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

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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

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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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man, skiing toward me with his friend and guide, Martin Stoutjesdyk. The cold was a little too much for my new spun-plastic coat so my genii whisked me off once more. I now found myself in a big Chicago theatre, talk- ing with Burton Epstein about his newest hit-oper- etta. Walking over to the wings, I found ,loyce Campau discussing the advertising of the play with director, Tom Schopps. ,lust then, Nancy Rich scur- ried by on her last check-up of the sets which she had designed, and I spied Ilosy Roberts over on the stage interviewing Burton for her newspaper. Soon my genii, without my having a thing to say about it, swooshed me through the air once more. This time, I landed on the front porch of an ador- able New England Colonial house in Baltimore, Maryland. Marilyn Averill leaned out of her win- dow and informed me that it was her dream house and that she was decorating it all herself. As I stood there, Mary Dooge walked over from the house next door to borrow some soy-beans and started tell- ing me about her recent diplomatic work in Italy. My genii then informed me that we were to take a trip downtown to Ted Dunn's engineering office. Carolyn Hawk, his competent secretary, greeted me and told me that he was in the office next door talk- ing to insurance men, Al Heffron and ,lohn Willirs. Deciding not to disturb them, my genii and I floated on to our next stop. This was a leisurely five minutes, spent sipping a mint julip on Herb Remienls southern plantation. I had a gay time exchanging gossip with ,loan Rankin, who had become a well-known social worker, and Mary Ellen Brown, who had just retired from the editorship of Vogue Magazine. Doctor Al Hicks, now an eminent eye specialist, sat back and listened to the discussion with a wide-eyed smile. After a few minutes I reluctantly departed for another des- tination. Arizona was our next stop. Here I found myself perched on the fence of Mary Hadley's corral on her new ranch. Barbie Fincher, a private secretary in Tuscon, was visiting Mary for a week, and before I left, we had a fine chat-and not about horses! California next beckoned my genii and me to its sunny realms, and l was soon at Grauman's famous Chinese restaurant. Of course, I had had no hope of finding anyone there, but there sat eight of my old school chums-having a reunion. I quickly joined them and busily found out just what they were all doing. ,loan Cornelius told me that she had exchanged her name for a wedding ring, as had Sheila Mulvihill, although Sheila has outdone loan: she has a set of twin girls!! Ernie Bigelow and Cath- aryn Hawk have had a lot of success as private sec- retaries to directors in the Paramount studios. Mari- lyn Brink told me that she and Gwen Sugg had been working in the personnel department of Metro, as a psychiatrist and social service worker, respectively. Bob Schmidt owns a large chemical factory there in Hollywood, and Tom Fox is his very efficient busi- ness manager. And so, after hearing all of the latest news, my genii and I shot through the air once more. i We conga'edl' south of the border to South America and toward all of my traveling friends. I ran into Fritz Kalmbach, Bob Lee, and Ilaul Scholte, who were on their way to the South American Travel Bureau, where Mary Dolbeare was doing a grand job as head-advisor. The Travel Bureau build- ing had just been completed by Bill Trestrail's en- gineering firm. Bill, despite his millions made through engineering, insisted that he would remain a bachelor! My eyebrow shot up at that remark, and so did I as a matter of fact, for I was on my way once more. We fairly leaped over the ocean to Paris, France, where I was tempted to purchase a new evening gown from madmoiselles Diane Bailey, ,loyce Hart- man, and Sallie Wilmarth, who own an exclusive shop. While l was in the shop, Nan Murray, a journalist for a Paris newspaper, and Sheryl Batman, working on the same paper as an interpreter, strolled in to talk. They were both telling me that Dottie McKnight is making a big name for herself as a med- ical technician there in Paris. They all really loved the city, and so did I, but our time was growing short, soooooi- We went straight to Berlin, Germany, to see Sally Mitts in the American embassy, where she is the ambassador's social secretary. She enjoyed her work, she told me, as she had met many famous and inter- esting people. Cur next trip was really a trip and a half!-to Australia. Here we saw Pat Colvin, looking nice as ever, in the crisp whiteness of her nurse's uniform. The last, and most fantastic trip was to South Africa where we saw Bill Rindge, who was on a pleasure trip, being entertained by the stories of Peter Vanderwoude about his big game-hunting. Then, as suddenly as I had left my home, I found myself sitting on my living-room couch. It was dark outdoors, and the clock read eight-thirty. My genii had whisked me around the world in three and a half hours, and I felt as though l'd been through a wringer. Tomorrow I wouldn't wish. I would sleep . . . getting too old for such exertion . . . yawn!!!!!