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

Text from Pages 1 - 48 of the 1931 volume:

BOARD OF EDITORS THE GREEN AND WHITE VOL. I. JUNE, 1931 No. I ISSUED BY THE STUDENTS OF THE COLT MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL. BRISTOL. R. I. Editor-in-Chief—CLAUDIA DeWOLF. Associate Editor MARY MAGEE Business Manager HILTON LEVY Assistant Business Manager VINCENT MESCALL Circulation Manager GENEVIEVE PAGNANO Assistant Business Manager ANTHONY RUGGIERO Senior Editors MARGARET CICERCHIA ANGELINA RANALLI Junior Editors LILLIAN DUNBAR ALBERT METCALF Sophomore Editors MARY MASON VIRGINIA MARSHALL Alumni Editor MISS ANNIE D. SISSON Advisor MISS SADIE CALLAN BOARD OF EDITORS LITERARY ....... SPORTS .......... TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... 3 ALUMNI NOTES .. ...... 4-21 SENIORS .... ... 22-26 ADVERTISEMENTS 27-40 41-55 4 THE i R E E N AND WHITE THE WHITE BLANKET Dorothy Clifford had just completed a three year’s nursing course at a small hospital in Quebec. She had to remain there for there was no chance of getting into a larger hospital. Still, she didn't mind, especially as wonderful winter sports could be enjoyed there. Dorothy was a lively girl, just glowing with health, so full of the spirit of youth, looking at life as a great game full of promise. The first few months of the winter season dragged on. Dorothy was eager to be in the thick of things. The little hospital offered no opportunities, but still Dorothy managed to learn quite a bit. Her cases were few, but interesting. She liked especially to take care of the children, who liked her immediately. Way off in a small village, diphtheria was raising havoc with the little colony of Eskimos, Canadian-French. They were sadly in need of anti-toxin. One night, a man almost dead with fatigue stumbled into the little hospital on the outskirts of Quebec. He begged for help for the people of his village. A few doctors immediately offered their services, but only one nurse offered her’s. It was Dorothy Clifford. She gladly welcomed this opportunity for excitement, not taking into consideration at all the dangers involved in a long trip over that huge white blanket of snow in dog sleds .with other snowstorms on the wav. The necessary supplies were carefully packed in dog sleds. The next morning three doctors and Dorothy started off for that unfortunate village. Speed, speed, alone could help those doomed people who had not the slightest idea of how to deal with such an illness. Speedily the dog sleds glided over the snow, Dorothy chatting gaily, but no one responded to her mood. She couldn’t under- stand why the doctors wore such glum expressions on their faces. But she soon found out. Beautiful white flakes began to fall slowly, then a little faster, faster, until a blizzard was raging. Dorothy became numb. It was impossible to keep on. Their guide suggested that they stop for they would surely be lost. In some miraculous way they managed to pitch those queer little tents. They remained there until morning then hurried on tired and cold. They arrived at the village that night. What a pitiful sight met their eyes. Those poor creatures huddled in their cabins, some dead, other not far from it. Horrible moans rent the air. The tired travelers immediately set to work. For days they labored almost unceasingly accomplishing wonders with that great anti-toxin. The three doctors knew that their expedition would attract attention, would make them, yet they labored on. caring little for their own welfare. In a brief period of rest one of the doctors said to Dorothy, “Well, my girl, you won’t have to worry when you get back to Quebec. They’ll want you all over. You’ll be famous and you certainly deserve to be. You’ve been too wonderful for words. Dorothy went about her work with renewed energy. Then came another message. Fifty miles away, another village was afflicted, perhaps was worse than this one. They just begged for some sort of aid. With only a small quantity of anti-toxin left, Dorothy, one doctor and a guide set out. They had grave doubts about the success of their journey, but bravely they went on. As feared, a terrible blizzard came up. But this guide kept on ; he was stubborn and anxious for his people. The dog sleds were heaped with snow. The tired dogs plodded along. No one of the three spoke. A blanket of white held them down. THE (i R E E N AND WHITE Only the guide seemed alert as he urged the dogs on. Hours later he cried, “Come, we are der. Come I say. You hurry or my people die.'’ But no one in the sleds made a move. The guide reached over through that blanket of white. He looked closely at that still form of Dorothy’s. He turned away sadly. MARGARET CICERCHIA, ’31. “Advertisers Make Tills Hook Possible” THE RED MASKED DEVILS OF THE SOUDAN “Major Lebair. “Yes, Orderly.” “The whole Penal Battalion mutinied two days ago and killed all of the soldiers guarding them. When the supply train arrived to supply the prison with provisions, they found nothing but dead bodies. The men, living when the battle had finished, were put to death so they could never repeat the story. About one hundred and fifty prisoners escaped. among them being the young American. Sergeant Grayson. “Get word to the cavalry outposts to send out searching parties.” “Yes sir.” Six months had elapsed since the prison outbreak, but still not a trace of the Penal Battalion was to be found. No serious Arab outbreaks had occurred and life at the French Foreign Forts was quite dull. However, this dullness did not last very long for another problem faced the French commanders which was very perplexing and queer. A small band of men clad in red boots, turbans. masks and white cloaks were raidng towns and outposts throughout the desert. Known to the French as the Devils of the Red Mask, they stole food, arms and amunition from the places they raided, but they never killed. All attempts of the French to capture them were without avail, for the masked riders vanished mysteriously into the endless sands of the great French Soudan. Time soon decided the fate of these riders and solved the problem which for so long had puzzled the officers and men of the Legion. “Major.” What’s the trouble?” asked the officer, noticing the excitement of the orderly. “A rider is approaching the fort, sir, and it looks like one of those red devils,” said the orderly, hurriedly. ''I'll be right out there in a moment.” No sooner had the Major got his cap, revolver and sword on than the Lieutenant came “Just picked this up about fifty yards from the fort. The rider, the orderly told you about, threw it and then rode away. I guess it is a message of some kind.” He then unwrapped the string from around the paper and opened it. Upon the paper was written the following words: “Arab uprising to take place in three days. You are to be attacked first.” It had a red mask at the bottom for a signature. Lieutenant, do you realize what this means? It would take at least three days for a message to reach a cavalry outpost and I think that is exaggerating. Let’s say five days. We have supplies and amunition to last us maybe a week. It looks pretty bad for us. but you had better send out two men to try to reach the outposts with a message. And. while I think of it, you had better put extra guards on tonight; the message may be a fake, but we had better prepare.” “Yes, sir.” Two days passed and the Arabs had not shown themselves. It was on the third day as the bugle was calling the men to supper when suddenly the notes changed. The men stopped. Were they hearing things? No. that bugle was calling them to arms. All the men ran as fast as possible to the barracks. Hardly three minutes had elapsed before each man was lined up in the middle of the fort receiving his orders. Then to their posts to fight to death. Dawn broke out of a clear sky and the sun flamed up in the heavens. Rations were being served to the men as they stood at their posts watching the Arab army slowly advancing although still miles off. No one spoke and silence settled over the fort as if all were dead within. Cigarettes were lighted and the men resumed their positions on the walls. Suddenly the voice of their commander broke the stillness of the atmosphere. “Brave soldiers of the French Foreign Legion, today we battle with a force which we know we cannot overcome. I want you all to fight till the last and fight like men. As most of us know, we have but a slight chance to come out of this alive. We are going to meet our Maker, meet Him bravely. If anyone of us should live to tell the story. France will reward him. That is all.” For thre days the attack continued. The Arab forces charged and charged again, but each time they were driven back by the bullets from the steadily aimed rifles of the men in the fort. Each charge cost the Arabs many men but they kept charging. In the fort few men were left. Amunition had gone down to the last round and there would only be enough to repel one more charge, then use cold steel. To help the situation, the Arabs retired and held a council of war to prepare for the last charge they were to make in the morning, therefore giving a rest to the tired soldiers. The black hand of death hovered over them, death at the hands of the cruel unmerciful Arabs. With staunch hearts they awaited the fateful morning. That morning the Arabs charged in force backed up by some horsemen. These horsemen were the Red Devils of the Soudan. When the Arab army was nearly up to the fort it was observed by the soldiers in the fort that the masked riders were separating into two groups as if they intended to make the charge on the fort first. Each group spread around until they had surrounded the Arab army. The army continued on until it was close to the fort and then suddenly to the amazement of the officers and men of the fort, the masked riders drew their swords and realize 6 THE GREEN AND WHITE rode into the midst of the Arab army, cutting down, what seenid to the French, to be their own men . Fighting like madmen, the Red Masked Devils fought their last fight. They slashed right and left with their swords, getting deeper and deeper into the Arab army until at last they were surrounded and being attacked instead of attacking. The Arabs closed in on the little circle cutting them down as fast as they could. Their end was inevitable, but they were determined to take a good many of the enemy with them. While this was going on the soldiers in the fort were not idle. When they saw that they were getting some help they were not so down-hearted and were ready to fight as they never fought before. As the Arabs were bunched up together, it was easier for them to be destroyed. Hand grenades were issued and everyone thrown was well aimed and caused death and destruction. The destruction done by the grenades and machine guns was too much for the Arabs, so as soon as they had cut down the last masked rider, they retreated. As the sun began to set a troop of cavalry arrived. Half continued in pursuit of the Arabs and the others stayed at the fort. The dead bodies of the masked riders were brought into the fort. Their leader, the last one to be brought in, was found to be unconscious but still alive. They laid him in the barracks to try to bring him to. With the exception of the guards, all the men crowded into the barracks to see who the leader of the band of masked riders was. Everyone stopped talking and not a sound was hedrd as the Major in command of the fort, and the Captain in command of the cavalry, walked over to unmask the man. The mask was lifted from the man’s face, and his head was raised onto the Major’s breast. It was quite dark and his face could not be seen, so a light was brought. Exclamations of surprise were uttered by the men as they recognized the man. It was Sergeant William Grayson of the Penal Battalion. The man opened his eyes and told this story: There were two hundred of us in the Penal Battalion at the prison and only thirty soldiers to guard us. Having worked there a month, we decided that the hot sun was too much for us and we planned a mutiny. One day a guard came quite close to me and I hit him on the leg with a sledge hammer. He went down with a cry of pain and as he did I hit him in the jam and grabbed his gun. This was a signal for the others to mutiny and a fight ensued. A band of Arabs happened to come along at that moment and joined in the fight and helped us. All the soldiers were killed and fifty of our men. The Arabs had two men wounded so that is why they left no trace to show that they had helped in the fight. We were taken to the Sheik and we promised to help him in an uprising he was to start in about a year. He gave us the clothes and horses and was pleased with our idea of raiding towns. In this uprising we had planned to act as his cavalry and I had it all planned out with my men to help you. This is what we got out of it, but we died loyal. That is all I can sav. Vive la France 1 ALBERT METCALF, '32. “Advertisers Make This Hook Possible” THE ENCHANTED IDOL In the temple of a high priest of Japan stands a tall statue. It is the figure of a Japanese Budda. In the forehead of this idol is an enormous red ruby. This ruby is worth thousands of dollars. The idol itself is made of bronze. It was rumored that this ruby was enchanted, and anyone touching it met with disaster of some kind, either death of bad luck. The Budda is guarded night and day by a large band of Priests. These Priests keep up a steady chant all the day and all the night. One day an American mililonaire, by the name of Harry Grenfield, a collector of precious stones, and old relics, came to this temple. He discovered this ruby almost the moment he entered the temple. The ruby fascinated him, and it aroused in him a feeling somewhat akin to greed. Regardless of the warning given him by a Priest who stood near the Budda, he moved slowly toward, as if drawn there by some enchantment. Suddenly Grenfield reached out his hand to touch the ruby. Immediately the air was filled with horrible sounds and shrieks, and a veil or mist seemed to float over the Budda, and hide it from his eyes. Harry drew back in astonishment, and rubbed his eyes as if to clear them from a mist of film that seemed to cover them. When he looked again the Budda. and ruby were in