Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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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.)

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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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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR “To The Swift . . By Richard J. Walsh, 1923 T was the eve of the big Thanks- giving Day game. In all parts of of the great city were the hilari- ous supporters of the rival col- leges, Trenton and Rathtun, which, on the morrow, would fight for what practically was the championship of the United States, for they had smothered all their other rivals, each in its own way, Trenton with its widely-known steam roller “system’' and a wealth of material from which to choose, Rath- tun, mainly through the efforts of Bob Spence, its captain, and the grit and ability of the small squad representing the little, unheard of col- lege. Rathtun had not been able to afford a coach, but the team’s victories were being at- tended with financial success and the Athletic Association was considering . . . “There’s Sam Alton,” said the hotel clerk, who was condescending to talk with Spence, whom everyone else was seeking in order that they might off-handedly remark to their friends later: ‘Oh, yes, I was talking to Bob be- fore the game’; the clerk who had—by his own affirmation, at least,—talked with many Presi- dents of the United States, was too lofty to seek this vulgar honor, hence the condescen- sion, continuing with his conversation. “He was the All-American quarterback who made such a name for himself at Princeton. He’s had a hard time, sick for months, lost his job, and gradually lost his grip, till now,—well, he does what odd jobs he can. He’s bringing up a small brother, too. In spite of all his troubles he’s still interested in football. He always comes in to see the visiting teams. I suppose it brings back the days when he used to arrive with his team for the big game. Whenever he can scrape together the price he goes to the games. This year, I guess, he hasn’t enough to celebrate the day by eating, much less buying a ticket.” Now Bob Spence was naturally kind-hearted, so, when he looked at the man designated, the first thing he noticed was that the former player was clothed rather lightly for such a chilly evening. Bob also had that valuable ad- junct to a kind heart—tact. It is not surpris- ing, then, that he drifted casually over to Alton, introduced himself, and drew that pleas- antly-surprised individual into a discussion of football. During the conversation, in which the two men became quite friendly, Mr. Alton amazed Bob hy his wonderful knowledge of the game, which showed his football brain to be as great and active as ever. Bob Spence was a great quarterback because he knew how to use his brain as well as his body. After he had received some remarkably sound advice from the once famous, but now forgotten, quarterback, this brain of his went rapidly into action. Before he bade Alton good night he invited him to see the morrow’s game on the sidelines with the Rathtun team, and to give them such a talk before the game as he had just heard. Spence recognized gen- ius when he saw it. Sam Alton jumped at the chance to mix once more in the football atmos- phere. Before Bob went to bed he sent a tele- gram . . . “Boys, first of all, be game! Trenton out- weighs you. You’ve got to fight from whistle to whistle in order to have a chance, not to mention victory. And Captain Spence, watch your team. If a man is injured or tired re- place him, no matter who he is. Remember, a good, fresh man always outplays an injured or tired one. Your only hope is speed, so when a man begins to slow down the team send him out. As both captain and acting coach you have a tremendous responsibility on your shoulders. Your school trusts you to prove worthy of it. Show it that it’s right!” No one would have recognized the speaker as the inconspicuous, humble Mr. Alton of yes- terday. Once more he was the “great Sam Alton,” tense and excited with that thrilling uncertainty which pervades every locker room before an important game. The great game began. The harder and more spirited playing of the light Rathtun team was manifest from the outset, but even that, while smothering the Trenton advance, availed for naught when it came to carrying the ball. Bob Spence ran his team like the ex- pert he was, selecting plays carefully, and sub- stituting players when he thought it neces- sary. Early in the third quarter he began to feel a pain in his leg, which slowed his playing until he found it hard to keep pace with the other fleet backs. “I ought to go out, I suppose,” he argued to himself, “but this is my last game, it’s my last chance in college.” (Continued on Page 12.)