THE HELIOS

Published monthly during the school year by the students of Central High School, Grand Rapids.

VOLUME XLVI APRIL 1920 NUMBER 7

CONTENTS

COVER…………………………………………Miriam Sulecba…………………

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS……………………..Marie Meeth……………………. 13

There is a soft spot in everyone’s heart

MY GRANDMOTHER…………………………Helen Whipple………………… 15

An interesting poem

MAUNA LOA…………………………………..Faye Vogelsang………………... 16

The story of a volcano

BOOKS…………………………………………Seward Bean……………………. 17

One of the greatest friends one can have

DYING EMBERS………………………………Valda Chapin…………………… 18

The fire brings back old memories

THE LEGEND OF THE BLACK LEG………...Esther Jean Foote……………….. 19

The origin of the expression is given here

ALUMNI……………………………………………………………………………. 20

The older Centralites are making all kinds of history

ONE FOR ALL, ALL FOR ONE………………Valda Chapin……………………. 21

Poetry with a great message

ATHLETICS………………………………………………………………………… 22

Results of the last basketball games, both boys and girls

EDITORIALS……………………………………………………………………….. 24

CLUB STANDINGS………………………………………………………………... 25

Averages for the clubs and session rooms for the first quarter

EVENT AND COMMENT…………………….Harold B. Allen…………………... 26

Bits of news about the school and school life

ORGANIZATIONS………………………………………………………………….. 27

Our clubs are busy and are enjoying success

CARTOONS……………………………….......Irving G. Stevens…………………. 29

Well-see for yourself

GRINDS……………………………………………………………………………… 30

Jokes, funny poems, and humorous incidents

EXCHANGES………………………………………………………………………... 40

 

 

THE HELIOS STAFF

DONALD B. JENNINGS ARMAND C. ROSS

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF BUSINESS MANAGER

Charles Tarte Clifford A. Mitts

ASST. EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ASST. BUSINESS MANAGER

DONALD W. STEKETEE Francis McKnight

ADVERTISING MANAGER ASST. ADVERTISING MANAGER

HAROLD B. ALLEN

LITERARY EDITOR

Virginia Burke Alice Mosier

ASST. LITERARY EDITOR ASST. LITERARY EDITOR

ASSOCIATES

Associate Editor……………………………………………………………….…………Bradford Apted

Art Editors…………………………………………………….…..…Miriam Suleeba, William Kilmartin

Athletic Editor…………………………………………………………….………………Morris O. Reed

Alumni Editors…………………………………………………..…………..Marion Gavett, Jean Grover

Exchange Editors………………………………………………..………….Louise Peck, Blanche Apsey

Grinds Editor………………………………………………………………………..…..Donald L. Ephlin

Cartoonist………………………………………………………………………………..Irving G. Stevens

Circulation Manager……………………………………………………………………….….Gerald Buss

Assistant Circulation Manager………………………………………………….………Mortimer Roberts

LITERARY STAFF

Alice Mosier, Madeline Dahlman, Virgina Burke, Wilmot Bean, Edward Corwin, Zelma Simpson

ADVERTISING STAFF

Williams Reynders, Frederick Raiguel, Joseph Vogt, Williard Crosby, Robert McReynolds, Fabian Tandler, Gerald Buss, Bert Rockwell, Arthur Prange, James Worden, Louis Landman, Jacob Van Loo

ADVISORY BOARD

Donald b. Jennings, Chairman, Miss Clay, Miss Daniels, Mr. Wilcox, Auditor, Mr. Pelikan, Armand C. Ross, Harold B. Allen, Donald W. Steketee.

