Bristol High School - Green and White Yearbook (Bristol, RI)

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22 THE GREEN AND WHITE been consumed in the fires of curiosity. K.—Open my trusty brief-case, Watson. In the middle pocket you will find certain papers. Read off their titles. H.—(obeying command)— Jondun-bar I. O. U. $10. Charl-see-dowd ..... I. O. U. $25. Dickorn-ell ......... I. O. U. $50. Harol-dewolf ....... U. O. Me $200 Letter of Instruction, number lHy2. K.—Ah. yes. Fetchit. (Reads) “Whereas, we, the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Bus-drivers, the Amalgamated Association of the Steam-fitters of Guam, and the Simonize Twins, being in our right mind, do solemnly, religiously, and self-sacrificingly finance an expedition to be conducted by Kung-fu-Tzu; “And whereas, the sole purpose of said expedition is to clear the face of our fair earth o fthe scourge of Mah-Chow, the— H.—Most noble sire—is not Mah-Chow also known as Ma-Hahajah, Mah-Jong, Ma Jenkins, Ma-caroni, etc? K.—Yes, Haijan. Whereas, we, the members of the above signed societies, do solemnly affix our names hereunto, together with the amount we hereunto subscribe to finance this heroic crusade : Caesar Borgia ............... $ .05 Savonarola ...................... 02 John D. Rockefeller .............10 Horatius at the Bridge......... .01 H.—Fools and their money well parted. K.—What's that? H.—I said those men were big-hearted. K.—Let us invoke the deities. (Goes to Great-Wall, places elbows on ledge, kneels). Allah Akbar, seven times blessed unto you do we come for aid. help and favor. H. (imitating K.)—F. W. Woolworth, unto you do we come for radios, Ford parts and tooth-picks. K.—Living Buddah, followed by multitudes of llamas and chamois, leave us not in time of need. H.—Oh, rabbit’s foot, leave us not in time of greed. K.—Spirits of Ancestors, bid us good fortune. H.—Shades of the Pan-American Peace Conference, bid us—Say boss, it’s beginning to rain, let’s go home and listen to the radio. R. AKIN, '29. DO IT NOW! Through some horrible and unpardonable act of Fate, I recently found myself driving along the long and crooked highway which leads, eventually, to Pawtucket. Opposite the North End Burial Grounds, a fitting moment, by the way, to the approach c th entrance to the “Bee Hive of Rhode island Industry,” I was confronted by a huge crude, ageworn sign which read: STOP PROCRASTINATING— BUY YOUR MONUMENT NOW! Well, there was nothing attractive, to say the least, in the appearance of this silent salesman. In fact, it was an extremely common-place affair, dirty and weather-beaten. Furthermore, I did not consider myself to be dying, or at least not dead, and I had no intention of Jumping Off” of my own accord, so what did 1 want with a gravestone? But still, there was something in that sign that interested me, and I did not know what it was. Suddenly those two words: “Procrastinating and “Now loomed up before me, and seemed to stand out from their surroundings, as do the spooky eyes of a night owl, in the death-like blackness of night. I wonder how many of us are not influenced at some time or other by Old Man Procrastination. Perhaps you have met him at one time or another without having recognized him. but I am sure that all of you will remember of having met him, after a second's thought. Of course you know him! He’s the one who calls to your memory that date you have at a certain time. What a great blessing it would be to all of us if we did what we have to do as we should do it, and last but not least, at the time it should be done. So, as a general rule, I think we can all agree that: He who adoreth Procrastination Shall never reach his destination.” Or, in less flowery language, and as someone has already penned it: He who hesitates is lost.” ESTHER CLARK. '29. RAIN Who doesn't know Rain? Rain, the Bene-ficient; Rain, the Healing; Rain, the Malignant ; and, just Rain. Rain, in hot. dry, summer weather, bringing relief to parched fields, and dried-out humans. Steady, dependable Rain; marching to the rescue; healing, cooling, comfortable Rain. Or the merry Summer Shower. Jovous, sparkling, laughing Rain, rushing by in an instant, racing with men; lovable, tantalizing, playful: the pleasantest kind of Rain. Or Rain in the flood season. Sudden, terrifying Rain. Filling basins and reservoir’s; changing the nature of rivers, angering them so, that they flood over all the land; carrying all before them, tearing down, uprooting, destroying. venting their wrath upon man, because of Rain. Or Rain in the canyons of the West. Swooping down with a startling swish of soft wings. Filling dry stream beds, making tumbling streams where there were none before. Or Tropic Rain. Endless, unceasing, and maddening; malignant, terrible Rain. Rain in Spring, kissing the newly bared Earth till all her face is suffused with blushes. Rain, the Prince Charming, impetuous Rain. Rain in Fall, magnificent cloud-bursts, thundering a majestic farewell to Summer. Rain in Winter, warming and melting the frozen heart of his cold brother Snow. And Rain, 'most any time. Drumming on the tin roof of the farmhouse porch, pattering on the window panes, running down my neck. Rain bringing mud and cussing, spoiling the skating, ruining the party; Rain, aggravating, disappointing or merely indifferent. Just Rain. H. MASON, '29.

