Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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6 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR tropical custom. And Jack, listen. It is pretty sensible too. Some hot night, when the air is stifling and when you feel a baby Mississippi trickling down your back, just slip on a pair of light, loose pajamas, put your feet up on your desk, and see how comfortable it is! I know. I’ve tried it! My goodness, Jack, my clock has just called out “eleven o’clock.” And we rise here at four thirty! So I must be getting under my mos- quito netting. I’ll write again soon. Oh, by the way. Next month we are going to take a trip to a part of the islands where the natives are called head hunters. They get their name because of a gentle little custom that they have of cutting off their enemies' heads to keep as souvenirs! If I get back safely, I’ll write. If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know that I am “Among Their Souve- nirs.” Sincerely, Frank. Note: This is the first in a series of letters to be written from Manila by the author. A MEMORY By Ruth Morris. ’31 THE SEA is ever fascinating. Smiling treacherously beneath the rays of the sun or angrily roaring in the dark night, still one feels the call. We love the salty tang of a crisp wind; starlit blue sky overhead and a deeper blue below.. But when it’s sullen and angry, then you have the challenge of the sea. One day I stood on the breakwater and watched the last gleams of a watery sun caught and reflected in little whitecaps, racing towards the shore. A wind sighed over the water touching the sails of this boat and that, send- ing them scurrying. In the grey light, they blurred, became indistinct, faded and left the wind, alone on a darkening sea. For a while the wind was content to spurn these waves but then, sent each one higher than its fellow. Until with a suddenly aroused fury, it con- temptuously sent them scattering, shrieking, blowing. Higher and higher they rose, ending with a crashing crescendo near the black shore line which was thrown into relief by the boil- ing, white foam. The foam marked the line of advance and finally edges of it touched the bot- tom of the breakwater and hurriedly retreated. At the same time I felt a spatter of rain, or was it spray flung up by the wind? Re- luctantly I left this black storm-scene to seek the cheerful group around the fireplace within. Later, when I looked out, the storm had sub- sided but a heavy fog prevented me from see- ing the water. Nevertheless I could hear it and went to sleep with the steady roar sounding in my ears. ROBERT BURNS’ BIRTHPLACE By Isabelle Forsyth, ’31 HIS summer, while traveling in Great Brit- 4 ain, I visited Alloway Ayr, the birth- place of Robert Burns, the beloved Scot- tish poet. He was born in 1759 and died in 1796. He endeared himself to all people of Scottish birth by his poems. Two of his most popular poems are “Cotters Saturday Night” and “A Man’s a Man for a’ That.” These poems are read and quoted the world over. His poems, many of which were set to music, are sung by English-speaking people in all lands. “Auld Lang Syne” is almost as popular as a national anthem. I went by bus from Glasgow, a distance of about forty-five miles, to Ayr. The road, after leaving the city of Glasgow, winds through beautiful dairy farm lands, where it reaches the coast at Kilwinning and then goes along the coast until it reaches Ayr. Ayr is a very old historical town but the principal place of interest is the cottage where Burns was born. There are also monuments and memorials here erected in memory of him. I took a street car to Alloway, a part of Ayr. This car took me to the Bridge of Ayr where I got oft'. On the left of this bridge is a park. It is a beautiful walk through the park and along the bank of the River Ayr. At the end of this park is the Auld Brig O’Doon which Burns wrote of in the song, “Ye Banks and Braes O’ Bonnie Doon.” It is indeed a beautiful spot and as I crossed the old bridge which, some say, was originally built by the Romans, I felt I was treading on hallowed ground. Near this bridge is a large monument with beautiful flower gardens sur- rounding it. About half a mile down the road, nearer Ayr, is the cottage. It stands right on the side of the road. The cottage is small, low, and has a thatched roof. The first thing I saw, as I entered was the stable, which is attached to the cottage. It had stalls for two horses at one side and two cows at the end. There were three rooms in the cottage, kitchen, bedroom and sitting room. Everything was wonderfully preserved. In the kitchen there were several pieces of furniture and dishes said to have been used by the Burns family. There is a museum near the cottage. In it I saw many of Burns’ original writings and many letters written him by great men of his time commending his writings. There were also many paintings and pictures depicting scenes in his writings. I spent a splendid day at Ayr. It is a town which will always stand out in my memory as one of the most interesting towns I have ever visited.

