Burt Community School - Bears / Roundup Yearbook (Burt, IA)

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I, Sherry Gifford, do will and bequeath my low voice and my slender figure to Louis Krull. 1, Betty Riebhoff, do will and bequeath my shy, reserved manner and my long dark hair to Sheila Rachut. I, Edgar Keith, do will and bequeath my attractive smile and my frequent visits to Algona to JoAnn Dittmer. I, Madonna Vogel, do will and bequeath my black book of Bancroft phone numbers and my back seat in assembly to John Hasse. I, Colleen McGuire, do will and bequeath my extensive vocabulary and my three years as a cheerleader to Louis Krull. 1, Alvina Harms, do will and bequeath my temper and my reddish hair to go with it to Warren Rentz. I, Laurence Stroebel, do will and bequeath my faithful Chevy and my curly hair to Milton Stevens. 1, Glenda Black, do will and bequeath my assured manner and my driving ability to Delores Stroebel. I, Maxine Riebhoff, do will and bequeath my mischievous ways and my interest concerning Lone Rock to Bruce Holding. 'I, Rochelle Andrews, do will and bequeath my aptitude for mathematics and my neat appearance to Maxine Batt. Junior: Pop, I figure I'm not going to study any more. Pop: Tell my why. Junior: I figure that by the time I'm a man those radio brains will be able to do all the thinking for everybody. She: I'll bet you don't know what goes into a pumpkin pie. He: Teeth, of course. One difference between lightning and electricity is that lightning is cheaper. The judge told the defendant sternly: I can't think of anything worse than a man beating up his wife. What made you do it? Well, spoke up the man, she kept saying, 'hit me, go ahead hit me - and I'll have you brought before that bald-headed baboon in court' . Case dismissed, said the judge. Jim: Wassamatter, pal? Art: Oh, I'm reconciled to not doing well in my studies, but when my doctor tells me that I have a low-grade fever it gets me down. Teacher: (reading) The moving finger writes and having writ moves on. Emory: Teacher. Yes? My grandfather can't write with his finger, but he can fiddle with his beard. Nature puts her stamp of individu- ality on every man. Some people seem to spend most of their time trying to soak off the stamp. Bored Eskimo: White, white, always white. If only it would snow in technicolor. 20

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Class Will The class of 1953, of Burt High School, City of Burt, State of Iowa, being of strong mind and purpose do hereby establish, proclaim, and make this our last will and testament in manner and form as follows: First, to Superintendent Officer, we leave all the notes we've passed in his study halls and the many unopened books from physics classes. Second, to Mr. Stevens, we leave the hope that future Seniors will not crack their gum in his classes or talk in the halls when passing to lunch. Third, to Miss Baars, we leave memories of the many pleasant and unpleas- ant experiences we've all shared in past English classes and in operetta, glee club, and mixed chorus rehearsals. Fourth, to Mr. Roscoe, we leave a large handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow after speech classes. Fifth, to Mr. Spade, we leave our aggravating nonsense, chatter, candy wrappers, and bubble gum to liven future English classes. Sixth, to Mrs. Foster, we leave various odors and mixtures from chemistry class to remind her of our experiments. Seventh, to Mr. Ihnen, we leave our gripes after losing a basketball game. I, Michael Scott, do will and bequeath my dark hair and debonair manner to Paul Carlson. I, Richard Rasmussen, do will and bequeath my sense of humor and my tre-men-dous height to Delores Stroebel. I, Fern Krull, do will and bequeath my model's figure and Pepsodent smile to Elizabeth Steil. I, Arthur Campney, do will and bequeath my worn-out joke books and my weakness for girls to John Hasse. I, Verdean Sleper, do will and bequeath my (good?) behavior in study hall and my hearty laugh to Sheila Rachut. I, Sharon Tellier, do will and bequeath my ambition to be a housewife and my fan mail from Dubuque to JoAnn Dittmer. I, William Christensen, do will and bequeath my flashy sport shirts and friendly disposition to Virginia Baer. I, Harriet Long, do will and bequeath my ability to crack gum and my shortness of stature to Betty Mitchell. I, James McMullen, do will and bequeath my squeaky giggle and my Puckish nature to Maxine Batt. I, Mary Officer, do will and bequeath my dimples and my position on the county basketball team to Betty Groen. I, Phyllis Miller, do will and bequeath my cooking ability (especially steaks) and my skill at passing notes to Aria Moore. I, Myrna Weiske, do will and bequeath my acting abilities and my singing voice to Bruce Holding. 1, Philip Soderberg, do will and bequeath my willingness to study and my position on the basketball team to Lynda Rash. I, Esther Hasse, do will and bequeath Herman and my freckles to Janice Madsen. I, John Teeter, do will and bequeath my blue eyes and magnetic personali- ty to Warren Rentz. I, Marie Gebken, do will and bequeath my blonde hair and my tendency to giggle at anything and everything to Jerry McMullen.

