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

Page 11 text:

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.

Page 10 text:

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!”

Page 12 text:

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