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 5 LETTERS FROM THE ORIENT By Francis X. Rooney Ateneo de Manila, Philippine Islands. July 14, 1928. My dear Jack: No, I am not dead! I’m still alive, but thir- teen thousand miles away! My letters must take one whole month to reach you by way of Japan and China, so please be patient. I am on the other side of the world! Just one month ago today our liner crept into the dock at Manila. You know how I used to dream of visiting the tropics, and that day my dream came true. What a greeting we re- ceived. The graceful palms waved a welcome; the sun smiled; the blue sky smiled; the brown natives smiled — and let me tell you, Jack, I smiled too! So here I am at last in the Philip- pines ! Jack, it’s fascinating here. Things are so different that it is like another world. It is an- other world, or rather, it is two worlds in one. The strangest thing of all seems to be how modern and ancient ideas go hand in hand. Here, Mr. 1928 walks down the street with Miss 1828! Just to give you an example of what I mean, yesterday we rode out in our new Buick. That’s modern, isn’t it? But wait. We drove along the main street and lo — we were held up by a lumbering ox-cart, the native driver sitting nonchalantly, cross-legged, on his ancient vehicle! Five minutes later, speeding along the modern, cement road, we had to stop and wait for two huge sows to waddle off the road. They were enjoying a sun bath on the hot cement! But the most ludicrous was yet to come. A few minutes later our horn sent a herd of fifteen goats jumping and scampering across a field! Talk about sights! All this, remember, is right in Manila, a city of 300,000 people. You know I am teaching at the Ateneo High School, founded by the Spaniards fifty years ago. Our building crouches behind the famous Spanish fortifications, for we are just within the ancient walled city, or, Intra-Muros, as it is called. To live here is to be transported back into the Middle Ages. Middle Ages? Yes, for just outside our school is the wall and moat built by the Spaniards. Every house here is a fort, its first story a three-foot wall of solid concrete pierced by heavily barred windows. Even now the high doors are swung closed every night, the heavy iron bars dropped be- hind them — and we are secure! My room is on a kind of balcony, and under- neath my window is — well, the Orient. Right below me are the Chinese stores, their owners squatting outside on the sidewalk, gibbering away in their mysterious tongue and tones. Half-naked children play in the street; chick- ens pick their dinner beneath our Buick; oxen plod by; native women click along the stone sidewalks in their wooden sandals; an oc- casional piglet darts squealing across the street until captured by his brown, shouting owner. Perhaps you can see now what I mean when I say that I am seeing new and strange sights! And our High School. Eight hundreds boys, most of them boarders. Talk about race mix- tures! Jack, the first day I went to class I hardly knew what to think. There they sat before me, forty-two young men, every one in a neat white duck suit, bow tie, hair slicked and black and white shoes on many! Kuppenhei- mer from head to foot! And the mixture! Twelve Chinese, nine Spaniards, two Siamese, one Russian, ten Filipinos — and the rest mix- tures of these! Jet black hair, slanting eyes, and brown, smiling faces! I tell you, Jack, it was an experience. Do you know what I did? The first holiday I held a class picnic at the beach! Forty of us crowded into autos and away we sped, half an hour later landing at Fasay, a beautiful, tropi- cal beach, ten miles of sand, fringed by grace- ful palms. Talk about fun! We brought enough ice cream for an orphan asylum, and enough sandwiches and cookies for a regiment! We raced. We swam. We wrestled. We built pyramids. We sat under the palms and I told them stories about America — America, their “dream land.” It was a perfect day and we returned home fast friends. But Jack, if my first day in class was a cap- pistol surprise, my first night in the study hall was a bombshell explosion! Of course, in the States a necktie left off is a sign of lack of etiquette. But wait. Just picture my study hall here, open on all sides like a piazza (in the tropics you would smother with mere win- dows). See the eighty desks and chairs, row on row, and my desk at the rear of the room, elevated two feet above the floor! That gives me a birds-eye view of every desk and boy! Well, after supper I heard the hum of voices creep up the stairway, into the dormitory to change clothes and then one by one the boys strolled into the study hall. “Good evening, Mr. Rooney,” smiled the first, and walked to his desk. I looked at him in astonishment. He was in pajamas! In came student number two. I looked at him — be- wildered. He had nothing but a track suit on! And then they all trooped in. Pajamas, track suits, athletic shirts, jerseys — honestly, I’ll never forget that first night. But Jack, in twenty minutes that study hall was as quiet as a church. All that I could see was white and brown, brown arms, brown legs, brown feet, all so distinct again the white shirts. You know when they first came in I thought they were playing a joke on me. But luckily I said nothing. I later learned that that was the

