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

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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.”

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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

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BASKET BALL TEAM