Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR The Two Roads By Kenneth A. MacLeod, 1923. OUR ideas of success may sound very well to a dreamer, but this hard, cold world has no room for the foolish theories of an idealist. Only too late, when you are old, and poverty holds you in its iron grasp, will you realize the truth of my state- ments ’ sneered young Anthony Davison as he addressed James Grant, one of his classmates, while they slowly crossed the campus of a small Western college in which they were both mem- bers of the senior class. Davison turned and regarded his companion with a long, steady glance before he answered. “The proof of the pudding is in the eating,” he finally returned half humorously. “However, I wish you the best of luck.” With that the two parted, each starting off in his own direction. And in truth it was a final parting, for it marked the point where each was to follow his own chosen path in life in guest of success and prosperity. Davison was soon to enter his father’s great manufacturing establishment of Howland Davison. Grant was intending to pursue a medical course. It was seventeen years later. In the clear, cool air of an early morning of July, just as the sun rose above the dull rolling stretches of the great plains, the “Imperial Limited,” a long train of heavy cars, slowly drew into the sta- tion in a small group of plain, dun-colored buildings that form the village of Bassano, Al- berta. As she came to a full stop a tall, heav- ily-built man of some forty years stepped from the train and slowly paced up and down the platform, idly watching some cow-punchers en- gaged in loading cattle on cars nearby. He had an exceptionally strong face with well- shaped, regular features, yet a curious, cruel glint in his grey eyes, and a cynical sneer that curled his lips gave him a rather cold and re- pulsive appearance. He was dressed in finely- tailored clothes of fashionable cut and ap- peared to be a man of wealth and good social standing. “Hello, Davison! I hardly expected to see you here,” said a voice behind him. The man whirled in his tracks and regarded the other with a cold, appraising glance. He beheld a man of about his own age, of middle height, broad shouldered and muscular, who wore a plain brown suit of rough texture and a broad- brimmed grey felt hat, that somewhat shaded his deeply-tanned face. “Don’t you know me, Davison, old boy?” he asked, as he cordially extended his hand to the other. “I guess I do,” answered the other laconi- cally, as he took the proffered hand, “yet I hardly expected to find you out here.” And as he looked at Grant an expression of ill-con- cealed contempt appeared on his features that did not escape unnoticed. “From appearances I should judge that you have prospered,” remarked Grant, as the two walked along the platform together. “Yes, the world gives freely to all those who are determined to win. That has been the slogan of my life and in it I have found suc- cess, and all that success implies, power, wealth, luxury and social position. You always stubbornly argued against my ideas, Grant, but from appearances I think that you should see your error now.” “Oh, no!” countered the other. “It is true,” with a glance at his shabby clothes, “that I may appear somewhat under the weather, but appearances are sometimes deceitful, you know. It is true that I lack wealth and luxury, yet I feel that I am getting infinitely more out of life at the present time than yourself.” “Yet you foolishly remain in this dilapidated town that forms but a veritable dot on the sur- rounding prairie and waste your life among ignorant farmers and ranchers, while in an eastern city where you could move in high social circles you could gain fame and a good income,” returned Davison sarcastically. “For my services here I receive sufficient means to secure a comfortable living and also to save a little for the proverbial rainy day. As 1 travel on my rounds over these measureless plains with their waving fields of wheat or as I look over the wide stretches of open range with their herds of grazing cattle, and the more I come in contact with the rugged race of real men and women that inhabit this ter- ritory, the greater is my fascination for the country and the greater is my appreciation of what life holds in store for me. I may never achieve fame in the sense to which you allude, but 1 have already gained the respect and friendship of hundreds of rugged outdoor men, scattered all the way from Moose Jaw to Rev-

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219152 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR ALICE HOWARD SPAULDING After graduating in the first class to receive diplomas from Somerville English High School, Alice Howard Spaulding, 1896, entered Tufts College. While at Tufts, Miss Spaulding was active in the musical organizations, in the Alpha Kappa Gamma Sorority, and was the second president of the All Round Club, an as- sociation of girls intended to further the in- terests of all girls irrespective of sorority lines. At her graduation in 1900 Miss Spaulding re- ceived the degree of A. B., with highest honors in French, and honorable mention in English and music, and she composed the music for the Class Ode. The next September Miss Spaulding was first and only assistant in the High School in Edgartown, Mass., where she taught English, Latin, French, German, Astronomy and Geol- ogy,—after the fashion of novices in the pro- fession. The next year she accepted a posi- tion in the Fitchburg High School as teacher of English and Latin. She remained there for 7 three years, leaving to accept a similar posi- tion in the Brookline High School, where she has taught ever since. Miss Spaulding has been at the head of the English department in Brookline for ten years, during which time the department has grown from four teachers to thirteen. During this time also, Miss Spaulding has studied at Rad- cliffe, and been granted the degree of A. M. She has been closely associated with the 47 Workshop since its founding. She has lec- tured frequently before women’s clubs on sub- jects connected with the theatre and drama. In addition she has for three summers con- ducted courses