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

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 from the Budda, and floe the next morning on a boat going to the United States. Harry promised the Priest that he would take care of him in America. They entered the temple on the appointed time, prostrated themselves on the floor in front of the Budda. as if in worship, before the Holy Altar, and mumbled prayers. As it was the custom for Priest to come and worship at all times during the night, the guard did not think this performance unusual. Suddenly, the Priest and Harry sprang to their feet, seized the guard, gagged him. and doped him. The Priest then approached the ruby which seemed to glow at him. as a large eye of fire would. The Priest took hold of the ruby, and without warning, and with a terrible cry he dropped dead at the foot of the Budda. Hary drew back with horror, and fled from the temple, and was never heard of again. He had learned his lesson for being greedy. The mystery of the ruby has never been solved. It remains to this day in its place in the forehead of the Budda. ELIZABETH ROUNDS, ’31. “Advertisers Make This Book Possible” PROCRASTINATION—THE THIEF OF TIME It is a well known fact that there are sixty seconds in a minute and sixty minutes in an hour and every second, minute and hour is essential to make a day, a week or a year. Surely students in high school have learned this scale of time; yet why do so many high school students fail at college? There are many thousands of students attending medical schools in this country, but more than twenty per cent fail to graduate. Yes, even high school honor students fail Is it that they are not intelligent enough? No! Nine-tenth of the high school students of today are still tied to their mother's apron-strings” and do not know the value of time. Many haven’t even any initiative about them. Almost all high school students who have to leave home to attend college have not yet learned the art of utlizing their spare time. I say “art for it is art if one has acauired a schedule for one’s spare time. It would be an “art of Utopianism” to make one schedule suitable for everyone; this is where Procrastination plays the leading role. The upper classmen play “Big Brother” to the new comers and make a schedule of their days, making sure thev have the proper diversion from study. The new comers become too proud and let things “slide.” The new comers are soon indulging in the three Ds—namely: Dates, Dancing and Drinking, when they should be studying. They fail—and Procrastination continues deluding joy. HILTON LEVY Advertisers l»ke Tills Bonk Possible” Editor’s note: “It’s rumored that John Elynn. fr., is to succeed Mr. Fitzgerald as football coach.” THE GOLDEN THREADS OF LIGHT In a little sheltered valley in Switzerland stood a little clay hut. The valley was a gay vet a tragic looking spot, dotted here and there with sheep and cattle. On one side a gleaming little brook ran and bubbled over the mossy rocks, and the branches of the trees swayed lazily with the breeze while the mellow rays of the sun danced through it all. Here was a bit of paradise in a little valley. As the traveler Stood on the summit of the hill, a strange sensation awoke in him. This place, this little bit of paradise seemed to him as if he had seen it somewhere before. But he could not remember. It seemed long ago, yet he was not an old man. He rode down into the valley and each step became more and more familiar. A strange thing about this traveler was that he could not remember what happened on the days that passed. He didn’t even know who he was. But someone, somewhere had pinned a medal on him which meant nothing because he didn’t know what it was for. Day after day he had been riding through this land of beautiful snow covered mountains and silvery lakes; night after night he had slept under the stars because he had nowhere to go; yet, if anyone asked him where he was going he would reply that he would reach ther«' tomorrow. Tomorrow came and went and still he had not reached his destination. Today he felt that the real tomorrow was at hand. As he neared the hut, he could see the shining curls of a girl about eight years old. She was watching him with a strange look in her eves, and he stared back in that same way. That hair and those eyes, that face: where, oh where had he seen them? Was it? No, yet he could not remember. He got off his horse and walked up to her. She had risen and was making for the door when he said. “Child, please don’t run away from me; I’d like some water; I have come a long way and would rest awhile.” She turned shyly and looked steadih- at him to see if he were telling the truth. Then she said, “Well. then, you must come in and ask my mother.” At this she turned and entered the house. He pulled the reins front his horse, let him graze and began to follow her How that face haunted him. He knew he had seen it somewhere before. Mechanically he wlaked into the hut. and the sight that met his eyes opened a new world to him. A world of doubt, misfortune and hope was slowlv turning into happiness like the pot of gold found at the end of the Rainbow. The hut was furnished crudely but comfortably. Braided rugs covered the floors and things were clean and neat. The scent of fresh cut flowers filled the room. At the further etid of this room stood a woman, beautiful beyond compare and yet her face showed traces of burning tears. The morning sun set her aglow as its rays danced through the golden curls. He saw her now as he had seen her before. The light that gave him hope during his long nights of agony and pain. The nights that he was trying to remember was all in her hair. She looked upon him too as he stood at the door. Could it be? No, he was dead, and died bravely; hadn’t they told her so? Wasn't be among the men who never come back? Yet he

