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

Page 18 text:

16 THE (iREEN AND WHITE to start the boat again. Just then a huge wave smashed the launch into kindling wood. A piece struck Tom on his ear, which began to ring incessantly. He was floating around in cold icy water. Now, he was sinking, down, down, down into the icy abyss. Tom, it’s time to get up, cried his mother. The alarm clock has been ringing for about five minutes. Didn't you hear it? “What a dream!” Tom said. “I wish I hadn't eaten that mince pie before going to bed last night.” ELMER MANLEY, Class 1931. WHY WORRY OVER EXAMS? You have two alternatives: Your teacher is either easy or hard. If she is easy, you have nothing to worry about. If she is hard, you have two alternatives—either you study hard or bluff. If you study hard, you don't need to worry. If you bluff, you have two alternatives—either your bluff works or it doesn’t. If it works you don’t have to worry. If it doesn’t work—you have two alternatives: either you pass on trial or, you flunk. If you pass on trial you don’t have to worry. If you flunk—you won’t have to worry any longer. So-----why worry ? RAYMOND MAKOWSKY, ’30. YOUR DO(i Who is this friend that’s staunch and true, And always tries to go with you, Who watches every word you say, And ready when you want to play? It is your dog, this friend so true, Who always waits at the door for you. And watches your face, where he can trace Lines of sorrow or good grace. Where can you find a better pal. Who stays with you though you may fall ? Where ever your footsteps shall come to wend This faithful soul will always trend. D. ROBERTS, Class of 1930. THE WARREN (iAME Whoops and cheers from the bleachers come; A touchdown, horay! and the game is won. The hero smiles to the ladies fair And feels aglow to the end of his hair Now thats' not all that's in a game But a thrilling part of it just the same, For a man must be steady, daring and true, The kind of a person that's called “true blue,” To run that length, 'mid opponents’ jeers. Even tho’ you're showered with cheers. Takes lots of courage, tho' it looks like fun. And you’re all tired out when the game is done. MARY R. SULLIVAN, ’31. “DRIFTWOOD” Many a person has wandered aimlessly along the beach, without a thought of worry or a care of any kind on their mind. One may see many things, such as colored stones, fruit pealings and also decayed wood—driftwood. Where this wood comes from nobody knows. What it was originally nobody knows, but let us have our imagination wander and think of what this wood might have been. Let us picture a beautiful ship sailing along very smoothly with a blue sky for a background and fluffy white clouds against the blue. Then within an hour the beautiful scene changes and in its stead black clouds gather— stormy clouds, white caps begin to grow, then the ship begins to toss back and forth. First, bow is seen and then the stern. Bottles begin to tumble down. All objects not joined with something more strong come rolling across the deck and overboard. The people begin to be excited and most of them terrified. The sailors hurry to and fro, the captain giving orders. For an hour this goes on and then all hope is given up. The lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and then a crash is heard and then a spur crashed into the deck. The ship goes down slowly as water begins to rush in; the boat is under to the rail now, and then a splash is heard and it rolls over and goes under. Days pass and the storm ceases. The blue sky reappears, the beautiful white clouds appear against the blue, but no ship is seen— only the remaining bit of timber. For weeks or perhaps months these float on until they float to shore and lay there and decay. MURIEL HODGDON, ’30. CLASS 1930 Snip is the smallest boy in our class, Frank is the boy who studies to pass. Bob, whom we know to be very shy: Anthony a boy who wants to fly. Bennie, a lad who studies for fame; Mike, who is doing the very same. Chassey, a boy who is never late; Porky, always willing to debate. Ray, the most studious lad we know; Peanut, who struts about just so. Lillie, who can't help being that way; Clark, who never has much to say; Carl, an actor, we know he'll be; Dot, so very ladylike is she. Elizabeth Breen, who is full of fun; General Motta, who weighs a ton; Dottie, indeed, a very pretty lass; Camela, who typewrites so fast; Helen, as fair as she can be; Charlie, an artist as you see; Muriel, our classmate so tall; Louis, who plays all kinds of ball; “Youngie,” who loves so much to play; Fritzie, who does always feel so gay; Edna, a girl as quiet (?) as can be; Freda, whom at the movies you'll often see; Bill, the lad who walks so much; Domenic, who never gets in dutch; Myself, not least, but only last. This, you see, is the 1930 Class. ELIZABETH E. DORAN, ’30.

