Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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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

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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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The Senior Year Book—1933 limited to allow us to attend this superperformance. We alighted from the aero ball and proceeded to walk down the street as far as the main office of the “Cosmic News Review,” a paper put out hourly in order to report all the news of the universe. The office was on the ground floor and, on looking in, we perceived in the center of the room a huge desk labeled Editor, behind which was seated a woman, busily engaged in crossing out and rewriting ma-. terial as it was handed her. Whom other could one expect to have followed this vocation than our own editor-in-chief. Mar-celle Hammond? Her role was that of the most popular journalist in America. At two smaller desks in the background, Mary Straup and Annie Sturgeon were faintly discernible, perched in the typical attitude of newspaper reporters. In an open palace farther down the street, a fashion show was being presented by the famous connoisseur of women’s dresses, Theose Smith. The display was just beginning and the first to appear was a beautiful red-headed woman, attired in a robe of pure emerald braid. She was evidently the star model, for the moment she came upon the scene, all voices were hushed and all eyes focused upon her. What an appropriate occupation for our charming little damsel. Sally Hammond! Following her was a striking blonde, whom nature surely intended for the world of beauty, our own Denny Perrin, with an air of sophistication strongly accentuated by the years. The last to appear was Annette McCloy, whose gown was a perfect match for her lovely blue eyes. Among the spectators w'e noticed a dignified society matron w'hose elegance and charm outshone the costliness and beauty of her costume. She removed her monocle for a moment, according us the opportunity to recognize the aristocratic features of Dorothy Gould. Even greater shocks were due us. however. As we looked around wre saw a solitary man in a far corner of the grounds, writing feverishly and adding to the heap of paper already piled up near his feet. Since his apparent discomfort interested us, we walked over to investigate further. Looking over his shoulder, we found that his literary output was composed of amorous poems, but to whom addressed? At that moment the poet glanced up with nearly disastrous effect upon Kathleen and me, for who would ever have expected to see our old pal Charley St. Onge in the guise of a poet? Years can certainly change people, as indeed was only too obvious in this case, but who was the target for his cupid’s arrows, you wonder? Need you ask? Have we not already mentioned the star model? At first the name of the establishment in which we had left Tommy Horse had not meant much to us, but upon our return the appellation “The Home of the Roses” seemed to hold a special significance. Sure enough, standing in the door-way were Mary Rose and Elizabeth Rose. Though not connected by the bonds of kinship, they were affiliated by business ties. Just then, an industrious-looking woman, presumably their secretary, appeared. This time our guess was correct, for the woman was Lenore Smith, our former class secretary. At last wre W'ere becoming accustomed to wonders. Since our vacation period was drawing to an end, wre skipped the buttons to S and. with a rising force. Tommy w’as again high in the air. Soon it became unbearably hot, and we felt the spell of the South upon us. From our elevated position we could see the palms gently rustling in the warm, almost motionless breeze. We alighted on a beach w’here a number of people were viewing what seemed to be a diving exhibition near the water’s edge. The sea had shifted in the course of years so that the deepest part was at the shore, while the water became more shallow’ the farther it receded. We concluded that we were just in time for the final event because after his exhibition each contestant swam to the beach. The first we noticed particularly was Sandy Vita in a brilliant black onyx bathing suit, followed by Margaret Dotolo attired in a striking outfit of green galvanized rubber. They in turn were taken in charge by Hazel Williams and Julia Prizito, their trainers. We strolled through the residential section and just as wre were passing a huge mansion wrhich wras distinguished by a beautifully wrought doctor’s sign, desig- 19 ji