Stoneham High School - Wildlife Yearbook (Stoneham, MA)

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GRADUATION NUMBER The Airdale did not know what to make of all this. “I know you! I know you!” exclaimed the Bull Terrier. “What is your name?” “Tam O’Sammy, they call me Sammy,” was the answer. “I know them,” said the terrier. “Nice folks, best there are.” He stop- ped scratching a flea which was not thei-e. “Oome for a walk,!” was his friend’s invitation. “Aren’t we allowed here?” asked Sam, looking towards the gate. “Sure, you can go inside, if someone comes for you. I like it better outside.” “Any old dog can see it’s better be- yond the arch.” “Maybe, but you see we are waiting for our folks.” The Airdale gasped, “I felt that way when I was coming up the road.” “Don’t be discouraged.” comforted the terrier. “It’s interesting watching the arrivals. See, there’s something doing now.” A young child was coming up the road and was afraid. As the child stopped, a yellow hound came to his feet and said, “So long fellows, I must go; you see I’m all she has up here and she’s young.” “That’s the way we do it up here,” the terrier said proudly. “Yes, but what about the nobody dogs?” “Oh ! they go to the boys who have wished they had a dog, but whose fath- ers wouldn’t let them have one.” The Bull Terrier laughed. “You’re pretty near earth yet, aren’ t you?” Tam even admitted it. “We can’t see very well after dark so I sleep near the path.” For a little while they went on in si- lence, but as evening fell and the light from the Golden City faded, the Bull Terrier said, “You will introduce me to the boy if he comes this summer? There has been a lot of them this year.” “I shall be proud to do it,” answered the Airdale. And so, with muzzles sunk between their paws and with their eyes straining down the Pilgrim’s Road, they went out- side the gate. Clifford Hupper ’35. A FIRESIDE VIEW OF COUNTRY FOLK. I am the wide hearth of the old homestead fireplace. The feeling of Spring has seeped into my bricks and I am eagerly awaiting the Summer, when so many good, simple folk come and go through both doors of this old home of mine, the largest kitchen for miles around. The men usually sit right down on me and stretch their legs straight out in front of them. There’s only one man I think of off hand who requires a chair to sit in. I don’t blame him much, because for him to get down so low, with his bulk, would be quite a propo- sition. One day I wondered just how much bread he ate with his meals, so I counted. Besides plenty of sweet corn and potatoes, he tucked away seven large slices of white bread. This man is past middle age and his favorite oc- cupation, when he isn’t reading True Story magazines, is looking at Sears Roebuck catalogues. But I shouldn’t tell about the least pleasing first. By way of contrast the hired man, naturally one of my most frequent visitors, is very tall and ang- ular. His hair is white, although he is only thirty-two. Below his horn-rim- med glasses his swarthy face is flecked with white between Saturday night shaves. This man has been supporting himself since he was nine years old. He bought a motorcycle last summer and learned to ride it in the hay field. He and the man for whom he works kept track of how often they fell off on their numerous trips to the village. The man of the house is a young man who has just taken over the family homestead, after his careless elder broth- er had let its condition run down and its debts run up. He is a heavy man, tall and well built. He is kind to his animals and takes epecial pride in his five, red Herefords. Just before the fair last summer I had a visitor whom I shall never for- get. He was a stout man, this side of fifty, alive and enthusiastic. His most outstanding feature, however, was his roar of mirth. When I am in the deep- est gloom, if I hear a roll of thunder in the distance which seems to contain all the joy and happiness in the county, I involuntarily cheer up and find my- self hoping that this real man will come into the kitchen. I just wish you could hear him laugh. Another man who enjoys a good joke is the first handsome fat man I have ever seen. His black hair curls over his forehead, in spite of his use of vaseline on Sundays and fair days. His twinkling eyes betray him when he tries 19

