Stoneham High School - Wildlife Yearbook (Stoneham, MA)

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14 THE S. H. S. AUTHENTIC JUNE 1934 folded and placed in a pocket in such a way that the photograph was no longer visible. All that I had learned from that one glance was that the pic- ture reminded me of some one whom I had, at one time, known. As I was leaving the station I heard someone call me by name. I glanced toward the doorway and saw, much to my surprise, the very man whose pic- ture had stared at me from a paper earlier in the day. As I walked toward him, I studied his face and again I wondered where I had seen it before. Suddenly, it came back to me like a flash! Why, that was Bob Callahan, one of my old classmates back in Stoneham High. I hastened my steps and grasped his outstretched hand. “Bob Callahan, you old reprobate! Where have you been keeping yourself? I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. How are you?” , “I’m O. K.,” Bob replied, “I seem to be getting along. How about yourself?” “Oh, I’m all right,” I said. “Where are you going now? How about coming with me?” Sorry, Clarkie,” he said, “but I’ve got an impor- tant board meeting. I’ll have to be hurrying along.” “A board meeting?” I put in. “Say, what kind of a job have you anyway?” “Why, I’m a silent partner in one of the largest banks of the country,” Bob offered. “Besides that, I own the largest newspaper business in the whole state. I distribute more papers than all my com- petitors together. How about meeting me here to- morrow night at the same time? We can talk over those good old days spent in Stoneham High School.” “Tomorrow night it is,” I agreed, “don’t forget.” “I won’t,” he promised, “I’ll be here right on the dot.” The following evening I returned at the appoint- ed time. Callahan had not arrived so I sat down to wait. Time passed with no sign of Bob. After waiting a little longer, I decided to leave. As I headed for the door, I noticed a day-old paper lying under a bench. Again, I saw the same picture of Bob looking up at me. Being very curious, I picked the paper up to read the article. Before I had completed two lines, I was struck with amazement. Here is what I read: “Callahan Still At Large. — As yet, no trace has been found of Robert Callahan, who last night escaped from the Danvers Asylum. All authorities are notified to keep a lookout for him. He is not harmful but has a habit of pretend- ing to be a man of great importance.” This was enough. I read no further. Poor Bob! Who would have expected a thing like that to hap- pen to him? A GRADUATES DILEMMA Way down in the dim, dark, deep depths of my heart I feel a wee pain of sorrow. At precisely the point v here an imaginary line drawn from my right ear to my left eye would intersect another imagin- ary line drawn from my left ear to the part in my hair, is a small area of my brain which is full of doubt. Revealing itself in my firm lip and my tightly clenched hand is a restless wave of grim de- termination. It all started last Sunday when Aunt Mamie came in dragging little pig-tailed Cousin Carrie with her. Aunt Mamie came over to get one of my pictures. That would have been all right, only t hey arrived just as we were finishing our dinner. Being a gallant young creature, I got up and offered Aunt Mamie my chair — after being requested, coaxed, and final- ly commanded to do so by my father. That would not have been so bad, but then I had to be polite and as my mother suggested, share my strawberry shortcake with freckle-faced Cousin Carrie. After Cousin Carrie had eaten all my shortcake, there was so much on her face that she looked as though she had a bad case of the measles — we ad- journed to the front room where everyone sat around in a circle as though it was a Spiritualists’ meeting. It was no voice from the dead which we heard — it was only Aunt Mamie, who began, “Well, Oscar, what are you going to do next year?” Be- fore I had a chance to answer, she continued, “You know, your dear Uncle Elmer always said before he died that he hoped you would be a horse doctor. He first got the idea the day he saw you fixing your new hobby-horse with a hatchet. Of course, there aren’t so many horses now but that is all the better for the horses.” Just then my father boomed in, “No son of mine is going to be a horse doctor. What do you think I have worked all these years for? From now on I expect to sit back and be supported Why, he could get a job as a Fuller Brush man and make some real money as well as meet a lot of nice peo- ple.” This was just enough to encourage my mother to add her bit. So, in her best brogue she said, “Now, and by gorry, don’t be after puttin’ none of those high an’ mighty ideas into his head at all, at all. I guess if bein’ a cop was good enuf for my father, it’s good enuf for my son.” While this argument as to what I should make of myself continued, gaining more and more heat as it increased, I sat quietly on the side-line waiting for the final down. Finally, Aunt Mamie remembered that she had to put Cousin Carrie’s hair up in curl papers and made a hasty departure. Cousin Carrie wore her hair in

