Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR During- the past school year interest in the Poet’s Corner and in the writing of verse increased greatly. It is the hope of the editor that this interest may be maintained and increased by the efforts of the stu- dent body during the coming year. Many contributors to this page have, however, left with the passing of the ('lass of 1927, and in order to make this corner of our paper a success we need your help. If you know or hear of any one of your classmates who writes verse, no matter what their humble opinion of it may be, or if you yourself write, let the Poetry Editor know. We need material and the chances are you may be the very one to help us get it. Bertha M. Corfield, '28. “A WANDERING WIND By Bertha M. Corfield. Class of 192S A wandering wind from the west away Stirs through the trees at the close of day, Sighs to the sun. Whispers its hopes for the day ahead, Murmuring low as the sun sinks red. Stilling its song till the shadows fade, Hid by the dusk in her purple shade. Swells once again when the woodfolk roam Out in the dark from their forest home. Rustles a tune through the night air clear, Plays in the trees till the dawn draws near, Sings to the stars. THE DREAM CITY” By Martha E. Cheney, Class of 1929 When the sun is low and the shadows fall, When candles are lighted and gleam on the wall. On the edge of the world, in a darkening sky, The crimson city goes floating by. The air is still, the breeze is dead, The birds are silent overhead, Over the hill where the night enshrouds The city glides in a host of clouds. Nobody knows there’s a city there, Nobody goes there from anywhere, But as the sunset colors the sky, See! The crimson city passes by! ON THE APPEAL TO THE GREAT SPIRIT” By Anna Wischmann, Class of 192S 0 Indian, what do you ask When begging from your gods of Fate? Is’t for return of some lost mate. Or accomplishing some mighty task? Or maybe yet ’tis for success Of crops, which have not flourished well. Or for some friend by arrow felled— But no, 0 figure of nobleness Alone against the evening sky, 1 think you ask not boons like these, But freedom for the land you love; Where you may roam, unhindered by That race who for the sake of progress seize Your liberty, that’s giv’n by those gods above. TO A TEA SET” By Bertha M. Corfield, Class of 1923 Quaint little tea set of blue and gold, Dear tiny tea set, you’ve grown so old! What was it like when one bygone day Grandmamma used you? I beg you, say! How many teas did you help to grace Down at the master and misses’ place? When, with her hand in a silken mitt, Grandmamma poured, did you thrill a bit? What did she wear? Lace and furbelows? Dainty black slippers? Perhaps a rose? Tell, was she merry, or shy and fair, Did she have parties and was he” there? Why don’t you say, little tea set mine? Why do you just simply sit and shine? John Pierce, ’27, accepted an invitation from the Melrose High School to speak before a group of pupils and help them start a poetry club. He spoke well, we hear, saying just the right thing and stirring the enthusiasm of the pupils. We are proud that we have such an able representative to speak for the interest of our school in poetry.

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 11 “ON TO PARIS!” By Grethell S. Simpson, ’30 ONE dark, rainy morning last May, over New York, there hovered a silver bird, dimly seen through the mist. For a moment it hung there, as if undecided, while the watchers below held their breath, and then it turned its nose to the East, toward the rising sun, whence lay the ocean, with all its moods, that can carry ships on its heaving bosom, or draw them down, battered wrecks, to the sandy floor, far, far, below the surface. It is the tomb of many brave men, part of them cour- ageous pioneers, and its waves hold the secret surrounding many tragic deaths. Over this dark, terrifying stretch of water the “Spirit of St. Louis” and the spirit of youth, also, winged its way. The pilot, a young lad, unknown, sat in the crowded little cabin where he was to stay for many long, weary hours. He had only bare necessities, as he needed many gallons of gas to carry him safely to his goal. When asked if it was true that he was carry- ing only a bottle of water and a few sandwiches, he replied:— “Yes, it is true. You see, if I get to Paris, I won’t need any more, and if I don’t get there —well, I won’t need any more either!” So the one-engined little plane carried only its gas and a twenty-five-year-old boy who was risking his life for the sake of his country. He was en- trusting his most precious possession to the controls of his silver plane. They said Lindbergh was lucky. While he flew over the land it may have been luck that carried him forth, but when he set out over the billowing ocean it was pluck, and pluck alone, that led him on and on to Faris. Later on that glorious day the sun came out for a while, and that cheered the people who were worried about the chance that Lindbergh was taking. But the older flying veterans de- clared that he never could do it, and that the foolhardy boy would soon turn back, while he had a chance. As time passed, however, mes- sages came from ships at sea that the plane had been sighted steadily flying towards Paris. Through the black darkness of the night peo- ple all over the countries of United States and France were listening anxiously to radio broad- casts, or vainly straining their ears for news of his safety. But when no such word came fear and pity for the tall, slim young flier filled every heart. Saturday was a wonderful sunny day. Warm and summer-like it seemed a true May day. But people feared that Lindbergh had not sur- vived to see the sun again. All through the morning nerves were tense, and then, just a little after noon, word came that the plane had been sighted over Ireland. That afternoon excitement ran high, and wild enthusiasm filled the country. Wno was this Lindbergh who had nearly reached Paris? People filled the streets in front of the news- paper offices waiting to hear the first word of success or failure. Then came the great mo- ment. At 10.21 p. m., Paris time, or 5.21 p. m. in this country, the hundreds of thousands of people waiting at the Le Bcurget flying field suddenly saw, in the circle of the searchlight glare, the shining plane, that with its single passenger, a lone flier who had braved all dan- gers, had finished the history-making flight across the Atlantic! Three moments later, ra- dios all over the country here were telling the jcyous news, and by 5.25 people knew in the United States that four minutes ago “Lucky, Plucky Lindbergh” had landed in Paris! Every- one went crazy with joy, shaking hands with total strangers. “Lindy” had made it, and that was all that really mattered! Another joyous time was had when “Lindy came home. Washington, New York and every other big city gave him the biggest reception that has ever been given a man. And “Lindy proved himself to be the wonderful lad that the country thought him to be. Quiet, unas- suming, he kept that calm, unruffled composure that is one of his greatest qualities, while the world went wild over him. “The Glorious Kid” never lost his head once, but was cool and col- lected the whole time. He gave a new signifi- cance to the word “We,” and has made that word stand for more than the little two-iettered word ever did before. He appreciated the fact that the people loved him, and he was glad, but he wanted to take his plane and fly back to the quiet, happy life that he left before his great adventure and achievement. It has been said that the American people are cold and set in their ways, that nothing can move them and they are incapable of showing any great emotion. The reception that we gave “Lindy” shows this to be untrue. Emotion reigned supreme and showed the world that we are warm and patriotic, and that we care for more than modern, material things. They say that Lindbergh is the good old-fash- ioned type. He is not. He is the ideal of mod- ern youth. He is the greatest man and hero of the time. No one could be more modern than this clean, handsome young fellow, that everyone admires. His courage, his confidence, his self-control, his absolute lack of conceit, and his patriotism have endeared him to every heart. “Lindy” was asked for a verse that expressed his feelings, and he contributed the following lines from a famous poem, that helped him for- (Continued on Pa e 19)

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