SESSION ROOM REPRESENTATIVES

Session Room 104……………………………………..………………….Morris O. Reed, Helen Quick

Session Room 204………………………………………………………Marjorie Sharpe, Fred Dunakin

Session Room 136………………………………………………..…….Winifred Fletcher, Russell Perry

Session Room 236……………………………………………………Ellen Matheson, Mallory Cassidy

Session Room 336……………………………………………………Russell Baumgartel, Maxine Hart

 

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS

MARIE MEETH ‘21

EZRA EPSTONE was a hard man. It was his reputation and he was proud of it. He lived by himself in the biggest hotel, in the smallest room, and cared not a snap for anyone but Ezra Epstone. The office, where he spent most of his time, was a dark, dusty place and the windows were dim, disdaining to let in the sunlight. Those windows were much like Ezra himself. If someone had taken the trouble to make them brighter by wiping away the soot and grime of years he would have found something worth while. On the steam pipes stood a card bearing the words, "Let me but do my work from day to day, and keep all thoughts of other things away." It is true that the first line came from the pen of Henry Van Dyke, but who wrote the rest of it no one knew. It was Ezra’s motto, the main though by which he did everything.

Now to turn to Ezra himself. He was the owner of one of those enormous foundries where iron was transformed into steel. It was a hot, sweltering, dirty place where men worked with fire all night and all day; where men, covered with smoke and soot and grime, talked steel, breathed steel and dreamed steel. In the day time flames could be seen shooting up from great furnaces at intervals over the high walls enclosing the yards and at night there was a red glow in the sky which could be seen a great distance away. Within this great red furnace were men, human, all of them; working at night for their daily bread; working for their families, to feed and clothe them. It was a hard life indeed, working all night in that red, fiery oven, and sleeping all day, seldom seeing the sunlight.

Such a man was Antonio Verdi. A young Italian, late gentleman of Naples. He was a passionate, headstrong, good-natured music loving fellow who had crossed the waters to the great America to seek his fortune, leaving behind his beloved wife, Marietta, and two-year-old son, Tony. Antonio was working and working hard to save enough money so that his dear Marietta and Tony could come to him. He was a clever fellow, but spoke English very brokenly and so could get not better work. He had been disappointed, greatly so, but he had to live and what could he do? So, after he had been to many other places he had come back to the Epstone Iron Works.

He had been there for almost a year now and had saved almost enough money for the trip. Once day he received a telegram. It informed him that his wife and son were in America and were waiting at the island and could go no farther. So he straightway went after them very happy and anxious to see them though knowing in his heart how disappointed they would be. He had meant to have a little room for them, fixed up cosily with such trifles as he could buy, but there had been no time for that yet. He would have to bring them to his boarding house where a fat, noisy woman presided who probably had a kind heart but though other people’s business more important than her own. There was much embracing and kissing and exclaiming, and tears and laughing. Marrietta and little Tony exclaimed at everything and were delighted with the scenes of rushing and busy people in New York. Marietta had not changed much, she was perhaps a little thinner than before because she had worked hard to earn the money for her trip. Tony was three now, almost four, fat and rosy-cheeked and merry like his mother. And thus they proceeded on their way.

Ezra Epstone was still working at his desk in the same gray suit he had worn for years. The old motto was still on the steam pipes, a little dustier than before. The windows were just a little dimmer and the bookcase a little more crowded. It was only two months after Marietta and Tony had come, though Ezra knew nothing about that. On this particular Wednesday morning at about ten o’clock the door of his office burst open and in burst a grimy spectacle in corduroy trousers and gray flannel shirt. He was breathless and could hardly speak. For an instant there was silence and each man stared at the other. Then-"Well?!" thundered Ezra.

The young man, nothing daunted, spoke bravely, furiously. "My Tony, my Marietta, day seeck, dey keeled. I no find docteur – he no come for me. – " He waved his arms wildly.

"What the dev-" began Mr. Epstone.

"Begging your pardon, sir," came a voice from the doorway. "I could not keep this man from coming here, sir. It appears that your chauffeur ran over his wife and child this morning and injured them slightly."

"He inzura ‘em ver’ much," cried Antonio, frantically.

"That will do. Take him away. I can’t bother about what my chauffeur does!" and Ezra Epstone turned abruptly to his desk, though with just a slight twinge of conscience.

