Isaac Newton High School - Newtonian Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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16 THE NEWTONIAN ROOM 16, IX a. RECIPE. — Real men, hook-up players, ignorant scholars, good looks, and combed hair. Mix well and what have you? Room 16, and a terrible head¬ ache. But after all is said and some more is said, we are one big happy family, headed by a capable guardian, Miss Neil. Our class president, Jimmy Durante, is Primus Novak. Next comes our sports’ captain and rock-eating geologist, Angus Welsh. Our class scholars are Stanley Holowitch, Lawrence Joyce, and Mike Phillip. Our would-be comedian is Victor Kolt. Next come our love-birds, Nestor Harack and Clarence Welham, who do nothing else but hold hands and stroke each other’s hair. Our chief kibitzer is Mike Kolida, and the assistant kibitzer is Bill O’Kalita. John Maxsemchuck is our Romeo without a Juliet. The family compact consists of Mike Chudy, August Grenzowski, Walter Mykytuik, and Toris Monczakowski. Our politicians is Joe Peiluck. Our tall man is Metro Riby, alias (Shorty). Bright boy of the class is Kasmer Hass. Musicians, John Kornek and Paul Paly. Shop-wizard, Bill Sokol. Argument specialists, during class, are Tony Kruk and Jack Smith. Next comes Mike Medwick, our diamond-in-the-rough, along with our naturalist, Peter Tretiak. Back-to-the- land associates, John Plytka and Wallace Oatway. Our petit tough man is John Boyd. Joe Jackiew, our “dis” and “dat” man. Joe Caryk is our would- be athlete, and last but not least Mike Dubranski, our electrician. But after boiling it all down to a fine point, our Room 16 of boys top all rooms, bar none, in the Isaac Newton School, in any respect. ROOM 13. The curtain rises in September, 1934, to begin the old play of “The School Term”. In this scene Miss Morrow acts as director. The leading lady, the president, Marion Oddy, is noted for her artistic work. Next we notice Mary Shalay, our vice-president; Helen Popiel, secretary-treasurer: and Minnie Muzychuk, our sports captain, who also represented us in the skating races at the Amphitheatre. Susie Classen leads the rabble, which consists of her faithful followers: Eileen Kachanowsky, Annie Hamara and Sophie Dyk (when she’s here). Elizabeth Loewen is one of our best students in History. Mary Kurylo tries to be a graceful dancer. Helen Maroy, Millie Okalita and Jennie Mylymuk supply music for this play, while Emeline Burbell, who models the latest styles, dances. Helen Mykytyn is our shy little violet, but Olga Woz- niak is the very opposite. Our one social activity, a tramp, followed by re¬ freshments and stunts, was greatly enjoyed. In our stunt Minnie Martinchuk, a promising elocutionist, read the story of “Lochinvar”, while Olga Korneluk acted the part of Lochinvar’s blushing bride with Margaret Wozniak and Katherine Loewen as her bridesmaids. Our midgets. Sabina Wysocki and Wanda Warecki are great contrasts to Sophie Migasiuk and Lily Hreehkosy. Zonova Prosken takes part in all our sports. While Adela Bilinski is winking at the boys, Helen Mills is trying to disprove everything Mr. Bowman says. Nellie Walus is always sick (of Mathematics). Annie Paly and Winnifred Boore are seen but not heard. Annie Dwizona is our ambitious reporter (at least she hopes to be one someday). Stephie Grenzowsky and Kathleen Bilin¬ ski are always quick to leave at twelve and four. As the curtain falls in June, Miss Morrow is trying to usher us off the stage before beginning the play of another year. GRADE XI, MATRICULATION A, ROOM 17. (Continued from Page 3.) future. We gave Max Z. plenty of practice for his future position as Speaker in the House of Commons. Without Paul P. political discussions in our room would not have flourished. Olive K. might become a movie star if she went to Hollywood. We shall in the future, I am sure, hear Anna P. speak on the public platform. In the annual concert, Gr. XI A was represented in th“ orchestra and the chemical vaudeville, and more than half the “actors” in the play came from popular Rm. 17. We also won the inter-room debate. So on the whole, I don’t think our room did too badly, do you? With fond memories of 1934-35, GRADE XI A.

