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

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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,

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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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THE GREEN AND WHITE 11 THE CASE OF COLONEL STEWARD As I glanced over the paper, an obituary caught my eye. I paused at that page to read it. It simply said that Colonel John Steward, for the past fifteen years an inmate of the Old Soldiers’ Home, had recently died. Colonel Steward—the name was familiar ! Oh—then I remembered the pathetic looking old gentleman whom the matron had pointed out to me, several years before. What had she said about him? She had said that Colonel John was the saddest case she had ever seen in all her experience; that he had been the bravest and most cheerful of her charges until two years before; that he had suddenly seemed to lose all interest in life. Then we had passed on to the next old hero; but now, as 1 thought of it, I remembered that I had looked back at the Colonel. He was in exactly the same position in which we had found him—his hands in his lap, his head bowed, and his eyes not closed, but staring straight ahead. He certainly looked as the matron had pictured him—the saddest and most hopeless case in that rather sad and hopeless house. As the Colonel had interested me, I had asked the matron for more information about him. All she knew was that at the time he had entered the home, although he had been gay and friendly, be had seemed to be expecting a letter. He had told her that he would probably be leaving the Home soon to go to his niece’s. When he had thought the arrangements were complete he had written a letter containing the final instructions and asking for the final information. A week had gone by—a month; but not until a year had passed had he broken down. The matron said that during this time his interest in his surroundings seemed to cease. He thought that no one wanted him—that all he got for risking his life for his country was to have his family close its doors to him—that he was being thrust upon the Government, which didn’t want him any more than his people did. So, in a few years, he became the unhappy person whom I had seen. I now read through the Colonel’s obituary. He had been a Union officer in the Civil War. He had received several decorations for bravery in action. He had remained in the Army after peace was declared and had served in the Spanish-Amcrican War. The Colonel had retired from active service in 1902 and had run a shoe shop until, in 1909, he had entered the Home. No relatives were mentioned in the notice. Being rather curious why the niece wasn’t mentioned, I called the matron on the telephone to ask if the niece hadn’t been notified. The matron told me that a letter had been sent immediately to her home and that a very-curious answer had come. I asked if I might be of any assistance, so I went up to the Home. The matron met me with the letter in her hand. 1 read : My dear Mrs. Black: I was much surprised to receive your letter announcing the death of a Colonel John Steward. As my Uncle John has been living with us for the past two years, I could not understand how he had also been staying with you at the Home. I hope you will be able to straighten this out, and to identify the poor man; but I assure you he cannot have been my Uncle. Sincerely. MARY STEWARD BROWNING. Mrs. Black had wired for Mrs. Browning to come on, as she had definite proof that the poor man had really' been Colonel John Stew-ard. Mrs. Browning arrived the next day. She was a pleasant woman; but she was utterly convinced that the Colonel Steward staying with her was her Uncle John. The two women went over the records and personal papers that seemed to prove satisfactorily that the late inmate of the Home was the real relative. Mrs. Browning was astounded! If her Uncle had been living at the Home, whom had she been taking so much care of? Been taking care of? Mrs. Black wanted to know exactly what she meant. Mrs. Browning explained that her pseudouncle had one unpleasant habit of helping himself to anything that pleased him—at any time or place. In fact, her husband bad had to go out frequently at night, to get her Uncle, who had been found wandering around on the neighbor’s property. The man seemed also to have a particular hate for fences and gates of all kinds. By the time Mrs. Browning had told us this, she was quite hysterical. She was going to have the imposter arrested; he’d have to pay for all the time and trouble she had spent on him. Hadn’t her husband said: “Uncle” was criminally inclined, anyway? While Mrs. Black was attempting to calm her, I tried to solve this puzzle. Here were two men—each supposed to be Colonel John Steward. I decided that there were three possibilities • either, Mrs. Black’s Colonel was John Steward; or, Mrs. Browning’s was; or, both of the men were impostors. For some reason, I doubted the value of the papers Mrs. Black had provided—they certainly proved that Colonel Steward had been admitted into the Home; that Colonel Steward had been awarded an honorable discharge from the United States Army; but they did not prove that the dead man was Colonel John Steward. On the other hand, Mrs. Browning evidently didn’t have any papers or proofs of his identity. Then Mrs. Browning told us how she and her husband had taken their Colonel in. A letter from Uncle John had arrived, saying that he would come soon. Several days later a neighbor came over to tell Mrs. Browning that there was an old man down at the station, who seemed to be waiting for someone. Mr. Browning, guessing he was Uncle John, went down to get him. The old gentleman had acted very queerly. He had at first refused to answer all questions addressed to him. Finally, however, when Mr. Browning had suggested his name might be John Steward, and that he might be loking for his niece’s house, he had eagerly assented, saying over and over, John Steward, John Steward, that’s my name, John Steward,” as if trying to convince himself. He had gone home with