Fairbury Cropsey High School - Crier Yearbook (Fairbury, IL)

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wear them when in search of a new spring skirt. I, Helen Jefferson, leave my overflowing love for Roy C. Ham- man, to one in my same capacity, Margie Schnetzler. I, Forrest Landsman, leave my masculine stride to Sara Mullan- ey, since she needs something add- ed to or detracted from her newly acquired stepping. I, Glen Lewis, wish to leave to Maxine Lange, my revoked dri- ver’s license, for if Maxine car- ries on as she has she'll need two or three. I, LaVerne Martin, leave to I lerschel Leffingwell my position as No. 1 T enor in the glee club, since Hersch always manages to hit the right notes at the right time. I, Helen McMahon, leave my “line” to the plotting, scheming, Marie Filers. I, Jean Mowery, bequeath to Anna Margaret the privilege of keeping alive the Mowry family interests and name. I, Mary Ann Munz, leave my pessimistic nature to the frivolous and voluptuous Florence Sutter. I, Mary Nance, leave to my sister Charlotte, the happy smile and unfailing joviality which I have sustained, even after four years of schooling, in which I atin and History were unavoidable barriers. I, Francis Nolan, leave my bookkeeping accounts to Mr. Wat- son, since after finding variations between Francis’ figures and the authoritative textbooks, Mr. Wat- son decided to consider Francis’ answers, completely and officially correct. I, Jake Peter, bequeath to I eon Knopp, my many spitoons, since Leon insists on chewing Beechnut in many places, where spitoons are considered definitely out of style. I, Charles Rice, leave my “devil may care” attitude, to one deeply concerned with grades, studies, and the like, Junior Ferguson. I, Edith Robinson, bequeath my ability in getting five A’s to one worthy of the honor, Maurice Johnson. I, Emma Schmidt, leave to the amiable Mona Waples, my catty attitude toward other students. I, Wilma Schmidt, leave my artistic hair coiffeurs to the poorly styled Maxine Lange. I, Agnes Steers, leave my de- cided love for Bill Freed, to Miss Kemple, since without absolute and genuine devotion William is unbearable. I, Christine Strode, after much deliberating, genuinely desire to leave Patrick Flanagan, since Harold has proven faithful, to the end???? I, Rosella Von Bergen, be- queath to the intellectual Charles Heins, my lack of gray matter. I, George Walker, will to the athletic Eddie I ometti, my love for studies, and music. I, Harryette Werling, leave mv jitterbug antics to the syncopated Betty Hildreth. I, Helen Wilson, will my red hair to Janet Moore since she seems most concerned with the shade of her tresses. I, Irene Woodard, leave to Lil- lian my knack of long recitation in History. I, Dorothy Yoder, leave to any- one who dares take it, my unfor- tunate ability of being the butt of Smith's failing puns. I, John Ziegenhorn, being last but not least, do hereby bequeath, will ?nd leave the dead silence of the assembly to the teachers, since without me next year they will be greatly—relieved. Nineteen

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SENIOR WILL WE, the seniors of Fairbury Township High school, of the city of Fairbury, State of Illinois, being of sound mind and memory, and desiring to impart to our un- der-classmen, the formula of our achievements, do hereby make and declare this our last will and tes- tament : I, Vincent Ambrose, leave my staid and stately manner on the dance floor, to that one, hand- some jitterbug, George Thomas. I, Charline Beckley, leave all spare time to that industrious sophomore, Floyd Masters. I, W arren Beckley, most cer- tainly do not leave to E. B. Ram- sey, the supervision of Mary Fuller. I, Ileene Bunting, wish to leave my pleasing manner of speech to Frances Rathhun. I, Bernard Carlson, will my deep interest in scientific phenom- ena to one of the same mental characteristics, Robert V'. Vance. I, Bernice Compton, desire to leave nothing, since George Walk- er is coming along with me—since Ella has everything. I, Helen Craig, will to Joan Milne, my title of “school nui- sance,” in hopes she may continue in my footsteps. I, Warren Craig, do hereby be- queath to the masculine Jay Mor- ris, my ability of growing a heavy beard in less than two weeks. I, Dewey Dernier, leave to Mellroy Ross, access to buv lum- ber on credit, which he will cer- tainly need if Charline Beckley continues building submarines. v I, Francis Fosdick, hereby leave my extraordinary ability of grad- uating in four years to the unstu- dious Marilu Steinberg. I, Ray Ellis, leave my acting ability to the unemotional Rose- mary Ramseyer. I, Imogene Ferguson, bequeath my ability to get my typing bud- gets in on time to Jeane Gibb. I, Patrick Martin Flanagan, will my knack of getting to school on time to Bernice Bills. I, William Ralph Freed, do hereby bequeath my timidness when in the presence of teachers to the haughty and boisterous N'ola Huber. I, Valerie Fultz, do not leave anything, but do direly wish that someone would leave me a credit in English IV. I, Velda Gerber, willingly leave the institution, since with all my man-trouble I have no more time for school studies or activities. I, Thomas Glennon, leave my blushing technique to the bashful and courteous Marilyn Sheppard. I, Peggy Goodwin, will to Jane Spence, my feminine technique in hope that she, too, may “snag” a ring before graduation. I, Marjorie (Sill) Hagen, take my giggle, glamour and boldness with me, since I certainly will need them in later life. I, Marian Henning, having gone through high school without a single calling down, leave, with the hope that Hugh and Dorothy may carry on the distinctive fam- ily tradition. I. Ross Fiugene Hildreth, leave my mother’s influence with me, in all things to the timid, reserved Vivian McHatton. I, Fred “Speckles” House- holder, leave my woman troubles, my nicknames and finally, my dim, dirk past, to the delicate Pearl Weisser, in the hope that I may face the world with a clean slate. I, Reuben Huber, wish to will to Kathleen Wilborn, my lengthy basketball shorts so that she might Eighteen