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JUNE 1934 THE S. H. S. AUTHENTIC 13 doctors is Robert Holden, Harvard ’38. Bob has become a well-known figure in the field of surgery. (If I remember correctly, he always harbored a se- cret avocation for cutting up.) Betty Doherty is the superintendent of nurses and has an able staff assisting her. A few whom you will remember are Lucy Hines, Ruth Morrison, Shirley French, and Mary Kelly. Now the “See-ahead-o-graph” leads back to the Square and a tour of the city’s progressive business houses. First I see John Coughlin standing in the doorway of his large meat and grocery store. Rose Janigian is seen busily counting the pennies in the cashier’s cage. Next door Ken Prescott, the Boston Bruin’s star net-minder, spends the off season in his ice cream parlor, where incidentally, there is more than one booth. Upstairs is the Riley-Tole School of Athletic Terpsichore. Ethel has joined her athletic ability with Barb’s ability as a dancing teacher. On the same floor, bright gold letters announce the office of Dr. Edward F. Breagy, who is one of the world’s most brutal, painless dentists. It is be- fore office hours, and Eddie is sitting with his feet out of the window, reading Jane Strobel’s latest novel, “The Adventures of the Melrose Girls at Breezy Hill,” or “Why Are There No Sheep at the Sheepfold ?” The next office to Eddie’s is occupied by the “Frizzie-frazzie” Beauty Parlors, Inc., which is a coast to coast chain operated by Mildred Shay and Margaret Barton. A bit farther down the hall I see the “Winnie Mae” Gowne Shoppe, whose proprietress is none other than Winifred Norton. Winnie’s shoppe is patronized by all the leading debs, sub-debs, and In- ternational War Debs. In the same block, The Country Club, a combina- tion dining salon and golf school is conducted. At one of the tees the “pro” is giving a novice instruc- tion. I can tell by the way he swings the club that I have seen him before. As he turns around I recognize him as Bernie Orr, who is putting his knowledge of the Scotch pastime to good use in teaching Isabelle Kaulback the finer points of the game. Edith Downes is operating the dining room and has as assistants: Olive Lester, Mary Ford, Mary Ferry, Thelma Olsen, and Marjorie Logan. Across the street I see the Stoneham Academy of Music and Elocution. Shirley Estes, the well known concert pianist, and Cynthia Claflin, whose poems are now universally read at every breakfast table, are at the helm of this institution and have a large clientele made up of the children of the mem- bers of the Class of 1934. It must be the wanderlust, for the “See-ahead-o- graph” has again pulled stakes and now places its focus upon a large Eastern port. Here the liner “Seaweary” of the Robert Yancey Line (he always had a pretty good line) is tied up at the dock. On the bridge, pacing to and fro, is the Captain, Wil- lard Ames. On the passengers’ list I see the name of Carolyn Lewis, who has been traveling extensive- ly gathering material for her poems. The Stoneham Women’s Bridge Team, composed of Helen Coombs, Elizabeth Fama, Marion Keating, and Arlene Taylor, is aboard ship having just re- turned from the International Competition staged in London where they carried off the International crown. Seated in deck chairs are Nancy Markham and Esther Rounds, members of the Stoneham School Committee, who are returning from Europe where they have been lecturing on “The Progressive School in America.” Talking to them is Betty Knudson who is the hostess on the boat. Leaning over the railing, I see Herbert and Har- vey Bennett, evidently a bit seasick. They were leaders of an unsuccessful diamond hunting expedi- tion to Ethiopia, and are returning to their homes. And now we come to the last scene which the see-ahead-o-graph” has to present. In an appara- tus-cluttered laboratory, behind a pile of broken test tubes, sits John “Pete” Bowen, working tedi- ously on a new invention — the “learn-a-graph,” the plans for which Colonel Stoopnagle and Bud, who have now reached a feeble old age, have handed down to him. The “learn-a-graph,” when complet- ed, will do away with the necessity of schools, as it will learn everything possible for human beings — thus no other class will have to work like the Class of 1934. Alas, the “see-ahead-o-graph” has concluded its preview of the lives of the members of the Class of 1934, its visions fade, it ceases to work, it is out of gas. Whether the visions of the see-ahead-o-graph” which I have interpreted for you prove true or not, may the future be all that you hope it will be — may success, wealth, and happiness be yours, and may your lives ever be living exemplifications of the principles and ideals of S. H. S. PROPHECY OF THE PROPHET. It was on a crowded elevated train that my curi- osity was first aroused. Having nothing else to do, I was attempting to read the newspaper of a pas- senger who was standing but a little distance from me. As this passenger folded up his paper, I caught a glimpse of a picture on the front page; a picture of a man who, for some reason, seemed strangely familiar to me. However, the paper was

