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

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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 The time she was thrown for her horse?—No, that was her own private affair and not for publication—too embarrassing.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.”

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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.

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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-