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 7 HOW IT HAPPENED By Arnold Pederson, ’31 DEBATE NIGHT at Clyde Hall! The stu- dent-filled auditorium fairly buzzed with feverish expectancy as eight o’clock drew near. But down on the stage something or somebody was holding up the opening of the evening’s program. Aha! At second glance one could easily see that a member of one of the debating teams had not as yet put in his appearance, and consequently, was delaying the entire debate. Tsk! Tsk! such a criminal lack of punctuality! The impatient judges had not long to wait, however, as the wayward one soon hurried out of the wings and slid unobtrusively into the empty chair. This flushed and perspiring de- linquent, the students could have told you, was Craig MacArthur, a talented and popular de- bater. Craig was obviously greatly agitated over some disturbing news, which he managed to impart to his teammates before Headmaster Carroll arose to open the meeting. “Listen, fellows,” he whispered excitedly, “someone stole our debate briefs from my desk. I’ve been searching everywhere for them, but they’re gone!” “What?” gasped Lee Crandall. “Oh, there goes our debate,” he moaned. “With our briefs the opposition can have their rebuttal all ready, and easily defeat what little of our arguments we can remember.” “Quiet!” warned Lloyd Burroughs, the third member of the trio. “Mr. Carroll is about to open the meeting. Just try to recall all you can of your notes and perhaps we’ll win yet.” The only important fact to be culled from the headmaster’s opening address was that the winners of this debate would meet Cuyler Prep the following month for the state championship cup. The preliminaries completed, the head- master turned the meeting over to the presi- dent of the Senior Class, who officially set the debate in motion. Although at a distinct disadvantage on ac- count of the loss of their notes, the first two affirmative speakers, Lee Crandall and Lloyd Burroughs, kept their opponents from rolling up any great lead. However, as was expected, the first thrill of the evening was furnished by the sparkling oratory of Craig MacArthur and his opponent Roland Hastings. Both were splen- did orators, both swayed the crowd at will, but not the judges, whose keen perception found Craig’s arguments to be fundamentally better than the more polished arguments of Roland. Accordingly, if anyone dared dart a glance at the judges’ score cards, that transgressor would have found the teams deadlocked at the intermission before rebuttal. During the rebuttal, it grew painfully evi- dent to Craig and his teammates that the nega- tive side had previously studied the affirma- tive’s arguments and had prepared its own arguments accordingly, with such telling ef- fects that when Craig gave the final affirmative rebuttal, his opponents were far, far ahead. There remained only Roland to add insult to injury, and rest assured, he had all intentions of doing so. Forth he strode to the speaker’s stand with a glint in his eye that boded no good for his opponents. He would tear the affirma- tive limb from limb, he would flail them and grind the remains beneath his heel, he would hold them up to the scorn of their classmates. Aha! he’d show them! Assuming his best fighting pose, he faced the audience and pre- pared to squelch his enemies decisively. “Fellow classmates!” be began. Then he suddenly hesitated. Across his flushed counte- nance flitted a shadow of disquietude. Again he addressed his audience, again he stopped. Suddenly he threw his head back, rolled his eyes ceilingward and indulged in a tremendous sneeze! Yes, dear readers, a sneeze! Not only one, but a second, then a third. By this time his audience was doubled up with laughter and gales of uproarious “haw-haws” shook the rafters. Finally, still sneezing, he was forced to retire to the wings. According to the laws of Clyde Hall, his retirement constituted a de- fault and caused his team to forfeit the de- cision. Mouths agape, not knowing whether to laugh or cheer, the three victors looked from one to the other in amazement. Suddenly the light of understanding sprang into Craig’s eyes. “I’ve got it!” he cried. “Got what?” echoed the others. “Those debate notes were in my botany note- book. I had samples of golden-rod and rag-weed pressed in its leaves. Roland stole the note- book, but contracted hay fever from the golden- rod !”