Antonio was literally dragged from the room, crying and talking Italian, and repeating and repeating the words "Marietta" and "Tony" and "docteur." Five minutes passed, ten minutes passed. Suddenly and without warning Ezra turned to the telephone and gave the operator a number.

"Hello. Doctor, come over here at once. Someone was injured at the factory. The men will tell you where. That’s all. Goodbye." He spoke grudgingly and snapped the words out of his mouth and banged the receiver. He turned in his chair towards the window. He sat there staring into space. Finally he got up and began to pace the room, his hands behind his back. Something in the manner of the young Italian had caught his attention. He had been so little concerned with himself. Every man knew what a terrible crime it was to come into that office. It meant being fired to date to enter those sacred portals. The man had been desperate, almost crying. What was it Smith had said? Wife and child run over? Good heavens, what memories that brought back to him. There had been a woman in his live once – and a child, a two-year-old boy. First the wife had died. It had been a railroad accident. Then not so very much later an automobile had run over the boy, all he had had left. Then he had turned to his business and mad money. Money, what was money? It could buy everything but the things he wanted. It could not buy his wife back, nor his child. He turned about, hesitated, then rushed for the door, but stopped. He could not let sentiment interfere with his business. What would his employees think? Oh, hang the employees. He jerked open the door, ran hatless past the gaping office force and down the rickety wooden steps that led to the yards.

An hour later he was sitting beside a poor little bed, his face softened beyond recognition, holding the hand of a woman with a boy beside her. A young man stood at the foot of the bed gazing, still unbelieving, at the spectacle, and opposite him at the head stood a doctor. The doctor and the young man exchanged glances. Then the doctor put his finger to his lips and beckoned to the other and both tiptoed out of the room.

"You lucky young cur," said the doctor with tears in his eyes. And Antonio, not understanding, gave an answering smile.

 

MY GRANDMOTHER

HELEN WHIPPLE ‘21

With us there lives my mother’s gentle mother,

Of nature fair – we all do dearly love her,

Her cheeks are tinted like the pink of shell;

Her voice is sweet as old cathedral bells;

Her hair is hoary with the frost of time

Her eyes are dim, but blue and always kind;

And light upon her dress of fashion old,

Full gracefully a lacy shawl does fold;

Her manners are as dainty and refined

As eastern schools for ladies have defined.

Her speech is gentle – full of eager love;

Oft doth she speak and sing of things above.

To here we take our sorrows and our joys;

Our torn and rumpled clothes, our broken toys.

When light grows dim, we gather at her knee

And hand in hers, pass down the road of memory.

MAUNA LOA

FAYE VOGELSANG ‘21

"YES, that volcano has its legend as many other wonders of nature have in this beautiful island," spoke our guide, "but this has several in fact."

He spoke of the Hawaiian volcano, Mauna Loa. We stood watching it rising majestically over thirteen thousand feet in the air. As I looked at our guide I noticed a far-away look in his eyes as though his sight and thoughts had wandered back into the land of long ago.

"Yes, there are several, but there is one which seems to ring truer than the rest," he said again

Knowing that guides love to tell legends, we encourage him to tell us the story, so he began –

"It was years, many years ago, there lived in a village at the foot of this volcano a beautiful maiden name Loa. Although Loa was fair to look upon, she possessed a most trying and willful disposition. She had many suitors, but the one she favored most was a handsome brave named Litano, who adored her. Upon becoming of age Litano went to her father and asked him if he could have Loa for his wife. The old man was greatly pleased, because Loa’s temper had always been a great trial to him and he hoped that her husband would be able to curb her waywardness. Thus Litano returned to Loa with her father’s consent and for a while everything ran smoothly.

"One day there came a stranger from another part of the island and knowing nothing of the marriage promise Loa had given Litano, he openly admired her, and she accepted his attentions. A well-meaning friend went to her and warned her that it was the custom for a girl, who had promised to be the wife of a certain man, to be seen with that man only. Loa laughed in her face, although her black eyes snapped with rage.

"’Worry me not, old woman, with your preachings, for I will go my own way."

