Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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Thf. Senior Year Book. — 1938 is trying to convince Mario Gradilone (professional football coach), Beverly Wilson, Angelo Stella, and Kay Hughes, aristocratic night owls, that Madame Renee Kahn, the celebrated pianist, is not billed for the main event, but is merely an honorary guest of the club along with her compay stars—Virginia Weeks, Irene Sturgeon, Elizabeth Sawyer, Frances Westman, and Arlene Wardman, vocalists. The last named recently attained high C in the operatic selection, “Mie Lady In College,” written by that talented composer, Professor John Cherenzia. On the same bill with Madame Kahn is Rubinoff’s threat in femininity, Jean Sherman. What is it?—an earthquake? The building seems to be swaying after that deafening explosion. These ultramodern structures are built, supposedly, to outlast their builders. But the architectural company of Paul Dinwoodie and Prescott Dawley has guaranteed the building for two months—this is only the third week in operation. Listen to the ear-racking applause—The main event of the evening takes the spot. Referee Pee Wee Smith is climbing into the ring to get a better view of the sixth seat in the third row— (Connie he see, I wonder). At the ringside Henry “Gable Fred Hoye” Jackson, national radio interpreter, is giving the final decision of the preliminary bouts to the 15 odd million women who are anxiously awaiting his voice. To all who are interested he still devotes a good part of his time to that mass of links—I mean kinks in his hair. John Hearn, Eugene Gervasini, and John Healey, star reporters of the “Mroz Tribune,” of which Eddie is the editor, are desperately trying to interview well known celebrities who are impatiently awaiting their money’s worth. Among these prominent figures is Colonel Richard Parnigoni, wealthy producer in the television field, who at present is feverishly emptying the contents of a five cent bag of peanuts. The young lady two rows behind the colonel who can barely be seen under her dazzling collection of diamonds, sapphires, and fingernail polish, is Barbara Edmonds, multi-millionairess of the world’s most flourishing newspaper, “The Kenyon Teletype.” Seated behind that well known sports commentator, Dave Lownds, are two gifts to the scientific world—Professor Roderick Hemphill, who has recently made public the completion of an eight course dinner in the minimized form of a tablet, and the eminent eulogist, Gilbert Hicks, who appears slightly uncomfortable in his present surroundings. Apparently the seat should have longer legs. Hopelessly attempting to close a sale are two attractive young cigarette girls, Peggy’ Thompson and Esther Fiore. Outwardly resisting their advances is that traditional woman hater, Dr. David Sisson. and his assistants, Richard Matzko, the world’s ping-pong champion, and Prent Lamphere. The latter pays more attention to the next seat, where a lively brunette, Ethel Himes, is exchanging shy glances. Prent has been reading up on the modern romance book, “What to Do and When to Do It,” written by two men of the world, Alex Ferguson and Donald Payne. The crowd goes wild as Announcer Wallace Browning gives a few details of the fight and Bud “A1 Capone” Clarke, flyweight champion, comes bounding down the aisle, all leg gestures. His seconds, Charles Richardson and Pete Levcowich. try to separate a mass of arms and legs that unavoidably have become tangled in the ropes. Tiger Pat Adamo, the challenger, is nonchalantly accepting the attention of a few of his female admirers, Barbara Driggs, Freda Harvey, Ida Mae Chapman, Claire Cercena, and Helen Cekala. Ida Mae is blushing—perhaps that’s part of her technique. Pat’s attendants, Joe Alice and Clifford Catto, w'ho divide their time between the diamond and the ring, are briskly rubbing the goose pimples from the Tiger’s back. There’s the bell. Both step forward daintily to the tune of “I Double Dare You.” (At this point, the prophecy becomes too real. Henry Jackson shouts.) HENRY—Come on, Bud. give it to him ! The old one, two. STAN—Go on, Pat, whittle him down to your size and annihilate him. FORTUNE T.—Please, the spell is broken. I am unable to continue. CATHERINE—Oh, please try again— we promise to keep quiet this time. FORTUNE T.—No, it would be use- -■ ■( 14 )S»

