Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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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.

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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.”

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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR Introducing— ‘ ‘ Us ’ ’ DEAR READER, as this issue goes to the press, it strikes the mind of this more or less intelligent editor that perhaps you would like to know some of the people who get it ready for you. Well, let’s line them up and here goes! First comes that terror of the staff, the edi- tor-in-chief, Warren Russell. He’s the “guy” who tells us to just dash off a story of two for the next issue, but he’s a pretty good scout just the same. Right on his trail is the associate editor, Julia Saparoff, the little girl who carries around a great big load of editorial points. Following right along comes that terror of the Sophs, the Senior Class editor, Irving “Ike” “Muzzy” Murray. We have lots of more names for him too but they can’t be printed. He also has a more or less dizzy assistant in, — well, he hasn’t been appointed yet but he’s sure to be dizzy after working with Mjirray. That sprightly Junior Class editor, Ruth Car- ter, usually has a few bright thoughts up her sleeve, too. The only trouble with her is that she keeps her thoughts right up her sleeve. Our sparkling, scintillating, thrilling (pretty good words, huh?), athletic reports are en- graved by that there master craftsman, Bob Miller. You’ll probably see Bob running around at all the games with his little pad and pencil but then you might not. What’s the difference how he runs around as long as Jie writes up his notes. When you read what your big brother and sis- ter are doing now you’ll know that Rosamond Reiser, the Alumni editor, and her handsome ycung assistant (the line forms on the right, girls) ? David Young, are on their trail. A trio of hard-working girls are Phyllis Down, Eve- lyn Paten and Annette Jervis. And when I say hard working, I mean it. Try getting to- gether a page of poetry, exchanges, or good books some day yourself and then you’ll know what they’re up against. There are a couple of bright young Sophs on the staff, too. They know that when business is falling off for the flag-pole sitters business is picking up for the undertakers, so they go right after the undertaker’s ad. John Albani and Marjorie Michelson, our assistant business managers, I mean. Those jokes (heh-heh-heh), are drawn up by Lawrence (Larry to you) Parr. He’s a joke too. Oops! Pardon me Larry, I didn’t know you were around. Several cute little boys and girls, headed by the supreme royal circulating manager-in-chief, Sherman Levenson, flit about the building look- ing for money from subscriptions, so watch out. For future dodging they are Audrey DeLong, Virginia Savage, Jimmy Kaup. Yes, Frankie Lane’s around somewhere, but just where, no- body knows. There, now that you’ve heard all about us, just how much do you know about us? Noth- ing, do I hear? Correct, Oscar, go to the head of the class. Last, but not least, comes this sparkling scribe. I’m pretty good, am I not? Yes, I am not. (Oh, am I blushing?) Well, so long — A. E.