"’ Beware,’ the woman warned, ‘the gods will punish your willfulness.’

"But with a shrug of her shoulders, Loa continued her way. For several days after this Loa was seen walking and chatting gaily with the stranger. According to a law of the tribe, Litano would have been justified in killing Loa for her faithlessness, but Litano’s love was so deep that he could not commit such a deed. He consulted with Loa’s father, but the old man, upon trying to reason with her, had witnessed such a display of temper that he gladly let her alone.

" Litano kept to himself, avoided his friends, and went on long walks. One day while on a walk he saw Loa and the stranger earnestly talking. That was too much for poor Litano. He ran to them and grabbing Loa by the wrist almost dragged her back to the main part of the village. Upon reaching the central place he stopped and called loudly to the people to come and listen. They came running from all directions, breathless with apprehension of a coming tragedy, and forming a ring around them, they listened in wonder.

"’Oh, my people, hear me this day. I have loved Loa dearly and she said she loved me. We were very happy and were to be married at the end of summer. Then Khono came and she left me for him, let him make love to her, even accepted his love. And now knowing that she loves me no more, I am going on a long journey. I cannot stay here.’

"Before the people could stay his hand he drew his knife and killed himself. Then the people grew angry, they demanded justice and the chief ordered Loa to be seized and held a captive while her fate should be decided. The old men forming the counsel, decided that Loa should be thrown into the volcano that had long been silent.

"The next day Loa was brought struggling to this very crater. She tried to break away from the men who held her and became so hard to handle that one brave picked her up bodily and threw her in.

"The people mourned long for Litano, who was given a fitting burial. As for the volcano, it was silent for almost a year. Suddenly without warning, smoke and flames were seen and then followed the hot lava which poured down over the verdant fields. The eruption lasted a day. Then followed two years and again there was a sudden outburst. The people called the volcano Mount Loa, or Mauna Loa."

The sky glowed red as the sun made its way to the western horizon, the far away look died in the eyes of our guide and he started to pick up his stick and cap. He was not like most guides; he did not look at us with a pleased look expecting applause, for that was a story that did not call for applause. We silently made our way to the village and the house where we were to spend the night. The hut was on a rise of ground and we turned to take another look at Mauna Loa just as the sun went down and the reflection hit the top of the crater making it look as though it were on fire, a defiant eye fiercely challenging the coming darkness.

 

BOOKS

SEWARD BEAN, ‘20

Of all the things in life I hold most dear,

Of all the joys and pleasures that are past,

My greatest friends among these earthly joys

Are books, the books of romance, love, and life,

Of travel on some distant shore, of art,

Of music and those things when read, give birth

Anew to all that’s good in life.

These are my friends; with them I spend my days,

And learn the lessons taught by them of men

Who fought life’s battle with a vim and won

And left their crowns of fame of us to gain.

 

DYING EMBERS

VALDA CHAPIN, ‘20

AN OLD white-haired gentleman, almost lost in the depths of a large leather armchair, sat alone before a wide, open fireplace. The red glow of the fire reflected from the bookcase which lined the room, and from the diamond panes in the windows, was the only light in the den. Outside the winds howled drearily and spread the dark December snow over the somber landscape. As the gaze of the old man became fixed on the burning logs, a faint ethereal haze seemed to rise before his eyes, and as the fire waxed and waned, dim memories passed in processions as if the fire fairies had turned back the wheel of time and recalled his long lost youth. The tongues of life performed a sprightly dance and he was back in the spring time of life and year. He could see a little boy and girl playing happily in the shade of a blossoming apple tree, the frolic of youth running free in their veins.

Then the fire became brighter and all was a glittering expanse of snow, and as he sat beside the red-cheeked girl in the cutter, he heard the sleigh bells tinkle over the frosty air and saw the bright moon light turn the snow to crystalline diamonds which crunched and sang under the horse’s hoof. There came to him the glowing beauty of front tinged cheeks, of wind-tossed hair and of star-bright eyes.

