East Grand Rapids High School - Interlochen Yearbook (East Grand Rapids, MI)

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on the second floor. In foods class, the girls unfor- tunately didn't take culinary art any too seriously, and what astounding messes they concocted! Fosie Rindge absently substituted cornmeal for cornstarch in her chocolate pudding. Poor Miss Wire never quite recovered from one taste. A few little demons including Mary Dooge, joan Rankin, and Mary Hadley climbed into the showcase at the end of the home economics room and were caught making grim- aces through the glass. Suddenly someone had a wonderful idea! Result? The boys fried, stewed, and boiled in 305, while the girls sawed, hammered, and whittled in the manual training building. Each en- joyed a successful year, creating cheese dreams and hat racks. But can anyone forget the unfortunate spaghetti meal? What a host of reinforcements met us in the eighth grade! Burton Epstein decidedly raised the intelligence quotient of the class. Imaginative Bob Korff spun fascinating yarns about the great life of fishing and hunting, sans the women, of course. Happy-go-lucky Bill Rindge was immediately ac- cepted as a regular guy, and john Willits with his tarzan build was a valuable class addition. From Ottawa came two members- Marilyn Brink joined us singing, I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire - but she did! Cute little Corny, arriving in a blue sailor dress, giggled her way into the hearts of all the class. The rowdy eighth grade was put in its place through the disciplinary antics of Mrs. May. Blushing, Bob Steketee received cold applications and a place of honor in front of the class on her lap. In her homeroom after school, could be found busy gentle- men throwing or picking up one hundred paper wads and writing catchy jingles for petty misdemeanors. Our social life soared to great heights in that year of firsts. Hayrides at Kelly's farm, roller skating afternoons, cafeteria suppers, picnics at the Robin- son farm, and the gym parties, where the little belles patiently taught young Casanovas how to step -step- hold. The boys will never forget Mr. Krul's picnic at johnson Park, nor the embarrassing situation when Burton, Frank, Tressie, Grant, and others went swimming in the creek without. They soon discovered a tittering audience, consisting of the fairer sex. What a lot of firsts occurred at Tom Fox's two wonderful dances! Loving memories and loving life, we graduated into the Senior High School, and the stark realiza- tion of study halls, homework, and hard subjects met us face to face. Into the ninth grade we welcomed witty Ted Dunn, Barb Fincher with her sweet man- ner, and two likable. chaps, Peter VanderWoude and Martin Stoutjesdyk-all from Breton Downs. Millie Knape came to keep us in high spirits, and we still are a little breathless at our mathematical genius, Bob Schmidt. Last, but not least, Herb Remien meandered in, gave a bored snicker, and might have said, Had a little car trouble. As freshman, we learned what a job it was to put our lives on paper, but with the autobiographies be- hind us, we scurried on to make new history. Burst- ing with pride, we loaned two athletes, Kranny and Lee, to the East football team. Another star destined to shine in the sports' world, john Gardner, brightened our horizon in the tenth . grade. Joyce Hartman with a very chic wardrobe arrived, as did red-haired Sheila Mulvihill with her droll nature. Dynamic Juniors! Only two more years to go! We were not too busy with school clubs and desperate money-making campaigns to give a hearty welcome to new essential talent. Ottawa presented us with hard-working Tom Schopps, who was always ready to lend a helping hand, and Fritz Kalmbach, with his motley assortment of flivvers. Bill Bettison cheer- fully came, saw, and conquered the heart of one hardened man-hater. A siren sallied in from Central. Could that be gay, talkative Nan Murray? Boys be- ware! Along came Diane Bailey who valiantly and successfully braved a teasing ninth grade in general math. A box office record was broken as We revelled in the fame won from the tremendously successful junior Play Days Without Daddy, which depicted the humorous escapades of a remarkable family. The love interest between Mimi and john would have convinced any movie-going audience. Only once under Tom's capable stage management did a dis- aster occur. Brahm playfully raised his shot gun, aimed at a