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The Senior Year Book — 1938 Saunders. May his perspicuity and perspicacity flourish thereby. “The chain of events leading to a man’s heart is as strong as its weakest link. Henry Jackson, the author of this historymaking maxim, appears to have only one link in his chain, but he seems satisfied. He leaves this little link to its namesake. “Those three husky dears, Betty Crandall, Kay (You’ve got to be a football hero) Hughes, and Dorothy Whalen, surely threw that S. H. S. football team for a loss. They have agreed to show the other girls the weak points in their defensive. “Eddie Coyle, that sleek, sporty, smoothstepping sheik, says swing is swell for shifty shoes. He leaves an ultra-modern dance book on how to do the shoestring swoop, the jazz bow pirouette, and do-ci-do, to Walter Miller. - - - That’s that.” MARCELLE—Those are clever puns, Stan, but it’s no more legal than Bud’s trying to steal my drink a few minutes ago. BUD—What? Me? Listen, pal, you know I wouldn’t even take a lollipop from a baby. CATHERINE—Go on, Bud, I bet you’ll be Public Enemy No. 1 by 19—say, that gives me an idea! Let’s have our fortunes told! Where’s Mr. Parnigoni? (One of staff goes to door and calls him.) DICK—(Enters smiling) Yes—what can I do for you now? FRANCES—Would you call the fortune teller, please? We've just decided to have our fortunes told. DICK—Well, he can't come right now. I’m afraid. But I have a surprise for you. (General murmur.) Come in, girls. (The flower girls come in, laden with gifts, and distribute them to patrons in the tea room and the rest of the class, seated in the auditorium—-After they give about four gifts, Dave Lownds and Robert Malaghan enter, and take the available seats—When the gifts have been distributed, both violin players render gypsy selections, after which the fortune teller enters, taking a long time to arrange his globe.) CATHERINE—While we’re waiting, do you mind if I read another page of my will? I just remembered it—it’s the final page. (Everyone assents and Catherine again reads.) “I, Keith Low, bequeath a gross of slips personally autographed by our esteemed principal, Charles E. Mason, to Miss Leach, without which I should never have been allowed in class. “After having persuaded my classmates to donate their pennies to a worthy cause, I, Stanton Langworthy, take great pleasure in giving a shiny new tandem to ‘Sheik’ Spargo, so that next year he will not pester a Senior boy lucky enough to own a car to drive him to White Rock as he has me during the past months. “We nominate and appoint executors of this will and custodians of the Class of 19.38, principal and faculty, whose faithful administrations have endeared them to us and established their qualifications and capability.” FORTUNE TELLER—If you are ready, I will begin. Please remember that the least noise will break the spell. DAVE—This is worse than a classroom —and I feel like talking. (Dave is shushed by the crowd and the fortune teller begins.) I shall look into the future with the aid of my humble Mystic Gypsofic Globe. As I have said before, any slight disturbance will have a tendency to weaken the stratospherical wave lengths that are created by a weak-willed environment. I might say—the atmosphere here is suitable for the reading. Ahem—now if someone will be so gracious as to lower the lights, I shall commence. Ah! I see a cloudy mist—I hear a terrific thundering roar—It must be a storm. No, it’s passing, it becomes clearer now—a smoky vapor—there are faces behind it—possibly a mob scene. What noise! Yelling, jeering, booing! Why it’s a boxing match in Cafone and Gentile’s Century Club. What a sellout! The customers are literally hanging from the ceiling and dangling from the spotlights. Perhaps the publicity managers, Robert “Tyrone” Malaghan and Joe “Smiley” DeFanti, are partly responsible for this sudden success. They are suspiciously eyeing each other. Both, in turn, are keeping close watch on the cash box and that good-looking “Pinky” Dotolo, who --•if 13 }

