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!
March 1918 Girl’s Number
The Stroke That Failed
Throughout the long line of officers of the W. and A. Ammunition Plant, all was still except for the measured tick of a huge clock in the president’s office. It was a beautiful clock. Its long booming strokes could be heard far down the east corridor and its vibrations, as it struck, made the papers on the secretary’s desk tremble.
The night shift of the great factory had been at work some time preparing weapons and ammunition which would, in time, bring the Great War to a successful close; so, in all probability, no one would pass through that corridor until day except the night watchman, who even now silently made his round.
He had barely passed the door of the president’s office when a small, alert man crept out of the shadows behind him and, producing a key, stealthily entered.
By means of a small searchlight, the man untied a box, which he had brought with him, and reaching in, drew out a rather small round object, undoubtedly a bomb. Then from his pocket he brought forth a small metal match-box and from that, a bit of phosphorus.
This he placed on a tiny ledge built above the fuse of the bomb and attached a small, nearly invisible wire to the ledge. Then, opening the case of the clock, he tied the other end of the wire to the striking mechanism.
As he glanced at the face of the clock, a look of satisfaction crossed the plotter’s face. It was quarter past eleven and in just forty-five minutes the W. and A. Ammunition Factory, Uncle Sam’s reliable plant, would be a mass of sunken walls and charred
bodies.
He took the bomb and placed it in the lower part of the huge clock below the pendulum, and, fixing the ledge so that, when jerked by the wire, it would drop the phosphorus on the fuse as the clock struck the next hour, he closed the case and stealthily crept out of the room and locked the door.
Thirty minutes passed and the night watchman again made his rounds. As he passed the president’s office, he turned his flashlight on it and gazed through the glass at the room.
“Well,” he said, “all O.K., I guess, only the old clock is running down. Perhaps I’d better wind it.” So he unlocked the door and went in.
As he was feeling about for the key of the striking part, he thought he heard voices farther down the hall. Reaching for his revolver, he started in that direction.
Meanwhile the beat of the clock grew slower. Tick – – tock! Tick – – – tock! Tick – – – – tock! The watchman was far down the corridor, looking in vain for the disturbers. Yet he stubbornly kept up the search, muttering to himself, “I know I heard something, though I’m darned if I know what twas?”
Tick – – – – – tock! Still slower! And it was five minutes of twelve!
The lights of the different shops twinkled and the hum of the machinery went on undisturbed,
–and all had but five minutes more to live.
Tick – – – – – – tock! The light of the watchman’s flash light shone dimly far down the corridor.
He was still searching for the intruders and it was three minutes of twelve!
The old clock gasped, seemed about to strike, but vented its strength in a final “tock”,
Twelve o’clock! The distant chime of bells could be heard but the clock in the president’s office was silent.
F.H ’20
December 1898
The Singing Schools of Olden-Time
The simple tunes, the fugues and anthems of the olden time awoke as keen a pleasure in the hearers and performers of that day as the music that has supplanted them awakes in the disciples of the advanced culture of the present. They were happy as far as they knew, and they knew enough to be happy therein.
The teachers of these schools were men whose attainments in music were above mediocrity. They were prominent for taste, voice, or ability to teach, and their employment was on the itinerant method. The musically inclined in several contiguous towns arranged for schools on different evenings of the week during the winter, and, by virtue of the footings on the inevitable “subscription-paper,” bargained with a teacher whose whole time was thus employed on the comprised circuit to the mutual advantage of all. All the preliminaries having thus been arranged, the young people of the several towns for whose pleasure and benefit these affairs were mainly intended, reinforced by some of the veteran singers for back-bone and support, joyfully gathered for the vocal campaign.
Toward the close of the season came the practice of the “set-pieces” and anthems which were to be the crown of the final concerts. These concerts were given in each of the several localities wherein the schools had been held,. often aided by a selection of the prominent singers of the neighboring precincts. The spacious old fashioned church was the scene of this terminal demonstration. Its galleries extending around three sides of the edifice, were lined by the performers, the chorister, instrumentalists, and most prominent vocalists occupying the center front. The parish clergyman and his visitant brethren filled the pulpit and the pews and aisles were crowded with the expectant audience gathered from far and near. After prayer, the great volume of modulated and cadenced sound began to roll– at first along the simple measure in the tunes adapted to ordinary use. Gradually, as the singers warmed to their work and the harmony became more perfect more complicated themes astonished the listening multitude.
Often, as many of the music teachers became veterans in their profession, they assumed proportional autocracy, and surpassed the old-time district school-master in disciplinary rule.
All this is now among the by-gones. Picked choirs and paid quartettes, or promiscuous congregation singing, have supplanted the volunteer full-gallery performers of olden times; and where modern refittings have not yet been applied, those empty galleries still remain to awaken remembrances of other days and old fashioned singing-schools.
Kappa Sigma.
November 1999
Dodgeball: The Glorious Game
By Tyler Barnett ’00
The word “dodgeball” comes from the ancient Latin proverb “Bell ad God.” For those of you who aren’t devout Latin scholars, this means “bell to God.” When the ancients would play early forms of dodgeball, they would claim to hear heavenly bells tolling from above whenever someone got really plastered. Of course, archaeologists now know that ancient civilizations used specially crafted spherical stones rather than today’s modern playground balls. Consequently, a good hit often resulted in the deaths of many a stout dodgeballer. The postgame rituals for honoring the dead were among the most complex creations of the ancient world. The Egyptians, for example, would build pyramids in reverence to those who gave their lives. Dodgeball was also prevalent in the city-states of ancient Greece. In fact, the entire Trojan War was started when a player from Troy claimed that a stone thrown by a Grecian player bounced before it hit him. Across the Atlantic, the Incas would play dodgeball in the treacherous mountain passes of the Andes.
Games were often played to decide the winners of potato bake-offs, and the losers would get pushed off cliffs. Aztecs believed in the human sacrifice of the losing team. The Aztecs also built floating gardens specifically for a dodgeball-water polo hybrid called “Dodgeball-Water Polo Hybrid.” This mutant of a game died out when the Aztecs realized that it was hard to throw stones underwater.
So where did modern dodgeball come from? Well, where did the Native Americans get horses? Where did the Irish get potatoes? They got them from Christopher Columbus in 1492! When Chris landed in the West Indies, he brought the crew from the Santa Maria, who had won the privilege of being the flagship by beating the Nina and the Pinta in the world’s first three-way dodgeball game.
The elite dodgeballers from Europe were amazed at the North American style, which included the revolutionary idea that players who were “out” could get back “in” if a team member caught the ball. Europeans contributed the idea of “headhunting” and the modern rules of dodgeball were set. Thanks to the cultural exchange of 1492, these new rules were spread all over the world.
Dodgeball is the most important game in the world. Wars have been fought, elections have been lost, and continents have drifted. All because of dodgeball. So why don’t we study dodgeball in gym class? Students would be both mentally and physically bettered if the entire P.E. curriculum were devoted to dodgeball. Dodgeball is a way for students to take part in a movement that has shaped the world. Dodgeball requires the ultimate balance of mind and body to be successful. A dodgeball player feels a connection with something greater than humanity when he/she smears someone, or catches the ball that frees the whole team. This divine game deserves our utmost commitment and devotion. It would better our school, our students, and our spirit.