backstage light, and fired. Bang! The world was suddenly in darkness. In june, the united efforts of dynamism produced a Pioneer gym of covered wagons and a memorable junior-Senior Reception. In a breath we were Seniors. Now we could smile benignly on the lower classmen and hear the words, Seniors first at the end of an assembly. Pat Colvin came just in time to share our glory and to complete the total of fifty-six. Class treasurer, Bob Schmidt, informed us that the first senior project was to enlarge the budget. We accepted the challenge by selling magazine sub- scriptions, supervising dances after basketball games, and giving a superb senior play, thanks to the splen- did acting of Bob Korff, but The Man Who Came to Dinner also owes its success to maid Mulvihill, Dr. Bettison, nurse Wilmarth with strong lungs, and the vedy-vedy British Ted Dunn, to mention only a few of a talented cast. One word, thesis, plunged our sunny dispositions into gloom. Haggard seniors were seen in the Reference Room of Ryerson Library surrounded by mounds of scribbled sheets and impressive volumes. A note of sadness struck our busy lives when one dear class member passed away. The class of '46 will never forget sincere and dependable Fred Anible, who could not accompany us when we crossed the threshold of our high school life. Swiftly the time passed. The 1946 Interlochen emerged through the efficient guidance of Mary Ellen Bfrown. Crowding that last mad week were the Senior Assembly, the Baccalaureate Service, the wonderful picnic at Perry's Cottage. At last we donned caps and gowns to march down the aisle on graduation night. Underneath solemn, omniscient faces, we choked back the unhappy feelings of de- parture from our beloved East High. What a host of happy memories we carry in our hearts! With mixed emotion of regret and elation we go forth into a wider world, the first class to graduate in an Atomic Age. 18

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THE ANNALS OF THE CLASS OF '46 The day should have been a cheerful, sunny one, but it wasn't. It rained. On that significant Sep- tember morn in 1933 the gable-roofed Barnard Build- ing threw open its doors to a group of saucer-eyed, freshly scrubbed moppets dressed in crisp Shirley Temple frocks or brief cotton suits. Some were eager, others tearful, all were excited - all beginning a memorable thirteen years of school life at East Grand Rapids. Bobby Lee immediately became homesick and def- initely asserted, I wanna go home. Frank Ederle comforted him, by showing him how to make a train out of blocks, when in came blue-eyed Joannie Perry, admiring males quickly gathered around her. Alike as two peas in a pod, the chubby Hawk twins, arrived, and Carolyn said, - or, was it Catharyn? No? lt must have been-but who could tell? A few little girls innocently set up housekeeping until red-headed Sally Mitts grabbed the baby doll and raced off to watch Nancy Rich and Sheryl Barman playing jacks. Mary Dooge and Joyce Campau gazed and sighed at brown-eyed, serious Bobby Steketee, who was busy constructing castles in the sand box. Cork-screw curled Posy Roberts came, saw, and took action. One after another the blocks flew at Mary and Joyce, who looked around for bigger things to throw back. Joyce spotted a large vase, but just then Mrs. Weil spotted Joyce. Al Heffron and Jerry An- ible watched the whole procedure from the corner and resolutely declared they would become woman haters. At this point, the teacher arranged the little novices around the piano for the morning sing. Not waiting for anyone else to begin, Posie Rindge sang out in a squeaky voice, Good morning to you, good morning to you. On the second floor many mischievous little hands turned on the wash bowl faucets and mysteriously neglected to turn them off. How sad were the results, but how gleeful the drenched little gremlins paddling around on the flooded floor! Motherly, gentle Mrs. Weil tried her utmost to win hearts and to teach minds, stopping frequently to blow a nose or wipe a tear-stained face. She waved a fond good-bye as her troop importantly trudged up the wide, stone steps into the big, red building to conquer new worlds in the first grade. Here we were divided into A, B, and C groups and learned the first lesson of concentration. The A's read in a tight circle around Miss Snauble, the B's laboriously painted round suns and waistless fig- uresg while the C's built and ruined whole cities in the sand box. Blond, blue-eyed