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

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8 THE GREEN AND WHITE JUST A FEW FACTS (With apologies to K. C. B., Briggs, and the others) It is Wednesday morn and you are scheduled to declaim and you sit in the auditorium with your hands folded and listen with watchful ears (as Vergil says) to all that is going on and your heart goes thump, thump, and the clock tick, tick and you hope that Mr. Strong will keep talking forever and just as you expect to rise to go to the stage you hear him say, No declamations today. Oh, boy, ain’t it a gr-r-r-rand and glor-r-rious feeling.” I THANK YOU. MY FIRST EXPERIENCE My name was on the list for declamations. What could I do? I am very nervous and I was positive that I couldn’t get up on the stage in front of all those boys and girls to speak a piece. But of course I had to do it. There was no way of getting out of it unless I said that I had a cold, and if I did that I would only have to speak next week, so I decided I would speak the day my turn came. The day, the very fatal day, came at last. I had found a piece and had memorized it. Twice I had rehearsed it to Miss Tobin, but, could I do it? Could 1 speak my piece before those boys and girls without forgetting it, and without fainting? Fainting, that was it. I felt that I would faint. When I had rehearsed to Miss Tobin I had felt so frightened and nervous—what would I do when I spoke in front of all those boys and girls? “ ‘Colt and the Veteran’ by Bayard Taylor, spoken by Miss Angelina Morra,” came Mr. Strong’s voice. It struck me and I thought that I was being swallowed up by the floor. Oh, if it only would! It the floor would open up and swallow me! But it didn’t, so I got up and went toward the edge of the platform. All the boys and girls were looking up at me and waiting to hear what I had to say. My knees began to shake. I could feel my face burning and knew that it must be as red as fire. I began. The first two stanzas were kind of shaky but I got used to having the young people stare at me and all the rest of the piece was better, because I didn’t feel so nervous. When I finished they all clapped and I felt that I had been rewarded for my effort. And now I look forward to the next time, and vow that I shall not be so nervous. ANGELINA MORRA, ’22. THE GOAD One day we learned about the goad With which the pricks of pain are sow’d To make the Donkey’s step more spry In hope the journey’s end be nigh. Rob prattled long in pretty glee About the Donkey’s obstinacy, Until a fool beside the road, To quiet it, made him a goad. He made it with a stick and tack To slap the Donkey’s ladened back, For in her saddle were a ton Of duds of Robert Stevenson. EMILY SANFORD. ’21 1. MAKOWSKY, ’21

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 are continually joking but as I am a Junior I could not tell you about mere Freshmen. There is a boy in the Junior class who can make a variety of noises and is very willing to give demonstrations all day long, and there is another boy in the Senior class who can soliloquize so well that he has made it almost an art. Now as for the teachers — well, as Shakespeare would have said, “T’were best to speak low of such things.” but still it is funny to hear the teachers’ repeated expressions often, such as, “Now here’s the point,” as one teacher remarks two or three times a day. It makes vou feel proud to hear the teacher say that the Junior class is the worst class she has ever taught, but I guess that is something that the teacher is compelled to say because every teacher says it to every class. As for girls, well, all girls are foolish. There are one or two girls in the school who are vainly trying to be one of the so-called “near-vamps” but as yet they haven’t succeeded. These girls have trained their eyes so they can put them in almost any position. They believe that practice makes perfection. There is a girl who sits behind me in one study room who must read her lessons out loud before she can understand them. Also there are girls who I believe could talk for three days without stopping. Of course there are numerous “young ladies” who study for exactly four hours each day. And there is one girl who must tell the teacher how she did the work but from the way the teacher answers the young lady I don’t be’ieve she cares how she did it as long as it is right. We naturally have a few Prima-Donnas who, if given the chance, would rival Galli-Curci and also one or two future Mary Pickfords. We have a wonderful orchestra, but unfortunately they are bashful about performing. So we don’t often hear them. There are one or two boys who enjoy singing and frequently sing a solo after everybody has stopped singing. Among the Seniors we have two boys who are very studious. In the Junior class one boy has a fad for reading Alger books, and is always seen with one of them. One boy thinks he is a pitcher and often practices throwing wads of paper all over the room. He is often spoken to by the teacher who tries to impress it upon his infantile mind that he is not as good a pitcher as he thinks he is. This is about all the peculiar characters we have in school at the present time, though last year’s class contained a few memorable ones. But I have forgotten one very important character in the Colt High School. He is a small boy, who, like a mosquito in summer, is everywhere. He is what some people would designate as a “general nuisance.” I think you know who this is. If you don’t it is Yours truly, WALTER WENNERSTRAND THE CHERUB I heard a sob, I looked around And over on the mossy ground I saw a little cherub fair, With eyes of blue and golden hair. The child’s small face was full of woe And then I thought I ought to go And ask her if I could not try To hide her cares or sooth her sighs. I told her all about the things Cod made to make the Cherubs sing, She smiled at me and then I knew The Cherub’s heart had found me true. And after that as I walked home I thought of how some cherbus roam Throughout the world with no one there To help them when they need the care. —ANNIE FAY, ’21 THE MONSTERS All was still and the moon shone brightly. The birds after flying around had gone to rest. The flowers had silently folded their petals and drooped their pretty heads. The soft east wind was singing a sweet lullaby to the trees and darkness softly crept over all the earth—in other words it was night. Suddenly above this sweet silence could be heard—afar off—the sound of something flying through the air. This dreadful sound grew louder and louder in volume as through the night came a death-dealing monster. “It” came nearer and nearer and then began to circle around and around. Below it people shuddered and held their breath. The “thing” came lower and lower to the earth. Suddenly it swooped down and a shrill cry was heard. Again it came down and again a shriek rank out in the night. Soon the “thing” came down to rest before it continued its deadly work of destruction. There was a crash of flesh striking hard wood and out of the night there came a hideous laugh. The next day, upon the back-steps of a bungalow in the suburb of the city there lay the mangled and hardly recognizable remains of—a mosquito. W. WENNERSTRAND, ’22.