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THE STONEHAM HIGH SCHOOL AUTHENTIC Class Girl About Town, Jean Vorbeau. Class Grandma, Phyllis Watts. Class Grandpa, Kobert Craigio. Class Gossips, Eoom 12, from 8 to 8.30 A. M. Class Hotheads, Ginger Joyce, Ked Brooks. Class Handy Woman, Ginny Tolman. Class Hopeful, Millie Dempsey. Class Heavy Weights, Text Books. Class Hopeless, Ben Eoach. Class Innocence, Priscilla Marsh. Class Infant, George Lirakis. Class Janitor, Harold Macintire. Class Handy Kid, Allan Barton. Class Ladies Man, Brock Farnsworth, Class Leader, Miner Taylor. Class Loudspeaker, Helen Brown. Class Midgets, Bob Parks, Bill Brown. Class Man Hater, Anna Fulton. Class Most Faithful, Dot Corcoran. Class Musician, Bill Brown. Class Minor, Muriel Berry. Class Megaphone, Bill Eldridge. Class Mama’s Boy, Bill Jones. Class Mezzo Soprano, Francis McGah. Class Nymph, Eosa Todd. Class Nighthawk, Will Avery. Class Optimist, Jean Quincy. Class Old Man, A1 Young. Class Pest, Phil Moody. Class Poet, Sid Allen. Class Pianist, Julia Callahan. Class Pugilist, Billie McDonough. Class Pretzel, Milo Temple. Class Eeporter, Carl Connor. Class Eascal, Jean Quincy. Class Eepresentative, Jim Clark. Class School Girl, Skippy Clark. Class Sunday School Teacher, Euth Chapman. Class Siamese Twins, Bickums and McKinnons. Class Star Students, Gert French and Louis Parks. Class Sticker, Christine Perry. Class Sophomore’s Hero, Louis Parks. Class Sophisticate, Euth Motyer. Class Shiek, Elmer Lovering. Class Strong Man, Eddie Donegan. Class Vocalists, Dot Tole and Alma Patch. Class Villain, Carl Connor. Class Wonder, Louis Parks. Class Woman Hater, Bob Thompson. Class Milkman, Bob Kelly. Class Favorite Gum, Oh Boy Bubble. Class Favorite Flower, Pansy. Class Favorite Ousdoor Sport, Foot- ball. Class Favorite Indoor Sport, Pacing up and down the corridors. Class Favorite Study, Opposite Sex. Class Favorite Complexion, Brunette. Class Favorite Playthings, Sopho- mores. Class Favorite Book, Telephone Book. Class Favorite Advisor, ? Class Meeting Place, Outside Mr. Thi- bodeau’s door. Class Chaperone, Art Eeynolds. Class Judge, Mr. Watson. Class Worries, Large Number of A’s. Class Jury, School Committee. Class Schol Girl, Gertrude Johnson. Class Motto, This Far and Farther. Class Colors, Crimson and Silver. OUTSIDE THE GATE. A shaggy Airdale scented his way along the Highroad. He had not been there before, but was guided by his brethren who had preceded him. He had started unwillingly upon this jour- ney. Yet he had accepted it without a complaint. The path had been lonely, but companionship was promised at the end. A little wave of homesickness pos- sessed him. It made his mind easier when he saw a great gate as high as the heavens. He broke into a run. His thoughts out- ran him and he remembered the family he had left behind. The scent of dogs who had arrived before him grew very strong. They were in a hugh circle by the side of the entrance. Big, little, curly, thoroughbred dogs, dogs of every age, were there and all were apparently waiting for something — someone. He had remembered a sign that said, “No dogs allowed.” He feared that this j was why they were sitting outside the I gate. As he bounded up the last hill, I he could see beyond the entrance a great j mass of people. Yet, no dogs crossed ! beyond the gate. He now advanced cautiously to ex- amine the gate. He did not wish to make himself ridiculous by trying to I bolt through this invisible mesh. What I had they done on Earth? Had they I stolen bones, runaway days, slept on the best beds until the key had clicked in the lock? These were sins. At his moment an English Bull Ter- rier approached him, sniffing the Air- dale’s collar. Then he fell to expressing 1 his joy at meeting him. IS

