Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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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.

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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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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR i An English friend next showed hers. “50 cents for the English lady,” said our officer, smiling more broadly than at first as though appre- ciating his joke. “That isn’t fair,” we protested. “Oh! yes,” he replied, “America rich. Americans pay!” And we did. But we must not condemn this bit of European re- taliation too harshly. The landing-tax, the high prices in general of the passports in Europe followed in natural sequence the price of the passport in this country. In war, passports are necessary, but not in peace. Our government, however, still obliges every citizen who wishes to leave this country for foreign shores to pay $10.00 for his passport. In 1921 France asked $5.00 and Great Britain $2.50, but very soon they followed the United State$ and raised the price to $10.00, and Italy, without much delay, did the same. More and more American travelers are questioning the justice of this law, but if some revenue is neces- sary, why shouldn’t the United States as the richest nation on earth be the first to lower the rates? It is safe to say that other nations would soon follow suit. Now just a few words about our stay on land. First there is Venice, Venice with its wonderful square of St. Mark’s; with its beautiful buildings on three sides —stately, though only two stories in height—and the glorious church of St. Mark’s on the other, flashing and gleaming with the beauty of its mosaics at all hours of the day; the fascinating shops in the ar- cades, the restaurants, especially Florian’s, over- flowing into the square itself. “Will Florian’s be open this evening at 12?” asked a visiting American. “Sir,” said the waiter proudly, “Florian’s has not been closed for six hundred years!” This was before the Great War. During the war it was closed on account of the Austrian bombs, one of them falling within a few feet of the entrance of St. Mark’s, diag- nally across the square from Florian’s. And Flor- ence—the Florence of Dante, Boccaccio, and Savon- arola with its lovely paintings, its beautiful statuary and magnificent old palaces. And then the lakes. Lake Garda, Lake Como, Lake Lugano and Lake Maggiore. Catullus lived on the shores of Lake Garda and Vergil in one of his books speaks of its wintry winds, but in one secluded section the high moun- tains shut off the cold winds, the sun shines warmly and the orange and lemon trees flourish; all of which makes it a favorite winter resort and has given rise to the name, “Italian Riviera.” Maggiore, lovely and friendly, with shores not as wildly beautiful as those of Garda, fur- nishes the Milanese gentry with the most de- lightful of playgrounds. Of them all, however. Lake Como is the most alluring. Who can de- scribe the depth of the blue of its waters! Who can paint its sunrise beauty or that of a moonlight eve- ning! And Bellagio, situated at the junction where one branch of the lake stretches off toward Lecco, is a kind of earthly Paradise to most Americans. Never was any little Italian hamlet so captivating as the little village of Bellagio. Never were hills so pro- tectingly kind as those about this same little village. Wooded from summit to base, their reflections in the clear waters of the lake double its beauty. It is generally conceded here in this country that a native of California considers and honestly believes that much of the beauty of the world lies within the boundaries of his own state. As we went on board the little boat which was to take us across the lake to the railway station, a gentleman from California turned to take one last look at the little village sleeping in the sunshine. With a dramatic wave of his hand which included in its radius village, lake and mountains he exclaimed: “You can’t beat that!” We heartily endorsed his words! SHORT STORY CLUB The Short Story Group of the Literary Club held its first meeting of the year October 6, 1926. A com- mittee of three, Ruth Garrod, Winifred Hurley and Ruth Sibley, were elected to furnish entertainment for the next meeting. The meetings will be held the third Wednesday of the month in Room 201. The present twenty-two members urge that you attend, as the club promises many interesting programs in the future. The officers for this year are: Margaret Lacey, chairman; Ruth Hodges, secretary. THE PLAYWRITING GROUP The Play writing branch of the Literary Club held its first meeting of the year on October 0, 192G. The faculty members this year are the Misses Boole, Elli- son and Smith. Elections were held with the following results: Chairman, Rebecca Kcnnard, and the commit- tee consisting of Elliot Hall, Sylvia Brown and Doro- thy Leeman. Meetings are to be held the second Wednesday in the month.