Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR THE LIBRARY DEPARTMENT Parnassus on Wheels A Book Review By Annette Jervis 1TD ARNASSUS 0N WHEELS” by Chris- topher Morley, is a rather unusual story. It is a short novel contain- ing humor, adventure, local color, a little ro- mance and mystery, and a great many inter- esting ideas about books. To prevent her brother from getting books, Helen MacGill buys a whole traveling book store. “Parnassus On Wheels,” as Roger Mif- flin calls his van load of books, is drawn by Pegasus. In order to have time to write'a book of his own, Roger is willing to sell his outfit for four hundred dollars. Helen, know- ing the way the house would be upset if her brother, an author, ever got so many books, buys Parnassus and Pegasus. Roger goes with her the first day to initiate her into the busi- ness of selling books. One of her first lessons is: “When you sell a man a book, you don’t sell him just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue —- you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humor and ships at sea by night — there’s all heaven and earth in a book, in a real book, I mean.” Helen learns many lessons in Roger’s philosophy and inci- dents the reader does, also. One of the chief reasons why I liked the book was because it was so real and true to life. In one place Morley says through Roger Mifflin: “It is better to read a good book than to write a poor one; and I’ve done so much mixed reading in my time that my mind is full of echoes and voices of better men,” and in another, “I think reading a good book makes one modest. When you see the marvelous in- sight into human nature which a truly great book shows it is bound to make you feel small- like looking at the Dipper on a clear night or seeing the sunrise when you go out to collect the eggs.” Roger Mifflin is an odd, likeable character, but a queer person for a hero. One would hardly expect a man small in stature, mild in manner, with a fringe of red hair surrounding his bald spot to rescue the heroine from such dangers as her brother, some tramps, a dog and other perils. The heroine, herself, is rather different from the usual type of story-book ladies, though. Everything comes to a happy ending when she discovers that Roger was not killed in the train wreck because he was being detained in jail. They both come to the con- clusion that “books aren’t a substantial world» (Continued on page 20)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR II Rivers By Dorothy Hallberg, ’32 Y first experience with a river, or winding stream as it may more cor- rectly be called, was when I was seven years old. This stream flowed through our back yard, and was only two or three feet deep (sufficiently deep to make one of my age wet enough to catch cold.) We were playing “Blind Man’s Bluff ,” and I was “it.” Not know- ing where I was going, I walked right to the river and fell in. Between my “yells” and “screams” I managed to swallow a great deal of water. I was a bit timid of rivers for a short time after that, but now I can sit for hours by the flowing waters, listening to their miniature waves lapping the edges of the stream, with the overhanging willows and birches swaying in the breeze. Now, let us go to the top of a high mountain, and follow a little trickling stream which we find there. It is winding its way among the rocks and trees, then tumbling over a small ledge, where it may rest a while, forming a small pool. It continues its journey to the bot- tom, picking up stones and carrying them along, and purifying its crystal clear water as it travels. We wonder how it increases in size, and use, and we find other little rivulets have joined it, and our stream has now changed to a brook, traveling through green pastures with cows grazing along its green, mossy banks. We continue roaming along our river until we find it flows either into a lake or an ocean. Rivers always have, and always will appeal to both the emotional and practical viewpoint of man. Poets write beautiful poems and songs about the beauty of rivers, and men commer- cialize them, making them means of transpor- tation. Many rivers have been changed by man who has made them wider and straighter, for more convenient travel, but such changes spoil their charm for the beauty lover. The more rivers I see, the more they fasci- nate and interest me. Unlike my first experi- ence I now enjoy falling in rivers (provided I have my bathing suit on), and a swim in their cool, green waters is a delight. How Black Hawk, the Famous Robber, Was Caught Bv Fred Young, ’33 ONE WINTER when Babe Ruth, the famous hockey player, went away for his summer vacation he told his un- trusty servant to unlock all the doors and take the silverware to the bank. The faithful servant failed to carry out these orders and took the silverware to the bank. Soon the front door opened with a bang, and White Eagle, the famous thief, crept silently in the back way. Once inside he took off his stockings and filled them with silverware; he then took a knife and cut down all the oil paintings from the wall. Finding the pantry door unlocked, he took a bridge lamp and bat- tered it down. He then took all the books from there and put them in his sock. So quiet had his actions been that the ser- vant who was in the kitchen eating, did not know of this robbery until a detective rushed (Continued on page 17)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 13 AS LONG AS 1 MAY SING By Nona Locknian, 31 I’d like to be Most anything. Just as long As I may sing. I’d like to be A tiny breeze. And sing to all Of Nature’s trees. Or an old brass kettle, That’s brewing tea, And sings on the hearth Quite merrily. Or a lark That never dies, For it sings always To the broad blue skies. Or a stream, For I should Ever sing To the wood. Or a full-blown sail On a clipper ship, That sings of spray, And the sea’s broad dip. Or a clock On the shelf, That sings To itself. Oh! I’d like to be Most anything. Just as long As I may sing. A STUDIO IN PARIS By Nona Lcckman, 31 I want a studio in Paris. A garret high above the street, Yet near enough for me to hear Upon the cobblestones, the passing people’s feet. A place where I may work By my dreaming onward led And give to others the thoughts That go swirling through my head. An easel — the canvas upon it In one corner shall stand — May it feel often The touch of my hand. A desk with pen and paper It has been used before I find — And is waiting or me to write The poems still in my mind. Unceasingly I hope That there will always be Somewhere in Paris A studio that waits for me. THE THREE WILLOWS By Evelyn E. Paton, '32 The three old willows bend above the stream; Beneath their boughs the sun sends gleam on gleam Down to the rippling water and the moss. For many lonely years they have stood there, Around their tiunks grows dainty maiden hair. The little stars of Bithlehem peep out From underneath old boulders round about As up above the willows’ branches cross. Editor’s Note: The two poems by Nona Lockman were written last spring too late to appear in the final issue of the Radiator. Nona has since graduated but we enjoyed these verses of hers and tucked them away to appear in our first issue this fall.