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

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 9 bounde to make a scene if he knew about this letter. “Without a moment’s thought. I quickly made a cylinder of the envelope, and slipped it within the neck of that vase, intending to read it when the Old Man had gone.” Will eyed the vase tensely. “When the old boy had rummaged about for some cigars and had gone out, I went to the vase for my letter. To my horror I had thrust it in too far. The letter had gone down through the long narrow neck and had expanded, unrolled inside the broad bottom of the vase.’” “Then what?’ ’I questioned. “That was twenty years ago. I tried every dodge I could think of to get that letter, bent wire and all the rest of it. I never succeeded.” “Then it’s still in the vase!” I stared at the blue flask-like ornament. “It's still in there,” said Will. “That vase is priceless. 1 daren’t break it. And why should I? It’s a safe burial place for a love that could not be realized. It’s very wonderful to know that her letter is there. Do be careful.” Wonderingly, reverently, I had taken up the fragile base. “I never replied to that letter of course,” Will said. “How could I? Moreover, I thought it best to maintain silence. Kinder, you see, than putting things in a letter. Sort of let the girl get over it that way. Things would hurt more and-------” “Quite,” I agreed. “I understand you.” I still held the vase. “But I shall always remain true to that woman. Unmercenary, as I am repeatedly drumming into you. Selfless to a degree and one who embraces love despite poverty. In that vase lies the letter I cherish as the token of such a woman.” The unexpected happened. The vase in its blue shimmering slipperiness had evaded my fingers. With a gasp I surveyed the blue crumble spread at my feet. There was a curl of yellow-white paper among the ruins. Dazedly, I stooped and picked it up. My letter,” snapped Will and snatched it from me with eager hands. His prodgy thumb ripped greedily at the time-stained envelope. It parted easily and a sheet of paper was between his fingers. Then the silence of the room was broken by hoarse laughter. Uninvited, I looked over Will’s bent shoulder. The sheet of paper read: “For eighteen piano lessons, $250. An early remittance would oblige -------.” The billhead bore the name of Will’s Alice! HELEN McGUIGAN, '30. Juniors now are we, Usually full of glee; Never upset when things go wrong In a classroom waiting for the gong. “Order, the teacher cries. And the pupils Realize that soon they will be Seniors. FRANCES DUNBAR '31. “PICTURE GALLERY” Picture Room 1 if the Seniors were not there. ” Muriel Hodgdon in the depths of black despair. ” Dorothy Roberts flunking every thing in school. ” Freda Schafft breaking every rule. A class meeting with Bassing meek and mild. Edna Brooks and Elizabeth Doran acting wild, ” Paul Clarke and Pat Mahoney arriving to school on time. ” Motta and Sylvia playing hookey when so inclined. ” Lil Kershaw if she couldn’t laugh and sing. ” Mike Securo if high honors he did not win. ” Ray Makowsky if to Warren he could not go. ” Fritzi Dunbar if she raised that voice so low. ” Carl Witherell if in a show he could not act. Robert Mutiro when he comes up to bat. Stanley Bennett if the boys him did not tease. ” Charles Pendleton if a girl’s hand he could squeeze. ” McCaughey coming early every day. Domenic Perroni cutting capers very gay. ” Lizzy Breen if the slips she forgot to type. ” Charlie Young looking a perfect fright. ” Anthony Bonnano if to whisper he did not dare. Helen McGuigan with a very meek mild air. ” Chassey Le Clerc if he did never blush, ” Fanny Doran always in a rush. Camella Castriotta if to a dance she could not go. Dot Ruggerio if she should whisper very low. ” Paul Campanello without his pleasant grin. ” the Senior class always bound to win. LIL KERSHAW, ’30. CARS The Whippets are so funny and little, While the Packards are so large; But if you get in a Cadillac Y'ou’ll think you are driving a barge. The Chevrolets sound so tinny; The Buicks always rattle ; But when the two are together It sounds like a gunman’s battle. The Chryslers are large and shiny. And they have their faults, too; But try and beat the Fords, that poke their heads Around the corner and say, Boo ! ! CHARLES YOUNG.