Once again the mood of the flames changed and took on a roseate hue of radiant splendor. Again it was spring time, and as he walked up the dim aisle of the church, beside the woman he loved, the pealing of the organ, the shaft of sunlight falling on her golden hair, the breeze which wafted in faint perfumes of spring flowers and the sweet song of the birds all seemed to spell complete happiness for him. And furthermore, as if in assurance, he saw the bright home with the happy faces which meant more to him than the pot of gold at the rainbow’s end.

And then suddenly the fire grew dim and flickering, the winds whistled more drearily down the chimney, and all the damp bleakness of late autumns descended. He saw a dim line of carriages draw up before the home that had been so bright, and carry away what was dearer to him than his very life and place her where he could never see her sweet face again.

Then there came upon him the chill of the winter, for the fire was growing dim, and the few glowing coals seemed to turn his snowy hair to burnished gold. His eyes closed on the stage that had held the scenes of his life, and only a few sparks were left in the dark fireplace. Slowly his weary head sank to his breast and the last ember of the fire went out.

 

THE LEGEND OF THE BLACK LEG

ESTHER JEAN FOOTE, ‘21

DID you ever hear the expression, "He’s a regular Black Leg?" If you haven’t before, you have now. When you describe a person thus you mean his character is dishonest. Did you ever wonder where such a strange mode of description originated? Well, "lend me your ears" and I shall endeavor to satisfy your curiosity, providing, of course, you have any.

The time is somewhere in the sixteen hundreds. The place is in an old tavern in an out-of-the-way part of England, and –well, there is no girl in my story, only two very shabbily, mysterious looking men with various bags which they refused to let out of their sight.

These two men entered the tavern late one stormy night and asked the keeper for a room. They kept their hats pulled down over their faces, and when the keeper began to pick up their bags they objected loudly, thus casing every man in the tavern to notice them.

After the men had gone up to their room the keeper went over to a table where some men were drinking.

"Friends, those are queer men. ‘Tis strange they would not allow me to carry their bags."

"Do you know what I think?" spoke up one. "I think they are robbers and those bags are full of things they have stolen."

"I think it is our duty to capture them. We will all go up to their room and surprise them. Ho, there, Raleigh, give me the loan of your good sword?" cried the keeper.

Very, very quickly the band of men crept up the stairs. The keeper carefully open the door, for the latch was broken, and peered in.

"All is well. They are asleep. I shall go and knock them unconscious, then the rest will be a matter of no great concern."

As he neared the bed the hind leg of a black ox was thrust out from the bed covers as if to motion him away and strange voice in tune with the wailing wind cried, "Go away! Go away!"

"Gadzooks, men, do you see what I see?" gasped the keeper.

"What is it?" they cried.

"Come here and see,"

When they came near, the black leg was again thrust out and the strange voice cried, "Go away! Go away!

"Their legs are like those of an ox. They are bewitched!" cried the men.

Frightened by this they hastily fled away.

In the early hours of the morning, the robbers carefully wrapped up the black leg in a cloth and departed from the tavern by the way of their bedroom window.

Thus originated the aforesaid expression. Is thy curiosity sufficiently satisfied?

 

 

 

ALUMNI

MARIAN GAVETT, JEAN GROVER, EDITORS

Ex. ’05 Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Parsons, Lyon street, are receiving congratulations on the birth of a son, Joseph M., Jr., born Feb. 14. Mrs. Parsons was formerly Miss Catherine Rood.

1913 Mr. and Mrs. Henry Bennett (Lucile Hart) are parents of a daughter, born recently at Blodgett Memorial Hospital.

1912 Miss Josephine Bender spent several weeks in February and March in Bellaire, Florida, where she went with her parents, Mr. And Mrs. Charles H. Bender.

1913 Joseph Griswold Carpenter of Philadelphia visited old friends in Grand Rapids during March.

Roy Cummings Muir was recently married to Miss Marian Bedford. They are living at Schenectady, New York.

