous year and as he was a capable, cool- headed fellow and exceedingly popular, he held the position safe from the aggressive little Southerner. Before the opening game, however. Marvin was forced to give up his place in the list of substitutes because of failures in certain examinations, and the plucky Lee. well up in his school studies, was his happy successor. 'I he regular quarterback. Ned Saunders, a former marine, was easily the star of the eleven and was heralded as the ablest field general that ever trod a scholastic gridiron in the Blue Men State. With these facts in mind. Castleton was content to sit on the sideline and watch the colossal F.ssex machine sweep up its opponents in amazing fashion. Then he awoke to the realization that he could not win his letter, a most coveted honor, unless he participated in at least one contest. If he did not win his letter he would have nothing to show for his work. As the season advanced, and his services were not required. Castleton became disturbed and restless and finally broached the subject to Coach Fdwards. The latter only smiled and told him to cease worrying. “You have worked faithfully in practice and will have a chance to earn your letter in one of the later games.” encouraged the instructor. Greatly relieved with these words. Castleton was patient, and waited. The .season waned and the schedule dwindled down to two contests. The last game was with Union, the F.ssex school’s greatest rival. It was considered the crowning event of the gridin n season by the two teams to win the annual con- test. I his year the championship of the state hinged the outcome of the struggle, and tense rivalry existed. Fdwards had whipped together an eleven of strong calibre the previous year at Fssex. but untimely injuries to hC best players towards the close of the season had cost him the annual con- flict with Union. Tins year the wise mentor took special pains to keep his stars off the •njured list and had succeeded fairly well with the possible exception of one man. Captain Ned Saunders, the life of the team, had sustained minor injuries in a red-hot struggle with the formidable -Maryland Institute eleven. This happened at the third from the last game on the schedule. The next contest was with Ocean View, a light but scrappy team. The famous Fssex quarter recovered in time to play in the game, but was rejected In- cautious “Lefty” Fdwards. “I’m taking no chances. Saunders,” he explained, “we’ve got this game clinched and I want to save you for the grand finale with Union, so Castle- ton is u play in your place against Ocean View.’’ Thus the little Southerner’s patience was rewarded. Me played the full game with Ocean iew. and had an easy job of it. as the Fssex backs ran roughshod over their lighter opponents and piled up a 30—0 score. The joy and pride Lee experienced over winning his letter was spoiled when lie accidentally overheard a con- versation between two members of the team after the Ocean View game. “That Castleton kid is a lucky bird.” grumbled Fd Steele, one of tin half-backs. “Mere rve have been plugging all through the season to win our letters, and lie gets his by just playing in one game, the easiest on the schedule, at that.” Yes. but he won’t get the credit that we shall,” Sam Hardy, the stocky left guard, replied to his surly companion. “Credit? What good is the credit? File letter is the thing that counts.’ argued Steele. These words, a dishonor to a true sportsman, and evidently spoken by tin two Fssex players mi a moment of forgetfulness, cut deeply into Castleten’s heart, and hurt his pride, lie was an honest, conscientious boy and would not accept anything that he thought he did not deserve. It was a gloomy existence for the little fellow now. (Continued on Page 18.)

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8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR Winning His Letter Russell B. Crush, 1922 LARGI'' number of boys were assem- bled in the spacious gymnasium of the Essex High School. It was the first call for football candidates, and as the big suburban school was | noted for its formidable athletic teams, the gathering was both enthusiastic and promising. There were fully sixty boys present when tin meeting was called to order and the coach.. “Lefty” Edwards, a former Princeton man. took command and set things in motion. It was customary for him to address the can- didates at the first gathering every year to impress upon their minds that the fellows who went to work with determination stood an excellent chance of making the team and winning their letters at the end of the season. Having firmly stamped this view in the minds of his pupils, the coach was assured of better success and cooperation than he would have been if he had played favorites. Edwards, in passing over the faces of the resolute young men in the group that had responded to his call, was confident of having an eventful season and forecast a championship. His reasons for thinking so were justified. The war was just over and the young blood of America who had left school, enlisted, and had gone across to fight the Huns, was now return- ing home to complete unfinished education. It was a golden opportunity for coaches of eastern high schools to spring into prominence by producing champion heavy elevens. Those rugged voting men who. from the North. South. East and West, had relinquished their studies to light their nation’s enemies were now eager to receive high school diplomas before “bucking tip against” the business world. The majority, on their return from France, instead of going back to their homes inland, remained in coast cities to finish their high school course, if it was convenient. The flourishing city of Essex was a suburb of the big sea-port Union, and both cities received a good share of the young World War veterans. In this way it came to pass that John Edwards, the Essex coach, on first inspection of the new football timber, had dreams of a powerful champion eleven. Of all the new faces he saw among the candidates at the first calling, one in particular drew his attention. It was that of' a small, puny boy. who stood out boldly in front of bis tall, heavy companions, listening attentively to the coach’s instructions; not so much his looks that caused the coach to smile, but his noticeably small size. True, there were other short youths in the throng, but none like him. In the ;• itendance of husky lads the little fellow, with his anib folded and a merry twinkle in his eyes. h:ul the appearance of the proverbial Jack the Giant Killer. He did not look, however, as if he could play football, and the instructor turn- ing his attention elsewhere forgot the midget for a time. It was not until he was jotting down the names of the candidates and the positions they aspired to. that he thought of the quiet fellow again. “Your name?'’ he inquired, when his turn came in line. “Castleton.