Classical High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Springfield, MA)

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TE Tok seas AINE WET Sires The Prophecy of the Class of 1943; The Prophecy Committee of the Class of 1943 and a half, finding it exceedingly difficult to probe into the haze of the future, and seeking inspiration, decided to take a Carribean cruise on a banana boat during the Christmas vacation. Through the influence of the eminent, internationally known Dr. Rolland Smith, who secretly goes to Washington every other week-end on Official business, we obtained special permission from the United States Shipping Board to make this trip. The cruise was progressing satisfactorily when the boat left its Carribean dock and started homeward, but no inspiration had as yet presented itself. The first day out in the middle of the balmy Gulf of Mexico, the members of the Committee draped themselves over the ship’s rail — apparently to view the scenery, but prob- ably to ease their sea-sickness. “Oh, look, there’s a shark! See its fin cutting the water!’ someone cried. We looked, but Robert Collier, who happened to have his glasses on, sputtered, ‘‘That’s no shark; that’s a torpedo!” We hoped his glasses were only glazed with sea- spray; but this hope, together with the glasses, was dashed to pieces by a splintering, sickening crash. A few hours later we were bobbing about on the big green ocean in a tiny lifeboat. Ramon Mentor took an in- ventory of our possessions, and found them to be — six Roman candles, one pea-shooter, and three flares. As if we hadn’t had enough fireworks already! Several days later we were washed up on the beach of a deserted tropical isle. We soon discovered a gurgling spring which Herman Nash, boy scout and naturalist of the Committee, blithely informed us gushed Aqua Mania, the cause of Hydro-insanity. David Davidson, who was nearly unconscious anyway, having done all the rowing, was the first to wet his parched lips with the tainted water. The rest of the dauntless committee soon followed suit. Suddenly — or was it hours later? —a shining city appeared before our befogged eyes! Jean Rivard, who had been studying stenography, set down the account of the events that follow, As we stood gazing down a spacious avenue, a burly traffic officer approached us. ‘‘Vagrants or visitors?” he queried. We recognized him as Edwin Bobak, but he didn’t seem to know us. We asked our whereabouts, and he looked hurt and astonished. “Why, you mean to tell me that you don’t know that this is the world metropolis — Springfield, Massa- chusetts, in the year 1965. Population — one hundred and fifty million! Its phenominal growth has astonished everyone — including ourselves. But wait, let me show ou to the Chamber of Commerce executive of Lower asin Street. He can tell you more than I.” Nancy Prouty, receptionist, ushered us into the inner sanctum to the presence of the executive, a blond- haired fellow, who was surrounded by a bevy of beau- tiful girls. Looking sharply, we saw that it was Marvin Schreiber. He explained that he could not take us through his fair city because business was tying him up. However, he cheerfully loaned us his private switchboard operator, Barbara Crandall, whom we gayly followed out the door. Emerging on the Main Street we passed by a large Super Mart. There, Barbara paused to point out a superb window display decorated with an Hawaiian motif — pineapples. “This,” she informed us, ‘“‘was designed by June Oatley, the renowned authority on things Hawaiian.” We were furthermore astonished by a gaudy sign being hoisted into place. It read: “S. FINKEL SONS”. “This store,’’ we were told, ‘‘was bought only yester- day by Saul Finkel, who is reputed to have accumulated a tidy sum playing professional basketball.”’ As we were about to call a halt in front of a massive edifice bearing the name Pynchon Memorial Labora- tories, we were crowded off the sidewalk by a zoot- suited man out of Esquire, accompanied by two sophisticates. The fashion-plate was Walter Chizinsky, and basking in his radiance were Beverly Stebbins and Doris Stone. Entering the Pynchon Laboratories we caught a glimpse of Sam Ringel, up and coming scientist, at- tempting to grow electro-magnets under Westinghouse sponsorship. Also employed at the Memorial was Robert Collier, M.D., conducting invaluable research in a field dealing with the reincarnation of dead beats . Before making our exit we were allowed to watch, at work, Betty Gerber and Antonetta Romano making their twentieth entry in the contest requiring an explanation of Einstein’s Theory in 250,000 words — more or less. Hearing an unearthly howl coming from a nearby building we were about to dash madly across the street when we were frozen in our tracks by the sudden screech of brakes. A luxurious, sleek, black limousine had swung around the corner, narrowly missing our little group. In it were mink-coated, jewel-bedecked Jean Chapman and Helen Brown on their way to the opera. Jean gave us a haughty glance, while Helen shouted to her suave chauffeur, Ramon Mentor, to drive on. Remembering the purpose of our reckless flight, we scurried through a door and crowded into an elevator. At the same time we noticed a passenger beside us with a peculiar gleam in his eye. It was Stewart McCracken, private detective and partner of that super-sleuth, Richardo Wolf. Stewart confided in us that he had an idea business might be picking up. He told us of a case in which he found John, from John’s other wife, and i identified him as being the same character as Dear ohn.

