Stoneham High School - Wildlife Yearbook (Stoneham, MA)

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THE S. H. S. AUTHENTIC 1. The stock exchange was just closing and the members were passing out upon their various ways, some in automobiles, some in carriages and some walking. The last to leave was a small, active gentleman who took his departure in a large auto, and, unlike most of the members, drove it himself. The picture slowly changed to a quiet, city street, one side lined with spacious residences and facing a large park on the other side. Truly a locality of wealth and refinement. An auto came up the street and, stopping in front of one of the houses, permitted a gentleman to alight. He ascended the steps of the house and just before entering, pauses and turns about to gaze over the park. At this point two small children rush out of the house to embrace their father, followed by a somewhat elderly lady who affectionately greets her husband. As they stand there I recognize in him the man who left the stock exchange a short while before. There seemed to be something familiar about this small but important looking individual. Certainly this could be no other than Nelson Dempsey, and I now recall reading in the paper but a short time before of the fabulous wealth of ex-Mayor Dempsey of San Francisco, but had never dreamed that “Demp”’ was playing the business game as success- fully as he used to play around second base in the old High School days. But who could be the com- panion of this successful man? I should never have guessed if she had not turned and embraced him in the same old way, without doubt it is— or was— Marion Bean. 2. The flame died down, only to rise again, this time showing a vast assembly. On the platform a very stout woman was apparently engaged in a fiery harangue. From her threatening attitude and gestures and the uneasy manner in which the few men present viewed her success in convincing the women in the audience, I surmised this must be a suffragette. Who could this militant suffragette be? Surely none of the demure maidens of 1912. A large banner was unfurled bearing the inscrip- tion:— VOTE FOR WOMEN DOWN WITH CITY GOVERNMENT. DOWN WITH GRAFT. VOTE FOR OUR LEADER HELEN ROSSON BOYCE FOR MAYOR. Could this stout suffragette leader be the slight, quiet, unassuming Helen Boyce of my school days ? 3. The flame again almost died out but immedi- ately flashed up again showing this same gathering in marching order. Rank upon rank of suffragettes led by Miss Boyce. A slight inoffensive looking man tagged along behind at the head of the band beating upon a large base drum upon which was painted in large letters, COGAN’S MILITANT SUFFRAGETTE BAND. and I realized that Helen had won over at least one member of our class to the suffragette cause. 4. The next picture showed a crowded city theatre. The size and expectant attitude of the audience indicated some unusual attraction. As I watched the bulletin change, what was my over- whelming surprise to read Signora Estherino Patcho and her troupe of trained pigs would next appear. It was hard to recognize the dashing person who appeared on the stage as my prim classmate and the change was made more apparent by the rapidity and vim with which she put her troupe through their performance. 5. All at once the fire seemed to burn unusu- ally bright and I was at a loss to account for it because the picture showed a cemetery. This shortly explained itself when my attention was at- tracted by a sign which read, MAE BUTLER successor to JOSEPH BUTLER, COAL AND WOOD)., All coal guaranteed undpp, the Purp Food and Drug Act of 1912. So Mae was carrying on her father’s coal business but not without help for, strange to say, one of the most prominent objects in the yard was a lawn mower (Longmore) which showed evidence of long and faithful wear. 6. The neif.t picture showed another familiar scene. I easily recognized the large, old mansion on Main street, which I passed every day on my way to school. This looked just as natural as ever even to Arad working about the lawns. I wondered what connection Arad could have with our class. Upon leaning forward in my chair to get a closer view I discovered a number of elderly ladies on the piazza. One of these in particular seemed to be the person in authority. After several minutes of study I was still at a loss to explain this picture when my tiny friend of the wand came to the rescue by announc- ing that this was the Stoneham Old Ladies’ Home, a model institution which had been successfully managed for many years by Miss Viola Smardon.

