New London High School - Whaler Yearbook (New London, CT)

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16 BULKKLEY NEWS For they most always did receiv'e high marks. ’Bout Corcoran I have not much to say. Because hard Latin he did so as play, And Copeland could the Chemistry recite. While all the rest kept still as mice with fright. But who could do Geometry with ease? No one but Stewart could the lessons seize. There’s Perkins, number one of this good class And he was sure a credit to this class. Now Sherb was pretty good in French, for all The work that we did write he’d only scrawl. And how about this funny Rosenthal? Of course we know not what he has for gall. A few as yet I haven’t had time to name. There’s Dehmer queer, ’bout him I can’t explain. Then Murphy fat, he too is liked by all. As well as Ryley even though he’s tall. Now Harshowitz, a speaker good is he. And Keating—who can say what he will be? Who knows a thing about this Kaufman bold? He comes around and asks for nickels old. About this classmate Liljenstein I say That he will be a man some future day. And last as well as least is Kaplan small, He certainly is not so very tall. And now I’ve said a word about each one. Let me repeat, your work is just begun. So fare-well classmates, fare-well one and all! We ne’er shall meet again in this bright hall. ROLLIN H. BARRETT.

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bulkeley news 15 Class Poem. The Class of Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen, Is ’mons the best that Bulkeley has seen. For four short years we’ve worked here side by side On lessons long and lessons hard and tried To do our best. And now at last ’tis done, And we our work in life have just begun. Before we separate just let me tell To each a word of love, of praise, fare-well. There’s Leary, president of this good class, And foot-ball captain too, and did surpass, All captains Bulkeley has seen for years. Then Cassidy our treasurer,—three cheers For him, for he has done his duty well. And St. Germain to him I wish to tell The fine clean work that he has done for all As editor of our school paper small. And who had charge of the Foot-ball team? ’Twas Foley who we hold in high esteem. Then Belcher, he did manage our good track, With zeal and skill; we all know that’s a fact. And now I wish to name our foot-ball men— Without their help we sure would be unken. And here’s to Gaffney who did play right end, For much upon his zeal there did depend. Mulcaliey played for 11s, left tackle well, And we must give to him a hearty yell. Then Schwartz, and where did he perform with zeal? ’Twas at right-tackle where he’d never reel. And now there conies to mind our full-back man, ’Tis Weske;—not afraid of any man. And here we praise our good and strong right guard, It’s Beran who did play the game so hard. There are some substitutes I did not name Because in other things they had more fame. Baratz has changed so much in the past school year That we 110 longer feel that he is queer. And Bronstein won for us the points at track, And this for weeks did put him on his back. I mustn’t forget to name our lesson sharks,

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bulkeley news 17 Class Prophecy. T was a dark and stormy night. Without the elements raged in all their fury. Safely lodged in my warm Alaskan hut, I thought not of the tempest. Rather, my contemplations were of my old classmates. Thirty years of time had left their marks on the world since the memorable night on which the class of 1914 of Bulkeley School had last met. The occasion of this meeting—or rather, this parting,—was the class banquet, and a jolly good time it was. But what had become of my old chums since then? Had they successfully combated with the ways of the world ? Or had they layed down and given up without a struggle? No, I said, no 1914 Bulkeley man would behave in that way. Suddenly my dreams were arrested by a commotion at the door. The primary thought that entered my mind was “Wolves;” but a human tap-tap allayed my fears in that direction. That a human soul could be a-broad tonight was terrible to contemplate. Cautiously I opened the door. With the influx of snow that came with the opening of the door, a sorry-looking individual stumbled across the threshold. The stranger was sadly in need of help, so I turned my attention to making him comfortable. Inquisitive as I was, I waited for the newcomer to speak. For a long time he was mute. Then he suddenly burst forth. “Suffering cats!” he exclaimed, “if I’d a-known Alaska was like this, I’d a-stayed right down at little old Ocean Beach! ’ ’ Ocean Beach! Who wonders that I started? Ocean Beach! For fifteen years or more, the once familiar name of Ocean Beach had never entered my ear. And here it came to me from the whistling gale, as it were. Seizing the storm-bound wayfarer by the shoulder I fairly yelled: “What do you mean, Ocean Beach? Ocean Beach, New London, Connecticut, U. S. A. ? Ocean Beach, Long Island Sound? Answer me!” The stranger was exasperatingly slow about answering. F i n a 1 ly he said: “Yes sir; Ocean Beach, New London, Conn. That’s where I’m from. ’ ’ My joy knew no bounds. For years I had never set eyes on a New London man; and here freakish Fate had sent me one of the things I most desired. Now I could get all the information I wished. Now I could find out how things were going in my old home-town. Now I could learn something concerning my old classmates and other friends. When I raised my eves to look at him, my guest was staring intently at me. “Say,” he said, “might I