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THE NEWTONIAN 15 ROOM 18, INDUSTRIAL. No. 18 Train is speeding on its way. The train stops. We have been listening to the program of year’s work;; but whose voice rises now to snoring pitch ? Mary Grenkow loves walking through our car to the next. Why? Who occupies this seat? Kathleen Telfer grins and talks. Spring fever? In berth No. 3 Hilda Schultz desperately tries to do Business Arith¬ metic and copy Literature. Anne Sumbelerus (blonde Harlow) is our volley ball star. Ding Dong! No, the train is not leaving; it is changing-bell. Sarah Finkle dashes in late. History period: mentally we travel with Hearne, but Frances Derash visits Frances Ronska. No one would believe what they are saying. Tsk! Tsk! There is Edna Bogdonov quiet as a mouse. Ruth Sea- ford reads her forty-fifth story book for this year. Nettie .Chorney, the president, collector of tickets, dreams of new dresses. Teena Plomish has forgotten her ticket—too bad, Teena, you must walk to the next station (June examinations). In the next berth Annie Mowdy enjoys the “Tale of Two Cities”, especially where heads come of and she cracks gum approvingly. Some one with pretty curly hair feasts on her nails! Lena Bilyk is planning “Tours” or “Tramps”. Stella Nickolas, the short-skirted chorus girl, is dreaming —enough said! Anne Sokolovsky, like “the wood sawyer”, is “re¬ dundant in gestures”. Mary Kanig, who can argue your head off, dreams of a new permanent. Esther is contemplating skipping church on Saturday for a party and wonders how she can do it. Yours truly is in the same dilemma. Toot, toot! The train moves on. One more stop—June examinations! ROOM 19, INDUSTRIAL JUNIORS. The 30 lively inmates of the Industrial Juniors are controlled by the friendly Mr. Bowman, far-famed as a heart-breaking line giver, assisted (?) by the president, Paul Bunzeluk, and the hard-working Bill S. (Joe E. Brown) secretary. Paul II. looks after the boys’ sports. Four of the wisest heads in the academic realm are John M., Taras B., Peter P., and Walter S., editor. This class of brilliant industrial men is very much interested and well represented in school athletics, namely, hockey, volley-ball, and basketball. Our team won the Inter-room Volley-ball pennant, and for the honor they have brought Room 19 our thanks go to Mike Matoski, Stanley Pituria, Peter Mazepa, Albert Durnney and Peter Sloneck. Our hockey team, which was not successful but made a good showing, was composed of Mike M., Joe L., Nick S., Fred M., George S., and Peter S. As you can see, Room 19 has had a very successful year, due, in part, to the excellent teachers who have attempted to endow such pupils as S. P. and others with sufficient data to enable them to push over the 50% mark. Oh, yes! the teachers are all very fond of us, too. They put big kisses like this (“X”) all over our work, though some of them, no doubt, believe that our cerebral regions are somewhat dormant. Room 19 is not lacking in variety among its members. The Class has blushing Romeos, a champion late-slip carrier, and two masters in the gentle (?) art of fencing. No wonder Mr. Bowman finds his rulers broken! In addition we have a wrestler (M.P.), a boxer (S.S.), smart alexs (M.K.), (N.G.), a vocalist (J.E.), and studious book-worms (B.S.), (G.L.), (L.C.), and (B.D.). ::l ' ll ' Although not an expert class, Room 19 will strive to attain honor in the future, and become capable and dependable Industrial Seniors

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THE NEWTONIAN 17 The Mad Sorcerer (Bennie Cramer, XIB—First Prize) “I tell you, I can prove my words!” shouted Professor Stanhope. The scene was the huge Hall of Science at the Century of Progress, World’s Fair, in 2034 A.D. The speaker was a grey-haired, keen-looking man close on 50. His brilliant grey eyes were gleaming- with anger as he shouted at the laughing crowd before him. The Professor stood beside a queer-looking machine, the object of his life’s work. It was shaped like a ball, plated with a shiny metal that nobody had ever seen before. It was about 10 feet in diameter and had an observa¬ tion window at the side as well as in the floor. A tiny door led into the interior. The inside of the machine was padded. There were two seats to hold passengers; the instrument board was covered with glistening dials; at one end there was a switchboard controlling the speed. In the centre of the board was an “anno-meter” divided into centuries and all the while ticking off the years of time. Zero marked the present moment; to the right of zero were the centuries of the past, and the left divided those of the never- ending future. One of the curious spectators suddenly asked, “Do you mean to call that thing a “Time Ship” which can go into the future?” Professor Stanhope’s eyes blazed—“Yes!” he cried, “with my Time Ship I can conquer time, and not only can I go into the future but into the past as well!” The people thought he was a crazed fanatic. Was not the thing he was suggesting impossible? “How can you go back into the past? The events are over and cannot be recalled,” yelled someone in the crowd. “I will prove the truth now,” shouted the professor as he leaped into the Time Ship. He pressed a lever, there was a rush of air, and the people were left looking at nothing. The Time Ship had gone! The Time Ship was travelling through a world of mist. Stanhope could see nothing about him. At any minute he might be killed. Then—suddenly the Ship stopped with a jar that threw him out of his seat. He arose a little dazed, opened the door and stepped out. The Time Ship stood near a forest. To Stanhope the place was familiar but he could not recall where he had seen it before. A little way off he could see the outline of a gaunt mediaeval castle standing out stark and bare in a world of desolation. He left the Ship where it was, as there seemed to be nobody about, and advanced towards the castle. The structure was crumbling and in ruins. Only in one place did il seem solid and to this the professor wended his way. He entered, and per¬ ceived in front of him an old man poring over a huge volume. The man looked up, and then continued his reading. “Who are you,” asked Prof. Stanhope, “and what is this place?” “My name is Aldanis, sometimes called the Mad Sorcerer by the people, but I be but a humble dabbler in the sciences of medicine and alchemy. I dwell here alone and my eyes have not gazed upon human face for three years. Verily this be the year 1539 of our Grace, and King Henry doth rule over Merrie Englande. But who art thou? And from whence comest thou?” The Professor’s eyes were alight with triumph, he had succeeded in going into the past! But how was he to convince this man of the truth of his story. However, he would try. He began boldly: “The tale I am about to tell you, Aldanis, will sound mad, but I have proof to verify it. You look like a clever man and I think you will under¬ stand me. I have come from your future into your present. Ten minutes ago I was living four hundred years after your death. I invented a machine whereby I could get back into the past and have come back to King Heni’y’s time; if you will come with me I will show you things that will amaze you— 1 will show you what happened to King Henry, and who was King after he «ied. Come, you will be a prophet, and not only that, but I will show you how you died four hundred years ago, or rather how your death will come about. Will you follow me?” The alchemist was amazed and intrigued; he had seen visions of the future, with men flying like birds, and here was his chance to discover if he had visualized aright.