Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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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 )►—

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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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Tiie Senior Year Book — 1938 fashion news. Miss Houser is attired in a deep blue velvet gown trimmed with ermine tails, and wears jewels designed by Eugene Nurmi, who, we understand, designs only for clients who meet with his special approval. Suddenly there is an uproar of voices— Figures boom into the room and there are Chappy Morrison and Barney Holliday, competers for the title of ‘Greatest Ob-tainer of Autographs in the World,’ hunting the autographs of Marcelle LaMarche and Thelma Kenyon. The boys claim that the ladies have entered the club, unseen, with their bodyguard of nine men, Angelo Fiore, Patsy Gentile, Albert Maggs, William McCormack, Charles Oppy, Fred Page, Wilfred Priore, Charles Thompson, and John Walker. The boys will not sleep until they have the autographs of these captivating stars of the films. Harold Rathbun, the assistant manager, saves the day, or evening, by diverting the play-boys’ attention to the floor show. The climax of the evening is the chorus of ten female voices, conducted by Mary Urso, a very talented pupil of one of Westerly’s own maestros. To our surprise, we learn that the song-bird of radio and television. Miss Eleanor Morrison, is to be the guest soloist. The chorus consists of Betty Crandall, Dorothy DiPlacito, Mary Helfrich, Jessie Mearns, Virginia Monti, Yolanda Parilla, Lena Sicilian. Mary Simone, Marion Talbot, and Catherine Wills. Our charming conductor announces with regret the absence of Dorothy Miller, who yesterday dislocated her jaw-bone. Doctors report that Miss Miller’s talking apparatus needs complete rest. “The globe is growing cloudy—I can hear, faintly, the voice of Eleanor Morrison—The globe is black—and now even the beautiful voice is fading. That is all.” ANGELO—Are you sure that is all you can see? Won’t you try again? JEAN—1 am sorry—my vision is blurred—I am tired—I will go and find the master and he will look again. DICK—In the meantime, Erika, play us a song on your violin. (Erika plays a short selection, during which the fortune teller returns, and seats himself at the globe; as soon as she has finished, he begins.) Ah! This time the globe is clear. I see girls running—girls here, there, pushing, fighting, scratching. How demure and weak these pretty young flowers of womanhood are when they are attempting to attract the attention of the once stronger sex. Ruth Campbell. Helen Bromley, Phyllis Brown, Dorothy Cole, Elizabeth Babcock, Anita Nigrelli, and a host of young and beautiful maidens are nonchalantly and unexcitedly entering the line formed in front of the table which the judges of the beauty contest occupy. From the zealous way in which Margaret Brown, Bertha Quinn, and Elinor Dower, America's best dressed women, are primping up, one might draw the conclusion that they are trying to vamp the judges into decision. But no, this cannot make any drastic difference, as one of the judges is a powerful guardian of the sandy shore, elected to this honorable position by the popular vote of the mermaids. His back is toward us now, but notice that superbly captivating sun tan. His head is turning, and behind that broad, friendly grin is none other than Frankie Sammataro, who doesn’t seem to mind this laborious task at all. Another of the judges is of towerimr stature. He is seriously looking over all the finer details of his job and rightly so, as Stanton Langworthy was selected from the position of Supreme Court judge to come down here to determine the winner. Stan always did have a vital interest in any work he undertook. Dorothy Whalen, Miriam Silander. Louise Regine. and Ellen Thompson, contestants in the semi-finals, are professionally posing for- the well-known sand artist, Jack Raithel. Taking down the girls’ names and addresses is the collegiate Romeo, John O’Brien, who very recently graduated from Rhode Island State College. John seems to possess experience with that little red book and pencil. Gesticulating wildly and creating quite a commotion, Catherine Dunn, society sob sister, is expertly extracting information from the reserved-seaters. The girls are beginning to walk toward the judges’ stand, but they are fading—fading—and I see no more for this class of 1938. (Fortune teller rises; there is a general murmur; everyone is talking over - §( 16 }§►’-