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

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

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 13 text:

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