Page 17 text:

THE GREEN AND WHITE 15 ZENOBIA'S INFIDELITY Dr. Tibbett, a surgeon went, Down to a showman’s circus tent, To help an elephant in distress, For he was a doctor, and had to say yes. He hurried and climbed into his gig, Which was not so very, very big, And sped to the tent where he saw, A burnt elephant lying on the floor. “O save him, help him!” the showman cried, “So my dearest Zenobia will not die.” So the doctor knelt down and took off his coat. For a badly burnt elephant was no joke. “A barrel of linseed oil,” Doc exclaimed; “To see if I can relieve the elephant’s pain.” And after an hour’s work or two, The elephant’s pain was a little soothed. To show her appreciation for Doc’s work, Zenobia decided to pay the clerk. And much to young Doc’s distaste. She twisted her trunk 'round Doc’s waist. He then promised to call on the morrow, For he must ease Zenobia’s sorrow. For she hated much to sec him go. And insisted on caressing his nose. He called on her every day or two, To see what he might be able to do, Until the elephant was completely cured. And as long as his visits could be endured. Many weeks passed, And, at last, Zenobia went in search one day, For the doctor she wanted to pay. One sunny day, Doc got in his gig, And went to see Miss Minnetta, he did, And all of a sudden something that looked like a hose, Insisted on rubbing the doctor’s nose. “Great Caesar!” screamed Doc, For Zenobia, he was unable to stop. And here she was, donned in her red cap. All ready to pay him back. She lavished caresses on poor old Doc, Until he was unable, Zenobia to stop. And the showman appeared on the scene, And let out a terrible scream. “What do you mean?” said he, Stealing Zenobia’s affections from me, Why we’ve been pals for fourteen years, And he immediately burst into tears. But much to the doctor's dismay, Zenobia followed him day after day. So out to the pasture he did go, For fear Dr. Pentegill, his rival, would know. Perched on top of the pasture fence. The doctor did commence, To solve a way to rid him, Of his terrible, terrible victim. About ten minutes elapsed. And his rival, Dr. Pentegill, passed. “What is the matter?” shouted he; “Want me to take the case for thee?” A peal of laughter was heard, And the elephant’s temper was stirred, She gave a convulsive start, And poor old Doc nearly fell apart. Such humiliation Doc never had had For the elephant was getting very mad, She gave one terrible stride, And into the woods she did fly. Thus into the drugstore Doc did go. For a prescription for Zenobia, Ho! A pound of whale soap was added until, The contents was made into a pill. The doctor sped merrily along, Until he saw a laughing throng, And heard a heavy thumping on the road, Which certainly did sound like a load. “Heaven help me!” the Doc did cry, For Miss Minnetta Bunker he did spy. “Your pill, Zenobia!” he said, almost a scream, And Zenobia immediately ate believing it cream. And all of a sudden the elephant groaned, And fell to the ground with a terrible moan, But in a few minutes she was fast asleep; And on the elephant Doc did peep. “Alas, my troubles are over,” he replied. And rode off with Miss Minnetta by his side. For Zenobia, now cured of her affection, follows her master; And this is the end of a terrible disaster. ELIZABETH BREEN, ’30. THE STORM One fine, frosty morning in the middle of October Tom and Fred Harris rowed their small skiff out of the place where their large power launch was moored. They were going on an all-day sea trip around Narragansett Bay. When they were a few miles from home, Tom happened to open the morning newspaper, which he had thoughtfully taken along. “The paper predicts a thunderstorm for this afternoon,” he said. “Don’t always believe the newspapers,” replied Fred. They are almost always wrong. After having cruised about for sometime in the bay, they started back towards home. Tom pointed his finger to an ominous looking patch of gathering black clouds, directly over the path they were taking. Fred, who was steering at the time, gave the engine more gasoline and the craft speeded faster over the waters. Very soon the waves were whipped up by frequent gusts of winds. Then some water leaked into the engine and the boat stopped. The storm came on in all its fury. Narragansett Bay loked like one mass of foam. The bovs were in despair. Fred tried in every way

