Brantford Collegiate Institute and Vocational School - Hello Yearbook (Brantford, Ontario Canada)

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undergraduates Gary Beckett Rod Bryan George Bucek Reg Cawston Ken Eadie Bill Emmott Jim Fedorenko Brian Fenney Ron Gashgarian Terry George Dave Hankinson Jamie Hignell Ian MacKellar Al Moffat John Nightingale Larry Nemeth Randy Prince Keith Proctor Gerry Small Rick White Frank Winkler Absent: Blain Childerhose. Nick Wenzel 12f Gary Beckett Gary (or something). Well, you know. Rod Bryan The only guy who gets %100 and still scrounges for marks. George Bucek George doesn ' t let school interfere with his education. Reg Cawston Somehow, everyone knows when Reg is nearby. Blain Childerhose In his spare time, Blain attends school. Ken Eadie Farmer is 12f ' s tough Ploughboy. Bill Emmott Bill sleeps in school because it ' s the only chance he gets. Jim Fedorenko Minnesota ' s only problem is getting the ball in the pocket. Brian Fenney His car does ten miles an hour — if it starts. Ron Gashgarian He loves B.C.I, so much, he doesn ' t want to leave. Terry George Yamaha would get along fine if he could keep out of the ditches. Dave Hankinson Dave ' s downfall is a Mini Cooper without a synchronized first gear. Jamie Hignell Born and bred in blue track shoes. Ian MacKellar Probable Destiny: Riding Colonel Saunder ' s White Horse. Al Moffat Who did I step on this time? Larry Nemeth If Duke can ' t do it, there ' s no use in 12F even trying. John Nightingale John lives in a yellow speckled submarine with screen doors. Randy Prince The only shadow you can find on a cloudy day. Keith Proctor The only Super Newfy within one thousand miles of Brantford. Gerry Small We don ' t know much about Gerry, but maybe it ' s best that way. Nick Wenzel Dark, quiet and never mind . Rick White 12f ' s joke supply. Rick, it ' s really you we ' re laughing at. Frank Winkler Frank lives for the weekend. 45

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undergraduates Ron Aldred Derek Averell Doreen Averell Joyce Baker Paul Caldwell Mark Careswell Spencer Chapin Dave Cheetham Joyce Fraser Judy Guest John Hodgson Cynthia Jamieson Gary Johnson Bob Lee Bob Loomis Allan Mac Lean Graham McCauley Jim McDonald Liz Ness Selven Nursoo Steve Parker Anne Pawlowski Susan Reid John Sek Mike Sharp Barb Shoemaker Joanne Smith Absent: Brent Boyce 12e Ron Aldred It ' s the quiet ones you have to watch. Derek Averell April ' s Fool. Doreen Averell Only her hairdresser knows for sure. Joyce Baker Brain of our Math class, but who can ' t multiply? Brent Boyce Still waters run deep. Paul Caldwell Excuse me. Miss, could you please write higher? Mark Careswell 1 2e ' s handsome Cassanova with an innocent look. Spencer Chapin Tall, blonde and ABSENT. Joyce Fraser No, I won ' t go to the washroom with you, Barb. Judy Guest Mayhew Judy? Yes, Hew May. Dave Cheetham Dave gets a big kick out of being Brantford ' s most valuable player. John Hodgson With his good looks, personality and Bartle ' s, Joe Mother ' s Milk should go far. Cynthia Jamieson Cinner doesn ' t live up to her name. Dale Jewell Wouldn ' t a Dow go good now, Selven? Gary Johnson For someone who doesn ' t use a rope, he sure does a lot of skipping. Bob Lee Mr. Mann ' s definition of a Super Idiot . Bob Loomis Tries to look busy, but is really confused. Allan MacLean Will never be divorced. Neither will his wives. Jim McDonald Owns the only farm with well-bred chicks. Liz Ness This sexy blonde started off her school year with one heck of a bang! Selven Nursoo Guess who ' s coming to dinner. Steve Parker You ' d sometimes wonder if he was the son of a preacher man. Anne Pawlowski One popular brunette who can really pull them off, especially in English. Susan Reid One girl who has Tom around her thumb. John Sek Dalton and Newton couldn ' t make half the mistakes this guy creates. Mike Sharp Dr. Careswell, come here. I have a job for you. Barb Shoemaker Ruth Buzy at her best. Always hitting that dirty old man with her purse. Joanne Smith Does she or doesn ' t she? 44

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to the best of my agility a short story by JoAnne Merritt A militant blast brings the troop to attention momentarily. Then they scatter, each to a preordained post. A pair of keenly perceptive eyes inspect the ranks. For a brief moment shock registers in those cold calm eyes and I glance fearfully at my uniform. Oh, I am destined to bear this stain on my reputation for the rest of my life - a stubborn black streak on my left sneaker. I hang my head in shame and embarrassment. The inspectress pronounces my sentence with sadistic delight, Be in the gym area in full uniform by eight a.m. tomorrow morning. The martial aura of physical education classes has never really impressed me. After another shrill blast; the squads disperse. They stand erect and attentive, prepared for the rigorous routine that now confronts them. All eyes turn expectantly to the instructress. I have never quite felt the shining admiration for her that is generally expected. For she stands before me a burly tower of brawn somehow proud of the fact that she has muscles where curves should be. Oddly enough I have never felt that burning desire to someday blossom into this paragon of strength. Truly, I am not the athletic type and have accepted the fact that it would take nothing short of a miracle to change my fate. I have suffered humiliation since childhood with my unsuccessful attempts to gain even a blue ribbon on Play Day . Yet, I must endure the Board of Education ' s futile efforts to bring about this miracle. I admire their persistence. A booming voice echoes through the gymnasium surrounding the statuary figures now at its command. Today, class, we shall complete the volleyball tests and continue with F.M. Ah, fundamental movements — the exercise that I have affectionately and I feel appropriately renamed fairy dancing . The accompanist at the piano strikes up a rapturous chorus of Tip-toe Through the Tulips and sixty arms and legs flail the air hopelessly attempting to keep in time. Yet, the instructress is somehow pleased with our progress. It seems that she utilized this ballet burlesque as part of her infinite efforts to mold these uncoordinated puppets into her own image. Next she chooses someone to demonstrate a new routine. (I have often wondered what unusual and diverse circumstances prevent a personal performance from her.) She selects the performer from the elite clique of super athletes or is it just coincidental and ironic that invariably the Chosen is captain of the volleyball team and cheerleading squad. I guess one just cannot change human nature so I sit back and passively observe the unaltering pattern. A deep bellow explodes from our sergeant and the troop falls into formation. Thirty blue uniforms of all shapes and sizes find their positions without hesitation. I have often pondered the mystery of these uniforms. Who is the diabolical genius credited with their fabrication? He certainly created an inspiration in impractical design! I marvel at the many fashionable details of this garment. Two short sleeves protrude from their seams to give the appearance of wings. The ever popular bloomer effect is created by the elasticized legs of the 46