Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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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 !”

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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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8 SOMERVILLE IIIGII SCHOOL RADIATOR THE SIXTH PRUNE By Bertha H. .Marshall I WONDER why it is that man delves with such zest into the deeper mysteries of life and yet is perfectly content to ignore the minor puzzles which it presents? For in- stance, there is the problem of the sixth prune. That is something which, until recently, has proven an almost constant source of worry to me and which, so far as I know, no one has ever attempted to explain. Now at last I have discovered what in my opinion is the true an- swer and, if you have patience, my dear reader, I will impart that information to you. Have you ever counted the number of prunes which were served to you at breakfast? No? How strange! Well, no matter. I will tell you. It was five or, perhaps in extreme cases, only four. Now the trouble is that according to the ancient books of etiquette it is “polyte that ye shoulde serve sixe prunes.” Therefore when I sit down to a dish of only five I immediately become an- tagonistic. The book says that by the rules of etiquette I am entitled to six prunes and, since I am fond of them, I am willing to argue the matter. “Only five prunes,” I growl, but mother sits and smiles serenely and says nothing. I then perceive that she too has only five. Where, oh where, is that elusive sixth prune? You say there are many possible answers to that in- quiry. Perhaps it was the one which the store- keeper removed in order that the weight would be exactly one pound. Perhaps it was the one which you ate on the way home. Or perhaps it was the one which fell into the sink when you were washing said prunes. All these and many more suggestions you advance but you are wrong! Yes, quite wrong! Glance across the table. There sits Junior, oblivious to the rest of the family, placidly indulging in a second helping. Now do you understand? That second helping is composed of all our sixth prunes. Quite a simple answer, isn’t it. Yet it took me many years to discover the fact and (who knows?) perhaps after all there may be another explanation as to what may have become of the sixth prune. JUSTIFIED By IS. Williams, ’31 IT was a beautiful day in June and the han- gars of the Donovan-Wilde Air Transport Company shone resplendently in the bright sun. A small Wright-Apache pursuit plane was wheeled out to the deadline and a slim, lithe aviator sprang into the cockpit. Two mechan- ics whirled the Eclipse starter and the motor caught with a roar. Then the plane taxied swiftly to the end of the field. Tom Donovan, a partner in the transport company, came running out of his office. “Who was in that plane?” he shouted. “I thought that I had given orders for no plane to leave the airport again today.” “We don’t know, sir,” said one of the mechan- ics as he came up. “fie said that you had given him special orders to go to Curtiss Field, said that he had an important letter for—” A scream from the clouds interrupted him. The men glanced up. The plane was coming down in a power dive. The pilot straightened out and came in a long glide to land in front of one of the hangars. Donovan ran to meet the aviator but as he neared the plane the pilot took off once more, and then ran through all the stunts known in the history of aviation. He looped, barrel-rolled, Immelmanned, and then whirled to the earth in another breath-taking spin, came out of it and landed. He jumped nimbly out and walked up to Donovan who was staring at him speechless. Then Donovan ex- ploded. “Who told you that you were hired here?” he roared. “Well, I am now, am I not?” said the pilot calmly as he introduced himself as Gordon Car- ter. Angry and disgusted, Donovan walked away without saying a word. “Just a minute, Donovan,” said Carter, ‘if you don’t give me a contract today, I’ll go over to Weinneke’s and be sure to get one.” Weinneke was his chief competitor, so Don- ovan stopped to consider. “Well,” he replied, “come to my office and we’ll talk it over.” Carter followed Donovan to his office where he was motioned to a chair and the manager asked him the terms of his contract. “I can get five hundred a week over to Wein- neke’s. What will you give me?” Carter re- plied. Mr. Wilde, the senior partner, was out of town so Donovan could not decide. “I can’t give you a contract today,” he said, “Mr. Wilde, my partner, is out of town and—” “I get a contract from you or Weinneke to- day,” interrupted Carter, “hurry up and de- cide.” “Well, it’s all right, I guess Wilde won’t care when he sees you fly,” said Donovan giving in at last. Carter went on with his wonderful flying and drew larger and larger crowds every day. One day Wilde’s daughter, Thera, came in and she wanted to go up with the new aviator. In a few days it was a regular thing for Thera to go on long flights with Carter. Then Mr. Wilde returned and Donovan brought Carter in to introduce him. As Carter entered the room Wilde gave a start, got up and walked