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

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gorgeous head of natural blonde hair to Marion Somerville. T, Bette Neumann, do hereby state (quote) I don’t want to leave anythng to anyone because Frank Merrill didn’t and I do want to be so much like him. (un- quote.) I, Rose Noble, will my ability to flirt with all the boys in school and out of school to one who might find it helpful, Florence Sutter. I, Francis Paternoster, would like to leave my ability to make love to the freshman girls to Charles Miskell but under the cir- cumstances I think I’ll keep it. I, Irma Peter, willingly give four inches oft my skirt to one who is in dire need of material for skirts, Rose Torch. I, Virgil Price, feel so badly about leaving this institution that somone had better will me a few handkerchiefs to shed my tears in. I, Velma Range, leave my so- phisticated wobble and morning- after expression to Lois N’cwnam. I, Donald Schwarzwalder, leave to Virgil Travis my unscrupulous methods of luring girls into going with me. I, Francis Scouler, leave unhesi- tatingly, and also I leave my So- ciology book to the other unfor- tunate expellents of F’.nglish IV in need of a credit. I, LaVonne Stiver, leave my True Story Magazine and idoli- zation of “Ty” Power to Miss Whitford with the hope that she will cherish them as 1 have. I, Carnell Strode, bequeath upon Olive James my technique of ensnaring upper classmen with the hope she will profit as I did (?). I, George Thomas, bestow upon my brother Charles the old Thom- as axiom, “Never put off until to- morrow that which you can evade altogether.” I, Marilyn Thompon, having completed my term, have nothing to leave as Chuck graduated ahead of me. I, Goldie Travis, leave my strong bold ways and overpower- ing oral faculties to that naive, quiet-voiced James Watson. I, Alberta VonBergen, leave James Hurt (darn it!) I, Bob Wharton, having given four years of my life in active service at F. T. H. S. and never having been guilty of a misdemea- nor, leave my spotless reputation, a box of thumb tacks and one rub- ber band to Bob Ziegenhorn. I, Marjorie Williamson, leave to my little (but not belittled) sister my ability to stay blond. I, Francis Winterland, leave my snappy comebacks at Hamman and one half-smoked White Owl to any one who has nerve enough to face Hamman and is man enough to finish smoking my cigar. I, Lillian Woodard, leave to Jo Thompson my love for the Thomases. I, Pauline Zimmerman, be- queath to that forthcoming “deb” Ella Balder, one cake of mascara and one tube of “Savage Red.” ¥ 20

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I, Robert Cooper, will leave anything you desire as long as I can keep Joyce Callaby. I, Dick Deputy, leave in haste as soon as the Marines return. I, Margaret Downing, will my disputed love for Mr. Hamman to Maurice Sutter. I, Geraldine Ferguson, gladly leave my excess inches in height to the short and streamlined Mu- riel Bedell. And shure now, ’tis One Oirish- man to another that Oi, Betty Flanagan, leaves me neat hairdos to Sara Mullaney. I, Howard Freed, leave my four retreaded tires carrying a pile of junk, sometimes known as a Model A, to National Defense. I, Jimmy French, leave all my musical talent to that boy with a true lover’s voice, Lyle Ricketts. I, Mary Fuller, bestow my tech- nique to go with more than one boy in one night to Margie Schnetzler, who has already shown her ability. I, Dorothy Harris, leave my quiet, slinky entrances into the as- sembly to that bold and loud Al- lan Hornbeck. I, Kathryn Hetherington, leave my desire to be in Cropsey every night, even if I don’t get there, to the Heins twins. I, Louise Hirstein, leave my love for Ford V-8’s, lonely roads, lovely moon, and Bookkeeping to the blond tigress of the Sopho- more class, Dorothy Carlson. I, Wayne Hish, unwillingly leave my true (?) girl friend to the whole school with the under- standing that I get her back in May, 1943. I, Jean Hurt, leave, (period.) I, Mary Hurt, will my rosy cheeks and quiet personality to I.ois Birch. I, Billy Jenkins, leave my “cute” little turned-up nose to “Jakie” Bender, who we feel is in need of it. I, Herschel Leffingwell, leave my red hair, which has endured many entanglements with as many girls, to Pat Haner. I, Edward I.ometti, leave my “Bull” Durham, Sparkplug, King Edwards, and cheap chewing to that wildcat of the campus, Bobby Moser. I, Vivian McFlatton, leave my punctuality in school to one in dire need of same — Harry Wagen- seller. I, Floyd Masters, leave my ability to get straight A’s, love for my teachers, and the like, to one who would use these mere trifles, Nick VonBergen. I, FYank Merrill, can’t leave anything because I need every- thing I possess to make love to bashful Bette Neumann. I, Shirley Moyer, bequeath all my Pontiac boy friends to Ffelen Greene in hope that she can han- dle them better than I did. I. Pauline Metz, leave my quiet and serious nature to a freshman of vivacious character, Phyllis Somers. I, Virginia Munz, will my hearty laughter to that hysterical, giggling Dorothy Henning. I, Wilma Jean Munz, leave my 19

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Friends The ways of man are many, But the ways of wisdom few; We cater to our “sunshine friends” And ignore the ones of truth. For the passing stranger Any favor we might do; But the ones who really love us We cast aside for someone new. We rarely raise a finger To help our troubled friends But when it’s we who need the help We’re quick to run to them. When there’s fun and parties And laughter to be had, We oft forget our dearest friends And rally ’round the bad. But when the fun is over, And there’s trials to go through You’ll find your real and honest friends Have not forgotten you. BERNIECE M. BILLS. A Wide in the Wain Twinkle, twinkle, little star. We went riding in Freed’s old car; Because outside it was raining, From the roof the water was draining. Freed and Bess both got wet, But I got wetter, that I’ll bet. When we reached our destination. We weren’t fit for the visitation; But out of the car we did wade. Looking worse than the last air raid. Now if you don’t believe my report, What do you think made Bess’s head warp? DICK DEPUTY. History Workbook We had a little workbook, Just seven and a half by nine; In color it was orange and blue, And wras due most all the time. It took up too many moments To do it as we should; Mr. Thompson didn’t notice, So we copied if we could. Now, freshmen, sophomores and juniors, The time is coming for you To struggle over that workbook Of beautiful orange and blue. VELMA RANGE. History Class History Class is dull, they say, But to me it is a bore; I try my best in every way, But still it’s quite a chore. Maybe I’m dumb, maybe I’m lazy; I can’t get this stuff; I think it’s all crazy, For all of it’s rough and plenty tuff. My case is hopeless, that I see; I know I’m bound to flunk; My grades are all below an E, Again I say—it’s bunk! DUMB STUDENT. On Priority fie picked her up and held her near, To part with “Jenny” he could not bear. Once she had been young and full of life; She had been to him more than a wife. And now he had taken her life away. She was gone not, forever; to stay. To all his pleas she would not respond; Of no other he could ever be fond. Now with his ax he had cut her in half; His life was gone, he could never laugh. Another like “Jenny” was not for hire, Alas, he had ruined his last white-wall tire. CARNELL STRODE. An Apology Once there was a girl named Bet Who wrote a poem so dire. It was about a man named Verne, And did arouse his ire. This poem did deal with things of love, And Verne, he did object— An upstart student, to write this stuff, On that, of all, subjects. What can I do, Miss Bet did cry, To show I didn’t mean it. She wrote a poem, an apology, And this, my friends, is it. For, after all, she did not know That he’d so much object. When she wrote a poem on love— Yes, that of all subjects. BETTE NEUMANN. 21