Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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A VARSITY MAN Pat Flaherty ’50 Would Jack be disappointed ? This question was on Mr. Anthony’s mind when the porch door slammed. Jack deposited his football equipment on the dining room floor. Well, that was the answer. Jack was disappointed. Right away Mr. Anthony began reason- ing with him, “So what, if you didn’t play today, son. There are other games.” “That’s right, Dad,” replied Jack care- lessly, trying to conceal his sorrow. But Dad knew from Jack’s hollow reply that he wasn’t thinking of future games. It was today’s game that counted today. Just then Mom entered and announced din- ner: “Come on you All American! Wash up, and get your dinner.” “O.K.,” answered Jack, trying to cheer up. After dinner Jack went up to his room to lie down. It was a funny feeling to be a part of the team and not contribute to its support. Only another football player under the same circumstances could actually know how Jack felt. Well, so ended the somber Saturday. Next Saturday came and with it another football game. Jack’s team, Maltonvill High football game. Jack’s team, Maltonville High Maltonville Cathedral. A large crowd ap- peared to cheer both teams. It was a big game! In the third period when Maltonville High was leading 6-0, Coach Henderson sent Jack in. Oh! the thrill, the pang at the heart, and the chills of excitement that passed through him, before he got on the field. He was ac- tualy playing for the varsity! In three minutes Jack was on the bench again. But that didn’t matter. He had played! That Saturday when his team won 8-0, Jack felt like a hero. The hero himself sould not possibly have felt better than Jack. Mr. Anthony was worried. Jack had played, but only three minutes. Would he be dis- appointed ? His answer came soon enough when Jack boomed in with, “We won!” There was Mr. Anthony’s lesson for the day, being taught by his own son. It really doesn’t matter how long or how well you play, as long as you try your best when you get your chance! THE SECOND MAN Edward Sulesky ’55 This was William Anthony’s second year at Grotonsville High School. Since he was not carrying enough points to get promoted into the senior year, Bill decided to make up the extra points by joining an extra activity. He chose the track team. When Bill first went out for track he thought that it would be an easy way to make up those extra points but he soon learned that it was a very difficult sport. Everyday he practiced with the other members of the team for a few hours but he ran in only a half hearted manner. The coach would yell, “Speed up, Bill. Don’t lag behind!” After a month of so, track found its way into Bill’s blood. He began to practice much harder than he ever did. In a short time he began to notice that he was steadily improv- ing. The coach noticed this too and rated him as the second fastest man on the team. The one man Bill couldn’t beat was Abe Alswell, who seemed to be a born runner. Every advancement Bill made ip track was due to hard work, but every advancement Abe made was due to his natural ability. Bill’s event was the fifty yard dash and he did fairly well in it. He came in second most of the time, losing only to Abe Alswell. The biggest track event of the year was here, the meet between Grotonsville High and their rival Springwood High. All the other events, except the fifty yard dash, were run off with the two high schools battling all the way. The score was Grotonsville High 25 and Springwood High 30. Springwood High needed a second place in the fifty yard dash to win the meet and they were pretty sure of getting it with their dash man, Bob Calas. Grotonsville knew that Abe could take first place, but did Bill have chance against Bob Calas? This time the race depended on the second man, not the first. The runners crouched, the gun went off and the runners darted to their feet like a bullet, straight and fast. Bill’s heart was like (Continued on page 9) Eight

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before me a smiling gentleman who asked me why my toga wasn’t buttoned. I answered him calmly, “I’m sorry sir, but buttons haven’t been invented yet.” Still smiling, he handed me an offense slip and told me to report after school. I was quite confused by all this, so I im- mediately decided to look for a way out. I tried one of the doors and found myself in a large room were many pupils were seated. The man at the front of the room threw a pile of books into my arms and told me to sit down. I sat down next to a girl wearing strange woolen garments on her legs. The students here call them knee socks. She looked at me, giggled, and turning to the girl behind her, whispered, “Ain’t he the craziest?” With as much self-control as I could muster I adjusted the wreath of olive on my head and turned away. No sooner had I done this when a bell rang and the room was emptied quickly. Not wishing to seem