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THE S. H. S. AUTHENTIC where the pupils thought as much of their Principal as did the pupils of the Stoneham High School. I do not know about the other schools but I do know that he spoke the truth when he said that we all loved Mr. Emerson, for we surely do. This winter the girls of the school have been al- lowed the use of the Armory twice a week in which to play basket ball. The inter-class games were always interesting and sometimes very exciting. In April when the honors were given out we were much pleased when Mr. Keenan and Mr. Dempsey received first and second honors respec- tively. It has oft’ been said that stolen fruits are sweet- est, so thought five Senior boys when they found a partly filled freezer of ice cream in the chemical laboratory one morning. Later in the day when the freezer was carried over to the Dean school, the teachers there, who had planned to have the cream for their lunch, were sadly disappointed. Of course suspicion pointed to the High School. A few days later five Senior boys were told by Mr. Emerson, that those who danced must pay the fiddler, so these same boys very cheerfully and readily paid for the ice cream that had so mysteri- ously disappeared. It was rumored that a Senior girl also knew where some of the cream went to. I cannot tell you who it was but perhaps Miss Waite could give some information. With .the coming of spring one’s thoughts turn to poetry, and we discovered that Paul and Victor were poets of great ability, who spent their spare mo- ments in writing “ Odes to Someone ’ but it seems they should have been called “ Odes to Everyone,” considering the number of girls who received them. When the report cards went out on June 18, we realized that our school days were indeed over, and that we should soon enter into a new life so differ- ent in many respects from the old. We thank the teachers and our principal for all that they have done for us during the past four years, and in the years to come let us ever bear in mind our motto and keep working, “ Ever Onward;’ to higher and nobler things. Viola Mae Smardon. Class Prophecy One dark and stormy day, having little to do, I walked to the book case and taking one of the nearest books, sat down before the open fireplace to read. The book which I had taken was Lowell’s “Vision of Sir Launfal,” and as I sat there I won- dered why I had chosen such a book, but being comfortably settled, did not bother to change it. I did not commence at the beginning, but pondered upon the bits of poetry that came before my eyes as the pages fell open first one way and then an- other. The first passage that caught my eye was, “ Now is the high tide of the year And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with ripply cheer. ” Then the events of my life for the past thirty years came flooding back to me. It was thirty years since I graduated from the Stoneham High School — thirty years— during the last fifteen years I had no news of my many classmates. Another passage caught my eye, “What is so rare as a day in June, Then if ever come perfect days. Why did everything persist in turning my thoughts back so many years to that perfect day in June — the day when we had to say farewell to Stoneham High and each other and set out on our courses in life. My thoughts would dwell upon the graduation day and the graduates. What had be- come of them? Were the memories of that day as dear to them as to me ? Thus I sat and pondered, first on one and then another of the happenings of that eventful day. Suddenly my thoughts were in- terrupted by a voice, one that sounded far off. The voice continued but I could not catch the words. Slowly it became more and more distinct and as I turned my head, I saw a tiny lady rising from the flames in the fireplace. She was dressed in red and yellow just the color of the flames. As she repeatedly nodded and bowed, she herself seemed a part of the fire, but she was not, for she was talk- ing, and at last made her way out of the fireplace and stood on the hearth before me. Then I noticed a tiny wand in her hand and smiling I heard her say, “Oh yes, I know you are anxious to hear about your classmates and it lies within my power to show you all you wish to know, but first you must promise not to be disappointed if some have not done as well as you expected, nor envious if some have surpassed your expectations. If they seem to you to have changed, I assure you that at heart they are the same boys and girls who graduated in 1912.” As she finished speaking, she raised her arm and at once the flames in the fireplace changed their shape and slowly framed a picture.

