Nothing will tell you more about the past of IHS than the archives of The Tattler. Nestled into the back of E wing, in a small but mighty room, are filing cabinets containing bundles and bundles of past Tattler issues. As the Tattler Archivist and history enthusiast, it is my pleasure to bring a new life to the minds and ideas of our former students for you to enjoy!
Disclaimer: Language used in some archival pieces is outdated and does not reflect the standards and beliefs of the Tattler Editorial Board.
October 1985
Apartheid: No Longer Shades of Gray
by David Silbey
The debate over apartheid in this country has been going on for many years, but only recently has it taken a sharper focus. The question is no longer one of right or wrong, but what we should do about it. This takes it into the realm of politicians, who deal with it in their usual way: compromise.
Compromise is a good strategy for things like the budget deficit; political problems where the answers are not clear cut, but rather in shades of gray. This unfortunately does not work for apartheid, which has a clear right side and a clear wrong side. Thus compromise merely becomes a delay to effective action. Compromise is pointless if the solution would be no improvement on what existed before. Compromise did not work for Neville Chamberlain when he dealt with Hitler, and it cannot work now with P.W. Botha.
This discussion of where to compromise has led a lot of external, irrelevant things to be brought forward as reasons not to act. People seem too concerned with other questions such as, will economic sanctions cause South Africa to go Communist? Will the blacks institute a socialist state and repress the whites? This kind of muddy thinking obscures the whole point; the system in South Africa is one of unconscionable evil, and it should be utterly destroyed, consequences be damned. It is time to stop arguing about petty details and squabbling among ourselves. The time has come to do something meaningful about apartheid.
Ideas as to what exactly to do about apartheid abound everywhere: we should impose economic sanctions; no, we should try constructive disengagement; no, we should definitely try defoliating most of South Africa (some of your farther leftist folks). However, if we view apartheid as the total evil that it is and not some pettyfrogging political problem, then there is only one thing we can do. Forget about all the economic threats; with South Africa’s resources and specie, they can survive without the help of the West for quite some time. You think the Soviet Union cares where their gold and silver comes from? No, now is the time for decisive action. We must use force to destroy apartheid. As the U.S. Army has shown itself to be incompetent in your average guerilla war (see references on Vietnam, The Mayaguez incident, and Lebanon), we must be creative. How about supporting some guerilla armies ourselves for once? The African National Congress is doing wonders with limited funds. If they were backed by U.S. arms and equipment, they might have the whites running for the sea in under a year. A naval blockade of South African shiping [sic] would be very effective. Or maybe both; cut off from their money supply and with the hands of the A.N.C. around their throat, the South Africans would have no choice but to give up.
Whatever we plan on doing, we must do it soon. The horror of apartheid must not be allowed to go on any longer than necessary before we muster the sufficient resources which will enable us to grind them thoroughly into the ground. Compromise is not the answer. There is no compromise with such heartless cruelty. We are the guiding light of the world. As such, can we allow evil to go unpunished?
October 1949
Sweaters! We All Wear ’em
Sweaters! Blue, red, green, black, yellow, brown, white, and combinations! Color and style make little difference so long as you are wearing a sweater.
Everybody’s wearing them. Twin and belted styles for the girls and sleeveless, zipper, and pullover for the boys. All over school, sweaters appear every day.
We were curious about their origin, and decided to look it up. After consulting many encyclopedias and paying a nocturnal visit to the library, we collected the following information.
Sweaters are sometimes called jerseys because they were the first worn by sailors on the island of that name. The early sweaters were long dark-blue pullovers worn before and after athletic contests to prevent colds.
This was all we could find about the illuminating subject, and we returned home in a deep gloom.
Thanks to the assistance of all our friends and most of our acquaintances, the number of people in first and second floor rooms wearing sweaters was counted. Out of 976 people, 400 were found guilty.
Probably our readers are wondering “so what?” We do not know the answer. But maybe someday your great grandchildren will desire this bit of information. We hope so.
September 1971
Editorial: Board of Ed Needs Student Rep
by Stephen Carter
For a long time, the Board of Education has asked for more student input; at the same time, it has been the victim of critics who claim that either the Board doesn’t really want the student input or simply won’t listen to youth. Both sides have supporters in the controversy.
The Board of Education was presented with a method of solving the problem of student input and silencing the cynics last August.
A group of students proposed that the Board establish a position with the Board for a non-voting student representative, elected from the secondary schools by the secondary schools.
The Board, which in turn took the proposal under advisement and set up a committee of its own to work out the details of the project, should accept this proposal, and not just to still its critics. The students who made the presentation had logic in their arguments.
There is the obvious fact that very few students attend Board meetings (excepting the Markles series), but this cannot realistically be passed off as apathy. Many students are upset with the system, and due to results of attempted participation in the past, have a feeling that no one on the Board will listen to their cases.
