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

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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-

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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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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.”