Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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The Senior Year Book— 1933 bringing up the rear. Since they appeared to be headed for some important destination, we followed them, and under their leadership, reached a massive book stand, behind which was Jean Hirst selling the volumes as fast as they came in. A huge sign imparted the knowledge that it was a new form of poetry called meterless harmony, which had been devised by Rebecca Dinwoodie, another of our classmates. We could easily understand this because of Becky’s ability to write such beautiful lyrics in our High School days. Although we had been here only a few hours, we were eager to journey on. Consequently Tommy was hailed, D lever pressed, and this time we really did go down. As we approached a section very close to sea level, it seemed as though we were going right into the water. Upon our approach, however, a rock arose from the deep and opened to receive us. We continued falling for miles until we reached Japan, a close neighbor to the China of our ancient fairy tales. First we approached a cherry orchard in full bloom. In one corner of this floral panorama, an artist was busily engaged in sketching a beautiful model. Imagine our excitement upon finding the painter to be Ruth Leon doing an entrancing portrait of Betty Cheever, who had still retained the charm of her youth and was indeed a worthy subject for an artist’s brush. Farther down the path we came upon a lovely rippling lake, across which was the Gratis Ferry, operated by a solitary boatsman, George MacLean, who had retired from a worrisome financial career to enjoy a less responsible and more pleasant existence. When we reached the opposite side, we were approached by two Japanesy ladies selling umbrellas. In spite of their different surroundings and makeup, we recognized the girls to be our old friends, Jean Thomson and Edith Cruickshank. The only thing really foreign about the country was the costume, for all the signboards and much of the conversation about us were purely Americanized. We had been too busily engaged to think of eating, but now our material natures demanded food. Thus we stopped at the nearest restaurant called the “Erl King.” The interior was a marvelous array of gold and ivory, with pure marble floors, the chairs all arranged in the form of a huge arena surrounding a raised platform. This was indeed a modern dining hall, for the newest mode of ordering had been installed; that is, when we sat down at the table we raised the receiver of the talki-phone, gave the order, and relaxed while waiting. In an incredibly short time our waiter appeared, balancing two large trays on his outstretched hands. At first we did not recognize him, but we soon awoke to the fact that our nectar and ambrosia were being served by none other than Charles Crandall. His dignified mien quite befitted the luxurious surroundings. We had almost finished our meal when our attention was attracted to a gentleman (presumably the proprietor of the place) addressing the customers. During his speech we realized that we were being harangued by that renowned member of our class, Earl Larkin. He informed us that as a special feature he had brought down a show straight from Wideway, Kalamazoo, which w’as now the center of all dramatic entertainment. With a graceful flourish of his right hand, Mr. Larkin introduced: “Eddy Edmund’s Dashities of 1958.” A large chorus, led by Peggy Smith, did an enchanting ballet number. The dancers included several more of our former acquaintances, namely, Pauline LaMarche, Lola Matarese, Ruth Taillon, Sally Larkin, and Ruth Durfee. They all pirouetted in perfect grace and rhythm, and with absolute confidence in their ability, which far excelled the famed Albertina Rasch dancers of our high school days. The next on the program was the presentation of the Harmony Three from Gay Paree,” three stunning blondes, whose voices surely did blend in perfect harmony. Once again we were miraculously confronted by more of our classmates, for this fine trio was composed of Bessie Taylor, Beatrice Lowry, and Eleanor Hoxsie. As a final number, Eddy Edmund came out and did a spirited song and dance in person. We left in search of a place to sleep, but finding no quarters near at hand, de- -417

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Thf. Senior Year Book— 193.1 en apples were being thrown, with the understanding that the object of attack must forfeit his entire pay if he spoke a single word. It was utterly astonishing to discover Frank Cappuccio as the target, and Frank DeBartolo picking up the apples as fast as they were thrown, and selling them over again. Could it be possible that the friends had become estranged during the lapse of years? In another section of the fair grounds was an exhibition by the world-renowned scientists, Deutsch and Sawyer, their display being a Martian, whom they had recently brought down with them from our neighboring planet. As he did not exactly appeal to our aesthetic sense, we quickly left in search of a more pleasing sight. A small part of the grounds was given over to the demonstration of live stock and we were especially interested in two competitors, directly opposite each other, who seemd to be vying for honors. Their exhibits were lined up identically and each time the woman moved her animals, the man moved his, too. This was indeed a bitter contest and, wishing to view it at a closer angle, we moved nearer the scene. The shock was too much for us though, when we found the two rivals to be Muriel Harwick and Roger Harrington. It is quite the vogue at present to be proficient in languages. Indeed to be really educated, one must feel at home in at least ten tongues. Therefore, we were not astonished to find a booth labeled “Learn the French Language in One Easy Lesson—Ten Minutes.” Out of curiosity, we entered and found a class in session, but a surprise, indeed delightful, was due us, when the French instructor proved to be our own little French wizard, Cecile Cayer. Directly opposite this booth of learning was one identical in form, but given oyer to the instruction of Italian. With high hopes for more pleasant surprises, we went in and were amply rewarded, for Frank Celestino was imparting much of his knowledge of the Italian language to eager listeners. Kathleen and I then entered a neighboring television booth, which was operated by