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6 THE GREEN AND WHITE rode into the midst of the Arab army, cutting down, what seenid to the French, to be their own men . Fighting like madmen, the Red Masked Devils fought their last fight. They slashed right and left with their swords, getting deeper and deeper into the Arab army until at last they were surrounded and being attacked instead of attacking. The Arabs closed in on the little circle cutting them down as fast as they could. Their end was inevitable, but they were determined to take a good many of the enemy with them. While this was going on the soldiers in the fort were not idle. When they saw that they were getting some help they were not so down-hearted and were ready to fight as they never fought before. As the Arabs were bunched up together, it was easier for them to be destroyed. Hand grenades were issued and everyone thrown was well aimed and caused death and destruction. The destruction done by the grenades and machine guns was too much for the Arabs, so as soon as they had cut down the last masked rider, they retreated. As the sun began to set a troop of cavalry arrived. Half continued in pursuit of the Arabs and the others stayed at the fort. The dead bodies of the masked riders were brought into the fort. Their leader, the last one to be brought in, was found to be unconscious but still alive. They laid him in the barracks to try to bring him to. With the exception of the guards, all the men crowded into the barracks to see who the leader of the band of masked riders was. Everyone stopped talking and not a sound was hedrd as the Major in command of the fort, and the Captain in command of the cavalry, walked over to unmask the man. The mask was lifted from the man’s face, and his head was raised onto the Major’s breast. It was quite dark and his face could not be seen, so a light was brought. Exclamations of surprise were uttered by the men as they recognized the man. It was Sergeant William Grayson of the Penal Battalion. The man opened his eyes and told this story: There were two hundred of us in the Penal Battalion at the prison and only thirty soldiers to guard us. Having worked there a month, we decided that the hot sun was too much for us and we planned a mutiny. One day a guard came quite close to me and I hit him on the leg with a sledge hammer. He went down with a cry of pain and as he did I hit him in the jam and grabbed his gun. This was a signal for the others to mutiny and a fight ensued. A band of Arabs happened to come along at that moment and joined in the fight and helped us. All the soldiers were killed and fifty of our men. The Arabs had two men wounded so that is why they left no trace to show that they had helped in the fight. We were taken to the Sheik and we promised to help him in an uprising he was to start in about a year. He gave us the clothes and horses and was pleased with our idea of raiding towns. In this uprising we had planned to act as his cavalry and I had it all planned out with my men to help you. This is what we got out of it, but we died loyal. That is all I can sav. Vive la France 1 ALBERT METCALF, '32. “Advertisers Make This Hook Possible” THE ENCHANTED IDOL In the temple of a high priest of Japan stands a tall statue. It is the figure of a Japanese Budda. In the forehead of this idol is an enormous red ruby. This ruby is worth thousands of dollars. The idol itself is made of bronze. It was rumored that this ruby was enchanted, and anyone touching it met with disaster of some kind, either death of bad luck. The Budda is guarded night and day by a large band of Priests. These Priests keep up a steady chant all the day and all the night. One day an American mililonaire, by the name of Harry Grenfield, a collector of precious stones, and old relics, came to this temple. He discovered this ruby almost the moment he entered the temple. The ruby fascinated him, and it aroused in him a feeling somewhat akin to greed. Regardless of the warning given him by a Priest who stood near the Budda, he moved slowly toward, as if drawn there by some enchantment. Suddenly Grenfield reached out his hand to touch the ruby. Immediately the air was filled with horrible sounds and shrieks, and a veil or mist seemed to float over the Budda, and hide it from his eyes. Harry drew back in astonishment, and rubbed his eyes as if to clear them from a mist of film that seemed to cover them. When he looked again the Budda. and ruby were in plain sight, and the Priests continued their chanting. Harry reached out his hand again, and again the air was rent by shrieks, and the mist floated over the Budda. He did this several times, and each time the same thing happened. and when he would look again the Budda would be in plain sight. Harry left the temple, but he was determined to get this ruby by fair means or foul. He visited the temple several times trying to buy the ruby, but he met with no success. Finally he decided to disguise himself as a Japanese Priest and enter the temple, and secure the Budda himself. At the temple he became acquainted with a Priest who was discontented with his position, and who had been ill treated by the other men. Harry told this Priest who he was and also told him that he wished to secure the ruby. He told the Priest that he could not understand it, but that every time he went near the Budda a mist seemed to float before his eyes, and hide the idol from his sight. The Priest told him that there was nothing mysterious about this, but that the Priest who sood guard over the Budda. pressed his foot down on a lever, thus making a veil drop over the Budda, every time anyone went to touch it. He also said that the shrieks were made by a mechanical device. Harry bribed the Priest, and after much discussion the Priest agreed to help Harry to secure the Budda. They planned to go into the temple at midnight the next night, drug the Priest on guard, and remove the ruby

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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!”