plain sight, and the Priests continued their chanting. Harry reached out his hand again, and again the air was rent by shrieks, and the mist floated over the Budda. He did this several times, and each time the same thing happened. and when he would look again the Budda would be in plain sight. Harry left the temple, but he was determined to get this ruby by fair means or foul. He visited the temple several times trying to buy the ruby, but he met with no success. Finally he decided to disguise himself as a Japanese Priest and enter the temple, and secure the Budda himself. At the temple he became acquainted with a Priest who was discontented with his position, and who had been ill treated by the other men. Harry told this Priest who he was and also told him that he wished to secure the ruby. He told the Priest that he could not understand it, but that every time he went near the Budda a mist seemed to float before his eyes, and hide the idol from his sight. The Priest told him that there was nothing mysterious about this, but that the Priest who sood guard over the Budda. pressed his foot down on a lever, thus making a veil drop over the Budda, every time anyone went to touch it. He also said that the shrieks were made by a mechanical device. Harry bribed the Priest, and after much discussion the Priest agreed to help Harry to secure the Budda. They planned to go into the temple at midnight the next night, drug the Priest on guard, and remove the ruby THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 from the Budda, and floe the next morning on a boat going to the United States. Harry promised the Priest that he would take care of him in America. They entered the temple on the appointed time, prostrated themselves on the floor in front of the Budda. as if in worship, before the Holy Altar, and mumbled prayers. As it was the custom for Priest to come and worship at all times during the night, the guard did not think this performance unusual. Suddenly, the Priest and Harry sprang to their feet, seized the guard, gagged him. and doped him. The Priest then approached the ruby which seemed to glow at him. as a large eye of fire would. The Priest took hold of the ruby, and without warning, and with a terrible cry he dropped dead at the foot of the Budda. Hary drew back with horror, and fled from the temple, and was never heard of again. He had learned his lesson for being greedy. The mystery of the ruby has never been solved. It remains to this day in its place in the forehead of the Budda. ELIZABETH ROUNDS, ’31. “Advertisers Make This Book Possible” PROCRASTINATION—THE THIEF OF TIME It is a well known fact that there are sixty seconds in a minute and sixty minutes in an hour and every second, minute and hour is essential to make a day, a week or a year. Surely students in high school have learned this scale of time; yet why do so many high school students fail at college? There are many thousands of students attending medical schools in this country, but more than twenty per cent fail to graduate. Yes, even high school honor students fail Is it that they are not intelligent enough? No! Nine-tenth of the high school students of today are still tied to their mother's apron-strings” and do not know the value of time. Many haven’t even any initiative about them. Almost all high school students who have to leave home to attend college have not yet learned the art of utlizing their spare time. I say “art for it is art if one has acauired a schedule for one’s spare time. It would be an “art of Utopianism” to make one schedule suitable for everyone; this is where Procrastination plays the leading role. The upper classmen play “Big Brother” to the new comers and make a schedule of their days, making sure thev have the proper diversion from study. The new comers become too proud and let things “slide.” The new comers are soon indulging in the three Ds—namely: Dates, Dancing and Drinking, when they should be studying. They fail—and Procrastination continues deluding joy. HILTON LEVY Advertisers l� ke Tills Bonk Possible” Editor’s note: “It’s rumored that John Elynn. fr., is to succeed Mr. Fitzgerald as football coach.” THE GOLDEN THREADS OF LIGHT In a little sheltered valley in Switzerland stood a little clay hut. The valley was a gay vet a tragic looking spot, dotted here and there with sheep and cattle. On one side a gleaming little brook ran and bubbled over the mossy rocks, and the branches of the trees swayed lazily with the breeze while the mellow rays of the sun danced through it all. Here was a bit of paradise in a little valley. As the traveler Stood on the summit of the hill, a strange sensation awoke in him. This place, this little bit of paradise seemed to him as if he had seen it somewhere before. But he could not remember. It seemed long ago, yet he was not an old man. He rode down into the valley and each step became more and more familiar. A strange thing about this traveler was that he could not remember what happened on the days that passed. He didn’t even know who he was. But someone, somewhere had pinned a medal on him which meant nothing because he didn’t know what it was for. Day after day he had been riding through this land of beautiful snow covered mountains and silvery lakes; night after night he had slept under the stars because he had nowhere to go; yet, if anyone asked him where he was going he would reply that he would reach ther«' tomorrow. Tomorrow came and went and still he had not reached his destination. Today he felt that the real tomorrow was at hand. As he neared the hut, he could see the shining curls of a girl about eight years old. She was watching him with a strange look in her eves, and he stared back in that same way. That hair and those eyes, that face: where, oh where had he seen them? Was it? No, yet he could not remember. He got off his horse and walked up to her. She had risen and was making for the door when he said. “Child, please don’t run away from me; I’d like some water; I have come a long way and would rest awhile.” She turned shyly and looked steadih- at him to see if he were telling the truth. Then she said, “Well. then, you must come in and ask my mother.” At this she turned and entered the house. He pulled the reins front his horse, let him graze and began to follow her How that face haunted him. He knew he had seen it somewhere before. Mechanically he wlaked into the hut. and the sight that met his eyes opened a new world to him. A world of doubt, misfortune and hope was slowlv turning into happiness like the pot of gold found at the end of the Rainbow. The hut was furnished crudely but comfortably. Braided rugs covered the floors and things were clean and neat. The scent of fresh cut flowers filled the room. At the further etid of this room stood a woman, beautiful beyond compare and yet her face showed traces of burning tears. The morning sun set her aglow as its rays danced through the golden curls. He saw her now as he had seen her before. The light that gave him hope during his long nights of agony and pain. The nights that he was trying to remember was all in her hair. She looked upon him too as he stood at the door. Could it be? No, he was dead, and died bravely; hadn’t they told her so? Wasn't be among the men who never come back? Yet he 8 THE GREEN AND WHITE stood there haggard and worn, the same blue eyes, the same soft brown hair which had been carelessly blown about by the wind. Perhaps it was a vision sent to give her new hope for she had often seen them. They both advanced as if walking in a nightmare. Suddenly he clasped her in his arms and uttered, “Marlene, I have found you, I have found you. No more waiting, no more hoping for tomorrow.” She was his, now and forever. He knew now that he wasn’t mistaken because she too was calling him by name, saying, “And all these years I have kept up just as you asked me to. 1 have toiled long nights, even when I doubted. But there was always a new light in the morning. I knew you would come, Noel, as you said you would.” While they stood together, the fair young child with a head of golden curls stepped into the scene. They knelt and she hugged them close. This was his little daughter whom he had never seen. She was born two weeks after he had left for the war. The war was the destruction of eight years of his life. Now all was over, for the hands of fate had thrown them together just when each was about to give up the struggle. His little home and wife and child were all his now. She had kept them for him, for she knew some day he would come, and he did. Even though the war had caused the loss of his memory, that head of shining curls brought it back. The day was far spent and the evening shadows had fallen but the sun had not yet set. The three were tired, for the day had been one of rejoicing and reconciliation, while the past had been forgotten. The sun slowly sank beyond the horizon taking away all the miseries and memories. The breeze played with the trees and the bubbling brook still flowed over the mossy rocks. The valley over which the rising sun had looked so sadly would soon be transformed for the sunrise was to bring with it a real, everlasting Tomorrow. ANNE ROHRMAN, ’32. “Advertisers Make This Hook Possible” “WHY?” Why do we laugh, why do we crv? Why do we pine, why do we sigh? Why do we want so many things? Why are we gay, why do we sing? Why does this world go round so fast? Why don't beautiful things last? Why does the sun shine, why does it rain? Why are our hearts so full of pain? Why do we live, whv do we die? I wrote this—I wonder why? ELLA MAE LEMATRE, ’31. “Advertisers Make Tills Hook Possible” Mr. Miller (addressing class): “Milk contains many materials. If any of you people would like to find out more about milk you can ask Mr. Walker.” Miss Romano: “Why, does he own a farm?” Mr. Miller: “No. Miss Romano, but he teaches agriculture.” A PROPOSAL Verily I say unto you, fellow-sufferers, the time for deliberation and argumentation is passed and the moment for action is at hand. Yea. too long have we endured meekly and without protest the caprices of this gay and giddy teacher. Too long have we attempted to convince her that we are not marked descendants of Longfellow, nor yet of Poe. But in vain! ’Tvvas all for naught! For it came to pass, in the happy days of sentence construction and classic readings, our English teacher—traitor that she is to class peace and tranquility—broke the usual routine by demanding from each and every one of us a theme! Naturally resenting this sudden trend of affairs, and to discourage any further ambition on the part of the teacher to make geniuses of us, we strove to concoct the most inane stories on the most impossible subjects we were able to invent. But lo! The base deceiver! The vile flatterer! She said they were wonderful, extraordinary, supreme! And—our next assignment was to write a poem! Again we smote our worthy breasts and tore hair by the handfuls from our heads, and oh ! how we did murder that so-called “poet’s license!” But there was no discouraging her. She would not be dissuaded from her evil purpose. We could think of no more cruel assignment than to write a poem, but the mischievous brain of that tyrant set itself to work, and the result was: an original oration. But fear not. fellow-sufferers, be not dismayed; be strong and of good courage— “for behold! I bring unto you good tidings of great joy.” I have had a “Strange Interlude,” during which the spirit entered in and spake with me and said unto me that which I am about to tell you. Fellow-sufferers, we are in our last extremity. All methods have failed us in this affair. Something must be done immediately or our English teacher will succeed in making writers of us. Therefore, with this thought in mind, and as our last hope and resource, I propose that we assemble a delegation to go to the house of our heartless teacher and “tell her mother on her!” MARJORIE LOIS MANLEY, ’32. “Advertisers Make Tills Hook Possible” MYSELF I wat to be good. I want to be brave, I want to face the world and not be afraid. I want to go with mv head erect. I want to deserve all men’s respect. I know it is hard work and not all play. I am ready to change my course today, Whatever happens. I want to be Self-respecting and conscience free. ALFRED DUBUC ,’33. Teacher: “When you put your hand on a hot stove a message is sent to the brain and the message that returns is—” Miss Balzano: “The message is Ouch!” 9 THE (iREEN AND WHITE BRAVERY “Jean.” It was Mrs. La Farge talking. “Yes, mother,” answered her 15 years old daughter. , “Jean, I’m going over to grandmother s tor a while and I don't want to leave the house alone because I’m not sure what time your lather will be returning. You don’t mind staying here, do you?” Why, of course not, mother,” answered Jean. “Why should I be afraid? I’ve got an awfully interesting book here. Dot read it and she said that it was perfect.” All right, then. I'll be home in about an hour, 1 imagine,” replied her mother as she went out of the door. Immediately scribbling a few more numbers of her Math lesson, Jean hurriedly put away the books and began preparations for a few minutes of good reading. Taking her book. “The Black Veil,” she turned out the table lamp, went over to her special armchair and turned on the reading lamp Seating herself comfortably, she began to read. Fifteen minutes passed and Jean was thoroughly absorbed in her occupation. Once or twice she glanced nervously about her but each time she returned to her reading. Ten more minutes passed and Jean, deciding that the room was too dark, arose to turn the table lamp on again. Just as she was about to sit down she heard a sudden whistling noise and then the slamming of a door. Slowly she crossed the floor and began to look around, when to her disgust she found that the wind coming through an open window in the library had cause the door right opposite to slam. “Gosh, that scared me. but it won’t any more,” said Jean as she banged the window down and return to her book. Let’s see,” she whispered to herself, “where did I leave off? Oh yes, I’ve got it. ‘The black veil slowly disappeared into the darkness. Eileen stood transfixed with horror as she heard the low warning knocks.’ Gosh this book is interesting. I bet ...” Suddenly Jean stopped. What was that noise near the window? Determinedly she threw her book aside and cautiously drew the curtains. “Oh, hang it all, what’s the matter with me anyway? Just because that loose blind starts to knock I’ve got to have the wits shaken out of me,” and once more she returned to her seat, and again resuming reading. A few minutes passed and Jean was once more under the spell of the book. “As Eileen watched Jack turn the corner two black hands reached out and grabbed her by the arms. Screaming with all her might she ...” “What on earth is the matter now?” Jean asked herself as her alert ears caught a slight scratching noise in the cellar. In about two seconds she heard a heavy crash and. this time, without stopping to wonder, she dashed up the stairs two at a time, ran to her room, and within two minutes she was in bed, the covers drawn ’way over her head. About a half hour passed before Jean, with a sigh of relief, heard her mother at the door. Mrs. LaFarge, upon entering, immediately saw the two lights burning in the library, the book laying on the floor, and the curtains slightly drawn aside. Silently but with a smile on her face she walked up the stairs, went to Jean's room, and turned on the light. “Ae you awake, Jean?” she asked. Yes, mother,” came the weak reply. “Why didn’t you turn the lights off in the library?” “Oh, I must have forgotten to; I was in an awful hurry to get to bed.” “You must have been,” laughingly replied her mother, picking up the clothes scattered all over the floor. “Did you enjoy the book?” she asked mischievously . “Sure.” “And were you afraid?” “Why. of course not, mother. Why should I have been afraid? came Jean’s brave reply, as her mother, bursting with laughter. left the room. ALICE MAGEE, ’32. IN 1963 I wish I were a master mind. The Future I would see. And so to speak, just get a peak At nineteen sixty-three. I wonder if the years from hence I’ll look the same as now; I’ll bet my hair is snowy white Above a wrinkled brow. Perhaps I won’t have any hair— It’s falling out, you know; But what of that—I'll wear a hat And pull it way down low! I suppose my teeth will all be gone And laid away to rest; A long gray beard, just what I feared, Will cover up ray vest. The cane which I shall carry Will be of solid oak, I might have two, before I’m through, By golly, it’s no joke! This time of year I’ll have the gout, Or p'raps the rheumatiz, Lumbago, or sciatica— I hate to think. Gee Whiz! My double-vision spectacles Will rest upon my nose. Which you will see and quite agree Looks “mighty like a rose.” I’ll hobble down the street each morn Just to the grocery store, When 'round the fire, (the same old liar' — I’ll tell of days of yore. That is, I hope I still can talk In nineteen sixty-three— But if I can’t, why then you’ll now What caused the death of me! FREDERICK VERA. ’31. Carlson: “I had the pleasure of going through a glass manufacturing plant where they were making whiskey bottles—don’t draw any conclusion. 10 THE GREEN AND WHITE AN AWAKENING Slain! goes the door and down the path conies a very tragic-looking youth, mumbling to himself, Humph, they think they can make a baby out of me. do they? Well, I’ll show ’em. I guess I’m as tough as any around here. A fellow can't even gamble or have a car of his own and get in a ntixup nowaday without his mother has to cry over him and spoil it all, and just when I was on the verge of making a lot of dough. Well, they'll be sorry, just wait and see.” He slams the gate now and turns to make one last survey of the only home he had even known. How lovely the little cottage looks with the dim light in the window casting its rays out on the beautiful flower beds which he had helped to make and learned to love. And the old tree where he had read and sat dreaming of what he would do when he grew up. Its branches seemed to offer him shelter and the leaves murmured a sound that sounded like, Conte back; come back. Yet in spite of it all, he angrily pulled his hat down over his forehead and with that athletic stride swung off down the little winding road. There was determination written all over his face for even at this time he was not the boy who would leave a thing undone; he had decided going away and so he would. He thought at first it would be hard to break away from home, yet as he walked on he became more accustomed to the things about him and thoughts of home were gone. Long, long hours it seemed he had walked. But he was, in reality, only eight miles from home. He was getting tired but determined to find a house of some kind. As he rounded a bend, he cattle upon a campfire. He fell flat on his stomach for fear of being seen and watched the goings on about him. There in the light of the fire sat three hideous-looking men, intent upon the dirty kettle which boiled over the fire. The haggard looks made him afraid but he finallv mustered up enough courage to go to them. They all showed surprise at this well-dressed boy, so tall and muscular, incidently dropping in for a bit of soup. The boy sat down by the fire at their request and surveyed them more closely. One man talked roughly; the other had a squeaky little voice—sort of miserly one he thought; and the last had a nose redder than the midday sun at the equator—he was evidently a heavy drinker. Before he had time to do much more surveying a shower of questions descended upon him—“Where’d you come from?” “Where ya going to.’' Looks as if your going on a long journey, are ya, kid? He was confused and didn’t know whether to tell them or not. I hey all looked hard and lie doubted if they would sympathize with him, when he heard again. “Go on. tell us ya story. He looked up to see if they meant it and when he did. he wasted no time in reavealing the situation. He told them how he had gambled with a few pals and lost a lot of money which was to be used for his education and although he meant to win it back. his mother sharply reprimanded him—so often in fact that he was forced to leave home. That was all. The man with the gruff voice spoke,“Ya poor fool, don’t you know ya mother did the wisest thing? Gambling, were you, huh? Well, if I was your mother. I’d horse-whip ya, I would. Listen, kid. I did almost the same thing when I was young. I thought I’d go out and make big money easy. I started by collecting the gang's weekly earning they should have taken home. Yes, sir, they gambled it all away ’cause I was a crackerjack at it. Look what I am now—an escaped convict—can't face the law or can’t even lift my face to look into the eyes of a mother and say that I’m sorry. My mother died when I was only ten and, gee, she was so pretty and I remember her telling me once when I said I hated boys who were always looking up at the stars, “Well, Timmie, stars are better than bars and if you gaze at the stars you’ll need not fear the bars.” But I was too head strong and the words faded from my memory, leaving me to lead a life like this. Then he stopped and a faint choking sob came from his throat as he slowly brushed away the tears from his eyes. Away in the corner the youth sat with such a disappointed look on his face that the second one, the one with the red nose. was forced to speak. Yep, things look pretty bad fer you, lad. Why, ya can’t even get a decent living nowadays. They won’t let me drive a truck because this beastly liquor has gotten the best of me. Liquor—it's the only real pleasure I have, and when I do drive a truck I get so smashed up they send me to a hospital, fix me up, then to the penitentiary. I stay there a month or a year and get out on good behavior only to begin over again. And the funny part of it is I never get killed. The lad shuddered at this. What must this man be or have in him that kept him alive, for surely he was nothing hut skin and bones, and how horrible he thought was the life he was leading. Drink, hospital, and penitentiary, only to begin again. There was a purpose he was left here for and it must be to set an example to others. He had at last begun to realize his foolishness and he felt ashamed of himself. There were two men taking life as a playground of amusements, easy money, drink and the penitentiary. His head dropped into his hands and he certainly looked the picture of gloom and discouragement. The third man who had been watching his actions spoke, and in the silence of the camp the squeaky voice made a big impression. Have some broth, boy.” He refused, saying he wasn't a bit hungry, but his shoulders were cold and he felt awfully tired. Then the third man said again. “Guess we can’t give you lodging as we only have one blanket apiece and no satin pillow either.” The boy stammered out that he could do without one but how he longed for his own bed and the nice warm blankets with a pillow as soft as cotton under his head and the fresh evening breeze blowing into his little room. He could se it now. It got the first rays of sunlight in the morning and the silvery light of the moon in the evening. The little curtains would blow about and the apple tree leaves would brush against the window so THE GREEN AND WHITE II tenderly that the sound lulled him to sleep. Oh, it was so pleasant, he thought, when he was aroused by the anxious voices of the men. The squeaky fellow was still talking. “I guess things don't look so good tonight. Might even have rain.'' Then he moaned, “Oh how I wish 1 hadn’t done it! I should have realized but it’s too late; yes, too late. The boy found himself asking, “What did you do and why is it too late?” “Because,” replied the man, “I didn’t look around me. I couldn’t even realize that 1 had all the happiness in life one could wish for— a lovely cottage, a wife and a charming daughter who would kiss me good night and good morning. And I ignored her tender kisses, refused to play with her or even act as a father. My wife's loveliness and kindness make me hate myself. She had been what no other ever could be—waiting upon me as a devoted slave and I was a grouchy old beast, even refusing her a pretty gown once in a while. I who wanted money and all the money I could get my hands on. It was all that mattered to me. I wanted to be rich and have things no other could have. And it was all through my greed for money that I became the hideous mortal I am today. . . “I left that little home with its little rose-bed and garden. Everything for money. Although I didn’t realize it for a long time, happiness never occurred to me. I realize it all now. Leaving my wife and child with barely enough to live on, I left for New York and was there a year when I received a telegram saying that my wife and daughter had been burnt to death in a blaze when a lodging house down in the slums caught fire. It wasn’t much of a shock to me then because I was a busy man. Right after that my business began to fail. I put out all I had on margin and lost every cent of it. There 1 was without a friend, for I had never trusted anyone, and no home or money. One by one those memories came back to haunt me and night after night the great stock market loomed up and seemed to mimic me, while the ticker beat to every throb of my pulse—‘more margin, more mar-pin !’ I tell you it nearly drove me mad. I left New York and traveled far but I couldn’t get a iob because I was only an office worker. Wherever I went they asked for references and I had none; so from then I have been alone living on what I can get bv fair means or foul, iust waiting to die, for what I have left behind me will never come back.” When he had concluded he sank to the ground and wept bitterly. Then the boy who had listened intently to the story or rather drama, lifted his suitcase and with a tear-stained face endeavored to speak. His speech was delivered with difficulty because his heart was full. Anyway, he said, “I don’t know why I have been such a fool. To think I left it all to have a wild time. My mother didn’t realize what a son she has. Oh, if she could only forgive me I’d go back tonight, right now. But how can she?” The third man interrupted, “My boy, you evidently don’t know your mother’s heart or you would never doubt her taking you back. Go to her and tell her she has misjudged you, that if anyone ever mentions liquor or gambling dens to you again, they can expect a knockout and a sharp reprimand; and remember. sharp reprimands once in a while help to straighten one out. Moreover they make real citizens and that's what you should be. He knew he was right, yet how strange it all seemed. Running away only to have his course checked at the campfire. Tljese three men had seemed to drop from nowhere to change his whole life and then he was thankful. He bid his friends goodbye and was half running and walking, almost falling in his anxietv to get back home. Almost exhausted as he swung up the road toward home, six hours later, but he wasn t thinking of how tired he was. He thought only of getting home. He wondered if she had missed him and if she would kiss him goodnight the same as she used to. A happy cry leaped to his throat as he rounded the bend and came in sight of home. Imagine his feeling after almost falling into the life of his chance acquaintances when he saw, first the little white fence and the good old apple tree where he would be content to rest his weary bones when he had naught else to do. And in the little cottage door stood him best and only pal—his mother. Ready to take him back and keep him there until he fully realized that a wild life and too much money meant the ruination of many a headstrong lad like himself. ANNE ROHRMAN, '32. “Advertisers Make This Book Possible” REMEMBER? DO YOU REMEMBER: When your mother had to tell you to wash behind your ears? And when you just washed your face, and nothing else, you know, not your neck, or anything? How glad you were when the dog tore up that “Buster Brown” suit (with your help)? Remember the expression on Pa’s face, when you handed him your report card? Remember what happened that dark rainv night when you were sent for water, down to the old well? Remember what you said, and do you still shiver? Remember the day you said you could lick the “town bully?” Remember when vou had to speak “The Little Birds Are Singing. at the town had? Remember when you first entered high school ? And when you wore your first long pants? Mv, weren't you proud? Remember the old