Circleville High School - Circle Yearbook (Circleville, OH)

Page 33 text:

LARRY EVERETT WING Where there ls a will there is a way. ROBERT LEE BROWN A Day With The Seniors by Sam the Tiger As the class bell rasped its final warn- ing I slipped quietly through the main portal of my familiar den. Yes, I couldn't miss any classes today, for this was the last time I would see my friends from the class of '55, I dried a salty tear as I recalled the many social, athletic, and academic events I had attended with them. Beginning in the Freshman year and right through the Baccalaureate ser- vices we had good times together. My sentiments were about to bubble over when I was suddenly shoved against the stair railing as George Seimer raced past me, heading for 204. I regained my footing and continued to ascend again, but as they always say, Bad things ior is it good thingsi always come in pairs. This time my tail received the punishment as Jerry Cassill nearly smash- ed it in a futile attempt to beat the tardy bell. First class had taken up already but Liz Musser and Kay Graef were still con- templating exchanging green peas for a meat sandwich at cafeteria. Personally, I'll take a ham bone any day. Leaving them in their confusion, I overheard Weta Mae Liest and Bev Thornton discussing the merits of the Dewey decimal system in regard to Walt Disney comics. Annette Glass, an avid fan, chimed in and added that she would donate her comic book collection, but Weta declined saying that the situation did not call for gifts. What's this heading down the hall? As I adiusted my contact lenses, I saw Bev Elsea doing a maiorette strut with Red Buskirk and Marge Magill follow- ing close behind. Just as they passed 205, Sandra Valentine and Mary Ann McClure came racing out of the office on a secret mission to Miss Walter's room, probably to inform Barb Brown that she had won the essay contest. Just as we all met in a iumble there was a loud explosion from the chemistry lab. I was first to arrive at the scene and found Gail Dunlap and Lura Purdin calm- ly pouring HCL down the sink in order to clear out the drains they had iust stop- ped up with copper shavings. Don Green- lee was trying to explain to Mr. Watts that he had exploded a beaker trying to make syrup for the pancakes Elaine Burkhart was cooking with a Bunsen burner. About this time I decided I had better make tracks if l wanted to keep my appetite.

Page 32 text:

SANDRA JEAN VALENTINE There is no duty that we underrate so much as the duty of being happy. MAX WICKERSON WALKER It is hardly respectable to be good nowadays. JANE VIRGINIA WALLACE The love of praise, however conceal'd by art. PHILLIP EDWARD WANTZ It never pays to tell women the truth. SHIRLEY ANN WARD There's a twinkle in her eye. CYRUS CHRIS WELDON lt matters not how long we Ilve but how. KENNETH WILLIAMS A good man never dIes. LLOYD EUGENE WILLIAMS

Page 34 text:

A Day With The Seniors fContinuedJ As I started to descend the stairs I heard a muffled mumble and, stopping to investigate, found Bev Southward giv- ing her speech on Archaeology and What It Means to You or Don't Laugh -You'll look that way in Five Hundred Years. Betty Stonerock, Carol McCain, Martha Peters, and Leah Pettit were list- ening intently, adding their constructive remarks. Thinking it a shame to disturb such a studious group, I slipped silently down the stairs. Whoops! There goes the noon bell. Every man, or rather tiger, for himself. Here comes Tom Peters on his way to the dairy for his daily quart of milk. Fol- lowing closely behind were Milt Hous- man, Ronnie Buskirk, Dave Edgington, Bill Glitt, and Nick Smalley, yelling that the last one to the Snack Shack had to pay the bill. Just then Barb Barthelmas came car- eening down the stair shouting that she had left her horn at home. Marlane Kerr attempted to console her but they both decided they had better get it before band period . . . so off they went. Lunch hour was almost over but Joe Smith and Phil Wantz were still arguing with Blimp Styers and Elliott Hawkes over air force bases in civics class. I knew it was impossible to calm them, so I con- tinued down the hall. At the head of the Corwin Street stairs I found Mary Cassidy and Avanell Thom- as composing a new cheer, with Margie Oltman urging them on. A little further on, Dorothy Chaffin was addressing anyone who would lis- ten, about the blessings of drivers' train- ing. Some fellow buddies, Jill Moats, Barb Binkley, Chris Weldon, and Jim Fausnaugh, were listening intently but Barb Hoffman was sitting on the floor composing a note in pig-latin to Janet Eccard. Deciding that the entire group was a little off, I stepped into the study hall for a rest. There I found another argument in progress with Fletch Fletcher, George Johnson, and Dud Thomas in a deep discussion over who was the best ping pong player of the three. Over by the windows, Ken Williams and Larry Wing were throwing spit-balls on passers-by below. Jim Palm and Ray McFee had iust been hit and were about to return the favor with mud pies when Mrs. Boggs came to the rescue. In a scholarly mood, Carol Gibbs and Lawrence Garner were working on civics reports. Following my rest, I took a quick trip to the gym to watch Phyllis Cupp's aerial act in action. I arrived iust in time to find Bev Lutz in hysterics. Max Walker had iust slammed the bleachers shut with her on them. Bev finally composed herself when Dona Sark and Nancy Arledge ioined the group. From across the gym we heard the strains of the band with Harry Griest sounding some flat notes as usual. Paul Allison and Bob Scranton had a short race to see who would close the door first. But by the time they returned, everyone had left . . . including me. On the way back to third floor, I passed Sue Mowery headed for the Wayne township bus and Shirley Ward headed for the home restaurant. Yes, the final bell had rung. I said a fond farewell to Jane Wallace, Clara Neff, Diane Mason, Uckie Stocklen and several other dirty, dirty birds. I heard the chugging of engines as Lazy-Jaws Lamb and Jim Arledge roared off in a drag race. The Senior hall was empty now. They- 're gone for good and all I have now are my memories. Good-bye to the class of '55,