Asa Brown. Through this de- vice we located Tommy Horse and radioed for him to be sent to us on a beam of helium, a process which had recently been contrived by Prof. Domenic Chimento. In less time than we could bat an eyelash, Tommy Horse was again with us. Upon our exit from the fair grounds we chanced to see in the distance a huge stationary comet and sitting upon it, Rosa Brusa, the world’s champion comet sitter. This time we pressed the C button and proceeded downward; then, after having dropped a few thousand feet, Tommy Horse continued in a course parallel to the earth. The air began to get much warmer and gentle breezes stirred the humid atmosphere. A broad expanse of water sparkled beneath us, and large shady trees bordered a beautiful land. We did not need any sign to inform us that this was Cuba, island of warmth and peace. We stopped in the midst of what seemed to be a terrific argument between two Cuban women and one man, who were wrangling about the price of the man’s wares. He appeared to be selling hardware at a price so exorbitant that the women objected. On their turning around to confer together, we were delighted to discover two more of our former classmates, Eleanor Fusaro and Ethel Smith. Both were attired in native costume, and fitted charmingly into the tropical atmosphere. In an artistically arranged outdoor theatre we encountered Marguerite Cham-plin and Mary Desimone gracefully presenting a native dance of the nymphs. A short distance in tho background were Vincent Turco and Patsy Sposato strumming their Hawaiian guitars, to which melodious appeal the dancers responded readily. Suddenly we were crudely pushed out of the way by a strong arm. and a rough masculine voice not very gently told us to clear the road. As we looked up to determine whom the orders came from, we saw nothing, but glancing down we recognized our own classmate, George Falcone. loaded with about 250 small books. Directly behind him were Frederick Johns and Wally Lamb, also conveying reading matter. They marched on ahead, Falcone in front, Lamb in the center, and Johns 16 )►•-

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The Senior Year Book—1933 tided to get some information from the nearest policeman. Fortunately he was right on the comer and upon drawing closer, we recognized Matthew Hannuk-sela, a typical husky guardian of the law. He directed us to an inn a few blocks distant, where we signed. The night clerk, Frank Capalbo, gave us the key to our room. He then beckoned to a porter, lounging near the stairs, to get our baggage. More surprises were in order for us when we found said porter to be David Palidino. Early in the morning we were awakened by a deafening tumult outside our window and, upon investigating, found that a building was being erected not more than two feet from our abode. The foreman was raging around the place giving orders in a husky voice and causing more confusion than the workmen. It was not much of a shock to recognize in him Albert Vitte-rito, one of our class’s noisiest. We set out bright and early on Tommy Horse and this time decided to travel E because the time was getting short. We found ourselves going up, up, up, through the center of the earth until we reached good old New York, that Metropolis of the Universe, no matter in what day or age. Tommy Horse was put in storage for a few hours while we traversed the great city. As we walked along, a huge poster caught our eye, announcing a coming prize fight between two of the greatest female pugilists of the century, Bette Clarke and Janet Potter. Boxing had become a serious occupation for women and what sport could be better suited to such athletic enthusiasts? A huge crowd pushed us along to a rostrum where an attractive blonde woman, following the example of the ancient Edna Wallace Hopper, was giving beauty hints and ideas. It did not take long for us to discover that the woman was Elizabeth Lawson, assisted in her work by Alice Levcowich, who handed her lotions and printed matter as she desired them. Across the thoroughfare hung an enormous banner inscribed with the words, “The Inside News of the Day.” Underneath it was written that further details would be furnished upon request by Secretary Dean in the upper office. Always eager for inside information, we entered the building, pressed the button marked office, and almost instantly arrived on the 2500th floor of the building. The secretary of the club, Miss Edna Dean, invited us to look around. First we entered the member room, where, seated at various tasks or else just conversing (one of the requirements for a good member being ability in conversation) were Beatrice Nar-done, Florence Giannoni, Frances Cheren-za, and Helen Lenihan, all familiar to us. The next place we entered was the executive office. Here were the desks of both president and vice president, behind which sat Carmela Vocatura, an able president, and Elsie Panciera, an efficient vice president. Both had always distinguished themselves in the skilfull accomplishment of their duties as distributors of information. Leaving this room, we ascended a flight of stairs which led us to the roof and the open air. A group of interested onlookers was gazing intently at a man who laughed death to scorn as he walked a silver rod extended from the roof of the building we were on to the next structure. He bore a remarkable resemblance to a former school friend of ours, and sure enough we found it to be Ferris Dove, enacting this death-defying stunt. His manager, for whom he had amassed a great fortune by his daring achievements, was standing nonchalantly near the edge of the rod. Although the years had added pounds to this once very slight figure, it was not difficult to discern the features of Stanley Civco. Refreshments were being sold to the spectators by Celeste Jackson. A gentleman standing on the roof beside us was about to drop down in his aero ball and we, having lost all interest in the club, accepted his invitation to accompany him. In the role of advertising agent for a New York theatre, he gave us a pamphlet which announced the personal appearance of Mme. Julia Tamer, one of the greatest actresses since the ancient days of Sarah Bernhardt. As a special feature, her performance was to be attended by several distinguished critics: Louise DePietro, Anna Sposato, and Everett Sherman, all of whom we had known very well in past years. Unfortunately, our time was too -4 i8