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8 THE GREEN AND WHITE THE LOCKED UP HOUSE I was walking along, going no where in particular but thinking of every little thing, when I looked up. Since travel is so broadening, I found myself at what was termed by the people as the “locked up house.” I walked languidly up the walk feeling a strange adventure upon me. Then up to the creekv, old porch covered at this time of year by honeysuckle and ivy. For a long while, I stood undecided whether or not to try to open the locked door. I put out my hand, and with a turn of the wrist and the knob I succeeded in opening the door; so in I went. 0 Man! what a feeling! Creepy! Uncanny was the atmosphere! I could see hairy hands reaching out from behind doors and chairs and everywhere; perhaps one was meant for me. I waited until I recovered my senses and entered the first room that had an open door. In the hall. I had passed through, hung portraits of great value; two stone Egyptian vases—and a Paris green umbrella. Now as I stood at the entrance of the room I had a desire to get out. and another to stay to satisfy my curiosity—so I stepped in and looked around. There was a very large fireplace on my left that reached halfway to the ceiling. A pair of rusty andirons, a few silver plates, and candle sticks, together with an old mantle clock, were its ornaments. A few feet away from the fireplace was a very shiny table with carved legs. As I looked upon the table, it began to turn around, and the carved lions in the legs blinked their eyes and snapped their jaws. My eyes blinked, too, but my jaws were too stiff to snap. Then all sorts of weird noises circulated around me, bats were flying, blinds, banging and shadows flickered all around. How was I to get out? It occurred to me the door was locked behind me and I was all alone. Impossible—now I thought. 1 began to scream. Noises, shadows, eyes, were everywhere. Then I felt a cold clammy hand against my back and awoke to find myself sitting on the pillow with my back against the cold bedpost and a terrific thunderstorm raging outside. ANNE ROHRMAN, Class 1932. “TUTELAGE” We were sitting in the library when I told Will of my approaching marriage. My friend looked at me peculiarly. “Indeed,” he drawled. There was something in Will’s tone that irritated me. Women,” said Will, breaking the silence; Women, I've always hated them; always shall—cloying, sickly, whining---” “Say, did I ever tell you why 1 hate ’em?” he demanded suddenly, his ugly features setting in a thick scowl. “No? Well, I'll tell you right now.” Will sat back in his comfortable chair and frowned ferociously: “I once met a real wom-and. She loved me—they all do. Her love was worth having—pure gold stamped on every link. Not like a modern girl who likes a man a little and his cash a lot. “It was twenty years ago when I met Alice. She came to teach me piano. The Old Man had always been a martinet and too healthy. Seven hundred and fifty dollars he allows me and leads me the life of a dog. For years I’d gone on hoping that one day his insurance ‘jonnies’ would get the smile wiped off their faces, and I’d be able to wear my black suit. But nothing ever happens: nothing ever will. “Alice loved me, women generally do. But Alice's soul used to look out of her eyes. Yes, I can read a woman’s eyes. She loved me for myself. She reckoned naught of the Parkiss wealth. It was ‘Will,’ the ‘Will’ personality.” Will stopped to light his pipe. “Well,” I prompted. “Treated her badly,” grunted Will, his face clouding. “She was mine for the asking. I—I let her down. Listen : Alice used to come up twice a week to give me piano lessons. We used to hold each other’s hands and speak with our eyes, while I gave the keys an occasional jab, to deceive thg Governor, working in his study. It took me a long time before I could persuade him to allow me to have the lessons. Told me I was wasting my money. Anyway, I prevailed, and Alice came twice a week. Days of heavenly bliss, man; I dream of ’em now. I didn’t marry Alice. No, but I always remain true to her.” “I had only $750 a year then. That was all the old curmudgeon allowed me. A man can’t marry on that. One day Alice looked deeper into my eyes and let me kiss her, while I was playing the scale with my left hand. Gad, man. I came to a decision that night. My lessons were completed as far as they would ever be. I’d never be a Mozart at the piano. I’m not musical and what’s a piano when you’ve got a peerles woman like Alice teaching you.” “I knew Alice cared, she was wild about me. I wrote to her and told her I wasn’t as rich as everyone thought. I told her I was as poor as a spider in a church box and that I had a mere seven-fifty per annum to offer her. ‘Write per return, my love,’ I instructed her, ‘and thus show me all you feel for me. If you are afraid to share poverty for some years, do not reply.’ ” Will stopped and breathed exultantly. “I knew she would not fail, she loved me for myself. Nothing mercenary about Alice; money meant nothing to her. It was Will she wanted. The letter came . . . .” Then why didn’t you-------” I began. “Why didn’t I marry her, having the letter that meant so much to me. . . . Which came hastening to me by the very next post from her dear fingers? You will loathe me when I tell you. “I felt as that letter reached my hands that I couldn’t go on with it. I couldn’t—just couldn't let that sweet, unselfish girl face life with seven-fifty between us. “With the letter unopened in my hands. I stood in this very room, before this very fireplace and my fingers trembled at the seal. At that moment the Old Man’s step came from the corridor. He was coming in here. Like a flustered fool, I lost my nerve. He was

