Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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The Senior Year Book — 1934 of delay, and, freer than the air they breathed, the freshmen departed, their happy faces and joyous stride proclaiming the anticipation of summer amusements. How quickly those summer weeks fled! Before we realized it. vacation was gone, and again we entered old W. H. S., no longer feeling timid and uncertain, for was not a whole year's experience behind us? But we were still the underclassmen, for no Freshmen now roamed the stately halls or occupied the office chairs. (Personally I don’t think those chairs were left unoccupied very much, even after we had departed to the Junior High!) Again came that need to defend ourselves from belligerent juniors and seniors who feared we would usurp their lofty pedestals. Betty Crandall, whose pleasing personality and efficiency had already endeared her to our hearts, was chosen president, while Victor Panciera, with his cheerful grin and ready good humor, became vice president. Mary A. Nardone was elected secretary and Addison Archie, whose great brawn had protected us as freshmen, guarded our precious silver and gold. During this year our class rings were chosen after weighty consideration with due regard to design and cost. That same year a sophomore won second prize in the Martha C. Babcock essay contest, establishing the class literary reputation which it kept through the rest of High School. Thus did our sophomore year come to an honorable and glorious close. The fall of 1932 found us again returning to the portals of our dear old school. No longer were we underclassmen, and it was with a realization of our great responsibilities as juniors that we settled down to work. How well 1 remember the disastrous results of learning the fundamentals of chemistry; those unsightly manganese dioxide smudges, those acid burns, and other sundry obstacles. Nevertheless, we persevered, and we felt well repaid when, in the spring of '33, our chemistry team won the loving cup for Westerly High. How proud we were of that diminutive miss from Dunn’s Corners, Florence Saunders, when it was announced that she had won first honors for the girls, and of Alex Brown, who had received an excellent grade in the contest. (He later confided that he had really won first honors for boys, but, due to his Scotch nature, he had generously conceded it to the next highest!) What a glorious year that was, for the juniors carried off all honors except two in both prize speaking and the Martha C. Babcock Essay Contest. How well Narciso and Cappuccio delivered their patriotic addresses. In the Martha C. Babcock, Agnes King’s essay won first prize, and Marguerite Crandall’s received second. Athletics were also playing an important part during our junior year. In the fall football had occupied a great deal of time, especially that of Price, Archie, Gencarelli, and Gilchrist. Turrisi had been a most active soccer player, while that famous team, “Kizeik and Brown,” were prominent in track. (Anyone who has read Alex Brown’s story “Wobbly Knees” must realize the trials and tribulations of a runner who is just learning the art of acquiring the state where the legs and arms function quickly and gracefully, and the lungs succeed in sustaining his exhausted condition.) Due to a sad lack of money for a Junior Prom, we deviated from the usual course of having one, but we did give a Senior Reception, at which the junior girls proved to be most gracious and charming hostesses. Thus our junior year, successfully led by Alex Brown, president, Frances Johnson, vice president, Joseph Gencarelli, secretary, and Maybelle Ingham, treasurer, ended. Our final year at High School began one bright day in September, 1933, and, we, as “dignified seniors” held a class meeting as the first step in our course. And, with Joseph Gencarelli, president, Agnes King, vice president, Mary A. Nardone, secretary, and Robert Goff, treasurer, we felt that our barque would safely cross the final gulf. As I have said, we were “dignified seniors”; therefore you can imagine our chagrin when we were often mistaken for unruly sophomores! We, however, thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in spite of reproving looks and admonitions, and as the first important event of our Senior year approached, the “Senior Prom,” we felt that, at last, our dream was fulfilled. Matters of dress, decorations, and escorts (perhaps I should have put escorts first!) were discussed pro and con, and we felt a certain pity for those saucer-eyed sophomores who were rather vague as to the meaning of all the excitement. The dec- — S( -