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ee Lae ie ler es ACNED We lelel a Tes The History of the Class of 1943; We were a class of freshmen green, The greenest Classical had ever seen; Wondering why when late for class, We always got a detention pass. Our first few days were spent hopelessly wandering around the corridors searching for an obscure room, such as 323 . After a get-acquainted party, we began to feel a little more at home and class elections were held. Carl Jacobs was elected president; Martha Hopkins, vice-president; Antonetta Romano, secretary; Thomas jade treasurer; and Robert Glidden, member-at- arge. With Miss Fitzgerald and Mr. Lynch as class ad- visers, we became an organized class, and when June, 1941, rolled around, we were making our share of noise in the halls. Returning in September, we gazed patronizingly at the incoming 10B’s, and felt very high and mighty. We were delighted to find that for a while, we were to be dismissed at 12:15, while the lunch-room was being done over. However, our delight in the modern fixtures was sOmewhat modified by our return to our regular 2:30 schedule. Days passed in work and play, and before we knew it, we were planning for Christmas. Then came Sunday, December 7th. Overnight we changed from happy-go- lucky students, whose minds were full of parties and good times, to serious and determined individuals. Faces began to drop out of classes as boys left to join the service. With such momentous things in our minds, the new year came upon us, and we suddenly realized our first full year as Classicalites was ended. We were a class of juniors bright, And everything we did was right; But teachers promptly let us know, That they did not find it so. With the beginning of our junior year, a new word was added to our vocabularies — rationing. It wasn’t long before we all became acquainted with that novel mode of transportation — walking. In the midst of this confusion, we held our elections. Robert Woody was elected president; Martha Hopkins, vice-president; Thomas Howard, treasurer; Joanne MacDonald, secretary; and Carl Jacobs, member-at- large. Toward the end of school, we planned a dance called the “Spring Fling.”’ Here let it be said that nothing as trifling as the lack of gas could ever stop a Classicalite. Bicycles were rolled out, buggies were dusted up, and the dance was attended in grand style. With the news of Classical’s team winning the base- ball championship ringing in our ears, we left for sum- mer vacation. September arrived all too soon, and back we came to find the landscape enhanced by piles of coal. A change in school time gave us an extra hour of sleep in the morning. It also meant an added hour of school in the afternoon. Toward the end of our junior year, we finally agreed on class colors which were green and gold. From then on, we eagerly awaited our banner. January found our class very much decreased as we finished our second year in Classical. We were a class of seniors small, Not half-filling the study hall; But our years at Classical have been a success, Sorrow at leaving, we now express. At last we were seniors! From a class of 130 strong, we had diminished to 65. Those who preferred joining the regular June class had done so, leaving only 60 remaining seniors in possession of 323. Many of us, too, were planning on staying through until June, but wish- ing it, we were given the privilege of having our activi- ties with those leaving in January. “Thank you, Mr. Hill.” For the last time we held our elections. James Gaylord was elected president; Philip McKeague, vice-president; Elva Foerster, secretary; Robert Hogg, treasurer; and Stewart McCracken, member-at-large. Robert Hogg left for the Army, and Russell Chase was then elected treasurer. Despite the fact that we were now proud seniors, we held our Junior Prom with the Junior class. It was a case of “better late than never.” ‘Toward June our teachers noticed a decided increase in the number of hands waving to answer questions. (We had to show our class rings somehow, didn’t we?) Before vacation, we said good-bye to Mr. Lynch, one of our advisers, who left to train the Air Cadets at Springfield College. He was replaced by Miss Bowles. About the same time, we also said good-bye to Mr. Cook, our assistant principal, who left to become acting principal of Forest Park Junior High. On our return in September, we were dazzled by the splendor of the front hall. We could hardly believe our eyes — it had been re-decorated. In October our arm bands and hats arrived. What a day that was! We walked around as proud as pedcocks, refusing to take them off. (The boys were more vain than the girls.) All at once, we began to realize our high school days were nearly over, and while ‘Pistol Packin’ Mama” was blaring from every radio, we began in earnest to prepare for graduation. Overnight, 323 became a bee hive of activity as plans for the class promenade and banquet got under way. Then Miss Fitzgerald’s troubles in home-room began, There was a continual buzz as members of committees went into conference. Students began mysteriously to disappear into 318 and Mr. Hall’s office. After weeks of worrying and planning, the date of the prom finally came, and the evening, which was all too short, proved to be a gala success. Thoughts then turned to the banquet, which also was an evening never to be forgotten. The climax of our senior year was the graduation. Friday, January 21, 1944, nineteen of our classmates received their diplomas. Thirty-three years ago, the first mid-year graduation was held. These members of our class held the distinction of being the last class to graduate in the middle of the year. With this gradua- tion, the history of the class of 194314 drew to a close. It was a grand three years. Mary E,. CreGaAn, Chairman NoreEEN PARKER BARBARA CRANDALL, BARBARA KEENAN Asst. Chairman SaLtty MAE HERBERT HELEN BRowN GEORGE GRAY DoLores CERA MILDRED CRUZE JUNE OATLEY a