professor, with the hornrimmed glasses, and the long baggy trousers? Remember what happened the last time you passed in a “composition” like this? MARGUERITE RISHF.. '31 Hogan (explaining electrolocis diagram) Carlson: “What collects at the negative pole?” Hogan: “I haven’t turned on the electricity 12 THE (i R E E N AND WHITE THE MISINTERPRETATION As Jack entered the dance hall, and looked around to see if he recognized any of his friends, his wandering eyes came to rest on a slim little figure, clad daintily in an old-fashioned pale pink gown. He didn’t remember any girl in his set who was so small and dainty. He mentally wished that she would turn around, so he could see her face. He was very anxious to know if her face were as pretty and dainty as the rest of her. For the first time he noticed the curls clinging to her neck. As she drew nearer he saw that she wore a white wig and a pretty pink hat shaped like a sun-bonnet. As she danced past him their eyes met and he had a strange feeling that they recognized him, but the girl gave no sign that she did know him, so he considered it imagination. His eyes followed her and her partner as they made their way through the crowd of dancers. He saw for the first time that the girl’s partner was his old friend, “Bill ; thereupon he made up his mind to secure an introduction at once The music stopped just then and the roll of the drums indicated that the dance was over. He saw Bill and the girl join a group and he immediately made his way in their direction. It was only just before he reached them that he realized that “Bill” probably wouldn’t recognize him with his mash on, so he thought he’d have to tell him who lie was. He’d know “Bill” anywhere, but he couldn't expect the same. As he came up to them he said with a smile. “Well. Bill, old boy, 1 sure am glad to see you! Where’ve you been keeping yourself lately anyhow? I haven’t seen you for—let me see, it must be at least three weeks. I thought you were a friend of mine. “Bill's” eyes peered through his mask for a minute, then he too smiled. Well, well! If it isn't my old pal Jack! I’m glad to see you too! I've been away for a couple of weeks, got back last night and here I am. What can I do for you?” “Well,” said Jack, “you might introduce me to the beautiful lady, that is. of course, if you wouldn’t mind.” For a moment, he thought Bill was insulted, he looked so astonished, then he gave a gasp and said. “Why, man alive, don’t you know her? Why she’s your own—er—she’s Miss Grace Campbell.” Then he turned to the young lady and said, “Grace, 1 want you to meet an old friend of mine. Jack Ainsworth.” As her eyes met his once more Jack could have sworn she was laughing at him. but she only said in a voice bubbling over with mirth. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ainsworth.” Then “Bill said in a choked voice, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go outside for a hreath of air. See you later, Grace, and you too. Jack ” As he left them hurriedly. Jack was sure that he too was laughing and he wondered what the joke was, but he forgot all about the ioke as he looked down at the dainty figure beside him. Just then the music started and Jack said, “Shall we dance? She consented and they glided on to the floor. She was a perfect dancer and she was so small that her head just reached his shoulder. As they danced they talked, and soon they were Grace and Jack to each other. After a while they went out-of-doors to enjoy the beautiful night. Jack wished Grace would take off her. mask, hut she refused, saying it would be more fun to wait until 12 o’clock. The more they talked, the more Jack found himself thinking that he had met her before, but rack his brain as he would he could not remember where or when. When he told her about it she only said with a funny little laugh, “Wait till we unmask at 12 o'clock and you’ll know whether or not you’ve met me before.” After that Jack felt as if 12 o’clock would never come. But he made good use of the time remaining. He danced every dance he could get with Grace and when she happened to be dancing with someone else he stood aside and watched her. By the lime the clock struck eleven, everyone knew that Jack was giving the dainty little lady in pink, a grand rush,” and for some reason unknown to Jack this seemed to cause a great deal of laughter from some of those present. But Jack didn’t resent this, for after all, he supposed it was only natural, for everyone to be surprised as it was a well known fact that Jack was a woman-hater. As he watched the dancers he wondered where his sister “Pat” was. He didn’t know what her costume was, hut he could make a good guess. It was probably a pirate or clown or something. “Pat was a regular tomboy, but everyone loved her. Jack couldn’t seem to recognize her among the dancers, so gave it up with the thought that he would sec her a 12 o’clock. The thought of the time made him look at tlv clock again and he was glad that it was twenty minutes to twelve. He felt a surge of gladness because in just twenty minutes more he would see Grace as she really was. His eyes sought her’s and she danced by with her partner. Just then the music came to an end and the roll of the drums signified the end of another dance. Jack hastilv made his way to Grace’s side, as the next dance was his. She looked up with a smile as he stopped at her side, and said, “Well, Jack, all prepared for the shock?” “Shock? said Jack. “I don’t think it will be a shock. You couldn't be anything but lovely, you know. Grace dropped him a mock curtesy and said laughingly, Just wait! I’ll bet it'll be the biggest shock you’ve had for quite a while ! Her words seemed to hold a strange significance that gave Jack a funny feeling, but he dismissed it with a shrug and, as the music had iust started again he held out his arms to her. It seemed that they had only been dancing a moment when the music stopped and they heard the first chime announcing twelve o'clock. Everyone started to unmask at once. Jack turned to Grace and with a light, excited laugh, tore off his own mask and waited until she did the same. She unfastened it slowly and then slipped it off and, as he stood staring incredulously, she whipped off the wig also and there stood his own little sister, “Pat” laughing at him. Jack didn't recover until he heard THE GREEN AND WHITE 13 the laughter of the others who had gathered around. Then he took their “razzing” with a smile and, putting his arms around “Pat, he told her that he hadn't known he had such a pretty sister. Later, when he was alone in his own room, he sat for a long time just staring into space with an infinitely sad expression, then he said in a tired voice, “Just another illusion.” MARY JOHNSTON. “Advertisers Make This Hook Possible' “DOWN TO THE SEA” I was sittin’ by the river, on a balmy summers' day, I watched the mighty water as it rushed upon its’ way. Oh, I wondered where it went to and from whence it came, I visualized it’s power turning wheels in mills of fame. Then I said that I would follow to see where it did go, As it hurried ever onward with its steady patient flow. So I ran my sturdy boat out and raised the mail sail high— She was speeded bv the waters and the winds from out the sky. We sailed by towns and cities as we hurried o’er the foam Every moment, every second drifting further from our home. Days and days we scurried westward o’er the briney deep, In the dav I watched the scenery—most the night I’d sleep. Soon we came to stately forests, where the wild folk s� rav— Saw does drinking of the water where the tiny wavelets plav, ’Twas a iournev of contentment—close to Mother Nature, too. As I heard sounds from the flat boats and the owl's “towhit towhoo.” Still the waters hurried onward, ever onward to the west. But I kept the boat a-sailitig and she answered every test. Then one day the waters roughened and we tossed from side to side. Though I fancied nothing like it, I was soon to end the ride. The next day I saw new waters—not alike my friendly stream— There they stretched far, far before me and though it was a dream. So this was its destination—was the thought that came to me. As I thought of what Jim told me—Rivers always seek the sea! MARY R. SULLIVAN. ’31. “Advertisers Make Tills Itimk Possible” The sauad went into a huddle. Some guy had caused a muddle, The coach yelled, “Rain,” Discontinued the game. And the players fell into a puddle. ANNE ROHRMAN, '32. LAUGH When everything goes wrong—don’t get “mad” and start to throw things around— think back and wonder why you re so mad. It reallv is funny, so laugh and forget your troubles. You know it takes ten muscles to scowl, and only three to laugh. So just relax those three muscles, instead of straining ten of them. Isn’t it strange that we should get mad. Some will sav it's a “natural savage instinct. But it isn’t—it is more like jealousy. We get “mad” because things we don’t want to happen—do. Haven't you ever seen a man, or woman, who never seems to get “mad ? One who always has a snappy comeback for any of your hard luck stories, or for their own? I have. That same person generally gets along in this world. They spread good cheer and laughter. They’re optimists, and we certainly could afford to have just about five million such people. Laugh at a thing! Don’t give up hope, because if you do, on looking back after a few days, or months, you’ll laugh heartily at yourself. for being so dumb. When I get a “funny mark, (which means low) I just shrug my shoulders and laugh, and say, “Boy, they’ll put me out if I don’t start working.” Generally I try to do better,—not saying whether I do or not, but I at least try. And in the lunch-room, when I don't get a nice steaming hot dish, all 1 can say to try to keep others from grumbling over nothing is: Oh. we don’t car for that anyway.” So, come on. let’s laugh—more and more. But don’t grin, and put on that “false smile. You don't get any satisfaction oip of that, l augh heartily—and see if you don’t feel good. Why. it gives you self-confidence and makes you feel as though there’s something worthwhile living for. And even though you fall down the stairs —Bump, bump bump—laugh at your own clumsiness. Then you’ll forget that the “bumps” are so verv sore. MARGUERITE RISHE, ’31 “Advertisers .Make This Hook Possible THE MAN WHO WINS The man who wins is an average man. Not built on any peculiar plan. Not blest by any peculiar luck, lust steady and earnest and full of pluck. The man who wins is the man who works, Who neither labor nor trouble shirks, Who uses his hands, his head, his eyes— The man who wins is the man who tries. JAMES O’CONNOR, ’33. Life is a dream, life is a shadow, Life is the winding stairs so steep; But when life is o’er and trumpets roar. Life is the vision of all good deeds. WILLIAM R. GUEVRF.MONT. ’32 Flynn was asked to bring in some asparagus for biology study. When asked the next day for the asparagus, he answered: “1 just planted it yesterday.” 14 THE GREEN AND WHITE ROMEO AND JULIET The whole world is rapt in silence. Not a person stirs. The only lights to be seen are the lights of the star-hung sky. The earth is bathed in the light of the full moon. Not a sound is heard. But wait! There is a slight noise coming from the third window from the right on the second floor of the palatial residence on the left. Someone is stirring. It is a woman. She appears at the window, dressed in a long, flowing, white gown, which looks suspiciously like a nightgown. She steps upon the window sill and is about to step off but something stops her. She speaks: “O. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? Suddenly the stillness of the night is broken by the sound of a Ford. Finally the cause of this noise appears. At the wheel is a young man, who looks evrv romantic. He gets off his “trusty steed and approaches the window. He cries: Juliet, my own!” She answers: “How earnest thou hither— tell me? The asylum walls are high and hard to climb!” “I came on my trusty steed to see thee, my love.” He runs to the garden and comes back with a ladder, which he places against the open window. Gallantly he climbs the ladder and ges his love. All is ready for a quick getaway when a man dressed in white appears. Tis thy father, Capulet.” Romeo cries in fear. Firmly the man takes the two lovers by the arm and leads them back into the mansion, over which is written : THE RHODE ISLAND HOME FOR THE FEEBLE MINDED Advertisers Make This Book Possible” AND THIS IS THE HONOR SYSTEM! The Honor System which is used in most schools is far from being an honor svstem of any sort. Anw modern boy or girl will find it impossible to keep absolute silence in the absence of his teacher. The following sort of episode can be seen any day in any room of anv high school. 