Bridgeport Central High School - Criterion Yearbook (Bridgeport, CT)

Page 27 text:

THE CRITERION W'ithout the slightest hint or warning I suddenly found myself standing on a crowded thoroughfare, pushed and jostled in a dozen different directions by a hurrying mass of busy people. Partly dazed and only slightly con- scious of my movements, I looked about me, but all seemed strange and entirely unfamiliar. I know that the best thing I could do while in such a predicament would be to inquire of a policeman as to my whereabouts. Surely there must be one of these generally, unplentiful beings within close reach, for only recently had forty-three of Bridgeport's Hhuskysi' donned the '4Blue Jacket , of latest Spring fashion and set out on their ap- pointed beats , if for no other reason, to make our streets more attractive. Wiishing to escape the crowd and hoping for something to appear that might prove familiar to my perplexed eyes, I set out to cross the street, but I had scarcely left the curb, when I was saluted by a succession of honks from an approaching auto. I drew back to allow the impatient vehicle to pass, when who should the driver and sole occupant of this large car prove to be but I'Dutch',, better known at Old B. H. S. as Ed. Creagh. My -quest for something familiar was thus brought to an adrupt ending. In his old metaphodical way, Ed. asked me to test the upholstered seats for their comfort and f'just-rightnessu, and I, in my familiar I'm wise man- ner, carefully and comfortably seated myself on the soft cushions. Vkfe were soon speeding along the concrete pave- ment. N In times past, Ed. could tell the make of any auto that might come into Twenty-five view, from a Locomobile Landoletu down to a one-cylinder Liberty Brushw, so, naturally, I was anxious to know what his choice had been when purchasing an automobile for himself. Surely he had used good judgment, for his car was perfect in every detail. NVhen I finally put the question to him, I was quite surprised to be informed that it was a f'Creagh RO21ClSt6I'H-1926 Model, he having gone into that grow- ing industry. the construction of auto- mobiles. The Creagh Roadster seemed possible enough, but the IQ26- seemingly, I was following in the foot- prints of Old Rip. One of the special features of mech- anism connected with the car was a very elaborate speed-ometer. XYithout doubt, it was the product of some brilliant inventor's laboratory. Upon closer scrutiny, one might read: The Allen Speedometern the trade-mark being a zig-Zag stroke of lightning. XVillard Allen, at last, had found a suitable means for representing that extraordinary momentum that existed in all parts of his ever-hustling person. W'e soon approached a busy cross'- ing, and were halted by a Traffic Cop, or rather Copess, for it was a female. Ed. asked if I recognized the Qfficer of the Law, but not until a second glance did I recognize our former dashing blonde, Nellie Alling. Directly opposite her, in the midst of passing trolleys. speeding automobiles, bicycles and carts were her two robust assistants. Maud Seamans and Lillian Ryan. XYhile we were thus halted a car greatly resembling the one we were occupying, drove up near by. The two occupants of the car were Loretta Harrington and Phoebe Coles, now Ladies of Leisure.

Page 26 text:

THE CR Miss Sandiford, renowned as the fairest of lasses In her work she did shine in all of her classes: Miss Silverman, a literary wonder In English was seldom known to blunder: Another brilliant maiden was Miss Marguerite Russell Her name was the synonym for the well- known word, hustle . A singing marvel in our class we had Miss Havrilla, who adopted each new-born fad : f'Bill McDermott, the chap with the pleasant smile His was a voice that would carry a mile: 'I' E R I U N The XYest End damsels, Misses Coles and Labrecque, Their whispering tongues they never could checkg Sight translations were Miss Clampett's aim Her German recitations brought her great fame. P0stI'11d1'1111z The list is done, the names are past, Those dear friends' faces are gone at lastg All memories I have, I hold to mean, Friendship to the class of 19123: I would that Fortune smile on all, But I shall ever say, whether they rise or fall, No better friends have I met or seen Than our Senior Class of 1913. -Joi-xx E. DEHARBIERI. 'iii' se- P R o P '5-O COMMERCIAL H ECY QU ' CLASS 1913 QQ QQQHQSKQ O be genuine, I suppose I - should follow in the path of my predecessors and first re- mark that I was greatly wor- ried when I found myself the Class Prophet. But the truth is, it didn't bother me in the least. I felt confident that I would have a mysterious meet- ing with some prophesying Spirit be- fore the time appointed, and, with that rather doubtful, but comforting thought, I dismissed all care. But Time has a great knack of flying fast, especially when one wishes that it might linger, and for this reason, I awoke to the fact one day that there were very few more days left me in which to write my prophecy. Natural- ly, I wanted to begin this great im- aginary Talev of the future immediate- ly, but I had already resolved not to let another day slip by without reading a certain Shakesperian play which our English Class was to have for Liter- ary discussion the following day. So, to the library I went. Entering the large Study Ilall, with its surroundings that possessed none of those welcome Spring attractions for a High School student, I withdrew to a distant corner, where I had little trouble in making myself comfortable -in fact-too comfortable. Here it was absolutely silent, the condition which is essential to concentration- and which also brings on, drowsi- nation. I had presently finished reading the first few scenes of the play. which had introduced to me, characters with whom I might expect to associate Cwithl in the following acts of this noted composition. About to resume my perusal, I felt myself overcome by an attack of slumber-laden yawns, fol- lowed by a series of dull-gray clouds passing my blinking eyes. The sur- rounding book-cases, which seeming- ly had partaken of too strong Oolong, were gliding over the floor in all sorts of Tango dips and trots, and I was about to-when lo! magic reigned. Twenty-four

Page 28 text:

THE CRITERION My attention was presently drawn to a stout, rosy-cheekeci man, who was promenading the walk. Ile was carry- ing a very conspicuous article, a large pair of opera-glasses. Ed. chirped There goes Sammy and to be certain, it was Sam Lefkowitz, for who else could have such a rosy complexion? My curiosity concerning the opera glasses was satisfied when Ed. told me that Sam was a reporter on the Theatre Review , a local weekly, his descriptions of Musical Comedies, witnessed from the upper Gallery, being very elaborate. Another mem- ber of the paper's staff was Margarite Davidson, her Gigg,e Department' being the cause of many sm'iles and prominent dimples, false-teeth being sometimes affected. Of the advertisers of this periodical, Edythe O'Hara was the most generous. XVanted, A Husbandl' was the brief opening sentence of Edythe's Ad., followed by three full columns of requirements, describing just what he must and must not be. From all appearances, such a creature never was, for three years of continued advertising had not produced a single reply, or proposal. Noisily up the street came a large auto truck, filled with concrete blocks and bags of cement. I read in large letters inscribed on the side: XYILLIAM KOSENA iv CG., Concrete-Stucco N Plaster Supplies. Build a Little Bungalow ofthe famous Kosena Tiles. I afterwards learned that one of Bill's first contracts, after going into business, was to ship a large supply of concrete blocks and tiles to Alliance, Ohio, where a beautiful home was con- structed of them for our former school- masters, Mr. and Klrs. L. B. Mathias. They were now retired from school teaching, and received daily, interest- ing accounts of their former pupils' success in the Business XVorld. Riding in a Creagh Runabout seemed to bring on a hungry feeling, so Ed. suggested that we manger , I needed no coaxing, and after Ed. had safely stored the buzz-car in a near-by garage, we set out in search of a restau- rant. XYe had not walked far when we approached a very cozy looking dwel- ling, an overhead sign reading: The just-Like-llome Dinery Concluding that such a place would satisfy our wants, we entered, and took seats at a table just inside the door. XYhile figuring out a dinner, according to the menu card, we were interrupted by a shuffle of skirts and French-heels, then a white aproned damsel approached the table we were occupying. Only one glance was necessary to prove that the wearer of this 'fChild,s-liken paraphernalia was Helen Quinlivan. Ilaze1', told us that three former B. H. S. girls were her partners, Agnes Jacobs, Laura Labre- cque and Sadie Silverman, and that on every XVednesday evening, they enter- tained their many customers with a 'fCabaret Shown, Sadie playing the piano, Laura singing popular Parisian airs, and Agnes assisting with comi- cal recitations. Not saying how she helped, I suppose Helen kept account of the money. IYhen I asked her if she and her partners intended to continue in this line of business, she laughed and gave Twenty-six