Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR Frank H. Wilkins The death of Mr. Wilkins two weeks ago Thursday morning, October 7, came as a sudden shock to our teachers and pupils. Though he had been ill since school opened, we had not realized the seriousness of his condition. Indeed, only the day before his death he had been sitting in his chair, so earnest was his purpose to “carry on.” As Mr. Avery stated in a special notice to all teach- ers and pupils toward the close of the session follow- ing the news of Mr. Wilkins’ death: Mr. Wilkins has been a teacher in this school for twenty years, and for twelve years has been Head of the Preparatory Department. During that time he has come in contact with hundreds of pupils who have received from him advice and instruction of a high character. They and all others who have come in con- tact with him will remember him for his splendid teach- ing and for his personal interest in them. In honor of his memory school was dismissed at 1.30. Afternoon school work and all other appoint- ments were cancelled. Pupils left the building quietly that in a simple yet expressive way they might show their respect for Mr. Wilkins and their sympathy for his family. Mr. Wilkins was born in Charlestown in 1873. He was graduated from the Warren Grammar School. Just as he was ready to enter high school, his parents moved to Somerville, and he was graduated from the Somer- ville High School in 1891. He not only won high rank in scholarship, but was honored with the office of major of the high school battalion. The boys of the early nineties will recall 'he military drill of those days. For family reasons Mr. Wilkins felt obliged to give up his intention of going to college. After three years of work in the business world he found himself able to continue his education, and in 1898 he was graduated from Boston University, College of Liberal Arts. All through his college career, however, he worked Saturdays in Faneuil Hall Market. This experience coupled with his three yeais’ employment between school and college gave him a knowledge of the world of affairs that was of great value to him in his con- tact with pupils. It may most truthfully be said of Mr. Wilkins that his life’s work was teaching. The first two years were at Horace Mann High School in Franklin, then followed two more years in the principalship of the Plainville High School. His first work in Somerville was at the Prescott Grammar Evening School. Here for three years, while at the same time he was in the Revere High School during the days, he taught four nights a week in the winter term along with his for- mer teacher and friend, Mr. Charles F. Murray. Many men, widely scattered, remember with giatitude the inspiration these two associated teachers gave a score of years ago to boys who were early obliged to give up their schooling. It was in 190G that Frank II. Wilkins was hired to teach Latin in the Somerville Latin School. Mr. Bax- ter knew his scholar. The boy who had learned Latin could teach it. At the resignation of Mr. William D. Sprague in 1914 he was made Head of the Classical Course. One would like to quote the words of tribute that a thousand pupils might give to their teacher. Al- ways forceful and interesting, with a rare gift of il- lustrating the principles of language, Mr. Wilkins taught Latin as a language still living. His mind was keen. With teachers and pupils alike he was quick at repartee, yet never unkindly. We just liked him. In these later years, as more and more detailed work devolved upon him in advising pupils about their courses, and filling out the many application blanks connected with their entrance to college, he was very faithful and painstaking. And to all the duties of the day for many yeais he added his work in the eve- ning high school. Surely to the schools of Somer- ville, where he early gained that fine-scholarship, in- stilled by Mr. Hawes, Miss Fox, and Mr. Baxter, whom the boys and girls of one and two generations ago can never forget, Frank Wilkins gave the full measure of devotion. He will long be remembered by pupils, fellow-teachers, and his friends about the city, which was his home so long. Many of his fellow-citizens, who did not know him personally, will not soon forget his untiring devotion to his son Hollis, who for more than three years needed constant care and brought many sleepless nights to his watchful parents. It seems as if we had lost our friend and teacher in his prime, just fitted by his experience for many useful years to come. The Somerville High School is grateful for his life, and shares with his wife and his son Malcolm, the sorrow at his parting from us. George M. Hosmer.

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6 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR EDITORIALS The staff takes this opportunity to express appre- ciation to the editors of last year, whose work made the past year such a success in the history of the Radiator, and seeks the hearty co-operation of the faculty and school in endeavoring to carry on that obligation we have cheerfully assumed and which we hope to fulfill. Few can realize unless in direct con- tact with the staff of a school paper the amount of work that is required by such a publication of the edi- tor and his associates. Far too many hold the impres- sion that whatever is printed in the paper is written by members of the staff. Such is not the case and ought not to be the case. Every editor shares the re- sponsibility of producing the issue at a stated lime. The one thing every editor desires is co-operation from his classmates and co-workers. Will you help him attain it? Will you prove your interest in the school itself and in its activities by doing so? Please remember when submitting material to give your name, year and home-room number. These arc very essential. If your contribution does not appear when you expect to see it, don’t blame the Radiator. We appreciate your co-operation and work. We are particularly grateful to those, both teach- ers and pupils, whose contributions have helped to make our first issue of the Radiator a success. The school takes this opportunity to extend its deepest sympathy to Mrs. Topliff in the loss of her only sister and to Miss Fury in the loss of her father. One cannot help but notice the growing enthusiasm that has been felt in the school by the introduction of tennis circles. Tennis in the high school is a game which has been introduced in recent years. Up to that time baseball, football, and track were the major sports. Now tennis opens a new field to both boys and girls, and has an exceedingly promising future. It is the desire of the promoters of this sport in our school, as well as of the members of the teams, that the matches will receive hearty support by a large number of enthusiasts. THE GENERAL OBSERVER Now that the Sophomores have found that there isn’t an elevator and that Room 101 is not the manual train- ing department, we hope they will soon begin their first installment of a bigger and better education. A good example of the amount of attention paid in a Junior chemistry class was given the other day when one of the budding youths replied to the teach- er’s question that there were two kinds of thermome- ters, Fahrenheit and Centipede. War has been declared! Preliminary skirmishes are held daily at 12 noon in the lunch room. Makes good winter training for the C. M. T. C. students. Speaking of Camp Devens. Have you noticed the manly forms and ruddy complexions of some of our boy friends? We heard that, speaking in the vernacu- lar, it’s a pretty good racket. We wish to congratulate the Sophomores on the business-like way they are co-operating with the traf- fic squad, especially on the second floor East.