1 he teacher, Mr. Bernard Quiet, known as Be Quiet. is conducting a class of about twenty or thirty pupils, boys and girls. Some important business question arises and he has to leave the room. Rising from his chair, he says to the class: “I’ve got to go to the office for a few minutes and I want you to be absolutely quiet while I’m out; there’s detention tonight.” A class-room of solemn faces gaz s gravely at him. They understand perfectly what he means. The solemn faces continue to gaze at the teacher until a click of the door tells that he is safely out of the room. Then, slowly but surely, the honor system dies out, and the class gets noisy, noisier, and noisier. First, little Mary, ’way over in one corner, begins. “P-s-st, hey, Grace.” Grace, however, is busy, but Lorena hears Mary, turns to Grace and says. “Hey, Mary wants you.” Grace then turns to Mary who begins the conversation by saying, “Say, what's the matter with you? Deaf? While this conversation is going on. Johnnie, sitting near the blackboard, suddenly spies a piece of chalk on the ledge. Reaching ovre, he picks it up, turns around stealthily, and seeing Jimmie Brown on the other side of the room, he lets it fly, hitting Jimme right back of an ear. Jimmie turns around and seeing Johnnie with a guilty grin on his face, he begins looking for the piece of chalk which has, by this time, traelled away over to the other side of the room. There does not happen to be any chalk on the ledge near Jimmie, but there is a nice, dirty eraser there. Johnnie, however, has not been asleep all this time and the eraser, missing its mark, whizzes over his head and hits Helen on the back, bringing forth a grunt from that vivacious person. Helen turns around and yells, “All right, who threw that?” By this time the whole class is in turmoil excepting perhaps one or two wise ones who, expecting the return of their teacher, are keeping a watchful eye on the window in the door. A slight tapping in the corridor. a glimpse through the window to make sure it is he and the watchers, grabbing their books, let out their warning, S-sh, he’s coming.” Most of the noisemakers quiet down, but some more adventurous ones wait until the last second. A slight creak of the aoor as it opens, and silence reigns in the room. Mr. B. Quiet looks around, smiles as he notices the studious expression on the faces, then he sits down. The class is quiet happy—they’ve gotten away with it again. But they do not known what B. Quiet is smiling at. He knows what has happened—what the class has been up to. Over on one side, an eraser lying near the wall; two pieces of chalk near the front of the room: chalk-dust on the bovs’ sweaters. Pieces of eidence—of what? And they call it the Honor Svstem! MARY MAGEE. ’32. MY CAR My old Ford is a real good friend. All you have to give it is a twist and a bend. A little lopsided and the lamps don’t light But outside of that, the Ford’s all right. It needs new tires, two front and a rear, And the horn won't speak from the steering gear. It isn't worth a nickle, But I’ll bet. bv gee. It brings a mililon dollar’s worth of fun to me H. CONNERY, ’33. Slosh: Can you tell me why magnets are like flappers?” Frosh: “Maybe it’s because magnets attract. and flappers think they do.” Junior (meeting a Frosh): “Well, what do you know. Jack? Frosh : “Oh, nothing much.” And the Junior blew out his lamp and went home. THE GREEN AND WHITE 15 “LUCK” Ethel had to write a theme. “There was no getting around it.” She hadn’t the slightest sign of a cold and had no excuse for staying home. She was altogether too healthy to suit herself, and the theme was inevitable. So she tore herself away from her mystery story and sat down at her desk of torture to do the impossible. What to write about—Mv Favorite Storv? hardly, she hadn’t any. The time she was thrown for her horse?—No, that was her own private affair and not for publication—too embarrassing. That was one of the time when one couldn’t be nonchalant bv lighting a Murad—couldn’t anvwav, didn’t have one to light, and wouldn’t if she did. In this war' sh” passed an hour and so to bed. She slept with a pad and pencil beside her bed in case she should receive any inspiration from above or below, or anywhere, during the night. Came the dawn, but no inspiration. She didn’t even dream anything clear enough to write about. School, and still no ideas—her mind was a complete blank. It usually was anywav, but it was even more so today. Her studies were neglected, and she went around in a daze until the period before the fatal hour of her doom, when—glory be !—a notice came announcing an assembly. Blessings be on the head of whoever was responsible. Well, she could enjoy herself for the rest of the day until evening came with the still inevitable theme. MARY MASON, ’33. REVIEW OF SONGS Oh give me something to remember you bv. Because you know I love you body and soul. And I will even when your hair has turned to silver. I’m alone because I love you. Oh ladv play vour mandolin On a little balconv in Spain And we’ll watch that little Spanish dancer Flirting with the peanut vendet Who after all, is just a gigolo. Then walking my baby back home, We’ll fight and be blue again But when I take my sugar to tea I’ll be like a ding-dong daddy from Dumos. Come on. would you like to take a walk? Ob gee. I’ll be hurt. Tears are my only consolation. If I could be with vou under a Wabash Moon Or 'neath blue Pacific moonlight We’d be reaching for the moon. I know your just an old fashioned girl. But vou are my temptation and mv ideal. I’m just a lonesome lover, thinking of you. Truly, I’m yours. I'm crying myself to sleep, afraid of you. Ninetv-nine out of a hundred—yet you’re so unusual. Whv can’t two hearts beat as one? All I want is one girl. Thev say, “She's not worth your tears.” So I hate mvself for falling in love with you. But I'm falling in love again. MARGARET CICFRCHIA. ’31 NONSENSE SCENES All through the day the sun shone. You could see right inside of day because the sun was so bright. The town-clock struck—struct a tree and knocked it over. Twelve times it struck— something different each time. In the middle of the afternoon it began to pour—buckets full of water. You could see them emptying out from the clouds. Soon the rain stopped short; I mean the drops came shorter until the rain came no more. It became clear—“It” means the air. So clear you could see through it. You know how air is. Supper was served. No one helped themselves. They were all served. Dishes hopped around on their legs. Some didn’t have any legs but use your imagination. The moon rose. You should have seen it. Someone pulled a string and up it went into the sky. Night had fallen. What a noise it made. Hear it? Imagination is in play again. Stars come out. People have coming-out parties. So do the stars. Out they come, dressed in silver and brightly sparkling. What a night. Moon and stars are talking together. Well, a woman will talk wherever she is and Luna does some talking. Well, I’ll go to bed. I guess. I can hear it calling me. There, hear it—creak, creak, creak! You don’t have to use any imagination here. The minute you get into my bed the springs start shrieking. I can’t kick. Life has been pretty good to me even if night did fall on me once in a while. Oh 1 Wait a minute. I forgot to tell you something of importance. I saw a horse-fly over a cow yesterday. I also saw the board-walk down the street. You don't have to believe me, but then, you’re not supposed to believe everything that you hear anvway . DOROTHY M. ADAMS. “Advertisers Make This Hook Possible' Mr. Burke (Junior Math. Class): “Vera, don't you remember the day that we did the example? Vera: “I remember the day but I don’t remember the example. Mr. Carlson: “Metcalfe, what is that “E” on vour sweater represent? Madeiros (from back of room) : “Exeter, the school for the feeble minded.” Mr. Carlson (Commercial Law I: What would vou do if a man stole $500 from you?” Pat Gaglio: “Bump him off! Mr. Carlson: “Who said said?” Pat Gaglio: “I did.” Mr. Carlson: “You’re just the type that would.” T. Brown: “Hev. Mike, what did Washington’s army need after they had crossed the Deleware. and made camp in Valiev Forge? Mike Rucci: “Food, clothing and boats. T. Brown: “Whv did thev need boats? Mike Rucci: “To cross the Deleware.” 16 THE GREEN AND WHITE TRAGEDY OF AN AUTHOR He sat there with his pen in hand And vainly tried to think A three-page theme—that was the scheme, But all he had was ink. He couldn't think of what to write Although he tried his best, He strained his mind—he was that kind. Don’t laugh—this is no jest! Then all at once an idea came. It struck him on the dome, And underneath—broke three false teeth, And sent them far from home. “A mystery it shall be,” he cried, And started in to scribble He made a plot—'twas not so “hot.” His words began to dribble. A tragedy was next in line When he had nearly finished, The hen died—he nearly cried. His idea had diminished! A comedy then came along. But just in mind, says you? He wrote the gaff”—but couldn’t laff, He’d met his Waterloo! He dropped his pen and tore his hair. And stamped upon the floor; The neighbors mild—all cried. “He’s wild!” They rushed into his door! They took the author far away And put him in a cell Before thev went—the air was rent By his unearthly yell: “When you are making up a theme, Just take advice from me, I’ve made the test—I know what’s best. I'm sure you will agree. “Don’t try to write too many things, For if you do you’ll find That one idea—iust written clear. Beats twenty in your mind !” FREDERICK VERA. THE END OF A PFRFFCT NIGHT Shorthand homework all done Oh. what a relief! Now to write a theme. Oh, how T enjoy writing themes! I pick up my pen and begin to think of a subject. I stare into empty space, with the end of mv pen in my mouth, and try to concentrate. The radio is going on and iazz music is floating in the air. Every-body's talking at once. Oh. how can I think with all this noise going on! I shout at the children to be ouiet and give me a chance to think. Everything is now quiet again. Oh. I got one ! No. that won't do because I wrote one something like that before. Oh dear, there goes my brother playing his violin. G“e. I wish he wouldn’t practise now. What’s the big idea anyway! Now, the telephone! It’s for me! Now, who could call me up at this time? Oh, that you, Jennie? You would interrupt me while T’m trying to write a theme. What? Have T your pencil? Of course T haven’t! Gee whiz! Tt’s half-past nine and T haven’t even got an idea what to write. Now let me see—I can’t write a love story or a murder story because our teacher doesn’t like them. Now, what can I write? Well, well, can you beat it—my theme’s all finished and I didn’t even know I had one. What a surprise!. Now don’t you wish you could write a theme as easilv as that. SADIE RUSSO. ’31. “Advertisers Make Tills Book Possible” MY AMBITION To be an athlete was my wish, To stand with bat and then to swish: To play the nation’s greatest game. Was what, I thought, would bring me fame. In winter I would go down South, In summer I would travel North ; Ten thousand dollars I would earn. Tf T could have but just one turn. Tt is a game we all can’t play. Though if we practiced, it would pay; I may not be as good as some. Though I can hit the ball and run. It is the thought of getting old. Before I may have reached the goal; That from the game I must retire. Which would arouse any man’s ire. My place would then be filled by one. Who tried to play as I had done; To play the nation’s'gretaest game. Which he, too. thought would bring him fame. SALVATORE A. GIGLIO. DEAR OLD BASE BALL “Oh, Mrs. Clones, now I know spring is here. Especially when the good old base ball season comes back. I iust love it, don’t you?” Oh, of course. T understand it.” “No, I’ve never seen a game, but I’ve heard enough about base ball to understand it quite a bit.” “Don’t you think it’s just wonderful of the Frog Hollow Cubs to let the ladies in free, today?” “Oh, you paid for your ticket. (Yah, T’ll bet you did ; you're just the type that would.) “Tanyard field is a dandy place for the game, don’t you think so? Why the Cubs are playing the famous Phillip Sox today.” “You've never heard of them? Well, for heaven’s sake, please read the paper. Why, I’ll bet you don’t even know the first thing about base ball.” “You could tell me something, could vou? Ha. ha.” “Oh. look! They’re ready to start.” “Why for—say Mrs. Clones, did you see that uncouth man actually spit into his hands?” “He’s probably the pitcher? Pitcher? What in the world does he do on the team—hold water for the players?” “Pie’s the chief man of the team? He throws balls for the batters to hit. if possible.” “Good lands, Mrs. Clones, please don’t talk in riddles 1” “All-right, all-right—you needn’t get so im- 17 THE (iREEN AND WHITE patient. Now I can see what that pitcher’s going to do. Eek! Why, you mean thing! Did you sec him throw that ball directly at that man with the stick? Hurray! He’s going to throw the stick at the pitcher—I hope it hits him.” “Oh. lie's only trying to hit the ball?” “Why do that? Can't he throw it out into the field?” “What, poor sap, he hit the hall out and now he’s running after it. Well, why doesn’t he run out straight instead of going around that diamond shaped jigger?” It’s all in the game? Oh, I see. You know, Mrs. Clones, I’tn sure I know all about baseball now.” Oh, I guess the poor men are tired. They’re changing around. Well, I'm sure that’s the proper thing to do.” “Say, listen. Do you allow mad people here?” “They don’t. Well, that person behind the fellow with the stick—oh yes, the batter, must be pretty vicious, if he has to have a sort of caging over his face.” That’s for protection.” His or the people's?” “You have a headache? I'm so sorry. No wonder, though. The woman side of you has been talking so much she’s drive anyone to an insane asylum.” “Oh, there’s Mrs. Bevins over there. I’m going to stand up and wave to her.” Ow! What’s that you say, Mrs. Clones? The games over?” “Well, it sure is interesting. I’ll come again. MARGARET CICERCHTA, ’31. “Advertisers Make This Book Possible” THE STORY OF DAYS Have you ever met Mr. and Mrs. Day? They live in a seven room house called “The Week,” and it stands on “Month Street.” which is one of the twelve roads that lead through Year Town,” in the wonderful country of “Time.” Mr. and Mrs. Day have five children. Mr. Day’s name is “Sun,” and this is how he got his name. Ages ago men worshipped the sun, and called the first day in the week after him. The sun was to these people the visible expression of God. and on this day. all festivities ceased, and Sunday became the Sabbath. Mrs. Day’s name is “Mon.” which is short for “Moon.” She is really Moon Day, sacred wife of the Sun. In ancient days, the people called the Goddest of the Moon, Diama. They used to think that she walked through the woods, so the woods were sacred to her. The eldest son’s name is “Tues Day.” “Tyr,” the God of War. captured the Wolf Spirit, and Tuesday is named after him. Tt is curious that the French name for Tuesday is Mardi—that is the day of Mars, who was also a God of War. The second son is named “Wednes Day.” Wednesday is called after Woden, the greatest God of the Scandinavians, who sent Ravens around the world for news. Our friend, “Wednes Dav” is a good chap, and people all like him. His motto is “Work away, Sunday will be here soon.” Now we come to the third son, whose name is “Thurs Day.” He is a big, strong fellow. Thursday gets it’s name from Thor. the strongest of all Scandinavian Gods. To prove that Thursday is not too strong a day. Thor once tried to drink a horn of water, but the more he drank, the more came into the horn. The other end was in the sea. The fourth child of Mr. and Mrs. Day is a daughter named “Fri Day.” Friday is named after the Goddess Frigga, the wife of Woden, so that she would not be jealaus. Thor was the son of Frigga, and Woden her husband, and both had days named after them. so Friday was named after Frigga. And now we come to the half-holiday room. This is the room of Mr. and Mrs. Day’s last child, named “Satur Dav.” Saturday is named after the Roman God. Saturn. The Romans used to feast and make merry in honor of Saturn. For us, Saturday is on� of the pleasantest days in the week. The week's work is done, and people go in crowds to see a game ,or go shopping in the cities, or go picnicing. or go to the sea-shore, and altogether enjoy themselves. Now, isn't the Day family a verv happy and pleasant family? ELIZABETH ROUNDS. '31. A MAIDEN’S CHOICE Which shall I choose—there are but four— Perhaps I ought to consider more. But I must choose one or leave them all • Everyone’s waiting—no more can I stall. Let’s see—the first is indeed true blue; The second ,a maiden’s dream come true; The third would be mother’s choice, I'm sure; Practical, dark, sober, demure ; The last is thrillingly bright and gay. But with age. alas, might fade away. They are all enchanting, enticingly smart— Each one has a place in my perplexed heart. Oh Merciful Heavens, direct my choice; Sneak your decision through my voice. Oh! Ye gods and great Caesar’s ghost! Which does my heart yearn for the most ? Which, in the years to come, would be More pure and spotless than the other three? ’Tis an important question which direful fate Hath brought to me now, my breath to take. An important question, and thought on long. That the final decision may not prove wrong. The time is up: My choice I'll give. For doubt is dead—May assurance long live! But stay!