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

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18 THE (iREEN AND WHITE THE GAME OF LIFE Life is like a football game! We all are on the team • There are no scrubs—no substitutes : Nobody left to dream. When we are born—the game is on; There is no backing out. We’re here to stay—to win or lose: Our future bangs in doubt. How many of us play the game The way it should be played? By striving fair and playing square To get the points we've made. Do we give up too easily, Or do we forge ahead? And do we try—to do or die: Do we lead or are we lead? And when obstacles come along— We’re bound to meet a lot of those— Have we given in and faltered, Or are we ready on our toes? Do we smack ’em down and show ’em That we are ready, too; That we can take it on the chin, And still remain true blue. So in the game of Life, Make your name stand out first! Be honest, upright, truthful. And you need not fear the worst. For when the One Great Scorer comes To write beside your name—he writes Not that you won or lost------- But how you played the Game! F. VERA, Class of ’31. MY PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE If I could live like Rudy, My dog, so sleek and fine, Without a thought of science. Or history's brief outline, I know I’d find life very sweet; My day’s one grand sweet song, But he is he, and I am I, And things are just all wrong. Rudy never heard of Caesar Of ancient Greece, or Rome But how he loves an open fire. And how he loves a bone. He may have heard of Darwin Or of Adam and his Eve. But he never reads the headlines! There’s a lot he won't believe. He just ignores the multitude ; Noisy traffic he abhors; But all that’s sweet and beautiful And wholesome he adores. If he went up to Harvard. He’d be a snob, I must confess. But lie represents my philosophy In one word, “Happiness.” FRITZ I DUNBAR ’30. THE BELLE OF BAGDAD Rehearsal's tonight at six o'clock.” Miss Sullivan says to us all; And I don’t mean seven, And I don't mean eight, But six o’clock in this hall.” “Oh, Miss Sullivan, please have a heart,” Says Raymond, a leading man. Tonight I’ve a date Which I simply can’t break. I’ll come tomorrow night, if I can.” Rehearsal’s today at half-past two,” Miss Sullivan says, looking ’round. Then, says Jack Marsden, the singer, With a smile a dead ringer. “At the ‘Y’ I’m afraid I'll be found.” The play is a flop,” Our Zeigt'eld” says. I can never get you together; You must come today, everyone at three. And I don't care a rap about weather.” “I can’t come today”, Says our verstile “Bube”, I have to work, you know. Just think of the throats that would have to go dry. Why at Buffington's I’m the whole show”. We can’t come either” Says Chassy and Fat Basketball practice today— Coach wil give us “particular Ned” If we don’t show up to play.” And so it went on 'Till the night of the play When with music and costumes all set. The Belle of Bagdad went over the board With glamour and finish and pep. FREDERICKA DUNBAR '30 SPRINGTIME When springtime comes and all the flowers bloom And robins, sing the songs we love to hear What is there to us, that we love more dear? Oh, spring you can not come too soon. The grass that was so brown is now so green The skies above have changed their colors, dull Violets, and mayflowers in fields do dwell And birds now in the tree tops may be seen. The early dew appears a silver mask And the mornings are so bright and clear The birds all bring to us, their songs of cheer Aud the sun peeps out to do its daily task. The lapping waters on the shore are so enticing A peaceful spirit reigins over all, The boys and girls bear the magic call. Oh, why is springtime so bewitching. M. DeMOTTA, '30.

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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.

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 19 BLISS? I. I walked to school, one morning clear, Feeling so happy and gay. Upon reaching my desk, so dear. My feelings began to sway. II. For there, under cover residing, Lay my French—placid, undone. Icy stares from its place of hiding Confronted me, one by one. III. Grabbing my pen with a jerk. And seeking my lost notebook, I soon started to really work— Giving the clock a hard look. IV. Later returning from class, Having met with my doom, I was a sorrowful lass, Deeply surrounded by gloom. SHIRLEY NEWMAN, 31. C. M. H. S. Colt Memorial High is the Senior High School of Bristol, Rhode Island. It is an exceedingly beautiful marble building standing at the corner of Bradford and Hope street. The general appearance of this building is very imposing; constructed of Georgian marble, with four massive pillars in front, and a perfect marble balustrade. At this time of the year—Spring—one cannot but notice its beauty, as it stands, surrounded by a spacious lawn, a memorial to the mother of one of the most loyal citizens Bristol has ever known— Colonel S. P. Colt. Let us take a peep within this hall of learning. As we enter the large corridor, we are greatly impressed by the general appearance which is not at all like a school. Directly opposite the main entrance is the auditorium, a perfect hall, large enough to accommodate three or four hundred people. Directly over the stage is a marvelous window of perfect coloring, depicting a scene along the Mediterranean Sea. which ought to be an inspiration to the pupils. Because of its soft coloring, this hall is entirely lacking in that “coldness,” which exists in most school auditoriums. On this same floor are two classrooms—the office and teachers’ rest room. The Seniors, with Miss Callan, as home room teacher, occupy one of the rooms; and the Juniors, under Miss Sisson occupy the other. On the second floor, we find the Sophomores occupying two rooms; Room IV.. Mrs. Magee, home room teacher, and Room III., Miss Bradford, in charge. In Room V., we find the mighty 13”—or, in plain English, the overflow of Junior boys. Room VI. is just a recitation room. Here, on the second floor, we find the small but much used library. Each period it is filled with people, some to study—others to read. The drawing room, laboratories and typewriting rooms are to be found on the third floor. So much for the building. Now, for the pupils, who are the “best” in the country. Although small in number, the student body, numbering around one hundred and fifty, is most loyal. A very wonderful school spirit exists here, in the C. M. H. S., which is most noticeable when a musical comedy is to be staged, or games to be formed, particularly a game with Warren. Then the study body turns out a hundred per cent, strong. Football, basketball, baseball and track keep the boys busy, while the girls are most active at basketball, although seriously handicapped because of lack of “gym’’ facilities. Taken as a whole, we find the pupils of the Colt Memorial High School “love” to go to school. MARION DAVENPORT, ’32. TEAM WORK It was a very hot sunny afternoon in July. One of those days when most people just love to “mope” around and dream. Dreaming, day dreaming was my favorite pastime that afternoon, as I sat on the verandah of a hotel. Just gazing off into space, that’s all. Suddenly I rubbed my eyes! What was that 1 Before me on a gate post was a whole army of ants, working industriously. How queer they were! They fascinated me. Half way down the post was a large hole from which the ants would poke out their heads, drop something which would be caught in the mouth of other ants below on the post or ground who would carry off this treasure to store up in some unseen place. Every once in a while the ants dropping the crumbs would take a walk around the post, and then start working again. This continued until quite late, then they all disappeared and we saw no more of them. How they co-operated! It was a wonderful lesson in team work. It brought back to my mind, in a very emphatic manner that old proverb, “Go to the ants, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise. AUDREY MUNRO, 1932. Vera— Ladies and Gentlemen, I have here my greatest masterpiece, a landscape scene.” Voice (from audience)—“Why, that’s only a piece of blank paper! Vera—“Sure, that’s a street scene in Scotland on tag day!” Securo (to photographer)—“Shall we take this map off the wall before you take our pictures?” Photographer—“Sure! Why have an extra map in the picture?” Bennett (to Bassing entering school with palm beach suit on)—“Hey, take it off! This ain’t Hallowe’en!” Bassing—“I know it ‘ain’t’ it’s my broth-