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The Senior Year Book — 1934 (Class ffitstarif SCENE: A room in a girls’ dormitory at Westmore College, in November, 1934. My roommate and I are talking to one another. My friend is busy putting finishing touches to hair and face. I am watching her, while now and then glancing at a book in my hand. “Why, Marge,” I ask incredulously, “you’re not going out again ?” “Uh-huh.” comes my roommate’s distracted reply as she gives a final pat to her fluffy hair and an anxious glance at the glowing reflection in the mirror. “Helen and I are going to the theatre. Won’t you come, Babs? We’d love to have you.” “No, thank you, dear. I think I’ll write a letter to Mums.” “Well, take care of yourself, old dear,” and with a hug and airy kiss she is gone, leaving me with a momentary feeling of loneliness, for Thanksgiving vacation is likely to be lonely when one is a freshman at a distant college. “Well, that’s that. Now where do you suppose I’ve put my writing paper? Come to think of it I’ll have to start on that new box in my trunk.” 1 hastily procure the writing materials, but, while getting them, I happen to notice a group of High School Seniors” which I have brought from home as souvenirs of my high school life. I pick up the Commencement issue and idly turn the pages, until I come to the class pictures. I haven’t seen any of my former classmates since graduation; therefore it is with a pleasant feeling of reminiscing (all thoughts of letterwriting forgotten) that I carry the book to an old rocking chair by the fire, and, slowly rocking to and fro, lose myself in the past. As I look at those happy, expectant faces, my mind travels slowly back to my first year at High School. How imposing and venerable that ivy-covered building had appeared to my inexperienced eye as I first entered upon my career there. The upper classmen treated us as they have treated freshmen from time immemorial with an exasperating big brother and sis- ter “attitude,” thinking that we, poor things, in our ignorance, would deeply appreciate their condescension. We resented the attitude, however, and rallied to the occasion by holding a class meeting and electing officers who would protect us from upper classmen. Addison Archie was, we decided, just the one for president, for we certainly needed a mighty Goliath to wield the gavel. Betty Crandall’s sweet manner would, we felt sure, break all barriers; thus we elected her our vice president. Joseph Gencarelli was given charge of the minutes of our meetings, while little Agnes King efficiently took charge of our stray bills. Scarcely had we launched upon our life at the Senior High, when the news reached us that we must move. We had heard rumors of this intended removal to the Junior High, but we hadn’t dreamed that by February we would be installed in that magnificent building where the water was cold, and the janitor’s cat was not always under foot! Alas, we were too optimistic ! Combination locks for our lockers were the bane of our lives (especially for bus and train pupils!). I have seen the faces of many an out-of-town student go suddenly blank, while their fingers nervously twirled the dial. How I sympathized with them, for I too, had been an unfortunate victim of those same lockers. That year the operetta “Sleepy Hollow” was given by students of the Junior High. Those most delightful James twins (the only twins to grace our class, and then only for a year) participated in this performance in which Norma was the captivating Katrinka, while Walker Schofield was the daring young gallant who won fair Katrinka’s heart and hand. Walker is no longer with us, but we think of him affectionately and mourn him as one who can never be replaced. The end of our freshman year found us exhausted from the year's work and ready for a much needed vacation. The combination locks were returned with a secret feeling of elation that they would no longer cause us any harassing moments

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The Senior Year Book — 1934 orations were exceptionally in keeping with the season and occasion, for the Harvest scene presented to our eye was not only a symbol of an abundance of crops, but also an emblem of the fruition we, too, were reaping in the golden harvest of our high school life. Later on plans for a Senior play were discussed, and “As You Like It” was chosen as being very worthwhile and pleasant. How quickly our Betty Crandall and Rose Stillman were transformed into banished Rosalinds and Carle Morrill and Bob Goff into lovelorn Orlandos! During March the pictures for the Commencement Issue were taken, and everywhere one heard “Have you received your proofs yet?” or “Which one of these pictures do you like best?” or. again, “May I have one of your pictures ?” Suffice to say the matter of class pictures was finally ended, and our plans for graduation progressed rapidly. How sober and sedate we looked in our sombre caps and gowns, and with what trembling hands we received our well-earned diplomas! “For mercy’s sake, Babs,” cries a gay voice, “don’t you realize the fire’s out, and that you probably have already caught your death of cold sitting there?” “Oh, er, yes,” I reply confusedly, struggling to place myself in my own immediate surroundings. “Did you have a pleasant evening, Marge?”’ “Oh. indeed I did,” replies my roommate drowsily. “We saw ‘Memory Lane’ and—” But I didn’t hear the rest, for my thoughts were far away. I had not only seen “Memory Lane” but walked once more through those familiar halls, clasped the hands of old friends, and found there a solace and congenial spirit that had warmed the very cockles of my heart. —Vivian Morrill. Alma fflatpr Tune “Amici” Where the rocky hills of Rhody Stand like sentinels ’round, Nestling fondly in the valley, Lies our high school town. Chorus Westerly, hail! Our alma mater, Thee we’ll always praise. Sons and daughters ever loyal. Songs to thee we’ll raise. High school days will soon be over. Far from thee we’ll roam, But we’ll think of thee, dear Westerly, Ever as our home. Betty Crandall. -4 ■ i