—On second (?) thought—I recall A little shoppe in a building tall That's down Main Street not a very long way. Guess I’ll go there—and anyway, These four coats aren’t so hot— I’ll go to that “Coate Shoppe” And see what they’ve got! MARJORIE LOIS MANLEY. '32 Mr. Carlson (Commercial Law): “How many of you have check books?” Commercial Law Class: We all have ” F. Vera: “Yeah, we take bookkeeping.” 18 THE GREEN AND WHITE OUR HISTORY PERIOD Eight-twenty, and the class has started once more ; Anne has come in and has just closed the door. She walks to her seat, sits down with a groan ; “I don’t know my hist’ry,” she says with moan. Attention!” cries teacher. Why don’t you awake?” Then she just has to smile at the faces we make. We’ll have an oral quiz on slavery this morning. This you should know for 1 gave you a warning. We’ll start from the beginning—I’ll go ’round the class ; The questions are easy and I’m sure you will pass. Hope, won’t you tell, with a great deal of care. Where first the slaves landed and how many were there?” Hope gets to her feet, looks down at her book. Then stares at our teacher with a dumb-founded look. I don’t know. Miss Sisson,” she stutters at last. “Well, then, Hope Cote, you surely won’t pass. Miss Rohrman. now surely you can beat Hope.” Anne Rohrman fidgets ’round, stands up, and says, Nope.” Miss Audrey, seeing that you’re next in the row, “I’ll ftsk for the answer which you surely must know.” Then Audrey gets up and speaks the next line, Twenty slaves landed here in sixteen hundred nine.” Oh. shucks.” cries the teacher in deepest despair, If you don’t answer soon I’ll be getting gray hair. Good grief, I didn’t know that would be such a twister.” I know the answer.” says Anna in a whisper. “The negroes first in Charleston were seen In the year of Our Lord sixteen hundred nineteen.” And so through the class the questions did speed On the question of siav’ry and the slave-holders’ deed. Till finally they reached the last in the room After leaving behind a deep trail of gloom. It is easy to see we did not take heed Of the teacher’s warning—that we ought to read Every little we could—but still how could we When the moving picture show we all went to see? Well, let’s hope that on this very next day We’ll have a lesson good in every way ; Let’s get ready with a smile for a bright tomorrow And leave a trail of sunshine—not one of sorrow. MARY MAGEE, ’32 Mr. Carlson: “Name the type of bird that is forbidden to be shot in Rhode Island.” Levy : “Stool Pigeons.” Miss Sisson: “What is a forest preserve?” Metcalfe: “A pickled tree.” Miss Sisson (in Modern European History class): “How strong was Louis XIV?” Bright pupil: I never saw his muscles.” “MAD?” Did you ever feel like me? Ever think that Life had given you a bad break? Think that nothing would go right again? Say to yourself, “Oh, I wish I were dead?” Do you ever have to run out for something for supper, have to go back, go out again, do this, do that, and then get called down for not getting the right thing? Do you sit at home, and listen to the never-ending talk-talk of the announcers, advertising some well-known brand of this, that will cure that, and has been endorsed by leading physicians, and what nots? Do you ever feel all worn out, tired, not able to sit still one minute, get up, walk into another room, slam the door, get called down for it, come back with a scowl on your face, eyes fiery and burning, lips twisted into a horrible sneer? “What is the matter with you”—from Ma. “Oh, I don’t know,” is the surly reply. Do you smile when you hear this? Remember the time when you felt, just like that, only worse, because you, perhaps, hadn’t had enough of the cake for supper, or some other foolish thing? But it all wears away after a while, even though you think, and plan that you’re going to be “mad” all the rest of your life, and are going to treat everyone the way you think they have treated you? What does it get you? You’re “mad”—good and “mad!” Rut just then some announcer tells a good joke, and —what happens? You have to smile in spite of yourself, and that bad spirit—“temper” inside you. (Yes, the radio is still on. much to your discontent.) Then its all over—the ice is broken. A smile seems to sweep away all the anger, hate and everything else that happens to be in your mind and soul. Then you think of what has just happened, and wonder how, in the whole wide world, you could have been so dumb. Why, what were you “mad” at now? See— you can’t even remember, and even if you do. you can always find the flaw in it. Of course it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and wasn’t the other party right? Certainly, they alwavs are. That’s why we get “mad,” because we are angry because they got the best of us. And isn’t it all foolish ? When little sister comes in—clear-eyed, rosy-cheeked and smiling—can you look at her and try to freeze her with one of those horrible looks? No sir! You just have to see the bright side of living. Then you take the candy she offers you, and everything’s all set for one night. It might happen again, and generally does, but just remember what happened before, and don’t let yourself be so foolish. MARGUERITE RISHE, ’31. “Advertisers Make This Book Possible” First Man: “Why are so many people insured?” Second Man: “Because they are afraid they will get on fire.” THE GREEN AND WHITE 19 NUMBER 2813 The blue plane flew overhead, teasing the men at the escadrille to go up after him. The black cross showed them that he was a German, but orders kept them down. Suddenly there rose above the trees, a white plane. Number 2813, the boy who was called a coward and who was shunned by all the other members of the squadron. He was going up after the best fighter in Germany. “He’s gone crazy,” was all the men could say. Bob, upon reaching an altitude equal to that of his Opponent, found that he was in the wrong position for attack. The Blue Knight of Germany was on his tail and that meant death unless he acted quickly. Suddenly he wen into a tailspin. He was out of it. but the enemy was still on his tail. He banked to the right and the enemy opened fire on him. This scared him but did no damage. Then he climbed and dived again and when he got as low as posible he turned completely over. He heard the rattle of machine guns and something hot hit his face and then exoloded. but he would not give up now. It would be a fight to death. Turning his Lewis machine guns he opened fire on the enemv, but with no effect. An idea came to him. If he could only reach that cloud just above. He was feeling very weak and sick, but he still kept on. Climbing, he reached the cloud and then he banked and when he came out of it he was nearly in back of his enemy. Speeding along ,hc reached a position to fire. With the sound of a roaring motor, his guns spoke death. He got his man. A “flaming onion” which had just been sent up frmo the line entered his fuselage. Looking down, he found that he was flying low over the enemv lines. Taking out his binoculars .he saw the German land in one of the French trenches. The German officers below watched the white plane. Thev saw the form in the cockpit go limp. Diving, turning, trailing a column of smoke after it. the plane crashed in an open field. Bv the time the Germans got over to the spot the plane was a mass of charred ruins. The next day a plane flew over the American Escadrille and dropped a note The Maior in command ran out and picked it up. He opened it and read the following: “White plane burned behind our lines Pilot not distinguishable. Plane number 2813.” Silently the Major went to the blackboard and taking an eraser, slowlv erased the name of Bob Billings, Number 2813. A. METCALFE, ’32. THE BEGGAR As I was walking down the street A beggar man I chanced to meet. Ragged and torn—weary and worn. Yet always happy and ne’er forlorn. I chanced to talk with the beggar glad And asked him why he ne’er was sad. Said he. “The air and sun give life and vim, What more could one ask of Him?” JOHN DIMOND. ’33 LET’S GO ABROAD! The first morning on the S._ S. Tumblebug! How strange and new everything is! How exciting to sec the huge waves apparently moving swiftly past the immovable ship! What fun to stand at the front of the ship, with the wind whistling past my ears, almost blowing me over the rail into the greenish-gray water! What’s that? Ah, the dinner-gong and T could eat a fried elephant! Second morning at breakfast table. “Sav. dad, (in a stage whisper) does the milk in your oatmeal taste as sour as the milk in my oatmeal? No? Then it must be me. Guess I’ll go on deck. I need air. Anyway, I’m not very hungry this morning.” On deck. The ocean is angry. Huh! That’s cause I called it those names last night, when the rocking of the ship almost rolled me out of my bunk. Wow! Almost fell that time! Better hang onto this rail. That old deck seems determined to pick a fight with me. And the sea. too! Well, I’ll remain neutral between the frying-pan and the fire. What foolish things I’m saying. This rail is rather wobbly and—Greasy grasshoppers! but the water is close. How strange my threat feels. But it’s not me—it’s the ship. I wonder if the S. S. before the name Tumblebug stands for seasick ? Oh! “I am leaning o’er the rail, And my face is very pale. Am I looking for a sail? I am not! I'm my daddv’s little daughter Casting bread upon the water. In a way I hadn't oughter. That is what.” Fifth day after episode on deck. Again on deck. Bump! “Oh, pardon me. sir. I couldn’t see you in the fog.” Terribly foggy this morning. Wonder how they can steer the ship on a dav like this— and in this vicinity, where so many ignorant unexperienced men fish in little motor-boats and sail-boats. Whv. that must be a little vessel right before the ship now! Yes, and it's deserted, too. We can’t possibly avoid hitting it. Crash ! Splash! Hiss! and the phantom shin—pardon me. row-boat—is no more. The Tumblebu uttered a shrill cry of victorv—something like Tarzan, you know—and continued on it’s wobbly way. Yes, let’s go aboard Whv, almost anything can happen on board ship. MARJORIE LOIS MANLEY. ’32. MY AMBITION Of all the things that interest me. T'd give up all to sail the sea. There is for me more pleasure there Than I could find most anywhere. To sail on high, to watch at night. To walk the deck bv moonbeam light. To gather sail in stormv strife. Is nothing but a sailor’s life. JAMES O’CONNOR 20 THE GREEN AND WHITE WANTED—SCHOOL SPIRIT Dead or alive, the old “School Spirit of the Colt Memorial High School. Reward of gratitude from the students of the Colt High School. Probably located deeply rooted in the hearts of the students, who are waiting for one another to revive it. Description Alert, eager, courteous, kind. Thoughtful of others, no fault to find. Considerate of teachers and classmates too, And to the Colt Memorial High School Always so true. Colt C—-For consideration. Consideration of the troubles of our beloved teachers, our classmates; our Pal—Mr. Brightman; our Janitor, Mr. Cornell, who always has plenty of material on hand to supply the teachers. O—For obedience. Obedience of the school rules which surely are anything but hard; obedience to teachers; you know ti shows vour home training. L—For loyalty. Loyalty to the school, to the teachers; to the class; loyalty to “School Spirit.” T—For teachers. Teachers who strive to help us all they can, and willingly spend their valuable time with us. teaching us to be good citizens. Last Seen Mr. School Spirit was last seen at the little socials given the Juniors by the Seniors, when everyone attended and took part in the games and everyone had a good time. Things were lively when the Seniors had charge of the Cafeteria one day, and gave a big dinner for a little price.” Remember how everyone responded? At the basket ball games, especially the one between Warren and Colt. Yes, School Spirit went to every one of the games. Didn't you see him? School Spirit was always present on Tuesdays. which is Bank Day, in the high school. He always reminded the students to bring their money. In by-gone days, he occupied an honorable positoin in our beautiful auditorium, when we were presented with the Attendance Banner. He certainly was a good “pal.” There was never a dull day when he was around, always something to work and fight for, someone to help. So don't forget, hang on tight to him if vou see him. So come on boys and girls of the Colt Memorial High, Let's see just about how hard you can try. Let’s show the whole world .just what you can do. We’ll find our “School