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Dedicated to Ivan Kortkamp It was about four years ago that I first met him. If I remember right he looks about the same—that moustache and a dark suit. I think I liked him from the start; I know I have ever since. I was im- pressed — I guess he must have had something there. He was one of the fellows in the glee club room and I sup- pose he knew what we felt, at least that’s what I’ve always presumed. I can truthfully say that I’ve never ap- preciated anyone so much, in times since or before. We worked — I’ll say we worked; and we won and we can prove it! Every year we won more — don’t get us wrong; I’m not bragging. We had fun and it was fun. but we respect him the more for his broad-minded ap- preciation of our pranks and our whims. I!e is a friend and an example of friend- ship to all, and a pal of all students who have use for a pal. Of the few of us that are left that have known him so long, I’m one among many who can think him no wrong. VINCENT AMBROSE. The Tale of the Terrible Typist All black and shiny my typewriter sits. But I could grind the thing to bits. While others gain in speed, my friends, I gain in errors by the tens. To some it’s plain as plain can be, But to me it is a mystery: How to make your fingers move And hit the letters in the groove. I try to tabulate, you know— And make it even in a row. But something usually goes amiss, And then, oh, dear, it looks like this! In making errors I take the prize, I get mixed up on “e’s” and “i’s.” It makes no difference: words short or long, Experience has taught me they can be wrong. So how in the world will I ever make A very competent secretary, for pity’s sake, Won’t someone make QWERTYUIOP Something more than Greek to me? V. FULTZ. Dear Wilma: I have just spent a most pleasant af- ternoon looking through my old 1940 Crier. Remember that year—we were seniors—and the book was a product of our class. It was a wonderful year, so unlike the first year we spent at old F. T. H. S. We held a lofty place that we had never before attained, and I am sure that we have not been such rulers since. For three long years we had eagerly awaited the time when we would be seniors. But once that time arrived, my, how the year sped by. Remember the day our rings came—it practically broke us up paying for them; but, oh, were we proud to wear them! And then we had our pictures taken. We thought they were simply awful then, but now I find mine was quite good. Almost before we knew it, semester exams rolled around, and the year was half over. How worried we were that Smith would flunk us in history. And if it was possible, it seemed that the last part of the year went even faster than the first. How we worked on The Crier. Then came the finals— wo sat up all night cramming history, with no results, except we were all too sleepy to write what little we did know. Then all the hubbub of Prom and Alum- ni. And last of all, Commencement. How important we felt in our caps and gowns, and yet we were a little sad to think it was the end. When you heard Mr. Watson call your name and you walked up there and got that all-im- portant diploma, you wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. And then it was all over. Many times during the past ten years I’ve wished to be back at F. T. H. S. It certainly was the best year of my life. Love, VALERIE. A Dirge Here am I. without a doubt The smartest girl the school’s turned out! I can cook and giggle and eat and play, I can dance and laugh. I’m plenty OK— There’s just one thing that lacks, I guess, That God in his goodness forgot to bless Me with brains for shorthand, typing and stuff. In plain simple English I'm just one big bluff. CHATZ BECKLEY. Twenty