con- spicuous, I followed, but decided not to enter any more rooms for a while, for fear I would meet another giggling female. I was wandering around the corridors for a short while when another bell rang. I was all but trampled by the mad rush of pupils hurrying to reach some event they called “Sophomore Lunch.” Soon everything was back to normal in- sanity, and I continued my roaming about when I met that smiling gentleman again. This time he asked to see my corridor per- mit. When I told him I did not know what he was talking about he took me to a little room which he called “the office,” where I sat until two o’clock. At this time another bell rang and all the pupils ran from their rooms and congregated in the halls. The main topic of conversation seemed to be (pardon my slang) “cool cats.” Well, dear Brutus, my day at Somerville High School has come to an end and I am now retiring to my peaceful grave. I am closing with that famous Latin proverb, “Ex- humo te maximum pater!” which means, “I dig you the most, dad!” Yours truly, Caius Julius Ceasar BIRTH OF THE MORNING BEVERLY CONN '55 All is dark. One can still hear the cricket scratching out his little tune. Punctuating the still, cool air, the wild cry of an animal rings out, and the nocturnal chill suddenly reaches deeper into the marrow of even the younger early-riser’s bones. A faint grayness begins to tinge the edges of the sky. As when the glow of a new-lit candle grows from glimmer to revealing radiance and gives a single sharp shadow to the surrounding ob- jects, so the sun warns the awakening world of his coming, for where before only a cav- ernous black bounded the world, bristling crags emerge to tower bleakly against the brightening heavens. The paths of the wood still are dark, but the timid light begins to color the trees and fields. Morning waits on dew-tipped slippers, mo- tionless, and strangely hushed for one brief moment, coaxing from that reluctant sphere the first day spark. Suddenly the sky sets aflame the dingy robe of the night, and vic- torious Morning in her glowing gown steps along from rill to rill, bidding the rising mists come fill her fleecy pockets. The loon on the lake calls a farewell note, and diving (Continued on page 20) Seven

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REAL GONE ATOLL CHARLES BROPHY '55 I was four hours out of Honolulu, flying at about 15,000 feet when my arms got tired. After three weeks of drifting, lying semi- conscious, I felt my raft being lifted by the breakers and finaly touching the firmness of a tiny atoll. I crawled out of the raft, half mad with thirst and hunger, and staggered up to a coconut tree. Finding a coconut, I was trying to break it open when I heard someone hum- ming a melody which sounded like “Cherry Pie.” I blinked my eyes, and what I saw astounded me. A real gone native wearing a pegged loin cloth, was standing over me with a spear poised in his hand. It seemed to me that he was debating whether or not to kill me. Just as he raised his spear in advance of plunging it into my breast, I feebly pointed to my belt loop on which a Sid Button was hanging. When he saw it the native kissed me like a long lost friend, and shouting, “I dig you the most,” ran off into the jungle. Soon he re- turned with a dozen other natives wearing roll collar shirts, suede sandals, and side- burns. Placing me tenderly on a litter, my new found friends took me to their village. The headman, who looked suspiciously like Joe Donnaruma, said, “Slip me some skin, Daddy 0.” I passed out, but not before mur- muring, “Man, you’re real nervous.” When I awoke, I was lying on a couch and was being fanned by two beautiful native girls. Two others were feeding me grapes. I put up with this as best I could. Not many days later, the king visited me and made it clear that if I wished to live I must do a most important favor for him. It seems that he had seen “The Wild One” and had the complete outfit except for the cap. With great ceremony, I presented him my cap complete with chrome goodies and a leather thong. The king, greatly pleased with this, promised to grant me any favor; I asked only to go home. Sadly he acquiesced and gave me a sailing canoe and supplies. As I left, the whole populace turned out and sang “Sweetness.” After many days of sailing, a tramp steamer picked me up and I landed back in the States. Well, that’s my story, Doc. Hey! You ain’t gonna’ put me back in there again! Take this straitjacket off! THE SECOND MAN (Continued from page 8) a triphammer and his legs were like those of a deer for he tried to stay near Abe, who was a few feet in front of him. With one final burst of speed Bill darted across the finish line and loked to see where Bob Calas was. To his amazement he saw that he had beaten Bob. The Grotonsville rooters were in wild tu- mult for they had won the meet! William Anthony had a warm feeling of pride that day, for he realized that the second man is an important man. Nine