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THE (iREEN AND WHITE 21 There are two paths in this subtle life, WHICH? Which to choose, which will pay? The broad way leads thru the lane of bright lights, It’s a way of laughter, of glittering nights, Of people gay, carefree drifting along, Of freedom, abandon, forgetfulness, in song. Where there’s no refraining from deeds that are wrong, A conscienceless people of wills iron-strong. This road’s called Vice and collects great toll Of the thoughtless travelers in the heathen role. The narrow way leads thru the forest dread, Dark, rough, stormy, ’lis glooming there. There are cruel brambles, thorns, sharp stones, A path well-trodden by weary bones. This road’s called Virtue, of exorbitant price. Collecting stern toll for the end to suffice. It seems endless, useless, hopeless, hare. Stripped of cheer and light, placed by care. It leads to happiness, but watch the price— Self-denial, stern courage, self-sacrifice. This road's called Virtue, strict and hard; Unrelenting in its demand of courage At the end of these roads there's a mist— A mist withholding from our eager gaze The reward or punishment of our earthly days. As we wend our way in this toiling world We must choose one of these paths—Which? K. KELLEY, '29. THE ALCHEMIST I see a sulphurous smoke; it clears and there appears a wizened old man in a skull-cap and flowing duster. This Merlin is peering into a brazen alembic, from which issues a pungent gas recalling grandfather’s phosphorus matches. Is the deposit in the retort the philosopher's stone? The mere contact of this mineral will convert any baser metal to gold. That vile-smelling residue may be the famed elixer of life, more potent than any patent medicine, for it will prolong life indefinitely. Or is the wizard conducting a sedulous search for the alcahest? The alcahest is a universal solvent—it will dissolve whatever it touches. And if this reticent fellow should find his alcahest. in what will he keep it? In the search for the philosopher’s stone, the elixer of life and the alcahest, many lives were lost, many fortunes were wasted. Yet to alchemy docs modern chemistry owe its birth. Most of the important elements were isolated by the alchemists. Today the alchemist lives in the research chemist, who has made conquests of immeasurable value, undreamed of by the brothers of King Arthur’s sorcerer. Research chemists have produced carbon disulfide; it is used in sewage disposal systems, to treat rubber, in the manufacture of rayon underwear and to enterminate cockroaches. Consider the destructive distillation of coal; we have coke, fuel gas, ammonia, tar, cloth dyes, aspirin, artificial leather, and olomargerine, from a lump of dirty, black anthracite. The narrow way, the bright broad way One leads to happiness, the other strife; S3SION What a variety of noises one hears during the day. In the classroom, on the street, anywhere at all. Pupils whispering, pens scratching, the clocks ticking; bang! a desk cover. Some industrious individual signals the end of a theme by a thumping out the final period with a heavy hand. Money clinking on the teacher's desk, bank day. Sounds of distant music. Miss Sullivan is here. A door slams, another opens, and we hear Mr. Eaton’s voice echoing, then the bell. A quiet, light, shuffling tread, the door opens and in comes Mr. Brightman. A hurst of laughter, probably Mr. Dowd's class. The telephone rings, footsteps hurry by. A horn blows outside; a truck clatters and clanks by. The noise is incessant, but interesting to observe. H. MASON, ’29. KUN(I FU TZU Prologue Kung-fu-Tzu, the famed Chinese philosopher, lived from 550 to 478 B. C. He was thus a contemporary of Pythagoras; he died about 20 years before the battle of Lake Regillus, the first authentic date in Roman history. He toured China, returned to his native district, and was made “governor of the people.” A tide of immorality set in, so he set out, crusading against it. This (horse) play is based, most basely, upon this trip. Throughout this epic the audience is respectfully demanded to refrain from mob tactics and mud-slinging and to realize they are, each and every one of them, heathen Chinese, of the uttermost patience. The curtain goes up. Before our very eyes appears the Great Wall of China: to the left are rice fields, to the right what the stage manager claims are tea bushes. To resume: The curtain has gone up, the two characters appear—both of them bad. One is Kung-fu-Tzu. vulgarly known as Confucius; the one who needs a shave, who is the second to enter is Haijan—-Chattanooga (Rung calls him ”Hey”), his aide-de-cramps, second-story man, partner at bridge and coolie serf. Both are dressed after the style of the Hong-Kong fashion saloons. On with the show, but don’t forget that vou’re all Chinese, therefor patient. (Enter Kung, right) K.—Hey, Haijan ! (Enter Haijan) H.—Yes, most noble sire. K.—You have doubtless wondered why we have set out upon this tour, eh what? H.—Yes, most noble sire. My very soul has Harbor View Filling Station GAS. OIL, GREASES Cigars, Cigarettes, Candy, Soda and Tobacco. T. H. BYRNES. Prop. R. AKIN. ’29.

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CAST OF “JERRY OF JERICHO ROAD” Left to right, standing: C. Withered, M. Vargas, M. Motta, R. Makowsky. H. Mason, J. Marsden. Sitting: J. Gilroy, E. Clark, E. Lemaire, S. Newman, A. McHugh.