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10 THE GREEN AND WHITE BOB’S LOYALTY Bob was sitting in his small college room with a group of chums. All was quiet. Everybody seemed to be doing a great deal of thinking for a group of college students. Ralph was the first to speak. Listen Jim, we can do something for you. Go to bed and forget about it and we’ll tell you the outcome tomorrow.’’ “Good night,” broke in Jim. Jim, a tall, wonderfully built, young lad, rose from his chair and walked quietly out of the room. “We’ve got to do something for him, gang. He’s been a great pal to all of us and we can’t let him be expelled now, just before the biggest game of the year.” Jack certainly played a mean trick on him last night when he took Mary home from the dance,” said Bob. Bob,” said Tom, “did you see him when he met Jim, this morning?” “Yes,” said Bob, “and at that minute I knew that there would be a fight, for Jim, is one that would never let anybody walk over him.” Dean Roland, doesn’t know for sure who it was that was fighting with Jack, yet, that is he doesn’t know for sure that Jim was the one.” There was a few minutes of quiet and then Bob broke the silence. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I Dean Roland doesn’t know for sure who it was, I'll go in Jim’s place. I'll go down to the office tomorrow, get expelled, and then we have a great chance to win the game with Chancer College.” “You can’t do that, Bob—but maybe that would save the game.” “We had better get out of here now. Good night, Bob,” said Tom. All of the group rose, went out and disappeared, each into his own room. Jim was the first around the next morning. He entered Bob’s room. Bob’s face was too sober for Jim to understand. “Well, Bob, what's to be done?” said Jim. “You’ve got to let me do this. Jim, please,” exclaimed Bob. “Dean Roland isn’t sure it was you he saw fighting yesterday morning so I’m going to say that it was I. You're a much better player than I. Is it O. K.?’’ “No, you don’t,” cried Jim. “I’m going to tell him it was I. I think too much of you for that.” But. Jim, for the college’s sake, please. We’ve got to win. You’ve got to let me do it. I’m going down now.” And he rushed out of the room before Jim could protest. The day for the game had arrived, and crowds gathered on the benches to cheer for both sides. Cheers arose as Jim’s team went on the field to warm up. At last the time had come and Jim was standing in the pitcher’s box ready to pitch the first ball. For the first six innings he wasn’t as good as he was in other games. His mind was on Bob who had been expelled for his sake. Everybody was cheering. “Come on Jim, snap out of it!” On the way to the train Bob stopped at the field, and when Jim saw him his face lightened. He began to realize that for his sake, Bob was going home and he just had to make himself worthy of the faith Bob and the rest of his pals had in him. So he pitched wonderful ball the rest of the game to the result of the college winning. After the game he was praised highly by all his classmates. On entering his room, who should he see but Bob. Bob,” cried Jim, “what are you doing here? I thought you had gone.” “No,” said Bob. Dean Roland found out at the game, before I had got to the train, that 1 didn’t do it, but he didn’t know for sure who did, so he was going to drop the matter. So, Bob, with loyalty to his friend saved Jim's reputation and the college game. MURIEL HODGDON, ’30 JUST BEFORE RECESS Oh, gee, I'm just as hungry as I can be. I do wish that old bell would hurry up and ring so we could go to lunch. Oh, hum! this is a terribly dull period-“Oh, yes, Mr. Dowd—er —P2 (1 plus rb)”----- Gosh! I almost forgot that formula. I wonder what they will serve for our lunch today. I think I smell bacon' frying. That means bacon sandwitches—ugh ! I wish there would be hot chocolate, it is rather cold today. Hurrah! there is the bell ringing. “What was the assignment in Math? Hurry up, will you; don’t let the Sophs file ahead of us Juniors. Aw! its frankforts and baked beans today—I don’t believe I am as hungry as I was. Well I think I’ll buy a “Milky Way.” I don't feel like eating much. “Lets all go out for a walk around the school, I have had enough lunch.” I guess I wasn’t starved after all, I just wanted to get away from equations and formulas. MARY R. SULLIVAN, 1931. THOUGHTS I often wonder why life’s good things Come but once, as the glorious spring. I wonder why the lives of some Just seem to bubble over with fun. Others turn toward the gloomy side of life, Never trying to conquer in their long strife. Some never hear life’s cheerful song, For they are thinking of their wrongs. Others never seem to laugh or joke Their lives are of ever failing hopes. When into the cruel depths of poverty you fall, Remember—we all must go at the call. So though you are crushed wtih pain, Mountains must be passed, ere plains we gain. Since Almighty God is our leader, The way though rough grows easier. A. RANALLI, Class of 1931,