Page 19 text:

THE GREEN AND WHITE 17 REX RETURNED Most Bristolians know Rex, the unofficial guide of the town. Friendly, sociable, not too garrulous, he has a greeting for one and all. The name Rex denotes kingly pedigree, blue blood and aristocratic forebears. But Rex claims none of these. Just a mongrel with democratic fondness for mankind. (The red bow attached to his collar does not signify communism, however, but courage.) Back and forth he plods all day, downtown escorting Mrs. Visitor, uptown he returns with Mrs. Resident. And so when word was broadcast that Rex was lost, sighs and regrets were heard from his many friends. He was last seen crossing Mt. Hope Bridge on the day it was dedicated. Dodging his way in and out through the “madding crowd,” he crosses the bridge and disappears. Someone suggested that perhaps he was Don Quixote reincarnated, and had heard about the windmills in Portsmouth and wished to take a tilt at them. Another thought he had heard the war cries of the Indian tribes and lured by the call of the blood of some famous chief, which coursed in his veins, he had answered that call. This semed a logical suggestion for when Rex was found in Tiverton, he was not far from the hunting ground of Awashonks. With downcast head and lowered tail he was a perfect specimen of dejection, perhaps sorrowing for a lost race. Who knows? Great was the rejoicing when Rex returned. “A dog of parts, he was still “Rex the guide.” FREDERICKA DUNBAR, ’30. JUNIORS C is for Claudia, a smart lass. Who never likes to miss a Latin class. O is for Our football squad, full of pep. They’d win all the games, if they just watched their step. L is for Louis, who is our guard When he tackles, he tackles ’em hard. T is for “Tony, a player clever Whose hair always curls in spite of the weather. M is for Martin, a full back, acts When he kicks the ball it never comes back. E is for Ella Mae, who is, they say, A good leader for our play. M is for Mary, who never is late; She’s always ready and very sedate. 0 is for Oliver, who is placed last, For he is the smallest in our class. R is for Rinalli, a good debater, Who soon, we hope, will be much greater. 1 is for Ira, with his pretty blond curls. Who stands at the door and watches the girls. A is for Anderson, who plays the ’cello; She likes “Chang” better than any other fellow. L is for Levy, the last on my list, Who soon will be a great pharmacist. L. F.. RYONE, ’31. THOUGHTS OF A WOULD-BE ACTOR After weeks of tedious rehearsing—the night of the show came. A bath—ears and neck scrubbed—a few morsels of food, supper hastily eaten. Then to the show. The school! Everyone running here and there! The orchestra playing an assortment of notes 1 The ushers in their “plus 16’s“ trying to look serious ! The dressing room, costumes, clothes, powder, rouge, noise! Make-up smeared and applied—ugh! Transformation! Inspection. 8:15. The overture. Lights flash off. The funeral march to the anterooms. “Heh? Me, nervous? Oh, no, no! I’m not nervous—(soft voice)—not much !' One’s tongue sticks to the roof of one’s mouth. A few remarks supposed to be jokes, but no response. Zero hour—the opening chorus—a flash of dazzling colors. At last—the fatal entrance--- Ye gods! my first lines! What are they?— “You have that notable and distinguished, etc.” My cue—the sea of faces—the blinding spotlights—Miss Sullivan—relief ! The song—then exit. Boy! It’s great to be on the stage. All nervousness gone---- Entrances and exits—soon the finale, out in the hall receiving congratulations. Then home and sweet sleep! RAYMOND MAKOWSKY, '30. THE LAUNCHING A masterpiece lay in the shed. The results of many a week. Awaiting just a magic touch To make the task complete. The elements all seemed to smile On this auspicious day. Inviting all who so desired To witness the display. The workmen hurried in and out, Each one assigned his part: Each looked upon this mammoth child With just pride in his heart. The signal given, the blow is struck; She moves before our eyes, While clear above the tumult rings “I name thee, ‘Enterprise!’ ” As down the rail, she smoothly glides, Designer and owner aboard. “One of the four—may the best one win!” We cry with one accord. FREDERICKA DUNBAR, ’30.