Al Hicks caused all female hearts to flutter, but two of the more daring lassies, Joyce and Sally, chased him all over the school yard, finally pinning him against the side of the building, and-yes, they promptly kissed him! A newcomer - stout, Dutch-bobbed Mary Hadley appeared-and the class gave a remarkable play, Cinderella One teary-eyed face was a strange contrast to the other beaming countenances. Between heart-breaking sobs, Mary explained that the be- fore part of Cinderella did not call for a pretty costume. She was dressed in rags. Miss Snauble spied Gwen Sugg's moving jaws and the gum-chewer was placed firmly in the corner. On- looker, Ernie Bigelow sympathized, but slyly spit hers out. On to the second grade, and the class of '46 be- came nature enthusiasts. Little Polly Page and Tom Fox dutifully took their turns feeding the goldfish. Apparently the sight of hungry mouths was too much for their appetites, for they swallowed the fish food themselves. During our second year the Aver- ills arrived, and the class proudly accepted pretty, dark-haired Marilyn. Up the stairs to third grade we trotted. Here we greeted shy Bob Force, who grinned at us with a wise little twinkle in his eye and said nothing. Many times Miss Blanchard lost her patience with trouble- some spit-wadders and airplane shooters, but after every battle she was pelted with fruit rolls and promises to be good. Out on the playground, the more amorous young gentlemen ran around in chains and circled unsuspecting little ladies to ask them whom they loved. A wonderful recess pastime for the girls was to see who could touch the highest branch of the tree when they were swinging. We regretfully agreed that Nancy Rich and Polly always won. Penmanship and an epidemic of yo-yos, water pis- tols, and outdoor hikes hit us in the fourth grade. The -mischief by no means abated when fun-loving Bill Trestrail became a class addition. A major catas- trophe occured when Gwen Sugg dropped Marilyn Averill's goldfish bowl on the floor, spattering turtles, fish, and broken glass to all corners of the room. ln vain did sad-faced Gwen search the stores for an- other bowl. Joan Perry was besieged with candy bars from bashful suitors. Posy Roberts alarmed the males with her reputation for a hard left to the jaw. Great big Fifth Graders in the high school build- ing- that's what we became. Now we were joined by charming Mary Ellen Brown, nice Mary Dolbeare, and Paul Scholte, who, when asked his opinion of East, shrugged his shoulders and gave his philosophic reply Huh! Well, I 'da' know! The sixth grade brought us chatty Sallie Wil- marth, jovial Kranny, and good natured Bill Grant, who laughed his way through the next seven years at East. Bill Akers completely revolutionized the staid sixth graders with his devil-may-care attitude. And then a blond bomb struck! Joan Rankin an- nounced her presence, and many a male heart skipped a beat. The class painstakingly made geog- raphy scrap books and at Easter time fashioned a magnificent creation entitled Oscar out of paper mache. Paul, Jerry, Ernie, and Sheryl took Oscar and other home-made gifts to the Mary Free Bed Hospital, where they were certainly appreciated. As the 46'rs progressed to the seventh grade, the elated Safety Squad captain, Al Hicks, progressed to Washington. Apple polisher Brahm Malkewitz was the sole newcomer that year. The combined art work and brain power of one seventh grade homeroom produced the Third Floor Book Store, a money making institution built, for some unknown reason,

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THE CLASS PRGPHECY OF 1946 The Sunday afternoon sun poked a friendly ray into my window and beckoned me out to enjoy the fresh April air. Throwing my new spun-plastic coat over my shoulders, I started out for a walk to be greeted by the usual Sunday afternoon noises. The restless hum of multi-colored airplanes, dart- ing lazily to and fro, formed a background for the laughing children on their shiny motor-bikes, the proud owners cruising about in their new 1955 cars, and other people strolling along chatting happily, or like me, just thinking. I had a lot of time, so I decided to explore a funny little street I'd never noticed before. It was all rem- iniscent of years gone by: tiny run-down houses, once white, now grey-and all alike. Suddenly, I noticed one that was slightly different - it had a shabby cardboard sign hanging from a window, which fairly shrieked its business