Clinton High School - Memorabilia Yearbook (Clinton, MA)

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Class History There comes a time in the life of most every young American. boy and girl, when, armed with four pencils, two pens, some notebooks, a ruler, and a compass, he or she enters that period of life known as the Freshman year of High School. Looking back at our entrance to C. H. S. we recall our uncertainty, our hopes, our fears, and our fun. We recall the first encounter with a Senior who directed us to our rooms fusually the directions were wrongj . . . we recall our first glimpse of Napoleon, our first interview with Mr. Cobb, and our increasing acclimation and love for Clinton High as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. We remember a football eleven . . . an eleven which brought a Midland League Championship to our school, a fine Thanksgiving Night show, a splendid Christmas Showf' which, though presented by the much envied Seniors, was acclaimed by every lowly freshman.. Somewhere within that time we had learned the meaning of the word Assembly, the significance of that eerie sound known as a fire drill. Somewhere in that time, too, had come the first report card. Some of us had a little trouble explaining the red marks while other cards showed the fruits of pupils' labor . . . or at least, the benefit of the teachers' doubt. We arrived, unexperienced, at that hectic week of Mid-Years. Our motto afterward became Venimus, vidimus, victi sumus. Our Interclass offering, Orchids for Marief' did not prove good enough to win the Competition, but displayed talent, which, with more experience, would lead to honors for '41. VVe shall never forget our first prom . . . evening gowns, corsages, flannels, deco- rations . . . all in all, a most fitting way to end a most enjoyable year. In September, we re-entered. We had behind us a year of experience, before us, who could tell? A few were not to be seen. Some had left school because they knew too much, others had remained Freshman because they . . . liked the teachers. Shortly after school had started, there came a day of days . . . a wind of winds, one might say. A mighty hurricane left us without electricity, without telephone service, minus trees, without school . . . for a few days. The morning after that frightful night, we climbed over fallen trees, not unlike a dense jungle, to see what had become of our school. What had? Nothing. There it stood, intact, waiting for our return the following Monday. A We had gained the right to vote, and we chose wisely as our officers: Daniel O'Malley, Presidentg Madeleine Moran, Vice-President, Fred Krauss, Treasurer, Marie Connelly, Secretary. Mr. Iohn F. Burke was appointed Advisor. In November we ran our first dance, the Harvest Moon Ball.. We startled the upper classmen with our snappy decora- tions, and our ability to make the dance the social and Financial success that it was. 14

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Report cards came again, but we had learned to prepare alibis in anticipation of the trend toward red ink. We sailed the stormy sea of mid-years once more and managed to dock successfully, back in home port. Our chance for victory came in that year's Interclassg we took it, made the most of it, and came out the victor. Not Quite Such a Goose was the name of that memorable production. That yearis Prom was, as proms always are, the highlight of the Clinton High School year. We enjoyed it immensely, noting every detail, for the next Iune would bring our opportunity to demonstrate to the other classes just what we thought a real prom should be. The First few days of our Iunior Year found us guilty of that age-old crime of belittling the Freshman. We tackled our studies with confidence, for we'd learned that they weren't so hard . . . at least not too hard. When election day arrived, we showed our appreciation of the splendid work accomplished by our Sophomore officers . . . we re-elected the same four. A crack football team walked away with another Midland League Championship! Can we forget that playoff game with Milford? Overshoes, several pairs of woolen socks, ski pants, the warmest mittens we could find. We shivered in the stands while the team fought bravely and literally snowed them under. Mid-years and the Interclass passed uneventfully. We were all beginning to feel eager to start to work on the plans for the Prom. We prepared decorations weeks in advance and when that day of days rolled around the Class of 1941 took over the Clinton Town Hall. Hammers, pins, scotch tape, ladders, rope, wire, and wooden diploma frames . . . all these, with the noise and bustle of the eager workers, gave visitors to the town offices reason to think they had entered the wrong building. Gradually everything fell into place in readiness for the biggest and best Prom Clinton High has ever known. From the moment when the orchestra-Tommy Grant's-played the first note of The Wind and the Rain in Your Hair, to start the dancing, right to the last note of the last dance, the evening was everything a Prom could be . . . colorful, enjoyable . . . just plain marvelous. Our Senior year . . . same old school . . . same old corridors . . . but new difficulties . . . new worries as to how to keep up our past record. One new officer came forth to lead us: Leo Battista, President. That fall saw an-other Championship team further Clinton's fame as a strong football power. Our Senior Show stands out as the most memorable event of the first half of the year, Whoa Grandmalj' its name . . . Mr. Gordon, its director. A delightful story and a splendid performance will mark it as one of the best in the history of the school. This is the last half of our last year at Clinton High. Our History Circle, Tau Sigma, French Circle, and Shorthand Circle have been in full swing for over a month. Strange sounds have been reaching our ears from the direction of Room 16 as the orchestra and class prepare for graduation. Everything is building up to the climax of four years of high school life . . . Senior Week. As we find a moment to pause and rest, we let our thoughts wander back . . .back to that bright day in September, four years ago. Have we accomplished what we set out to accomplish? Have we done our best to help C. H. S. whenever we could . . . to help '41 . . . to help ourselves? Perhaps we have, in some small measure, at least. But our days of helping Clinton High are not over . . . not if we uphold its standards . . . not if we try to be true representatives of our alma mater in the days Beyond Tomorrow. 16