Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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24 TUI. SKMOR V HAH HOOK open at neck, and sweat on his honest brow. Was this a strong silent man ? And next? A scrubwoman. But certainly the floor was clean after Evelyn Bliven had finished her work. Then a political campaign seemed to be in progress. Banners were flying above the head of the speaker who was addressing the vast throng. The eloquent orator was Girard Nardone, who certainly received his practice while at school. Next, when the ripple had cleared, I saw a clipping from a newspaper. It stated that Polly Perkins was about to start on her eighth matrimonial venture. Certainly the first twelve years are the foundation of a person’s life; but what about the next seven? The vision that followed showed broad farming lands. In the midst of this was an honest son of the soil—plowing. He proved to be A1 Gencarelli. The next picture showed me a country store. A travelling salesman was urging the proprietor to purchase his line of latest dresses. This voluble salesman was Frank Acolina. This time it was another newspaper clipping. The title was “To the Lovelorn” and the article was written by Ellen Sunderland. Who was this sober-faced individual to appear next? A religious fanatic—Mario Albamonti. The next scene showed another home. This time it was for orphaned kittens, and the sole owner, supervisor, and patron was Tish Suprika. Then came a group of aesthetic dancers doing a scarf dance. The leader—Heaven help!—was Fifi Celestino. A night club next—and a high time seemed to be in progress. Cocktails were being shaken, lights blazed—well, a night club. A close-up of the owner showed Laura Thompson. The following picture showed a cabin on the top of a mountain. Here lived a hermit alone, away from all mankind. His hair was long and matted, and he had a long dirty red beard. It was Rube Deutsch. Another contest this time! It appeared to be a non-stop talking test. As I watched, the winner was .crowned. It was none other than Ruth Crandall. She, too, must have received plenty of practice while in school. Spring, glorious spring in the following scene! Flowers blooming, bees booming, butterflies flitting from flower to flower! And after the butterflies, leaping hither and yon with a net—Jimmy Federico! A shop window then, and Gertrude Melbourne wras demonstrating to an admiring crowd the Tower Reducing Machine. The water in the bowl began to turn and swish. Through it I discerned a strange thing. I thought it was another creation but

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t:2k skmor year book 23 “Non-Breakable, Clean-All Toothpick. Invented, discovered, and patented by Quent Tucker.” A funeral was in progress. And I saw some of the paid mourners. One girl seemed to be crying quite as heartily as she had laughed in the Senior Play—Minnie Felicetti. The referee had just raised the hand of one of the contestants in a prize fight. The figure on the floor was Nelson Thorp. Then Williard Cook come out of a two-wheeled caravan with a small box of trained fleas to be exhibited. Next a paperhanger. A good job if you can control the paste. This paperhanger apparently could. Albert Green always had deft fingers. Who was that man standing beneath the balcony of a fair maiden? He was strumming a guitar—and was Henry Turissi. Another eloquent speaker appeared. But the sign above her showed she was a “Red.” I never should have thought Madge Ledwidge would have become a Communist. A road was being repaired and I noticed one worker who seemed to be digging much more industriously than others—it was Wenonah Smith. Our class had produced a respectable number of workers, it appeared. Howard—that esteemed institution of protection. The matron (Mary Farago, if you please) was supervising the disposal of a raving maniac. The door of a padded cell gaped wide. At last, however, Dougie Barber was safe. Tra, la, la. An opera singer! Wonderful! The applause was prolonged. The singer was Frances Parker. A radio announcer next! By the movement of his mouth, he seemed at no loss for words. Fred DePietro, in his chosen profession ! Who was that pianist? A second Vincent Lopez it seemed—no less than Tommy Wright. Early morning! Sun just peeping over the hills—and the milkman whistling at his work—pardon, her work. This is another place where women are displacing men, evidently. Eleanor Ruisi was the vendor. The Flo Ziegfeld Follies! A rehearsal was evidently in progress. The bowl showed me one girl—Heavens!—Gertrude Solomon. Another institution of protection! This time it was a home for aged men—and some weren’t so aged either. The matron in charge was Ruth Saunders. I recalled her aversion for men in our high school days. A spotlight played over a stage! Into its brilliance, a figure glided and proceeded to execute a snake dance. The dancer was Ella Bohning. The ripple again! This time it was the melting pot of a steel factory. Elisha Peckham stood with long iron bar in hand, shirt

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Till: SKMOK YKAR HOOK 25 it proved to be a comet. Then I saw Roland Albamonti looking through a telescope. He had discovered it—the Roly Comet. Suddenly everything stopped—the water was still. Try as I might I couldn’t make it reveal more—its power seemed to be exhausted. I sat back in my chair for a moment, thinking; then I got up to put the bowd away. As I moved toward the cupboard, I felt the bowl slipping from my fingers. I closed my eyes and heard it crash on the floor. When I dared look again, the grey bowl lay shattered in a thousand pieces and the pink water was slowly ruining my best Indian rug. —Ella W. Astill. Clans Song (Tune—Stein Song) High School days are over now. Four years we’ve spent together; Years of joy and friendships so true Will ever fill our memories! In broader fields, our journey lies, We’re entering life’s school; May success crown all our efforts— Let’s all obey the Golden Rule. CHORUS: Here’s to you, Westerly. We will always be loyal and true to you! To the blue! To the white! We will always be ready to fight for you! Here’s to you, boys and girls, and to those who have guided us through the strife! To success, when it comes! And we hope it will enter each life t And now it’s time to say good-bye. All eyes are on the goal, And though tomorrow bring rain or shine There’s loyalty within each soul. To thee we owe whate’er may come Of fame in future days! May God’s blessing linger ’round thee, Oh, High School of our hearts always! —By Beverly B. CrandalL