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THE STONEHAM HIGH SCHOOL AUTHENTIC to tease. Though he is married now, he was once a rival of the man of the house — in love. How I hate to have him come near me, that brother who formerly owned the homestead. I didn’t need to see him to recognize him. I merely had to hear him. I have never heard him say a whole sentence without including two ; or three swear words. No, I don’t con- i sider him ill-tempered. He’s profane i even wdien he is joking. The habit is so strong that he can’t help indulging. His vocabulary of profanity isn’t large | either. He repeats himself continually. | Just the same, common swear words, | which he uses as adjectives to modify all the nouns in the sentence. Just one more of my cronies and I’m done. Sam is only twenty. He hap- j pens around whenever he’s out of a ! job. The minute he gets near me his tongue starts wagging, if not in speak- ' ing, then in eating. Sam loves to feed me, too. He does choose such lovely logs and, oh yes, they ' re always birch, i So now you know some of my good, | country folk. They’re interesting visit- ors, I think. They tell stories to me. i Sometimes they roast apples on my hot ; bricks. Is it any wonder that I look forward to their coming again? i Nancy Blanchard ’33. NEW YORK INTERLUDE. The winter wind, cruel with cold and laden with city dust, clawed at the hurrying people. A traffic policeman’s whistle blew, heavy buses rumbled by; j the screech of brakes and staccato toot- i ing of horns turned the walled canyons i of the city into a scurrying bedlam. I The unemployed, selling their trivial | wares of rosy-cheeked apples and brown, | crisp chestnuts, huddled in their shabby ! garments — so inadequate against the | wintry blasts. j A silver-haired, frail, saintly-looking old man and a narrow-chested, coughing j youth stood side by side. How do you feel now, mister, since you got that cup of coffee under your belt?” ‘• ' Oh, a great deal better, thank you, son,” replied the man quietly. That’s the stuff. How about a ham- burger sandwich for dinner? That ought to put a back-bone in you.” ‘•Thank you, no. You have been too kind already. I appreciate all you’ve done.” Oh, forget it. Listen, if I can get a job I’ll see that you’re left fixed. You and me will be buddies. I used to play in an orchestra in the theatre over on thirty-third, but when the talkies came in, we went out. Yeah, it was a tough break, but I’ll get another job and get rid of this cough and everything will be O. K.” The old man remained silent. He was trembling now and his breath came in short gasps. The youth, concealing his cough by a smile, turned to wait on a tall, handsome gentleman who carried a cane and limped slightly. His grim feat- ures relaxed into a smile. He chose an apple and deposited a dollar on the stand. When he came to the old man’s stand he chose a bag of chestnuts and left another dollar. The next day was clear with a merci- less cutting wind. The boy noticed the gentleman who had been so kind the previous day, standing on the opposite corner, eying them queerly. When the boy looked again, he was gone. Queer bird,” he thought, but he’s a regular guy.” The day went on. It got colder, the wind blew bits of dust and grime into one’s face. Then the old man fainted. There was the usual commotion and the clang of the ambulance, the curious people, the white-coated orderlies, and then the policeman’s whistle to clear way. The next day the youth again took his stand, a solitary figure. His cough had grown worse over night. He felt a hand grip his thin arm. It was the man of the previous day. Where is the old man who was here this morning?” Oh, him,” answered the boy with an attempt at a smile. Gee, I’m glad, the old bird had the luck to pass out this morning.” You don’t mean he is dead!” No, he just passed out. All gone. This is a pretty tough game for an old boy like him. But he’s gonna eat reg- ular meals and be warm for a couple o’ days, and how!” The man’s set features became soft- ened and he muttered to himself. He just passed out from the cold and hunger and no place to go.” Then he said aloud, Where did they take him?” To the Bellevue.” Do you know his name?” Gosh, now mister,” reflected the 20