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diet hae Bie Ole On arriving at the apartment whence the noise we heard had emanated, we were all crestfallen. The place was the office of Dentist George Driller Gray, former riveter at Lockheed. Strapped to a chair was Howard Rock, eminent baritone, who was employing George as a means of reaching low c below c. Hygienists Jean Rivard and Marilyn White were busily filling Rock’s mouth with drills and rubber dams. Waiting her turn, and engrossed in the Book of the Day was Freda Narkin, famous authoress and society editor for the “Out of Times’’ newspaper. Colonel Bob Woody, recently returned from a Ski Carnival in Siberia, was making an appointment to get fitted for a new set of teeth. He had traded his last set to Madelaine von Tobel for a pair of skis. She regards them as a highly prized addition to her growing collection. Wandering down a side street we were, without warning, set to trembling and vibrating. A short dis- tance away a monstrous machine containing Earl Edwall, physicist, and Ralph Ilgovsky, outstanding chemist and after-dinner speaker, burst through the surface of the earth. Julie Harmon, newspaper col- umnist, emerged to explain that they were excavating for Sea Dust. For the first time we began to realize that we were famished, and we entered the first restaurant we came upon. Society matrons, Barbara Main and Leah Blacher, were waiting on table there — as an amusing diversion from their extremely boring social affairs. While we were eating we tuned in the radio-television set and were delightfully surprised to see and hear the Mayor of Springfield, the Honorable James Jim Gaylord. His seventh-term campaign featured the proposed erection of a new basketball stadium. Mayor Gaylord and his four sons make up one of the out- standing teams in the East. The program was suddenly interrupted. ‘‘Flash! . . . Burnie Londerville has sim- plified the Rocket Ship to enable a five-year-old to sit at the controls! He is happy to state that he soon hopes to find a way to make it fly!” Changing the program with a flick of the dial, we tuned in and flashed on the screen —the All-Girl Orchestra of Doris Hellerman playing the sweetest music this side of Harlem. This ultra-conservative orchestra featured Barbara Keenan at the harpsichord, Noreen Parker at the bazooka, and Velma Beeman at the piano. A huge crowd had turned out to listen to the music of twenty years ago. Velma had revived the two decade old boogie woogie. Before leaving the restaurant we tuned in on the latest sports news. Bill Powell, former seven-letter man at the University of Spring- field, had returned to become head coach in his home town college. Back on Main Street we were about to hail one of the dilapidated Model Z taxis of the Robert Darden Taxi Company, when Ethel O'Neil, driving for a rival com- AND WA reese any, sped past Bob’s taxi, taking off the two fenders. arold Kallin and Robert Wallace, registered wreckers, flashing their Sears-Roebuck licenses, arrived in their helicopter to tow Bob and his taxi away for repairs. Attracted by the hordes of admiring paper boys flocking around beauteous Ann Stelos, who had turned her charms toward selling papers for the benefit of the raat newsboys’ outing, we purchased a Springfield nion. When we stopped at the Mary Cregan and Mildred Cruze Milk Bar to have a chocolate malted, we opened our Union and saw the name of Editor Sally Herbert in black two-inch type. The fi rst page dealt exclusively with speeches by Marjorie Hollister and Elva Foerster, members of the City Council, and one by School Com- missioner Philip McKeague, who had been awarded a aes term because of his deep interest in school affairs. In the world of entertainment we noted that wealthy Bill Axtell was producing another sensational show at the Copaca Banza Club. Starring in the cast were Myra Weinberg, pre-Shakespearian lecturer, and Phyllis Barton, fiery torch singer. It was rumored that the financial backer of the show was Russell Chase, also city treasurer, Discarding our newspaper and venturing in May- bury’s — Ellen Maybury’ s famous department store, we were surrounded by Gallup Poll workers Barbara Carrigan and Dolores Cera. They were eager to find our reactions, if any. We escaped their volume of ques- tions by dashing out a side door — right into the arms of Mary Hiney and Barbara Rohan who were still taking first aid courses and were in desperate need of fresh vietims. Together with Driver Irwin Chase they packed us off in a waiting ambulance bound for Herman Nash’s Restful Sanitarium. We were almost at our destination when, after turn- ing a corner, we found ourselves racing head on into a patel wall. Untan gling ourselves from the debris we were greeted by David Davidson, eminent mathemati- cian, who gleefully informed us that he at last had found out the reaction when an irresistible force and an immovable object meet. We thought we saw Gilda Wendorff and Sulamith Moses riding up on a bicycle built for two, but the city and its inhabitants seemed to be disappearing. We were once again back on our tropic isle, waving frantically at another banana boat passing by. RoBERT COLLIER, Chairman Davip DaAviIDSON JULIE HARMON Doris HELLERMAN RAMON MENTOR SULAMITH MosEs HERMAN NASH JEAN RIVARD