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Tin. Senior Year Book — 1938 less. I must go out and converse with the spirits before I can see in the globe again. Perhaps the violinist can help me. She has often been privileged with sights in the globe. Will you try? JEAN—I will try, while you converse with the spirits, sir. (Jean sits at the table—silence prevails for an instant— she begins.) “I see throngs of happy, eager night-goers rushing frantically into the popular night resort owned by A. J. Morrone. Behind the counter is an attractive hat check girl, Gemma Toscano, who still seems to be collecting tickets. A. J. always was a shrewd business man, and he’s still up to his old tricks. Can’t you imagine? He employs a staff of pretty female waiters. Giving last minute instructions, the head waitress. Dot Kennedy, is professionally informing a group of attractively costumed attendants, Evelyn Bitgood, Lois Arzamarski, Frances Babcock, and Agnes Burrell, the finer points of accepting tips. Dot’s experience in the school cafeteria certainly served as an efficient teacher. “Rendering a medley of popular tunes, the modern co-ed orchestra directed by Alfred Narciso, who is also the soloist for the evening, plays a soft melodious rhythm that blends with the delightful atmosphere. Among the talented musicians are such names as Jean Marriott, pianist; Erika Heyder, violinist, and Tony Palaz-zolo, master of the busuka and reserve vocalist. The music ceases as Master of Ceremonies Keith Low greets the fast accumulating patrons and directs their attention to the next act, the high light of the evening. The music plavs softly as Grace Gallagher alnd Freddie Ulles, rhythmic dance team, glide across the floor in perfect unison and grace. Freddie appears to be another Barrymore with those sideburns. “Looking the program card over, we are attracted bv more names—forgotten individuals behind the scenes—virtually the master minds of tonight’s entertainment. The director of the entire show is a female protege of Miss Tellier, the talented Margaret Rodger. The originator and designer of the colorful, attractive costumes used in the show is Lynthia Browning, the most popular fashion artist in America. “Glancing up from the program because of a murmur of ‘oh’s’ from the fairer sex. we witness a rare treat. The matinee-idol of the other 155-odd million women, Charles Dolan, who is seldom seen in public, is literally being torn asunder by the frantic autograph seekers. Helplessly combating this mad rush of affection are Charlie’s two husky bodyguards, Ernest Weiss and Elwin Kenyon. Perchance the boys are now thinking that if they had stayed on their farms they would be much safer. “The noise ceases and the lights dim to a pretty blue as Mary Piccolo, ravishing blues singer, captures the audience’s attention with her haughty, naughty voice. The spotlight broadens to include her harmonizing trio, Antoinette Campa-nella, Mary Parise, and Angeline Leonetti, who still appear to be as inseparable as ever. Following these selections of syncopated rhythm is a dance by Carolyn Crandall, and her troop of rapturous dancers, famous throughout the world. Even the foremost critic of the day, Eddie Coyle, whose sparkling personality and caustic wit have won him fame and fortune, praisds the grace and beauty of this dance troop. Without wonder— for in Miss Crandall’s troop are Marjorie Stillman. Elizabeth Henderson. Lois Williams, Katherine Moore, and Ellen Rath-bun. “A murmur arises in the room and, looking up, we see the charming young widow of Count Lito Di Araganzo, the sensation of the season, former Miss Elizabeth Cross, entering the room. With the Countess is her beautiful companion, Frances Houser. They are eagerly shown to their table by a pretty waitress, none oth :r than Bernice Hoxie. “Entertainment has progressed, and we now witness the antics of that impeccable tumbling team, Leo Frenette, Jerry Mason, and the irresistible June Priore. “During this time, Madeline Boying-ton, the popular dress designer, is hastily scribbling notes about the costumes of the countess and her companion. The countess is wearing pale green satin a la Cleopatra style (which is the rage of New York), and family emeralds, with a snake of rubies and pearls entwined in her hair. This is a new note in the 5 )►—