Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

Page 16 text:

8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR by.” The song raced through his veins and hummed through his head. He would show them. It was Thursday before he put on a uniform again and then he ruined the tackling dummy. Friday he smeared the scrubs all over the lot and champed at the delay of time. Saturday afternoon finally came. The big “crimson tide” of Brenton rolled onto the field and immediately after came the green-clad warriors of Talbot, Ted raging with them. The teams lined up, the whistle blew and the game was on. Ted was everywhere, making tackles, spilling plays, opening holes like a steam- roller. In the stands they began to look up his number. “46” — Burwell, h’mm must be a new fellow but where’s Nowlan been hiding him.” The game rolled on to the final quarter with Talbot leading 9—7. Then came Ted’s chance. Brenton took the ball on downs on their own forty-yard line. They lined up, signals barked forth, the ball was snapped, and a short pass netted six yards. Ted had broken through but not fast enough. However on the next play, things happened. The Brenton fullback took the ball and hurled what was intended to be a long pass but Barr, the Talbot quarter, leaped up, intercepted and as he descended turned and raced for his own goal! The stands went wild. “Cut him down,” “throw him off-side,” they screamed. Ted saw his opening and from force of habit, because it was the thing to be done, he did it. He went after Barr with a surging rush, dove, seized him by one leg and hurled him off-side a scant ten yards from the goal. It was a lucky break but it was enough. The crowds roared with the name of Burwell. Four minutes later, the game ended and Ted Burwell “the man who saved the Brenton game” marched contentedly to the lockers for the last time in his career, comforted in the knowledge that at last he had given them “something to remember him by.”

Page 15 text:

SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 7 Something to Remember Him By By David O’Brien, ’32 OLD JERRY, slouched in his chair by the training table, rose and prepared for business as the clump of many cleats signified the end of the game and the approach of the players. First came the substitutes, most of them without even their hair disar- ranged. These boys rushed in full of spirit and still fresh, all joking and in a joyful mood because of the victory. Next came the regu- lars, stamping in one by one, weary enough to drop, each accompanied to the door by one or more congratulatory friends. They were all mud-smeared, many of them limped, and few there were without some ache or pain. Soon the room was filled with hot steam from the shower, the smell of liniment, and the noise of Jerry’s slaps as he got busy on stiff muscles. Nowlan, the coach, walked about, critically eyeing the injured, giving a word of praise here and there, the watchful guardian of his flock. Nobody consciously noticed the last figure to slide in, drawn of face, resentment shining in his eyes. This was Ted Burwell, first string guard. Ted slouched over to his locker, spun the com- bination, flung in his helmet, and then fell on to the bench. He was bitter, had been bitter now for all of three weeks, he thought. No, he realized, he only felt this resentment after a hard day's practice or after a game, and queerest of all he didn't know just why. He was first string, played a good game, but that was it, just a “good” game. Curious but he was too tired to think of it now. “See you at supper, Ted,” called Frank Jones. His voice brought Ted up with a start, and he noticed that the locker room was almost empty. Slipping off his uniform, he took a shower, and soon was dressed and on his way to the training table supper. Everyone was in a great humor as Ted en- tered the room. Enthusiasm was rampant and banter held sway. “Hi! Ted, old sock!” “How’s the old ‘sweetheart of Sigma Chi?' ” “Hey All-America, where’ve you been?” “All-America,” growled Ted and hot anger surged up in him. “All-America” nothing! Why did they have to call him that he wond- ered? He finished his meal in comparative silence, as his tablemates soon excluded him from the conversation after he had favored them with a few non-committal grunts. He rose from the table and went to his room in the far corner of the third floor, there to brood with himself over this strange feeling which obsessed him. The next week passed uneventfully and Sat- urday found Ted in the lineup. He still had not shaken his obsession and was sullen as the team ran onto the field. That game ended in a nightmare for Ted. He missed tackles, let the opposition roll over and through him, balled up plays and did everything wrong. After he was taken out in the middle of the third quarter, Nowlan walked up to him and said: “Little stale, huh, Ted? that’s 0.. K. Take time off next week, you deserve it.” This, burned Ted up as he hated to admit that he had gone stale even though he knew it to be true. But this opinion traveled further with terrific results. While reading the reports of the game next morning, Ted encountered his name down in one corner of the page:------“Burwell played a lackadaisical and uninspired game, far below his usual standard” — “Uninspired,” the word smote him. Suddenly he realized just why he had hated the sight of a football these last few weeks. He wanted recognition. Not screaming headlines, he was not built that way, but just appreciation of his work. “Far below his usual standard,” the report read. So! they only expected just so much of him, hey! well he would show them next Saturday! his last game, give them “something lo remember him

Page 17 text:

SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 9 A Room for the Night By John Kennedy, 34 ANCESTORS are one of the many things that all human beings have. Among the many in my family is my great aunt who lives in the western part of Mass- achusetts. She is a lovable little lady about ninety years old who lives in an old-fashioned cottage on the main road between Springfield and Holyoke. I have visited her several times and have found each visit extremely interest- ing. She has told me many stories about her experiences during her earlier days when she used to take in summer tourists. One of the most interesting tales was about a young man who came in search of a room for the night. My aunt received him and as supper was being served she asked him if he had dined. He re- plied in the negative and immediately another place was set at the table. He seemed to be rather quiet and sort of a mysterious person. My aunt didn’t take much notice of him. He seemed to be friendly with the other people while eating. After supper the tourists went into the living room and one of them turned on the phonograph. For about half an hour they sang and danced. The newcomer retired for the evening at seven-thirty. The next morning a lady reported that her watch had been stolen. My aunt and a police officer went upstairs to search the rooms in an effort to find it. The new boarder was the only one who had not been down to breakfast in the morning. The door of his room was locked. The police officer knocked on the door but received no reply. For this reason a skele- ton key was used to open the door. The man had gone. Was it he who had stolen the watch ? No, the watch was found in the hall, but who was this man? He came back a week later to pay for his board. My aunt asked him who he was. He said he was the son of an English duke. He had stayed at my aunt’s because he did not want to return to England just then and was traveling incognito. On the night he arrived at my aunt’s he thought he had recognized among the other boarders a newspaper repor- ter who had once tried to interview him. In order to avoid a possible second attempt on the part of the reporter the young English noble had decided to make his visit at my aunt’s a one-night stand. Bill's Uneasiness By Philip Seretto, ’34 T V' |f NUAT afternoon Bill was unquestionably nervous. While he was entertaining his mother’s guest, he was constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His older brother who was watching, saw no reason for this because he had never acted so before. A pair of hands that had been pulling the table runner moved upwards to a jacket button. It was almost removed by the twist- ing it received. His right hand left the but- ton and moved to the curly locks on his head. With fingers apart, the hands passed roughly to and fro, pulling a few strands of hair. His older brother thought that there was surely something the matter and that there was a reason for Bill’s unusual actions. Now Bill was trying to speak, but it sounded as though his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He stuttered over his first words and mumbled the last. There was more to his actions than the eye could see. Presently his mother came in. After greeting her guest, she dismissed Bill. Upon reaching the hall, he took his hand- kerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspi- ration from his face and hands and then breathed freely once more. You see Bill had broken the guest’s window the day before.