Belleville Township High School - Bellevinois Yearbook (Belleville, IL)

Page 10 text:

wtovement i First of all, let’s jog along through the main building, the core of our school, where we find an ultra-ultra office and a storehouse of trophies dating back to the stone age. ’Tis here that we have struggled through math and science and courses educating us in the ways of the business world. Passing through the east door and across the quadrangle with the sundial, we ap¬ proach the auditorium. Within its walls it houses the magical world of grease paint, prima donnas, and hopsters, as one can’t help but hear. On the top floor we discover the art room with its skylights — a little world aloof from the rest of the campus. As we descend the stairs we catch a whiff of France, a bit of Spain, and a tinge of Germany from the language classrooms. Leaving the auditorium building, we enter the library, the repository of man’s learning, the home of communication with past and present, and the dwelling of records of the world’s heritage.

Page 9 text:

' DecUcatcaa Because of his witty and unusual methods of conducting class . . . his casual manner and understanding smile which give his classes a personal touch . . . his intelligence which he modestly hides in the laboratory . . . his thoroughness in presenting a difficult subject . . . his winning personality which places him high in the esteem of his students . . . we dedicate the 1955 Bellevinois to Mr. D. Clark Edwards. “I feel like a heel when I draw mv paycheck every month and you kids haven’t learned anything.” Poor Edwards Almanac 5

Page 11 text:

tccete ' KZado We’re now in the quadrangle, approaehing the cafeteria where sixteen hundred starving students and eighty-two faculty members daily gorge themselves on plate lunches, candy bars, popcorn, and cream puffs, to the accompaniment of the roar from the machine shops at the rear of the building. Strolling over to the bovs’ fieldhouse we snatch a glimpse of the stadium, our coliseum, where many a gaudy combat has been fought. If it happens to be game time, we’ll probably feel a whirl of excitement within a block of the main gate. On certain starry evenings, the fieldhouse is transformed into a whimsical ballroom, hut most of the time its walls are vibrating from the shuffling and trampling of our men of iron as they are molded into skilled athletes. Finally we enter the girls’ gvm, and view the love affairs of the century engraved on the walls, while shouts and screams remind us that a rollicking good time is had here everv hour of the day.