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JUNE 1934 THE S. H. S. AUTHENTIC 15 pigtails on Sunday and curled during the week — you see Aunt Mamie was that contrary. Just as the air was beginning to clear a little the door opened and in came Uncle Jake and Aunt Sa- die and Cousins Jeremiah, Josephine, Anastasia, Aloysius, Gonzaga, and Amelia. Upon being in- formed as to the reason why we seemed so upset, Uncle Jake, who is a furniture mover, made his sug- gestion. “Well, now, I’ll tell you what I would do if he was my son,” he said, with an air of profound wisdom. “I’d send him to one o’ them schools where they learn them to be barbers. They’s good money in that and it’s easy work too. I wish all I had to do was stand around with a pair o’ scissors in me mit all day. That’s what I call givin’ yer kids a break — learn ’em to be somethin’ better than you are.” “Well, I should think that was the craziest idea I ever heard of. Make them think they are better than you an’ there’s no telling what will happen. If you ask me, I should say that these kids is hard enough to handle as they are without making them any worse.” All this was added very generously by Aunt Sadie. Soon the entire family was engaged in another nice, quiet, peaceful little family dispute. Still, I sat in the bleachers waiting for a foul ball to come my way. The next morning I went to school greatly puz- zled — should I be a horse doctor, a Fuller Brush man, a cop, or a barber? My teachers had told me many times that they knew everything so I deter- mined to ask their advice. Miss Bonjour, the French teacher, suggested that I take a post-graduate course, but the Principal dis- agreed, saying that he had had enough trouble with me already and didn’t want to see me around any more. In fact, he even told me that he was only graduating me to get rid of me. Prof. Test-tube, my chemistry teacher, advised me to get a job I could find which had nothing to do with chemistry. The Latin teacher, Miss Cicero, didn’t feel capable of advising me one way or anoth- er. Miss Trigy Nometry, who teaches math, told me that her father needed someone to help him dig potatoes out in Idaho. The other suggestions were: errand boy, flagpole-sitter, bus driver, teacher, doc- tor, lawyer, Indian chief, etc. That afternoon I went home greatly puzzled — should I be a horse doctor, a Fuller Brush man, a cop, a barber, a post-graduate, a potato digger, an errand boy, a flagpole-sitter, a bus driver, a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer, or an Indian Chief? I tried using the elimination system all that after- noon but by suppertime my list had grown from thirteen to twenty-one possibilities. That night I went to the movies and saw a picture about the Old Homestead and that gave me the grand idea which solved my problem. I am starting tomorrow to hitch-hike around the world in order to get local color for a book I am going to write entitled, “Camping in the Fells,” or “Getting Back to Nature at Spot Pond.” The Three Mutzinteers. THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF THE CLASS OF 1934 We, the Class of 1934 of the Stoneham High School, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and thirty-four, being of a sound mind and body, do hereby proclaim this masterpiece to be our last will and testament and do part with our gifts, real and otherwise, as follows, namely in fun: Item I. It is our wish and desire that the Junior Class be given the shiny, unworn athletic equipment that they may be aided in carrying on the record breaking victories of dear old S. H. S. Item II. We present to the Senior Faculty a book of gags.” After having such an intelligent class of “gaggers,” like ours, life in school is going to be dull — but a whole lot easier to swallow. Item III. It is also our most sincere desire that a pencil with a musical top be willed to S. H. S. and be given to Miss Garland; this is to relieve the monotony of the incessant tapping noise and put a little rhythm into her favorite pastime of tapping desk covers with her pencil. Item IV. For ourselves we donate one row in Room 11, so we may, at any time, come back to school and laugh at, as well as pester, the unfortu- nate, suffering detention students. We also leave these helpful hints: 1. To future students of Room 15: Remember to laugh softly at anything that might happen in class — for, if you arouse the curiosity of Mr. Davis, and do not inform him of every detail — well, you will find out for yourselves that you’d better tell him and get it over with. 2. Remember, you lucky ones who are going to Room 18, that Mr. Hoyt sees all, knows all, and doesn’t hesitate in informing you of his knowledge. 3. And remember that report cards appear only four times a year— but — that’s enough to make any- body give up. In witness whereof we hereby set our hands and seal. Class of 1934. Witnesses: Earle Thomas Thibodeau. Rose K. Coy. Fannie M. Spinney.