University of Rhode Island - Renaissance / Grist Yearbook (Kingston, RI)

Page 33 text:

THE GRIST 3 “ Dreamie ” Helen Scott Lamond She hails from the wilds of Usquepaugh, where was inherited the proud but modest air that later distinguished her. She attended the Usquepaugh grammar school, but soon knew more than the teacher; so was sent to the preparatory school of the Rhode Island College. She graduated from here, and in the fall of ’06 became a member of the class of ’10. She started out with the idea of becoming a Barber, but later in the year turned her attention to Car- pentering). Inspired by her brother’s reputation, she developed a great taste for mathematics, and soon became one of the stars of the class. She prides herself on speaking the purest English, and the only slang she was ever known to use was “O Ran! She also distinguished herself by valiant service in the Freshman-Sophomore scrap. She tackled one fair?) bulky member of the Sophomore class, but soon decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and retired for repairs. She was vice-president of the class for two years, and strangely enough; instead of succeeding the president of the class in the Junior year, she also retired. She is one of the leading membei ' s of the matri- monial club and attends the cooking-school, where she is noted for her ability to make (fallen) angel cake. She is also an entertaining canoeist, and thinks nothing of going canoeing in February. Then, too, she is an active member of the . W. C. U., where her musical ability is dis- played. With all her faults we venture to predict that our fair Helen will become an excellent artist because of her ability to pose, although she expects some day to graduate from the Boston Conservatory of Music. At any rate, we wish her the success she deserves. 34

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THE GRIST c Amos Harris Kenyon Here is a man who was rightly named in the wrong way, for “Doc’s” cure for all ills lies, not in his father’s medicine case, but in his own unfailing congeniality and perpetual good humor. His constant smile and care-free demeanor are as contagious as the whooping cough, and if you have the blues, just poke “Doc” in the ribs and see how soon you’ll forget it. Only once have we found him looking real sad, and that the day of the last Military Ball. The cause? Oh, ask ‘ ‘ Doc ’ ’ if you would know. “Doc” began to make a noise like an Usquepaugh farmer way back in 1800 , but while he was giving trouble to his teacher during his triumphant passage through the district school of that place, he heard of a man named Edison who did marvelous things with electricity; consequently when the time w ' as ripe, “Doc” boarded the student wagon and started for Rhode Island. He has been so regular in his attendance ever since that said wagon has suffered accordingly; at last accounts “Doc” had paid full value of it three, times over, and still it looks as if any trip might be its last. It has been intimated that “Doc” aspires to become an electrical engineer, but this objective is rapidly being offset by his great fondness for the Usquepaugh post-office during the long winter evenings. It is not to be supposed, however, that “Doc” is attracted by the mail; oh, no indeed! It is the opposite sex which claims his attention, and “Doc” says that if he fails to induce her to leave the employ of Uncle Sam he may of necessity take on himself the job of post-office engineer. He did not explain what a post-office “engineer” is, but the interpreta- tion of it lies in his manoeuvering to obtain his father’s horse for a Sunday afternoon drive. “Doc” has never taken an active part in athletics w-hile with us; his tastes lie more in an intellectual (?) direction, with the result that he spends much time in the room of the day students teaching the Preps, the differences between a “full house” and a “rough house.” However, even this sometimes requires skill, and we have no doubt that some day “Doc” will cause the world to sit up and take notice. 33

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THE GRIST Alfred Rogers Lee There is some doubt as to whether or not Prexy said in chapel, Wakefield is the root of all evil. ’ ’ This remark, however, was supposed to be applied to the well known Rhode Island pleasure resort, but another Wakefield, located in Massachusetts, redeemed itself from such imputations long ago, in 1887. by giving to the world a genius who received the name of Alfred Rogers Tee. Whether or not the town realized the blessing it was conferring upon humanity, is doubtful: for little Alfred’s early years were spent in quietude among the cows, ducks, geese, chickens, and other beautiful things of his native place. Finally he graduated from high school, and, showing a spark of genius, packed his grip for R. I. C., entering with the class of ' 08. Alfred now began to show the faculty and the world the powers that lay within him. In the short space of a year and a half he had apparently consumed all the agricultural knowledge in the college proper, for he withdrew and cast his lot with the “chickens” for the regulation term of twelve weeks. Then he sallied forth to revolutionize the poultry industry of the country; but the industry stubbornly refused to take the hint, and after a year of endeavor, Alfred decided to return to R. I. C. for a new stock of ammunition. Thus it was that in the fall of 1907 we found his demure face among us, and learned that we were to enjoy his civilizing influence for the remainder of our stay. Although we discovered later that this news was too good to be true, yet we profited much by his presence. A single glance at Alfred’s studious face would encourage a man to a good night’s study. Such, however, is the genius of our hero that he apparently needs no books, for he is rarely seen with them. Instead he goes about in the company of a huge loose leaf note-book, which he strives to fill with gems of knowledge contributed by the various agricultural experts of Kingston. So occupied has he been in this pursuit that he has not made himself famous in athletics, and as for the fair sex, a mention of that subject only draws from him a slow, self-satisfied smile, which we know not whether to ascribe to blissful ignorance or to a more mysterious cause. Alfred’s headquarters are in Chickenville, and it was lately rumored that the long table in City Hall was nearly worn through at his accustomed place. Although the rumor proved to be false, it prepared us for the shock of the later announcement that he would probably graduate in ’09. Alfred will then engage in the poultry business and carry with him the best wishes of his old-time classmates. 35