Canastota High School - Toot Yearbook (Canastota, NY)

Page 21 text:

 THE TOOT 19 CLASS ALPHABET M is for Moore, so shy and sweet, May she never in life encounter defeat. N is for Nemo, a Latinous name, Who had more lovers than wish can claim. 0 is for Osborne, from a rival town, But to C. H. S. she’ll always be bound. P is for Pankhurst, our football star, Also for Paone, in modeling she’ll go far. Q is for the Quantity of talent in our class, May it be long remembered after we pass. R is for Relyea, politics is his feat, Who thinks a Republican just can’t be beat. S is for Stanton, Salamone and Spadter, To them nothing will ever matter. Also for Stokes, Sicilia and Simpson They look through life with lens of crimson. T is for Taylor, Timerman, and Toole, They all worked so hard for their dear old school. U is for “U”, The Seniors of Tomorrow. May your last year be joyful and not one of sorrow. V is for all the victories we will win. Let’s hope they occur again and again. W is for Williams, art is his profession. Also Wilson and Wollaber we mustn’t forget to mention. X stands for X-it for soon we must go, And I know we all will miss C. H. S. so. Y is for Yesterday, all ours behind us. Tomorrow may joy and success surely find us. Z stands for a few things, but it does stand for Zest. In this our class was surely the Best. —ROBERT CAPPARELLI

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18 THE TOOT CLASS ALPHABET A is for all things we did so well in. It also stands for Alexander and Allen. B is for Bellinger, Bonaventura and Brown, No sweeter girls could there be found. Also for Balducci, Bromfield, and Brewer, They’ll make your troubles all the fewer. C is for the Capparellis, both Ruth and Rabbit, Smiling for them is a kind of a habit. Also for Conklin and Coxie, too, “All’s fair in love” was their rule. D is for Ditoma and Davis, “an actress’s life for me”. Also for Donald and Dolci, for happiness they have the key. E is for Everybody in the Class of ’48, May their ambitions be high and achievements great. F is for Farnam, one of our class debutantes. Also for Farfaglia, may be obtain all his wants. G is for Greiner, a maiden not sad, Who shared her love with just one lad. H I J is for Haynes, our senior class president. Also for Hill, a country resident. is for the Intelligence you must possess In order to pass Miss Mackey’s tests. is for Jones, she handles all our money; And for Johnson, who thinks everything is funny. Then there is Jaquin, 40 inches the most, For that any girl can proudly boast. K is for Kimpton, Muriel by birth, Always jolly and full of mirth. L is for Lamb, a clown he might be, But for Lomonaco and Luccarelli, a bright future see.

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20 THE TOOT CLASS PROPHECY The circus has come to town and we all have to go. The band is playing. “Step right up and get your tickets. See Jogo—half man and half snake.” Ah, here is Mimi, the beautiful lady, who looks into her crystal ball and tells us all we want to know about our future. We just can’t pass her by. Inside the little tent Mimi presses our hand and gazes soulfully into the magic ball. She tells us she sees a handsome man thumbing the pages of Dah-ymen’s League News. He’s in a school for farmers, but part- ly concealed on his desk is a well-thumbed Cornell catalogue. It is none other than Ron- nie Lamb. On the table beside him lies a let- ter ready to be mailed and is addressed to a fellow classmate, Fred Stokes. And now a beautiful lady with long eye- lashes we see passing out books to tall mid- shipmen—Shirley Farnam, as I live! Now, quickly, as Mimi rattled her brace- lets, the whole Class of 1948 passes before our eyes— Ziff Farfaglia blowing a trumpet with one hand and pulling a lady’s tooth with the other— Marilyn Conklin seated cosily in the White House— Bob Bromfield just stepping into his Cadillac to attend the first night of his pro- duction of “Arms and the Woman.” Lucille Bellinger taking the pulse of a pale but handsome boy definitely resembling J. P. Morgan, Jr.— Mary Lucarelli at the microphone, stir- ring her unseen audiences to tears with hill- billy songs on Grand Ole Oprey— Rachel Greiner, giving forth sweet vocal sounds as the brave cadets of West Point stand at attention— Pat Cox, seated in her studio in the Em- pire State Building, designing an atomic gown for Harper’s Bazaar — Neal Haynes, with cape about his shoul- ders and carrying a cane, crossing the camp- us at Vassar College— Muriel Kimpton, as manager, driving swiftly in an armored car from Canastota Hospital and unloading the sacks of money in the bank— Jeanne Timerman, in charming techni- color, just stepping off the gangplank of the Queen Mary; she has been studying feminine attire in Europe for the interests of Saks Fifth Avenue— Helen Moore, reading over her article for the New York Times, about to go to press. She has just crossed off what she has written about the Russian men being hand- some, and Shirley Jones, her secretary, plead- ing with her to leave it in. We hear sweet music from a little coun- try church. Helen Jaquin’s little fingers press the keys of the organ And now a pleasant homey scene—a lighted fire burning on the hearth and Mary Davis enters the room bringing her good husband’s pipe and slippers. Johnny Relyea, at a board meeting speaking for closer cooperation with labor, also, discharge of all but female employes. It is the General Motors Corporation of which he is president. George Allen seated in a tent wrapped in an oriental rug—beside him a beautiful Arabian girl—“No love, no oil”, she says. As you have guessed, he is advertising man- ager for Standard Oil Company. A lovely blue-eyed girl passes thru a dimly lighted hall. About her are frightening shapes. Dinosaurs and the like. But she moves steadily on. She is curator for the Mu- seum of Natural History. By George, it’s Joyce Taylor. Robert Capparelli, speaking to New York Times reporter: “Let’s try to keep our articles so uninteresting that people aren’t going to read them”. He is editor-in-chief. “Call in Sam Sicilia and have him draw some good advertisements showing men dozing over their copies of the Times and the little wife sitting by knitting. That ought to cut down our circulation. We’ve got to stop mak- ing money some way. Three beautiful girls we see in a mag- azine. Ruth Capparelli leading a Dalmatian dog, advertising Teen Togs. Nellie Paone is (Continued on Page 44)