— Lee Castleton, and I’m going out for quarterback.” was the calm answer. “I see you’re a newcomer.” said Edwards in a friendly tone. “Have you had any previous experience at the position?” “No—I’ve never had a chance before.” Castle- ton admitted frankly, “but I think I can manage the position.” It means a great deal of plugging and hard knocks.” warned Edwards kindly, and passed on to the next man. Since Castleton is the hero of our story, per- haps it would be well to give a more detailed account of him and how he happened to be in Essex. His home was originally in Texas and his parents were ranchers. Although a dwarf in stature, he was a wiry, active lad and at the age of sixteen was well adapted to border life, being an expert horseman and crack shot. Then a happy life became clouded: his parents were victims of a Mexican outrage and left him an orphan. His only living relative being a maiden aunt in Essex, Delaware, it became necessary for him to give up his outdoor, care- free life and come north and accept her for a guardian. Forgetting the tragedy in his life. Lee entered the high school and concentrated his attention on subjects he had never studied before. The call for football players brought back memories ol. bis former life. A champion western college eleven had once trained for an intersectional game with Texas University, near

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JO SOM KKVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR A Summer See Agnes Mongan, 1922 T was at the end of New York’s winter season. No more social affairs were being held in the city, instead the society columns of the papers which usually gave descrip- tions of “brilliant social affairs” were naming prominent women as having closed their town houses and left to spend the summer season at liar Harbor or elsewhere. Marjorie Loew for the first time was inter- ested in the Bar Harbor notices. She was a typi- cal American girl of nineteen, medium height, with dark brown hair which had a tendency to curl, laughing brown eyes, and the rosy cheeks of a gir! who enjoyed outdoor exercise. She was a thoroughly modern young person, much to the dismay of her maiden aunt. Miss Loew. The Loews lived in one of the conservative homes on West 59th Street. New York. Marjorie’s father, a broker, was a comfortably wealthy man who was very little known except in his own business connections and then as a quiet man but one with an excellent business head. His wife had died when Marjorie was eight and his prim sister had come to live with him. Much as she had tried to change Marjorie’s ways, she had failed, and now that young lady had finished her second year at a college where she was learn- ing how to run a house, to her aunt’s horror for anv young girl to have such foolish ideas. It was a rainy Saturday morning of the last- week in June, as Marjorie was reading the paper and saw the Bar Harbor notices. Raising her eyes from the paper she asked: “Aunt Luella, have you ever been to Bar Harbor?” And that lady had replied: “Why, no. Marjorie, of course not.” “Well, you are going there soon.” And in less than a week Marjorie and her aunt were established in a Bar Harbor hotel for the summer. Marjorie had taken her own low hung car, and as it terrified her Aunt Luella to drive with her, she was usually seen alone. The town of Bar Harbor is unique. If you arc there for a stay, you are either a wealthy “rusticator” or a native. The road which circles the island of Mt. Desert is bordered by beautiful summer estates looking out to sea. Several large lintels accommodate the summer visitors. On the main street arc branch stores and the inevitable “movie” theatre. In the morning there is plenty to do, but the whole town seems deserted in the early afternoon. Marjorie was an active young girl and she did not wish to stay about the town at this time, so she fell into the habit of riding out every afternoon along the beautiful shore drive, hiding her car in the bushes off the road and sitting for hours on the great rocks listening to the surf and watching the sea. Sometimes she brought a book, but compared to the graceful flying of the gulls, who swooped down, occasionally, to catch a fish, or the thun- dering of the surf against the red cliffs, the book was uninteresting. Day after day found her comfortably established on the rocks, and grad- ually she began to recognize the boats that passed; the smaller pleasure craft, the fishing smacks and the schooners coming to and from the Grand Banks. One boat puzzled her. As it rounded the point into Frenchman’s Bay it seemed to be a pleasure yacht, but as it grew nearer its appearance was that of a fishing smack. One day she brought with her a power- ful pair of binoculars and gazed steadfastly at the entrance to Frenchman’s Bay. So intent was she that a shift of wind went by unnoticed, as did a gray line that gathered on the horizon, and as it grew larger, turned into a heavy fog. A boat finally appeared, and Marjorie had only time to notice it was a private yacht, when it was swallowed up by the fog. For a while she sat gazing dreamily, only to find, with a start, that she. too. was enveloped in the fog. which had calmed the waves and increased the power of sound. The sound she heard, however, was not the rolling of surf, as it had been an hour ago. bli- the steady chug chug of a gasoline motor. She stood poised on a rock, when a rift in the fog showed her a familiar gray fishing smack head- ing unconsciously for the rocks. Marjorie uttered a piercing scream. She saw two startled figures look up and the water churned into white foam as its forward motion was hastily checked. She fled to the road, started her car. and. as a vent to her nervous feelings, drove to the hotel in a reckless fashion, miraculously escaping a collision. Miss Loew was quite as excited as Marjorie, and very anxious to know what had happened.