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THE S. H. S. AUTHENTIC So Viola had found her life work in the home town. The only persons, however, who seemed to be enjoying themselves were two sprightly old ladies who were holding an animated conversation with Arad. These two seemed to be younger than the rest and retained enough of their youthful ap- pearances so that I was able to recognize in them two of my former classmates — Teresa Callahan and Mabel Hines. What a happy trio in the Old Ladies’ Home — Viola, Teresa, Mabel. 7. The fire dying down I threw on a stick of wood which quickly burned and snapped in a very lively manner. This I thought must preface an interest- ing scene, and so it proved. The scene showed a vast crowd wending its way to a big amphitheatre. There must be some unusual attraction. A large bill-board announced that “Kid McCormack”, Stoneham’s pride, would battle with John Jackson for the world’s championship. Martin Harry Mc- Cormack is the only man in the class of 1912 with a world-wide reputation. 8. When the fire flashed up again I saw the picture of a court room, with the court in session. By the drawn face of the prisoner I judged it was a case of life or death. A lawyer was so eloquently pleading with the jury that I could see tears on the faces of the jurors. After being charged by the judge they retired but immediately returned bring- in a verdict which showed that the lawyer was suc- cessful. From the shower of congratulations I judged this must be a lawyer of considerable fame. Strange to say this scene brought vividly to mind the mock trial of the Webster Debating Society in 1912 and pondering upon that I knew that this must be Paul Keenan. Court being adjourned he passed out making his way to a confectionery store. From the store he passed along the street, finally entering a commodious but somewhat old-fashioned house. He was met at the door by a lady to whom he handed the box of confectionery. Who could be the consort of this distinguished man? The box of sweets gave the clue. It must be Doris Duplin, who, I remember, was always interested in Sweets. 9. The scene changed to the polo grounds in New York City. The Red Sox were playing the deciding game with the Giants for the world’s championship. From the score board I saw that it was the ninth inning — tie score and the Red Sox at the bat with two out. A large, earnest looking player took his place at the plate and hit the first ball pitched into the centre field bleachers for a home run. The game was soon over and that hit had won the world’s championship. This picture faded into an- other showing a small railroad station in a country village. Upon the arrival of a train a man alighted to receive a most enthusiastic reception from the villagers. He seemed to be the ball player of the other picture. He made his way to an auto in which sat an elderly lady. As they drove off some- thing in the lady’s manner attracted my attention. I knew this must be Ruth Blodgett for no one could have so closely impersonated her. But who could be the man ? My thoughts wandered for, then I remembered Wesley Thompson and his batting on the High School team. This must be Wesley and although I knew that the Red Sox had a player by the name of Thompson, I had never connected the two together. He must be returning to his farm at the close of the baseball season. 10. The fire having died down I watched the embers and saw there a picture of a large summer hotel. It was the dinner hour and the guests were flocking to the dining-room. Upon a raised plat- form was an orchestra of three pieces. There were two ladies and a gentleman. The gentleman, who led the orchestra, I immediately recognized as Victor Barwood. I probably should not have given the ladies further thought had I not been struck by the incessant grinning of one of them who played a violin. This reminded me so much of my class- mate, Ella Nutting, that I felt sure it must be she. The other lady, who played a cornet, was very stout and I could see nothing familiar about her. I should have passed her by, had not my tiny friend again come to my aid and reminded me that this was Inez Kinsley. 11. The picture now changed to a large city church. It was apparently Sunday morning. The church was filled to overflowing and I knew that some eminent divine would preach. The preacher was a large, athletic man who seemed to present his ideas in such a way that he won many converts. Suddenly my eye caught a bulletin in one corner and I read the preacher’s name. Could it be pos- sible? Rev. Rayford Anderson Mann, D. D., Ph.D. Subject : “ The Kicks of Life and How to Buck It.” 12. The fire had now died almost out and I saw a very dim picture of what seemed to be a chicken farm. The picture was so dim that I could not distinguish the characters, to say nothing of the chickens, and I would have passed it by, had not my tiny friend informed me that this was the abode of two of my classmates, Doris Dowdell and Frank Mitton, who had formed a double partnership ; of matrimony and chicken farming. 13. At this point I again replenished the fire and it burned up in a way— shooting out so many sparks, that I was reminded of the days we, in class.