in drama, play production and play writing at the Summer School of English at Middlebury College, located at Bread Loaf, Vermont. Here she has been associated with such well-known writers as Grace Hazard Conkling, Robert Frost, Willa Cather. The plan of having weekly assemblies with an outside speaker is to be continued this year. Not all the school will hear each speaker but certain groups will be called to the hall each week. The assemblies are an aid to edu- cation. A broadening influence, a glimpse of other sides of life, a breaking down of the lines of a school boy or girl’s narrow world. All this is education. Somerville is represented by a light fighting football team. They have the spirit and deter- mination to win. They may be defeated, but there is the glory and honor of a clean, hard- fought game even in defeat. The student body of Somerville High School apparently does not take this view. It is extremely difficult to get a cheer when the team is losing. 1923, change this. Appear at games and cheer for the team. It’s your first and best chance to show you’re alive as a senior class. 1924, give us a glimpse of what you’re going to do next year. 1925, start in the right direction by getting school spirit now. ic :s?3

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 9 elstoke, that I prize higher than the shallow, hypocritical friendships of society, and the empty honors of being a society doctor. Of course if I felt that I would be more useful in a city I should go there immediately, for a man’s abode should be in that place where the call of duty is the strongest; however, I am firmly convinced that this is my post of duty, so here I shall remain. Many of the men are rough and uneducated and like all human beings have their faults, but at heart they are as fine a class of men as one might wish to meet. I am indeed well satisfied with my lot.” Just then the warning cry of “B-o-o-o-o-rd” rang out, so with a hasty handshake and a parting shot of, “You’ll see your mistake yet, Grant,” the men parted; Davison boarded the moving train and was soon whirled out of sight. Two years later we again see Anthony Davi- son, this time aboard a great trans-Atlantic liner bound for New York. He sits at a table in the smoking room with a few friends at a card game in which he has been steadily win- ning, for great stacks of chips lie piled in front of him. His cold, expressionless face betrays no emotion, and yet, to a keen observer, there might appear an underlying air of suppressed satisfaction and triumph. In the deep com- fortably upholstered chairs around them other men are calmly enjoying their evening smoke and all is quiet save for the steady throbbing of the ship’s engines. A breeze entering the open windows dispels the heat of a hot August evening, and the atmosphere seems to fairly radiate with luxurious comfort and security. But suddenly the evening stillness is broken by a muffled crash followed by a vibrating jar; a moment later the throbing pulsations of the engines cease. Yet there is now no alarm, for after a momentary expression of inquiry, the men proceed with their game and all remains quiet. But soon hurried footsteps are heard outside, excited exclamations and deep-voiced commands are heard; a moment later the in- candescent lights wavered and went out, leav- ing the room in darkness. In hurried con- fusion all the men struggle to gain the deck. Davison, once outside, saw that the deck was crowded and that several boats had already been swung out on the davits and were rapidly being filled and lowered away. The crowd was excited but orderly and boat after boat was ouickly loaded to capacity and successfully launched. The ship soon began to keel over to port, considerably so. In spite of all haste only four starboard boats were launched be- fore the list became so great that it was im- possible to lower boats from that side of the ship. Consequently the now thoroughly- alarmed passengers all wildly sought the port side of the vessel, where they were sternly held in check by officers with drawn revolvers. Davison stood with his back against the steel wall of the deckhouse and watched the slowly retreating boats as they moved over the moon- lit water. A sudden stark fear of death was gripping him and he was rapidly losing his nerve, for his face was deathly pale and his lips were twitching convulsively. But soon the creaking of falls was heard overhead and the trim white hull of No. 12 port boat slowly ap- peared above and stopped at the level of the deck. “Women and children first” is the com- mand and with cold drops of perspiration standing out on his forehead Davison franti- cally watches the rapid loading of the boat. In desperation he stepped quickly forward to the rail, but in an instant the ugly muzzle of a Colt automatic was staring him in the face and he was sternly ordered to stand back. “But sir, I am Anthony Davison, president of the great concern of Howland Davison, I must—” began Davison with a weak attempt at bluster. “I don’t care who you are, you must await your turn and if you don’t stay back in your place I’ll bore you through,” returned the offi- cer savagely, as he covered Davison with his gun. No. 12 was soon filled and lowered away, and was followed quickly by 11, 10 and 9, the only remaining port boats, and yet there were still hundreds of frantic passengers left aboard the sinking vessel. Davison stood near the stern of the vessel leaning against the rail, staring down into the ominous black depths of the water below. The whole course of his life seemed to pass before his mind in a picture and the haunting recollections of his greed and cruelty now con- fronted him with glaring clearness, and in his agony of mind a deep groan escaped his lips and he vainly gripped the rail with a vice-like tenacity. The vessel continued to keel over farther and farther to port, the ominous hiss of steam arose from below, a series of muffled dull reports rang out, and above prayers, curses and choking sobs were heard as the terror- stricken victims awaited the end. Finally, with a faltering quiver, followed by a mighty plunge of the doomed, the ship disappears forever be- neath the waves. (Continued on Page 13.)