Spirit,” the rest’s up to you! MARGUERITE RISCHF., '31. The boy stood on the burning deck. His heart was full of glee, He waved his shirt which was a wreck And sang. “O Sol O Mio.” WILLIAM R. GUEVREMONT. ’32 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE The ceiling was too low for comfort. Great masses of fog drifted over the valley and nearby mountains. As the staunch tri-motored Big Bertha” winged its way, the three passengers had mixed feelings of security and anxiety. How could such a huge machine crash? It seemed unthinkable—yet. others had. What if anything should go wrong above those treacherous rocky slopes—a conked engine, torn wing or broken rudder? What was that? Thank God. it was only the soft pat of falling rain. The fog would soon clear away. Suddenly, the serene pilot straightened up and stiffened with a start. There, looming up in the darkness was the tip of Elson’s Crag! The passengers hugged their parachutes and closed their eyes. The next instant a rippnig sound came from beneath. The crag had done its worst. The left wheel had been severed as if by a mighty knife. A slight quiver shook the entire plane, but it proceeded as before. Another half hour of terror passed before the fog had lifted sufficient for the pilot to seek more altitude. The needle stopped at six thousand feet. A mile up in the air. No worry now! The highest mountains in the state wasn’t over half a mile above sea level. Safe for a while, but how to land? Never mind, the pilot would take care of that. Faintly in the distance a searchlight glowed. Soon, as the powerful roar of the motors was heard at the field, a large square was illuminated with flood lights. Every inch of forty acres was a patch of light. Now the pilot showed great concern for the safety of his passengers. None of them wanted to dare a jump. One wheel was gone and he would have to make a “pancake landing. Passengers were ordered to huddle in the rear. Less danger of injury in case of a smash. Down they went at seventy miles an hour. The plane struck ground at that sp ed and rode on one wheel for fifty tect. Then the left wing was caught in the muddy ground as the plane tilted. In an instant the machine was on its back. The motors were bent and twisted lumps of shapeless metal. Both side doors had been opened and broken off. A borde of persons ran from hangars and offices. Three very pitiful but uninjured passengers groped their way through the darkness to the light They were hurried, protesting, into the ambulance and away to a nearby hospital. The pilot was found crushed on the floor beside his seat. The center motor had been forced back by the impact and had killed the faithful man instantly. He had given his life for his passengers. Sadly the ground men drew his body from the wreckage. A martyr and a hero dead beside the stick of his plane! ELMER MANLEY Miss Callan (to Junior English class): “Go back 15 years to 59 B. C.” Mr. Miller (referring to books): “What have you read?” Red White; “I have red hair.” BASKET BALL TEAM 26 THE (iREEN AND WHITE BASKET BALL Colt’s 1930-1931 basket ball team had a very good season. Colt won the Class B Championship bv winning 11 out of 12 games. In 21 games, Colt won 16 and lost 5. I his year Colt succeeded in conquering its rivals, Warren and Barrington, two games each. Anthony Ruggiero, regular guard, was elected captain of the 1931-1932 team. The letter men were: Nunzi Gaglio (Capt ), Anthony Ruggiero (Capt.-elect), Martin Biancuzzo, Anthony Perry, Joseph lexeira, Ralph Gallo. Oliver Desilets, Leon Lemaire, Michael Dc Leo. George St. Angelo and Vincent Nappi, (manager). A Court scene in P. D. Levy (member of the Jury) “Your Honor, 1 committed the murder, and I— Vera (the Coroner): “Your Honor, he is wrong, because 1 am the one who murdered Al. Capone. Judge (M. Cicerchia) : “The Jury will please leave the room to return in five minutes with the verdict. Levy (after the Jury returns): “Your Honor, we find the defendant guilty of first degree murder.” Vera: Hey. your Honor, he just said that lie killed him. ALUMNI NOTES Class of 1929 Russell Akin is a Sophomore at Brown University. Rose Alfano is living in Derby. Conn. Mary Breen is in the office of the Boston Store. Providence. Helen Bvrnes is in the office of the Tar Products Corp., Providence. Mary Carmone is a student at the Rhode Island College of Education Esther Clark is a student at the Rhode Island Co’lege of Education Doris Cornell was married February 9, 1931, to Mr. Arnold Carroll of Bristol. Haro’d DeWolf is a student at Cornel! University. Beatrice Dubuc is in the office of the American Telephone Co.. Providence. John Dunbrtr is at the National India Rubber Co., Bristol. Jane Gilroy is in the Barrington office of the Collitis-Aikman Corp. Andrew Iverson is with the Herreshoff M fg. Co., Bristol. Kathleen Kelley is a student at the Rhode Island College of Education Dorothy Manz is a student at the Nurses’ Training School, Truesdale Hospital. Fall River. Henrv Mason is a student at Rhode Island State College. Anna McHugh is in the office of the National India Rubber Co.. Bristol. Frank Millemaggi is working with the Prudential Insurance Co. Harry McCaughcv is with the Bristol and Warren Water Works. Bristol. Joseph Navack is at the National India Rubber Co.. Bris'ol. Helen Pagnano has completed a course at Katherine Gibbs School, Providence. Michael Pasquerelli is a student at Bryant Stratton Business College. Antoinette Ruggieri is in the office of the National India Rubber Co., Bristol. Nicholas Ruggiero is engaged in professional athletics in Bristol. Jeanette Salzano is a student at Bryant Stratton Commercial College. Pasquale Sicignano is at the National India Rubber Co., Bristol. James St. Angelo is in the office of the National India Rubber Co.. Bristol. Helen Valante is a student at the Rhode Island College of Education. Isabel West is in the office of the U. S. Finishing Co., in Providence. Class of 1930 Milton Bassing is a Freshman at Rhode Island State College. Stanley Bennett is with the Gunn Phar macy, Uxbridge, Mass. Anthony Bonnano is with the Bristol Macaroni Co.. Bristol. Elizabeth Breen is in the office of the Wardwell Lumber Co., Bristol. Edna Brooks is a student at Tefft Business College, Providence. Paul Castriotta is in the office of the Seth Pauli Co.. Bristol. Paul Clark is with the N. v N. H. Hartford R. R.. at Brewster, Mass. Manuel DeMotta is a student at the Rhode Island School of Design. Frances Doran is a student at the Univcr-'ity of Ohio, Athens, Ohio. Elizabeth Doran is a student at the University of Ohio, Athens. Ohio. Fredericka Dunbar is a student at the Rhode Island School of Design. Muriel Hodgdon is in the Bristol office of the Industrial Trust Co. Lillia Kershaw is at home, Hope stree, Bristol. Albert LeClerc is in the planning department. N. I. R. Co., Bristol. Freak Mahoney is in the laboratory of the National India Rubber Co., Bristol. Raynn nd Makowsky is a Freshman at Harvard. William McCaughey is at the Post Office. Bristol. Helen McGuigan is a student at the Rhode Island Hospital Training School for Nurses. Robert Munro is a student at Bryant Stratton Commercail College. Domenic Perroni is a student at Bryant Stratton Commercial College. Charles Pendleton is with the Waldron Co., Bristol. Dorothy Ruggiero is a student at the Rhode Island School of Design. Dorothy Roberts is a student at the Rhode Island College of Education. Louis Sylvia is at the National India Rubber Co., Bristol. Michael Securo is a Freshman at Rhode Island State College. Freda Schafft is working in Newport, R I. Carl Witherell is with Buffington’s Pharmacy, Bristol. Charles Young is a studen at the Rhode Island School of Design. THE (i R E E N AND WHITE 31 EDNA LINDA DIMOND This young lady is to be found at the regular morning meeting of the “Chattering Stenogs” in Room I. Edna is quiet by nature but she is a good pal to have around when you need a little help, because she never fails to do a favor. Edna is very fond of going to the movies both here and in Warren; she is also a good dancer. A business career will claim Edna next year. FRANCES ELLEN DUNBAR “I'm just as still as I can be, Oh, would my neighbors all would be One half so still as little me.” This short quotation describes our Frances, a very quiet person, who seeks assistance or recognition from none—but who is very kind hearted, always ready to assist her less gifted classmates. She is an all 'round good student, performing all tasks quietly, steadily and earnestly. Next year. Frances hopes to attend Rhode Island College of Education and wc know that her life will be a success. LOUIS DURtilN And here is a young man who believes in that old saying about silence being golden—that is, except in chemistry class. There lie enjoys giving a few pointers about electrodes, etc. And he writes compositions about poison gases for English. So you can' follow his turn of mind. We’ve been told that he’s going to be an electrician and we think he really knows what it’s all about. WILLIAM DWYER Here’s a boy who always has a cheerful grin and a great willingness to talk. We all know that only something pretty important can discourage him from talking. Wc don't know what he's planning to do next year. He hasn't told us as yet. Whatever it is, though, we know it will be pleasant, judging from his personality. 32 THE GREEN AND WHITE NUNZI GAGLIO Another all-around athlete, excells in basket ball and base ball. Dances, but would rather do something more useful; studies hard, and is a good scholar. Is s'erv neat in arranging things, especially his Anthology. Chairman of the office force, and has been in many of our musical comedies. Is quite a favorite with the girls and is a god sport. SALVATORE ANTHONY GIGLIO “Sal” A real musician is Sal. He plays most anything—sax, violin, drums, etc. He puts his whole soul in his playing, and has played for five different musical comedies and in the prize winning orchestra. Is an early bird, especially in arriving at school. He likes most sports, although he has never gone out for them, but is a model spectator. He is the type of musician who lives to plav, and do nothing else. PETER GILROY Pete certainly is tall—and he has mapped out a future to match his height. He has always been interested in drawing, so we were not surprised when he told us that he intended to study architecture. This is quite a far cry from the lovely ladies he's been given to drawing, but we’re betting that he’ll be designing buildings quite as lovely, before long. MARY GLADDING And here is Mary—really, we can’t say enough about her—her studiousness. her friendliness and her pleasant manner—but, though she may be quiet in class, she makes up for lost time in study periods. But. as we all know, we can truthfully say that we hope she will teach our children because we know that she will be an instructor of English—or is it Math?—par excellence. Rhode Island Honor Society. R. 1. College of Education. THE GREEN AND WHITE 37 GENEVIEVE ANN PAGNANO “Jennie” Jennie is, without a doubt, one of the most popular girls in the class; always has a bright smile for everyone. She is a member of the Honor Society; takes care of the attendance slips; and loves to dance. She is quite an actress too, having two plays to her credit. She’s not very tall, but who doesn't love her. Jennie draws too, which means that she’ll probably go to the School of Design, after leaving Colt High. It's worth a mililon dollars to hear her say: “Glory Be!” in her own inimitable way. ANTHONY PERRY A flashy run—a clever pass—a brilliant catch—you've seen “Baker” do them all! These athletes—how do they do all these things? He hasn't decided what he wants to study next year, but he has told us that he is very much interested in Holy Cross. YVe hope that he will go there and that he will really like it. ANTONETTE JEANNE POLI One of the sweetest little girls of the class who just reminds one of a lovely, dimpled doll, with her rosy cheeks and laughing eyes. “Ant” will do almost the impossible to help out friend and if you thank her, she blushes—something quite unusual in these days. She is a good friend to all and joins each morning the “Chattering Stenogs who discuss loudly the dance of the night before. Antonette intends to follow a business career. Good luck, “Toots.” ANGELINA RANALLI We’ve been nursing a grudge against Angy. She made us cry right out in public when she read that poem about Armistice Day. Yes, Angy certainly can deliver a dramatic selection beautifully, and did you know that she writes love-stories? Well, she’s going to devote herself and her talents to the care of the ill and ailing. We know she’ll make a good nurse. .J, 4MM9.W 38 THE GREEN AND WHITE MARGUERITE RISCHE Allow us to present the one remaining member of the “Chattering Stenogs,” Marguerite Rische, the girl w'ho keeps us all amused with her funny jokes and stories. Marguerite has rather an unassuming manner but her cheerful disposition makes her a mighty desirable friend. While in high school Marguerite has attended all school functions and school dances. In the near future. Marguerite will brighten some office, as an efficient stenographer and we sure wish her luck. ELIZABETH ROUNDS Here is another shy, diminutive Signorina—Elizabeth Rounds. Although of a retiring disposition, Elizabeth has made many lasting friends during her high school days. Her chief interest is in elocution. Will you ever forget the way she delivered “Sis Hopkins? All Elizabeth’s report cards show good standing in all her subjects. Elizabeth wants to be some one’s stenog, and she sure will be a success. SADIE GRACE RUSSO Here is a very diminutive Mademoiselle of our class. She may be small of statue but she sure has pep. Did you ever attend any of the school games where Sadie was missing? No, she was always there, doing more than her share of the cheering. Besides being an ardent fan of all school sports, Sadie loves dancing. The regular morning session of the Chattering Stenogs’’ would be a failure if it w'ere not for Sadie. In spite of her love of fun. Sadie is a very good student and is a member of the Rhode Island Honor Society. Next year, she will attend some business college. LYDIA RYONE Whisper! Whisper! Miss Ryone! Must I speak to you again! Yes, it’s Lydia, up to her old tricks. But we all