in big red letters - ANTIQUES I ! My extreme curiosity would not per- mit me to pass such an enticing opportunity for diversion. I ascended the creaky steps, and although it was Sunday, the shop was open, so I entered. I found myself suddenly surrounded by a fantastic maze of dilapidated objects, and my nose was of- fended by that musty odor typical of such shops. Despite the bright day and the clear air, the tiny shop was so enveloped in a dusky sort of gloom that I did not see the tiny, wizened, old man who moved toward me with a feline step. A rather crackly voice addressed me, Yes, miss, what do you wish? Anything particular in mind? I started and suddenly realized that I didn't have anything particular in mind at all! Glancing hur- riedly about, and finding a quaint little gas-lamp, I asked its price. I'll give it to you for two-fifty, he crackled, Cheap, but, from what the people who sold it to me said, I guess it has a sort of magic power. I'm not one for that sort of thing. Yes, you can have it for two-fifty, glad to have it gone. What could I do? I gave him his two-fifty, and took the lamp with me - magic and all. It was still early when I reached home, so I de- cided to clean my new possession. As I started to polish its round china sides, a miracle occurred! From out the little round opening at the top of the lamp came a puff of smoke, and quite from nowhere appeared a tiny little elf, a genii ! Before I could catch my breath, he clicked his miniature heels together, bouncing his fat little tummy and peanut-like cheeks, and exclaimed, At your service, madame! One wish today will be yours. What shall it be? My heart beat wildly, but I did know the one wish that I wanted. Slowly, and ever so quietly, I asked, Do you think that you could show me my old class- mates from East Grand Rapids High School? No sooner said than done, madame. And now, prepare for the journey! But, I protested, If I don't know where they all are, how are you going to find them? My genii looked terribly hurt, and silently mo- tioned, once more, for me to prepare. Dazed and speechless, I stood there looking as intelligent as possible under the circumstances. Suddenly I felt myself being pulled upward like a puppet on invisible strings. Then things started moving so quickly that I just closed my eyes and prayed- until, almost as suddenly as I had started, I found myself in a busy hospital corridor. Every- thing looked very familiar to me, so I decided to ask my genii if I was in Blodgett hospital. When I turned, I discovered that I was alone, my genii was being discreet. I stumbled first into a little waiting room, where whom should I see, looking handsome in an intern's white jacket, but Bill Bettison, en- grossed in a very business-like conversation with Bill Grant, also very distinguished-looking in white! After a brief talk, I hurried on down the hall and prac- tically knocked down Frank Ederle as he was com- ing out of the operating room after performing a plastic-surgery operation. Most of our conversation was about his four little boys and a general exchange of gossip. On my way down the hall once more, I saw an open door. As I peeked in, I was surprised to find Brahm Malkewitz bending over his mircro- scope in a research lab-with nurse Polly Page keep- ing track of the slides. Believing my luck was too good to last, I was wandering aimlessly about when I found the hospital's new social service department, with joan Perry and Millie Knape bent busily over their desks. Don Kranenberg was discussing one of the girls from his financier's office with loan, but we all decided that we would stop everything to listen to Posie Rindge's new radio show. She did many excellent dramatic readings, and even sang a little. Time was hurrying by, so I scurried away in search of my genii, only to find that he had been riding in my coat pocket all the while. I closed my eyes once more and was whisked away to the Upper-Peninsula of Michigan. I couldn't imagine whom I was to see there, but I might have known I would find Bob Korff, on a vacation from his advertising concern, with his hand lovingly grasp- ing his trout rod. I-Ie was sitting beside a stream talking with Bob Force, who had become a forest ranger. After talkng to them for a few minutes, I decided to leave them to their trout and be on my way. Next, I found myself standing beside an igloo in, of all places, Alaska!! Turning at the .sound of a voice, I saw Bob Steketee, a vacationing business