1906 William F. Bowles and Sophie R. Clements were married Feb. 18 are now at home at 1200 Logan street, S. E.

1905 Howard Baxter has been elected a member of the board of directors of the Michigan Cleaners and Dyers Association. Since the death of his father, Captain Baxter has assumed the duties of president and general manager of the Baxter Laundry Company.

1911 Many friends and former schoolmates were sorry to learn of the death, in Detroit, of Frederick Parsons. He was buried in Grand Rapids.

Helen Jane Nutting, student at Western State Normal School, Kalamazoo died recently from influenza. She was a daughter of Mr. And Mrs. Ralph N. Nutting, 1045 Cass avenue, Grand Rapids.

1910 Willis B. Perkins, Jr., was one of the judges for the annual debate between Hope College of Holland and Detroit College of Law. Mr. Perkins is one of the prominent young lawyers of Grand Rapids.

1913 Pauline Heinzelman was married March 24th to Alexander K. Dillingham of Newark, N.J. The wedding was the culmination of a wartime romance, the participants having met at the Red Cross canteen when the groom was stationed at Camp Custer. They will make their home in Glen Ridge, N.J.

1908 J. Hampton Hoult is now one of the principal owners of the Luce Furniture Company. Together with Martin J. Dregge, he has acquired the stock formerly owned by Philo C. Fuller, Mark Norris, William S. Earle and Gregory Luce.

1916 The engagement of Miss Phyllis Anderson to W. Maurice Burns has been announced by her parents, Mr. And Mrs. George A. Anderson of Evans street, S.E. Miss Anderson has the distinction of being the sister of Jack Anderson, one of Central’s talented and nerviest of football and basketball players. Raymond Gregory, ’17 was on the winning team for Colgate in a debate with Columbia.

1918 Lucille E. Meyering has been elected president and Dorothy Bean vice president of the Women’s League of Grand Rapids Junior College. The league is composed of college girls, the women of the faculty and the wives of men members of the faculty.

1911 Louis W. Edison of Rogers, Mich., visited his parents, Mr. and Mrs. John M. Edison of Paris avenue early in March. Lou is engaged to marry Miss Jansen Mitts.

The Michigan students at the University of Wisconsin have organized a "Michigan Club." It is said that twenty-five per cent of the members hail from Grand Rapids, many of them being Central Alumni.

1912 Miss Ruby Richardson, who has adopted the stage name of "Jane" Richardson, has scored a distinct success in the leading role of "The Rose of China." After a long run in New York and the east the company opened at the LaSalle theater, Chicago, where the production made a decided hit.

On Washington’s birthday, Feb. 22 certificates of homage from the French government were distributed to the nearest relatives of Grand Rapids soldiers who made the supreme sacrifice during the world war, including the following Central Alumni; Horace M. Barnaby, J. Alexander Bayne, Lucius Boltwood, John N. Compton, Earl e. Cornell, Earl Davidson, Harry Fonger, Irving J. Ford, Reginald S. Franchot, Abe Hoeksma, Carl A. Johnson, George F. MacMillan, Randolph Rogers, Roland Sargent, William Sears, George Seven, George Cyril Sifton, Ora L. Snyder, Ford Lee Stearns, Leon D. Van’t Hoff, Bernard Van’t Hoff, Harry J. Webster, George Williams. Central should be proud of these twenty-six Gold Star men.

 

 

 

ONE FOR ALL, ALL FOR ONE

VALDA CHAPIN, ‘20

The stream burst forth from its rocky bed,

And bubbling with laughter gaily said,

"The life I lead is a various one,

With friends in trees, in the shining sun,

In kindly rocks, the singing birds,

In bright spring flowers, in lowing herds,

I water the roots of the thirsty trees,

And help make cool the summer’s breeze.

The farther I go the more friends I know,

The more friends I help, the wider I grow."

Just so in our lives, we help the more

If we give as we take and add to our store.


Transcriber: Nancy Phillips
Created: 25 Jun 1004
URL: http://kent.migenweb.net/schools/centralhs/1920Apr.html