Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

Page 17 text:

THE QUIVER 9 RULES ARE MADE FOR GUR GOOD, LET’S OBEY THEM Why is it that the minute anyone says the word, rule, we become stubborn? Rules are really the most simple things in the world to obey. They are merely guide posts, showing us the right direction and helping us to follow it. How well should we be able to conduct ourselves in school without our guide posts? The first rule of the day is that we reach our home rooms at the appointed moment. Just imagine the delay there would be if we took our time about it. Then there are rules of order. In a large institution, these rules are absolutely necessary, but it is these rules that are the most offensive to our pride. How we do hate to believe that we are just one small part of a large whole, and yet that is just what we are. If one part of an engine does not function properly, the whole engine is either directly or indirectly affected. It is just the same at school. We don’t realize that when we do something to annoy a teacher, although it may seem a trivial act to us, we are clogging the machinery. It is so easy to do things without thinking, while, if we used a little thought, so many little annoyances could be avoided. Next year let’s start a campaign against petty disturbances, for in reality we are only obeying the old law, that what cannot be done by all should not be done by one.

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8 THE QUIVER boy, it becomes a place where hard work and play are mixed, a plan; where one tries to do as little work as possible and pass, a place where, if he is that kind of a boy, athletic opportunities are opened. But it is, perhaps, by the man who has been out of school for several years that the keenest emotion is felt. His Alma Mater! What would he not give to be back there with nothing to do all day long but prepare lessons and recite them! What a life! Weren’t those teachers the best people ever? They were always anxious to help a fellow. What a pity those chaps in high school didn’t realize it! The nightmares he used to have while walking to classes with a lesson only partly prepared! No, not at night. Studies seldom worried him at night. Oh yes. once in a while he brought a book home. Too bad he didn’t study harder! There was one teacher of whom he was rather afraid. He never forgot to take all his books to that class for fear of having to stay after school. It seemed cpieer at the time, but even now when he goes to the office, he always stops to think whether or not he has forgotten anything. He somehow feels that she may be there waiting to see. Oh, the Algebra problems he struggled with! Wish to goodness all he had to do now was to study over an Algebra problem. Took so much time when one wanted to play ball. Algebra and ball! Hadn’t thought of them for ages. They certainly did develop a fellow. Wonder what he’d do if he went back now? He’d like the opportunity to try again; he would get much more out of it. He’d like to give those “kids” some “pointers.” They’d probably laugh. He used to. How crazy it seemed for old folks to come back and tell what they did in school! He remembers one man who talked when he was there. He talked a long time about something or other. Oh, } es! What they should get out of school. He had thought it a good joke at the time. He knew what he was getting out of it. But. come to think about it. that was a pretty good speech. School! a complete existence in itself. No place like it. No, sir!

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10 THE QUIVER “THE ROAD TO VAGABONDIA.” He was only a little yellow dog, of the kind that no pne seems to want, and was sitting there on the side of the road, as forlorn and lonely a sight as ever was seen. His coat was ragged and bore many signs of recent battle, while the remainder of one ear “flopped” over his eyes, which were large and brown and were his only good feature. However, he was not as downtrodden as he appeared to be ; and when 1 whistled to him, he came trotting up, shaking his stump of a tail in the friendliest manner possible. We set out, my friend and I, taking the back ways to avoid any encounters, and soon reached the open country, where we swung along at a great pace. Over hills and through lanes we went, sometimes stopping near a brook to watch the fish darting about, or to see a bird rise out of the grass with a great flutter, as we approached. Once more on the main road, we wandered aimlessly along until we came to a crossroad where Jip, as I now called him, led the way. He chose the road to the right, and we went on with only a stop at a farmhouse to get a drink. The stop, short though it was, was not short enough, however; and when I had quenched my thirst, there was Jip, in a mad scramble after the farmer’s hens. I finally managed to quiet him down and to lead him away, taking care to avoid all signs of houses. We scrambled along, jumping ditches and climbing walls, and having a glorious, but breathless, time. Finally we came to a little