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8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR A Cruise in Southern Waters By Lucy I. ToplifF T wasn’t altogether a cruise, for we had a month on land, hut there was a month of sea; nothing but sea with social calls by the way along fascinating shores. It came about like this. Some one said: “Why don’t you take the Mediter- ranean and Adriatic cruise?” The advice, if it could be called that, sounded far more agreeable than advice usually does, so we followed it and on June 23rd left Boston on the steamship Martha Washington, the Cosu- lich-Italian line, for southern Italy and the Dalma- tion Coast. That night it rained. It rained the next day. In fact for seven days there was nothing but grayness, tog and cloud, the Atlantic behaving in a most unseemly way. The management, however, as if trying to make up for the weather, provided a varied entertainment. There were orchestral concerts, morn- ing and evening, for the Italians take their music with them when they go to sea. The programs were of high order, although there was always one number which appealed to the popular liking for jazz. Did they think it would be particularly agreeable to the Americans? Was that why it was inserted? I won- dered. Then there were “movies” every night. Danc- ing for those who danced; “bridge” for those who played, and the most wonderful things to eat—for those who were not seasick! So the week passed and one morning we awoke to the blue skies and the blue waters of the Mediterra- anean; to St. Michael’s in the Azores. Next we stopped at Lisbon, and then Naples. But it was only after we had left Naples that everything was new and so, correspondingly, interesting. All day we sailed south, bearing a little toward the east in the direc- tion of the Messina Straits. Stromboli, where Aeolus of old guarded the cave of the Winds, sent out and aup J'ork-like tongues of flame, and as Vesuvius, since It blew its cap off, is content seemingly with a wisp «of smoke for head covering, we were glad that there was one volcano that was living up to its reputation, especially as no harm was being done. So all the af- ternoon we sailed on, and the hills and mountains on the islands changed from gold to rose and gray and then purple and the sun dropped behind the rim of the sea to the other side of the world. At twilight we entered the straits, passing between Scylla and Charybdis the rocks and the whirlpool which caused the ancients such terror. But they have been tamed by modern science; the rocks, wholly done away with; and as for the whirlpool, I am positively sure that only sailors and ardent lovers of the classics on the lookout for ancient landmarks, if a whirlpool may be classed as a landmark, would ever detect any un- usual turbulence of the waters. Reggio in southern Italy and Messina in Sicily confront one another across the strait, and a ferry boat will take you from one to the other in about twenty minutes. The world has traveled a long way since the days of Vergil! When morning came we were well on our way to Pa- tras in Greece—sailing in and out among the Ionian Islands, barren rocks flushed with rose of the most beautiful hues and tints, so many of them. We saw Ithaca, that is, we looked hard at two islands about which the wisest scholars differ as to which one was the home of Ulysses. But we were safe either way as we saw both, and we feel much better acquainted with Ulysses at any rate. By mid-afternoon we were anchored at Patras with Missolonghi, where Byron died when helping the Greeks gain their independ- ence, just across the Gulf of Patras. Was it hot? It most certainly was; hot to the nth degree! But that was not the reason why we did not go ashore. Patras, although the second largest city in Greece, is not modern in its sanitation and every once in awhile there is a rumor of “The Plague,” but some charming English people who live there told us that they had never known of an epidemic, and were never in fear of it. However, only those whose destination was Patras were allowed to land, while the rest of us from the ship watched the town wake from its long mid- day siesta; watched while one table in the open square blossomed out with a white cloth; then another and another. Men, women and children appeared as if by magic, eating, drinking, laughing and talking; the usual closing of the day which looked to us so much like a festival. Ragusa in Jugo-Slavia was our next port-of-call, and when you enter the Old Town you feel as though you had stepped backward into the Middle Ages. There is the frowning fortress with its massive ram- parts and bastions; there, the streets that are stair- ways and there, the encircling walls. We were for- tunate in seeing the people gather in the square for their evening promenade, and the band played and the lights gleamed on the Venetian facades of the picturesque old buildings—for Venice at one time was the over-lord of this same little town—and we half- dreamed we were living in the long-ago. A flaring light gleams forth, throwing in clear re- lief the faces and dress of a group of girls approach- ing us. We look eagerly, expecting something quaint and individual in costume. We look again. Surely our eyes deceived us. But no! Each girl has “bobbed” hair; each wears short skirts, flesh-colored stockings and “pumps.” Laughing in spite of our disappoint- ment, we went back to the ship to learn that Ragusa New Town was and is a favorite summer resort for the French as well as Italians and Austrians, which accounts, perhaps, for the modern dress. But the Jugo-Slavians are quite- alert along other lines than dress, we discovered. When we landed we were asked to show our passports. “Ah, yes. Americans. $1.00 each, please,” said the smiling official, who spoke Eng- lish remarkably well.