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 9 LIGHTNING OR GHOSTS The night was dark and misty; the wind was blowing fiercely; the trees swayed; the water in the gutters rushed along with an extraordinary rapidity; rain increased in volume. The sky showed no signs of “letting up”—in short, the night was so terrible, that it seemed as though nature was about to end the life of our planet “Mother Earth.” Indeed, not a human being could be seen on any of the streets, and were there scientists in the district who had doubt whether the world would some day come to an end, they surely would have lost no time in saying that this night was the night which nature had selected for the world’s destruction. Indeed, there were many families in the region who sat cuddled together in their homes, thinking that everyone’s end was due, at any moment. There were homes where the father of the family sat talking to his children of storms of the glorious past, worse than this present one; and still there were homes where the members of the family were so rash as to say that “the storm was so slight that it should merely be called an “insurrection of the elements.” Yet were either of these members called upon to venture into the hazardous night, all, without any doubt, would shudder at the thought. And so the storm raged on furiously into the night, without showing the least sign of subsiding. Twelve o’clock, midnight, and the hurricane increased its velocity; one o’clock, and the tornado grew neither better nor worse; two o’clock, and the gale subsided slightly; three o’clock, and the whirlwind made up for its slight decrease of velocity; four o’clock, and the wind subsided to the form of a zephyr; five o’clock, and the rain stopped; six o’clock, and the clouds began moving while the sun peeped through the purple mountains of the east; seven o’clock and the sky was clear to the horizon, the places of business opened for the day, and the horrors of the stormy night gave way to another day. The Jameson Manufacturing Company was located on Williams street. The situation was perfect, and the concern had taken so much advantage of this, that it had outgrown all its rivals in its business success, and now led all the manufacturers of the district. It happened that the perilous storm was without lightning, with the exception of two terrible bolts, and as many crashes of thunder. The flourishing retail plant of the Jameson Manufacturing Company had, unfortunately, been struck by one of these death-dealing bolts of lightning, during the night. This was the only company in the state that suffered an enormous loss, caused by the terrible storm. At seven o’clock in the morning, before the business was opened, it could be seen by pedestrians, that the lightning had totally burned the frieze which had decorated the top of the establishment. The sides of the building were badly damaged, while the front part was slightly touched. This was the condition of the edifice, as seen by the eye of a street observer. Harvey Johnson, a stout, broad-shouldered, well-built man of forty, was walking down Williams street at 7.30 a. m., jingling a bunch of keys in his hand, whistling a tune ,and observing the condition of the well-known structure of which he was janitor and department manager, having a few shares in the company’s stock. It was his usual custom to open up the building and to prepare for work at this hour. He put one of the keys to the lock ana opened the door of the partially destroyed establishment. On entering, he noticed that the interior was in a topsy-turvy condition. He surveyed the stock and goods at hand. Suddenly he stood aghast! What was wrong He looked wildly around him, then muttered to himself, “By George! we’ve been robbed 1 The boxes are gone—we’ve been robbed! These were the only words which escaped from his lips. “Robbed! By George! We’ve been robbed!” The clock of the district was slowly winding its way around its surface, the ticks forming seconds, the seconds steadily winding into minutes, and the minutes, slowly, but surely rolled into hours of excitement, for a robbery on a night when heaven and earth were about to meet, was deemed impossible by the people who had already crowded Williams street at the scene of a seemingly impossible deed. That perpetual winding clock had struck twelve, at noon, when the head townsfolk reached a decision. Indeed, who would have been out on a night when nature itself had aided heaven in her attempts to punish this part of the universe known as earth for all the sinful sins that had been mentioned? Especially to rob on such a night when the vicinity had been deluged by rain, thunder and lightning, and to attempt to rob on such a night, when the lightning flashes appeared, anxious to destroy all humanity. Why, the very idea of a robbery was preposterous, unbelievable. The conditions surrounding the case were baffling. Certainly no human being could have turned the trick on such a night. Then who did? Who was it if it were not a human being? Could it be that the spirits had committed the robbery? If the persons were human beings, the question was, who were they, and why did they pick out such a night? Why had they picked out a place that had been