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Class Prophecy i It is July 11, 1966, as we arrive at New York City to see one of the biggest attractions of the world. What is it? Why it's Teeter's Greatest Show on Earth , the most stupendous three ring circus in existence. We hurry to the circus grounds, purchase our tickets, and start to follow the crowd to the big tent when we suddenly realize that the ticket seller is someone familiar. Of course, it's Madonna Vogel. As we near the tent, our attention is drawn to one of the numerous side shows. Chills race up and down our spines as we see deadly cobras sway in per- fect rhythm to the strangely fascinating music of a flute. We immediately re- cognize the snake charmer as Sharon Tellier of the Burt High class of '53. Step right this way, folks! Get yourselves a Poodle , the greatest little hot dog in the world, shouts the young lady in charge of a concession stand. To our surprise we realize that she is our old classmate Betty Riebhoff. Going into the tent, we hurry to our seats since the show is about to begin. The band starts playing, and the ring master appears. Doesn't he look familiar? Why, of course, it's Jovial James McMullen. Jovial James steps to the cen- ter of the arena, bows to the audience, and opens the show by announcing the greatest trapeze team of all time, Mike and Shelly . The names sound familiar, especially together, and after a moment's thought, we come to the conclusion that it must be Michael Scott and Rochelle Andrews. The children are laughing and pointing to a funny fellow with tufts of carrot- red hair, baggy pants, and feet a yard long. When we finally control our laughter, we agree that the voice and actions of the clown could belong to no one else than Arthur Campney. The band plays, the drums roll, and once again our eyes are drawn upward to gaze at the tight wire sixty-five feet in the air. There a daring young girl is risking her life to walk across the ten foot wire without a net below. As the spotlight is turned upon her, her name is revealed as Esther Hasse. When the suspense is ended, and our hearts are back in place, two dapple grey ponies come galloping into the center ring carrying two beautiful ladies. The ring master announces them as Phyllis and Alvina , the bare back artists supreme. In the second ring we see a well-dressed, long legged man perched upon a one wheel bicycle. Jovial James announces him as Rassy the Rider . Hear- ing that name, we know it can be no one but Richard Rasmussen. Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please ! shouts the ring master. In the first ring you will find the man with more give to his skin than a two-way stretch, 'Edgar, the Elastic Skin Man'. Our attention is now drawn to a large elephant ambling slowly into the tent and bearing two riders. The first is Sherry Gifford, head elephant trainer, and the petite miss behind her is one of the littlest ladies in the world, Harriet Long. We hear a roar and turn our attention to the first ring where a man with blond hair and blue eyes snaps his whip at four snarling lions. We are informed that the brave young trainer is Bill Christiansen. Who'd ever thought that Bill would someday be the world's greatest lion trainer? After Bill has put the cats through their paces, we prepare ourselves for the fire-eating act. A man dressed in silver tights enters the arena with flaming torches. The crowd is in an uproar; surely he is not going to swallow the leap- ing flames? He tilts his head, opens his mouth, and the fire disappears, torches and ail. We are quite impressed, especially when we find out that it is Verdean Sleper. 21