Coquille High School - Laurel Yearbook (Coquille, OR)

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'939 » « JUNIOR CLASS HISTORY . . . The junior class of 1940 has had a very successful year. Bud Miller led the class for the year and was a very popular president. He was assisted by Dorothy Newton, class secretary-treasurer, and Shirley Nye, representative to the student council. Mrs. Osika was our very popular class adviser and was ready to help at all times. In the high school band there were six juniors: Dorothy Newton, baritone; Flora Wise, cymbals; Don Landaker, sousaphone; Dick Sproul and Mary Jane Dunn, saxophones; Helen Kyle, drum majorette. The two glee clubs were supported by this class in its usual enthusiastic manner. Eight girls held memberships in the Girls’ Glee Club and two boys in the Boys’ Glee Club for the entire year. The junior class was well represented in student body affairs with the following student body offices held by Juniors: Bill Smith, vice-president; Howard Taylor, athletic manager; Mary Jane Dunn, assistant Laurel editor, and Eunice Howe, assistant treasurer. In the Girls’ League our class supplied a president, Jeanette Wheeler; two secretaries, Jeanne Claterbos and Venita Farris, and two treasurers, Shirley Nye and Frankie Edgmon. The junior class is by far the most athletic-minded class in school and has for the past three years turned out a large number of athletes. Football letters were earned by Everett Smith, Ted Schaer, Dee Krantz, Marvin Goodman, Robert Arnold, John Williams, and Virgil Arrell. Juniors receiving basketball letters were Everett Smith, Ted Schaer, John Shambow, Bill Smith, Robert Arnold, Dee Krantz, Dick Sproul, and Marvin Goodman. In track Dee Krantz, Everett Smith, and Marvin Goodman earned their letters. The juniors had three main activities this year, the junior play, the junior frolic, and the Junior-Senior Banquet. The first, the junior play, “Pleased ta Meetcha,’’ was presented Nov. 15, and a very creditable performance was given. The Junior Frolic, which was held April 14. was a great success due to the cooperation of the whole class. Howard Taylor was general chairman and everyone worked with him to produce a hall beautifully decorated with evergreens, white trellises, and spring flowers, and lighted by four lights from the corners. The Junior-Senior Banquet was held Tuesday, May 16. At the banquet the tradition of handing down the myrtle wood cane with the senior class colors on it was carried out when Jack Martin presented it to Bud Miller, junior class president. With the receiving of the colors, the class of ’40 concludes its third year in high school, and looks forward to a promising and interesting senior year.

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» ure I « I, Jane Kramer, leave and bequeath my fighting ways to Dorothy Graham. I, Elwood Wylie, leave my class ring to Margaret Wersh for I wouldn’t get it back anyway. I, Fauniel Moore, will only my gracious walk to Irene Williams. I, Fred Watson, will and bequeath nothing for I need all I have now. I, Esther Ronning, leave with Lou. Too bad for Corene. I, Phillip Stem, will to my brother. Junior, all my bad traits. I, Pat Nosier, leave a whole high school of boys. I, Lou Williams, do leave a hard place to fill on any football team. Try to get your feet to work that way. I, Russell Nelson, leave with Frankie, but she’ll be back, boys. I, Ruth Mulvihill, will my makeup ability to Phyllis Rodgers. I, Lela Wilberger, do bequeath my argumentative manner to Pat Holverstott to use next debate season. And lastly I, Algernon Z. Throttlebottom, leave in my time machine. We hereby affix our sign and seal Videlle Kelley, Donna Dean Bosserman and Fred Watson AAA SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY . . I, Algernon Z. Throttlebottom, M. S., B. S., Ph. D., M. D., and T. N. T., climb into my time machine which I have constructed from my own theories, and with my own hands and the help of Kennett Lawrence and Veryle DeGeeter in the year 1958. Following is an account of my adventures. I set the time control at 2119, almost two centuries in the future, and settled back in my seat. I pulled the lever slowly back, the gas from the cosma-biearbonate generator hissed slowly in the shell forming a fourth-dimensional screen enabling me to travel into the future. Outside of the machine the world had become invisible. My ears were filled with a rushing, roaring; the entire universe whirled around and around. Involuntarily I thrust my hand out to support myself. A terrible crash sounded and the world stopped suddenly. For a minute I could not realize I was in the future. Slowly I dragged myself to the porthole. There stood before me a large house with a small boy playing in the yard (in fact he was so small that he was hardly able to walk), as the youngster was continually sucking his thumb, I could not help but recognize him as Sandy Thrift. Yea Gods! What is this? Reincarnation! Something interrupted my observation, a newsboy, shouting “Extra, Extra, Co-quille beats Bandon 18-6.” I rushed from the gondola and grabbed a copy from the boy. The date line read Oct. 8, 1921—I had gone backward. Turning quickly I tore back into the time machine. With a quick glance at the controls I perceived my mistake, I had set the time regulator in reverse. Changing the regulator to 2119. I again pulled the lever back. This time there was a blinding flash, I could not see. I felt I was falling into a bottomless void. With a wrenching stop of the machine I came to an abrupt rest. I had reached my goal— (I hoped.) As I opened the door I stepped out into a scene of complete desolation. Crawling over the rim of a crater, there came a wizened, bent figure, scarcely three feet in height. With a cracked voice he addressed me, “Hi ya Buck, I’m Bowlby Fuhr-man. I’m the last survivor of the white race. I was kept alive by old Doc Farr till he died a few days ago.” I asked this old man what had happpened to the rest of the class. Although he was a bit shrunken, I recognized him as the same Rolph Fuhrman who had graduated with me. Giving me his gnarled hand he led me tremblingly to a lonely graveyard. The first stone to catch my eyes read: “Here rests in peace, side by side, P. V. McKeown and his bride, Ann Hawkins—Died a hero’s death on Kistner’s field.” Next I saw three tombstones marked with red crosses. On them was engraved: “Here lie these nurses in a heroine’s bed—They served their country—Now they’re dead—Suckers!” Lela Wilberger, Edith Zinserling, and Betty Lou Clausen were their names. (Continued on page 45)

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» J aurcl « C. CAMPBELL M. DAVIS V. FARRIS E. HOWE D. R. ARNOLD D. CARDWELL V. DEHART D. GILMAN C. HOTTENSTEIN H. V. ARRELL J. CLATERBOS E. DRAKE M. GOODMAN E. HULTIN J. R. AVERY G. CLINTON V. DUNCANSON W. HATHAWAY V. KNOX B. F. BLAYLOCK M. DANIELS M. J. DUNN A. HARRAH C. KOLLAR J. G. BULSON J. DAVIS F. EDGMON C. HAWKINS J. KOENEN KRANTZ KYLE LEATH ERWOOD LEHMANOSKY LAIRD