There are still many students hesitant to speak with confidence to adults, but this is no stranger than the many adults who hesitate to address or try to get points across to groups of students. But more to the point, these same students, perhaps unwilling or unable to communicate with adults, would readily recount their problems to this student representative, knowing that the Board would hear of them.
Of course, one can argue that the students could simply select a representative and have him attend Board meetings with the same speaking rights as any other citizens. Those who make this proposal overlook an extremely important fact: a member of the audience can only deliver a brief speech about an issue, but cannot participate during the meeting. Someone sitting with the Board has the privilege of being allowed to discuss issues, to present arguments and counter-arguments.
Why, then, shouldn’t other special interest groups have representatives? There are two major points to keep in mind here: first, if students are to be considered a special interest group, then what group is working in the public interest? Secondly, and more importantly, all of the other various groups are composed of adults and can voice their opinions yearly because, unlike the youth, they have the privilege of voting.
Assuming, then, that the Board accepts the idea, their responsibility obviously doesn’t end, but a great deal of it shifts to the shoulders of the students. It is up to the students, if they want this position, to be sure it’s publicized well enough to the entire community so that everyone knows what’s going on.
The newly represented youth would have the responsibility of seeing that the election did not deteriorate—as most seem to feel that it would—into another “popularity contest”.
Finally, this proposal can never become reality without student support. But whether you are in favor or opposed, show that you care. Communicate with school board members or just talk about it—with anybody.
April 1926
When Love Triumphed
By Robert Delaney ’27
Joe Marns, master crook of the Blue Trio, sat at a table in O’Brian’s Lunch. As he ate his meal he thought how kind Fate had been to him, for all his plans were completed for the big job to be pulled off that night. The Pelton diamond haul would be the biggest of his long and eventful career—consequently he was happy—superbly happy.
Even though famous to the underworld as the “toughest guy around” and feared by many, “Slippery,” as he was known to his associates of crookdom, had seen better days of training, education and respect for the law—days of Sunday school picnics and petty love affairs. But time had altered his activities and swerved them from the paths of honor and success to the degrading gutter of lawlessness. He knew not why, but his former life meant little to him now, for he was a hardened crook, well-versed in the ways of crime and banditry—with a record for deeds that would cover pages.
As he left the table for his room upstairs, the proprietor of the lunch room called to him.
“What’s wrong now?” Joe inquired.
“Nothin’ at all except that you just got a letter.” Joe took the letter which was handed him, and believing that the letter contained his final instructions for the engineering of the Pelton diamond job, he returned to the table at which he had been seated before opening it.
It had been a long time since Slippery Joe, the safe cracker, had seen the post-mark “Peaceville” and as he saw it on his letter, a staggering feeling of weakness came over him. Nervously he tore open the envelope and scanned its contents.
“Joe—my Joe—”
“You’re a grown man now and perhaps you’ve forgotten me after all these years. But, Joe, not once has my mind turned from you since the time you left to go in search of ‘bigger things.’
”Don’t ask me how I’ve found you, for you wouldn’t understand. I’ve prayed you’d write, though you never did all these years. It doesn’t matter—the life you’ve led—for I can forgive that; but I want you to return to the old life. I know you can, if you only try, and besides I need you. Won’t you come, Joe?
“Signed, Meg.”
A cold, aching chill shook the frame of Slippery Joe, crook and safe-cracker, as he allowed the letter to fall to the floor. He was deeply affected as he sat there motionless— thinking of the letter— and the writer. Suddenly, with a grunt of self-reproof, he picked up the letter, arose, and ascended the stairs. With the old habit of setting aside disturbing thoughts he tried to thrust the memory from his brain as he unlocked the door of his small room and entered.
Taking a magazine from the table he attempted to read, but the pages seemed to blur before eyes that were far away. A cigarette offered no relief. He strove to concentrate on the Pelton job, the biggest he had ever planned, but all his efforts were in vain. Memories he had long thought dead and buried came back to him. Pictures, more varied than those on the walls about him, formed themselves in his mind—a girl, beautiful, pure and ideal, with eyes brighter than the most brilliant star. Slippery Joe saw her—yes, in spite of himself—he saw her and was not ashamed of it.
In the midst of the painful realization of what he might have been, Joe sat with his head sunk between his hands—fighting to regain the sanity that seemed on the verge of destruction.
“After all these years,” he muttered, “after all these years.” Then, as if drawn by some will mightier than his own, he crossed the room, picked up the telephone and called the Grant station.
In the dining car of the Southern Limited sat Slippery Joe, erstwhile crook. He was happy—superbly happy; not because of the Pelton job he had left behind forever. He was happy because he had won a great battle with himself—a victory more creditable than a job successfully pulled off. He was happy because he was returning to a life of love and genuine happiness, which he knew would be the best.
And so as he looked back at the city of life he had left behind forever he felt a hundred shackles fall. He was to begin a new and wonderful life.