certainly do like her. She certainly lightens the atmosphere in a class room—one in particular! She’s undecided about going in training next year— or maybe she’ll go to college. We hope she’ll make up her mind soon—and tell us of her decision. It interests all of us. THE GREEN AND WHITE 39 WILLIAM SIMMEL Perhaps you have heard that rule for story telling and writing —about keeping the listener and reader in suspense? Well, Bill certainly follows that rule to the letter! We think he ought to cash in on that ability. But he tells us that he hasn't decided what he wants to do next year. Well, at least, we’ve offered a suggestion! MARY SULLIVAN Mary is interested in drawing, dancing (ballroom), dramatics— and other things. But she tells us she hasn't decided as yet on what she would like to do. We know that she will go far so we hope she chooses her vocation soon. Mary is Shirley’s devoted friend. We see them talking together a lot—and did we almost forget to mention Mary’s giggle. Allow us to tell you—it’s famous. MICHAEL ANTHONY TAMBURRO “Mike” If you hear two people arguing, one of them is hound to be Mike. He always knows what he’s talking about too. Don’t ever talk about Prohibition to Mike, as he knows all the ins and outs of it. He’s a good interviewer too, and can write splendid themes about the sea, flying, etc. He goes everywhere and knows everybody, does Mike. JOSEPH TEXEIRA “Tex” Presenting our own Primero. Doesn’t he look just like him? He’s an actor, too, a “big bad man” in our new play. A great dancer, plays basket ball and foot ball. I don’t suppose he’s ever missed a school dance, and you ought to see him do that special step of his. He’s a good sport, too. and he prefers blondes. He has a great habit of taking over the telephone for over a half-hour. 40 THE GREEN AND WHITE FREDERICK WILLIAM VERA Come, boys and girls, give this boy a hand! The boy who after seeing the world, came back and made good. Here is a young man of talent; he draws, sings, dances, acts, paints, converses intelligently on all subjects, and wirtes good poetry. He would make a wonderful salesman but is inspired to do something bigger and better. He is without doubt the most popular boy in the school. Frederick is president of the Student Council Because of his wonderful talent for drawing, we hope that he will follow up that work, and in future years we shall hear of him as a famous artist. WILLIAM WEST And here is another of our star athletes! What will Colt do without them in the years to come? And we’ve seen Bill perform on the stage, too! He specializes in darky parts. He tells us he’s going to the Moses Browm School in Providence next year. We expect we’ll be reading lots about him in the paper. We'll all be interested. HERRMANN WILBUR This is the boy responsible for the sweet music flowing from that saxophone in the school orchestra. And, also, we’ve watched hint perform most admirably upon the stage. But with all that, he still wants to be a chemist—or is it a chemical engineer? We hope he'll like both organic chemistry and Brown. Rhode Island Honor Society. Brown University. rHE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF The Rotary Club COMPLIMENTS OF The Town Council THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF COMPLIMENTS OF Franklin Street Garage Elmer S. Mapes Richard J. Simmons and Louis A. Beauregard. First National Stores, Inc. F. Reginald Dimond 541 HOPE STREET INVESTMENTS AND Grocery Manager—J. Almeida. Meat Manager—John Pacheo. SECURITIES COMPLIMENTS OF Warren and Bristol McClellan’s Laundry “Promoters of Cleanliness 5c to a $1.00 Store Phone Warren 423-M and 423-R. Joyce Street Warren. R. I. COMPLIMENTS OF COMPLIMENTS OF John D. Peck Grain Co. CALLAN Warren and Bristol CONSTRUCTION COMPANY THE (iREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS H. H. LAWSON CO. Buick and Chevrolet Sales and Service Corner Hope and Washington Sts., Bristol, R. I. Phone 75. H. H. Lawson, Manager and Treasurer. Sales: John G. DesLauriers, Jos. E. DesLauriers, J. J. Marshall. GEORGE T. INGRAM Moving and Trucking—Local and Long Distance 972 HOPE STREET TELEPHONE 489 COMPLIMENTS OF Samuel kinder J3R0. MANUFACTURED ICE NATURAL ICE Protect your health with Ice as pure as the water you drink. N. J. H. W. VERMETTE “Service with a Smile.” Plant: 412 Thames St., Bristol, R. I. Telephone 145. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS Joseph S. Raposa Modern School of Music. 539 Hope Street Room 3 COMPLIMENTS OF ; Harry Young, Jr. Done by Young” ' Domenic D’Ambrosia “Old Reliable Barber Shop” 559 Hope St., Mt. Hope Block. The Style Center Dresses for All Occasions. Corner Main and Church Sts. Warren, R. I. . COMPLIMENTS OF Mike Jamiel 45 State St. J. J. Newberry Co. 5c, 10c, and 25c STORE Main Street Warren, R. I. B. Philip HARDWARE 36 Market St. Warren. R. I Bristol Cleansing Dyeing 495 Hope St. Tel. 530. COMPLIMENTS OF Shepard’s Fish Market First National Stores, Inc. 327 Hope St. ; COMPLIMENTS OF Frank A. Rounds COMPLIMENTS OF ■ Dr. H. W. Church « COMPLIMENTS OF Henry M. Darling 444 Hope St. | COMPLIMENTS OF • •1 ' Est. George T. Sisson TEFFT BUSINESS INSTITUTE PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND Executive --- Administrative --- Secretarial Training for Business High School Graduates Only. Catalogue Available. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF Collins Aikman Corp. Gifts For Any Occasion— . Electrical Gift expresses individuality and gives lasting- pleasure. You can be sure that it will convey your good wishes to an appreciative friend. An appropriate selection from the many suggestions displayed will take but a moment of your time, if you visit one of our Electric Shops. The Narraqanscit Electric Company PART OF NEW ENGLAND POWER ASSOCIATION Qcis and Electric Shops — Bristol and Warren FOR CANDY Cynthia Sweets L. Tortorice Apollo and Mary Lincoln Plumbing and Heating Contractor Also (iibson’s Greeting Cards Lynn Oil Burners Athletic Goods 24 State St. Bristol, R. I. J. F. Duffy’s Confectionery Phone 147-R and Card Store COMPLIMENTS OF A. A. Edmonds Co. Real Estate Insurance THE PASTIME Mortgages THEATRE Fidelity and Surety Bonds Tel. 1.39. 471 Hope St. Hope Drug Co. COMPLIMENTS OF “THE REXALL STORE” Dixon W. V. BARNES. Prop. Lubricating Saddle Co. 420 Hope St. Bristol. R. I. REAL ESTATE COMPLIMENTS OF Capt. Paul A. Herzig Insurance, Mortgages, Loans. Home Planning and Building. COMPLIMENTS OF Fabio DeCristofaro Priscilla Beauty Shop 325 Hope Street Bristol, R. I. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS 1900 ----------- Graduation Suggestions 1931 Lamson Hubbard and Mallory Straw Hats, Walk-Over Shoes, Hickok Belts, White Flannel Trousers, Ladies’ Gordon V-Line Hosiery, Silk Underwear. Agent for Wright Ditson Athletic Goods. FRED E. SUZMAN HOPE STREET BRISTOL, R. I. B. W. WALL INSURANCE 539 HOPE STREET PHONE 421 COMPLIMENTS OF SETH PAULL COMPANY COAL AND LUMBER BORGES MOTOR SALES INC Ford Sales and Service. Come in and see the New Coupe. 815 HOPE STREET TELEPHONE 899 THE (i R E E N AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS : COMPLIMENTS OF John W. Church Dr. M. B. Grossman DENTAL SURGEON 5.39 Hope St. Bristol. R. I. COMPLIMENTS OF James T. Pierce COMPLIMENTS OF • Amos S. Gorham ; COMPLIMENTS OF Hamill’s Dry Goods Store Cote’s Shops OFFICE SUPPLIES 27 State St. 302 Hope St. • Emily Maisano Candy, Tobacco, Pastry • 5134 Wood St. Tel. 20205 ■ C. S. Sawyer Co. 55 State St. Bristol, R. I. Visit Our Wall Paper Dept. Represented by Walter T. Remieres. i j■ COMPLIMENTS OF James F. Meiggs COMPLIMENTS OF j AnJhony J. Bruno J. M. Arruda Vufconizing Tires, Battery Charging Lovvn Mowers and Saws Sharpened. All work guaranteed. 4 Shaw's Lane. Tel. 140. Bristol, R. I. COMPLIMENTS OF i Dubuc’s Garage 329 High St. i COMPLIMENTS OF Lillian T. Wilson Jennie Ferrara Children’s Variety Store 101 Bradford St. ; ' COMPLIMENTS OF J. Floyd Huestis MACHINIST ' 1 Tony Rucci Tailor and Gents’ Furnishings Cleaning Dyeing, Pressing Repairing 98 State St. Tel. 894-W. ! ’ COMPLIMENTS OF The Waldron Co. COMPLIMENTS OF ! Buffington’s Pharmacy VERY SPECIAL Ladies’ Full Fashion Hose at $1.00 Dimond’s Corner Socony Service Station Corner Hope and Thames Sts. GAS, OIL, GREASES J. H. Erickson, Prop. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COM PLIM ENTS OF E. A. SKINNER INSURANCE 259 HOPE STREET. BRISTOL. R. I. PHONE 123. Euclid W. Vermette. Tel. 489. Albert J. Vermettc. Tel. 474-W. VERMETTE BROS. AUTO SALES General Repairing on All Cars We specialize in Automotive Electrical Work, servicing all electrical units. 972 HOPE STREET COMPLIMENTS OF COMMUNITY WATER SERVICE CO. Operating Bristol, Warren Barrington Water Works. COMPLIMENTS OF H. P. HOOD SONS ICE CREAM THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS W. H. GARDNER SONS PHOTO ENGRAVERS PRINTING PLATES FOR ALL PURPOSES 63 WASHINGTON STREET PROVIDENCE, R. I. rz mt-Stratton College of Business Administration Founded 11163 Providence, It. I. (A Business and Student Center) First college of business administration in America,chartered by u Stale to confer bachelor degrees for two-year courses in Business Administration-Accountancy, Economics, Finance, Executive-Secretarial, Teacher - 'l'rai n i ng. Co-ed. Social Activities, Athletics, Dormitory accommodations. Expert Placement Service. Over 1200 calls a year from leading business men. Graduates earn preferred positions. COLT FARM Grade A Raw Jersey Milk. Herd Federal Tested. Pop-asquash Tel. 61-W or 192 H. DeW. Allen. Supt. Dr. M. B. Grossman DENTAL SURGEON 539 HOPE STREET 68th Yearbook on requeat AddrrMit Director of AdmiNHions Bryant - Stratton College Providence, R. I. M. C. Cabral GROCERY AND MARKET 93 BAY VIEW AVE. Winthrop—Atkins PICTURES DEVELOPED AND PRINTED Bus. Phone 465. Res. Phone 705 DuPont’s Garage Gas, Oils, Greasing, Accessories Hope St., Bristol, R. I. Service is Our Motto. J. Silva Favorite Wet Wash Laundry HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE A trial will convince you. 53 Bradford St. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS Quality Above All” HERFF-JONES COMPANY DESIGNERS AND MANUFACTURERS High School and College Jewelry and Commencement Invitations. OFFICIAL JEWELERS TO C. M. H. S. CLASS OF 1931 CLASS OF 1932 CLASS OF 1933 THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS ■r-.r.r. r r -r r : COMPLIMENTS OF D. G. Coggeshall J. F. Xavier ; Grocery and Provisions Confectionery, etc. Tel. 111. 546 Wood Street Hope Street Circulating Library JOHN T. ASHTON COMPLIMENTS OF ! Constitution St. Garage Carlo Perry, Prop. ' ' COMPLIMENTS OF Moren Shoe Store Warren, R. I. A. L. Johnston Cor. Hope and Court Sts. J HARDWARE PAINT DEVOE PAINT • H. J. MacDougall Wall Paper and Paint Store r Warren, R. I. |' COMPLIMENTS OF ' ] Medeiros Bernard 96 High St. Cor. Wood Franklin. ‘ ! The Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Co. ! 295 Hope St., Rristol, R. T. COMPLIMENTS OF ■ . General Wood Work Co. RUDOLF BASSING | COMPLIMENTS OF Sodini and Guisti BAKERY Edward D. Kunz JEWELER Gifts for All Occasions. ]| Moren and Sullivan BOTTLERS , 300 Thames St.. Bristol, R. I. Nastri Bros. Fruit, Groceries and Ice Cream. 290 Wood St. Bristol. R. I. ; ; COMPLIMENTS OF William T. O’Donnell COMPLIMENTS OF ! Antonio’s Barber Shop 260 Wood St. Bristol. R. I. ; George W. McGann Plumbing and Heating 278 Hope St. : Frank Goff CORNER GROCERY 212 Wood St. i ’ C. A. Garvin Ashes and Rubbish Removed. Prices reasonable. 02 Burton St. J. P. Krevlin Optometrist and Jeweler 445 Main St. Warren, R. 1. Eye examination a specialty. ] THE (JREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENT COMPLIMENTS OF BRISTOL-COLT HIGH ALUMNI ASSOCIATION COMPLIMENTS OF DR. JOHN R. BERNARDO COMPLIMENTS OF COMPLIMENTS OF Manuel Serpa Ferrycliffe Farm District Agent for MILK AND CREAM The Providence Journal and From Pure Bred Jerseys. Tested and under State and The Evening Bulletin. Federal Supervision. COMPLIMENTS OF A FRIEND THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF COMPLIMENTS OF ; The Mt. Hope Diner Buffington’s Pharmacy ; “A Good Place to EAT” COMPLIMENTS OF C. J. Sartini Jennie Ferrara QUALITY FOOTWEAR Children’s Variety Store 346 Wood St. 101 Bradford St. ; Tony Rucci A. Eisenstadt • Tailor and Gents’ Furnishings WEARING APPAREL Cleaning, Dyeing, Pressing, Repairing ; 98 State St. Tel. 894-W. Bristol, R. I. ■ : Newman Bros. Frank’s Fish Chip Shop “Bristol’s Leading Food Store” Spaghetti and Meat Ball Place . Hot Dogs Saturday and Sunday. . 133 Bradford St. COMPLIMENTS OF ; COMPLIMENTS OF Ward well Lumber Co. Lillian T. Wilson COMPLIMENTS OF ; COMPLIMENTS OF J. Floyd Huestis William H. Bell, Inc. MACHINIST : Furniture, Carpets and Crockery , McDermott’s Warren Diner ' COMPLIMENTS OF MAIN STREET, WARREN : White Tonsorial Parlors COMPLIMENTS OF COMPLIMENTS OF Priscilla Beauty Shop F. W. Woolworth Co. WARREN. R. I. First National Stores, Inc. Talbot Hopkins 364 Wood St. ; ELECTRICAL CONTRACTORS S. Wvrostek, Manager. 557 Hope St. : Mazza Shoe Repairing Shop W. H. Remieres Also Gas and Filling Station PAINT 335 High St. : « Til n (i R E E N AND WHITE ADVERT ISEMEN T S Best Regards to the Class of 1931 CHARLES EDWARD DOWD COMPLIMENTS OF George M. Wilbur COMPLIMENTS OF Kelley Ice Cream Co., Inc. Ice Cream and Sherbets. and Sons 103-105 Dike Street Providence, R. I. Beilin Wood COMMERCIAL PHOTOGRAPHERS -r i r- .Katharine Gibbs Tel. West 3004 Established 1915 I Secretarial Executive Academic Two-Year Course—first year, six college subjects; second year, intensive secretarial training. One-year course of broad business | training. Special Course for College Women. Developing, Printing and Enlarging ] Separate schedule, special instructors. New York—247 Park Ave for articular People. Boston—90 Marlborough St. Providence—155 Angell St. 1850 Westminster St. Providence. R. I. Resident schools in New York and Boston. RAYMOND A. HOFFMAN’S SUCCESSFUL OPERETTAS “Jerry of Jericho Road” ... Clarks “The Belle of Bagdad” Morgan and Johnson. “Bitter Sweet Anne” ....... Clarks “The Saucy Hollandaise” Paul Bliss ! “Oh, Doctor!” ............. Clarks A Hoffman Operetta insures a successful entertainment. The Raymond A. Hoffman Company Music Publishers 509 South Wabash Ave., Chicago. 111. COMPLIMENTS OF Capone’s Music Store The Only All Music Store in town. AUTOGRAPH