Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

Page 27 text:

The first day of this year brought the cry, “Today I am a senior!” from nearly all of our one hundred and seventy-two classmates, as we were about to start on the greatest lap of our career. It seemed quite natural for Jack to be our leader again, and this year his able assistant was Bobby Condon, dean of the basketball court. Ann was again our “take a letter please and Ruth, our “how much in the red are we?”. There was a rare treat for every one of us as we left the school each day, that of seeing Bud and Alan struggling to get the famed “Rocket” to live up to its name. Early in November we rolled back the rugs, struck up the band, and turned out to do and see the latest dance steps. We spent a rather calm and cool winter, reading about the great Macbeth and discovering that we were nothing more nor less than 65% ICO with a few elements thrown in to make us firm. With the coming of spring came the stupendous comedy. What a Life, starring Alan ( 'ary as Henry Aldrich, and what a life he did have! And now as our days in high school become fewer and fewer, we are making great plans for the future, but way back in a corner of our minds where we’ll always be able to find them, we are putting away many memories of our high-school days. Ruth Coen .Janet Walker The Chronicle 1941 25

Page 26 text:

Class History Away hack in 1!);S7 two hundred and seventy-five staring greenhorns timidly wandered up the walk and entered the portals of Lyman Hall. The Class of Forty-one made its debut at an ultra-modern Hallowe’en party given to us by the sophomores, who wondered how anyone could be as childish as those silly freshmen. We were soon on our own and throwing a get-together in honor of good old St. Patrick. For that one day all the Irish and more that weren’t turned out in green. The Afternoon Sews by now had been well established and we kept it in full swing. In our little publication Bert was given due recognition for his well-developed lungs and his blossoming romance with Eleanor Lane, it wasn't long before we were packing up our belongings and starting a well-deserved rest. The next year we had the honor of being upper-classmen, and with this honor went the privilege of getting to school by 8:08. Most of us were able to make the change, but it seems that “Putt Ahearn is still trying to make it. VVe were definitely on our own this year, and to make things run smoothly we elected Jack Dunn to be “the man with the gavel and Alan ( arcy to do the heavy looking on. Annaline Conway gamely pushed the pencil and Ruth Coen willingly pocketed the cash. Hallowe’en came again, and it was our turn to be big brothers and sisters and show the freshmen what it was all alunit. The Bobby Condon-Ruth Coen romance got off with a bang anil might well be called “the shot heard round the world.” Another year had come and gone, none of us knowing quite where. After a two months’ relaxation we were ready to go one step higher on our ladder of success. We were all proud of the opportunity and were developing a keener sense of superiority and responsibility than we had believed possible. Jack Dunn was again elected to serve as the head man and this time Lawrence Nicolai was his aide. Ann Conway and Ruth Coen continued to be our official scribe and banker. The wild and woolly West was brought to us by Norma herriere and Jack Dunn, who had the leads in our play, The Eyes of Tlaloc. It wasn’t long after our rings arrived that Ray Combs and Alice Johnson got tired of theirs and decided to wear each other’s. It didn’t matter that one was too big and the other too small. We were learning the ways of the world very rapidly, and the question of the day became “Who’s going with whom to the ‘prom’?’’ Everyone arrived at the armory in due time, even the members of the baseball team. As usual the “prom was a huge success. The remainder of the year was spent selecting our subjects for the coming year and extending our hearty congratulations to the graduates, overjoyed to be stepping into their shoes in the fall. The Chronicle 1941 24

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The Class Will Know All Men by These Presents: That we, the senior members of the Lyman Hall High School in the prominent town of Wallingford. surrounded by several insignificant little cities, having duly appointed ourselves as an official body to escort out the old system to make way for the new, and before the flame of our most illustrious past life goes out, declaring ourselves to be in as sound a slate of mind and body as we probably ever will be, do hereby make, publish, and declare the following to be our last will and testament, hoping that the good we have done may live after us and that our mistakes we may bury forever. To the 8 A.M. faculty we do hereby bequeath individual alarm clocks, without which they’ll never get to school on time next year. To the Class of ’42 we do hereby bequeath our position as “almighty seniors” in hopes that they can carry the torch as well as we have. To the Class of '43 we do hereby bequeath the run of the whole school, as we have no more use for it. To the Class of '44 we do hereby bequeath the afternoon session, hoping they won’t have to resort to robbing the cradle. A number of our illustrious students, finding themselves more richly endowed, have generously consented to make the following bequests: We, the senior chemistry classes, do hereby becpieath our special places in Mr. Hancock’s heart to anyone who will promise to appreciate his jokes as well as we have. I, Robert Bertini, do hereby bequeath my ever improving aim at the wastebasket in Miss Mitchell's room to the future players on the basketball team. I, Naomi Terrell, do hereby bequeath my position as class butterfly to Dorothy Crabtree. I, Marjorie Tot- ., do hereby bequeath my cheery “Good mornings” to next year’s junior and senior classes, because they’ll need them. I, Frank Wasilewski, do hereby bequeath my beloved “first seat, first row. Room 1’ to anyone who will promise to care for it as I do. We, Jack Hubbard and Edward Mushinsky, do hereby bequeath our height to the two baker’s boys, because we’re afraid Mary and Nancy are growing tall and they aren't. The Chronicle 1941 26