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

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T HE CHRONICLE 1942 dramatically minded pals, who, wanting to he different, presented three one-act plays, which were pronounced a great success. By the time we had come back to earth, our talent scouts had unearthed a hand upheld by three juniors and some of our senior friends, who put Lyman Hall in the groove and swung their way into the armory as our prom band. Juniors showed up in good form in the basketball race, and the team never lacked for feminine partners when they put away their little ball. Bobbie stole the limelight with her acrobatics, cheering, and baton twirling. Wilma and Betty were seen everywhere, favorites with the seniors as well as classmates. Evvy gave Bert his motive for cheering, and the gym rang with shouts of “Sink that ball, Joe!” To give us strength till prom, June wrote a play for shorthand classes, and we all turned out to find out what those funny little marks meant. After many arguments the prom went nautical under the able direction of Dick Clarke, our master of all trades. Because of Mr. Hitler’s doings we almost didn’t have a prom, and some familiar faces tvere missing. After our jigging was over, we were forced to admit that those “who dance must pay the piper” — if they can —. There was a deep red line in our books but did we worry? Next year’s another year. And so, after helping the seniors out of their rut (and positions) and waving good-bye to the Rocket, we had another vacation. At last after years of struggle we had attained the final station. We could now rest secure on our lofty pinnacle, looking down on mere mortals. This year, we had only the juniors to contend with, and really being a friendly gang, we decided to give them the benefit of our friendship. Bob and Nancy made a dash for their corner and got things off to a good start. Deciding not to waste any precious time, we gave Bud Stimpson the job of trying to run us. A1 Killen decided to help by keeping his eye on Bud, and Lucy was still chief scribe with June moving in as a junior Morgenthau. We started the social season off on a shoestring, despite Simon Legree methods of collecting dues, and rolled up to the Senior Dance. Something new had been added to it with a Senior Queen as the feature attraction. Wilma was the popular choice with Edith, Kate, and Jean at her heels. Our joyous feelings were deluged in ice water when we heard the treasurer’s report. Something must be done quickly or our diplomas would rust. But in the meantime, basketball was king, and Walt led a grand team straight to the finals. We fans did our best by serenading the team with Chattanooga Clioo-Choo wherever they went. The boys kept up the footwork by attending dancing classes in preparation for the prom. But our financial position was desperate; so drama came to our aid again and we turned people away at the doors. Things looked much better, and our diplomas were secure from moths; so we set our course for Class Night. Reception, and Graduation, and shall go into the world with these words in our hearts — “SUCCESS IS MADE, NOT WON.” Jean Brooks 25

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THE CHRONICLE 1942 Class History — And that’s what we set out to do — make class history, when as green little freshies wTe entered the portals of Lyman Hall with all sorts of visions before our eyes. We had heard wondrous tales of the fun one had when one was in high school, and after eight long years of groping around in the dark w'e hoped that our eyes would at last be opened through the magic touch of the faculty. Some of us set our course along the route of the “dead language” — and some who thought they couldn’t stand the odor were left behind. Algebra — ah, that’s where John Carini began to shine, while the rest of us burned. X is still the unknown quantity. Then to liven things up a bit, the hurricane struck, leaving havoc in its wake but a three-day vacation for us. As if to make up for this brief interlude, X became even more remote and the halls of learning re-echoed with our wails. So, seeing our feeble struggles growing weaker each day, the sophomores condescended to give us a Hallowe’en party, just to show us that our hopes hadn’t been in vain. Truce was declared for a night, and while the freshman boys groaned, the wise sophomore lads walked off with their girls. Many friendships were made, and Bob Talbot got so excited ducking for apples that he forgot where he was and dived in. The party was declared a success to be written up in the annals. A blond ball of fire arrived in our midst under the tag of Bobbie, helping to get us through to the next party, which was a great day for the Irish. Couples began to appear here and there, providing gossip for the Afternoon News and boosting its sales appeal. Spring was ushered ih with weird mumblings which, we were assured, were the chant of the tobacco auctioneer. At last, the teachers having declared an armistice, we put our books away and threw our knowledge to the winds. In September, we sauntered back to school in the best upper-classman fashion, proclaiming our importance to all about us; but the juniors had a head start on us so we withdrew to our corners. Afraid that the walls might crumble, Bob and Nancy began to hold them up, supported soon by Arlene and Dick and numerous others. We got a taste of privation when sophomore elections were canceled and our hopes of a bigger and better party for the freshmen were put on ice. Basketball season soon had us in its grip and we cheered ourselves hoarse for our handsome heroes. We all broke our arches trying to do the Lindy as only Carey could do it. In the Mood was our theme song and shoe leather look a beating. We too stuck out our chests as far as they could go when the team won the championship. Prom rolled around, and the luckier sophs showed up in best bib and tucker. After a hectic few weeks more we tumbled out, having learned little more in the ways of education, but much in the way of upper-class life. With dreams of the best Junior Prom ever to hit LHHS, we returned to have more knowledge drummed into our already stuffed heads. We gals found competition waiting for us in the shorthand department. Our first election was held, and out of the scramble for office, Sam Pierson was elected big boss, with Bud Stimpson upholding him, Lucy Upham was chosen as pen pusher, and Kate Hall was entrusted with the purse strings. Our empty treasury was substantially enriched by the efforts of our 24

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---------------------------- THE CHRONICLE 1942 -------------------------- The Class Will To Whom It May Traitorously Reveal, Triumphantly Identify, and Tumultuously Applaud: Because we may collapse with the rationing of sugar, we, the brilliant, flat-footed senior members of Lyman Hall High School, an institution noted for the sane and fine traditions it has established, while in good physical and mental health, abundant enthusiasm, and wads of gum, do write and publish the following to be our last will and testament, hoping that our spirit and ambition may live after us. Any resemblance to living people in those mentioned is purely intentional. To the loving faculty, we do hereby bequeath our clever answers so that they will not be stumped when the freshmen begin their questions. To the Class of ’43, we do hereby bequeath the walls in the hallway, so that they may hold up the building and carry their burdens as well as we. To the Class of ’44, we do hereby bequeath our “holding-hands” technique, so that their hands will never be cold. To the Class of ’45, we do hereby bequeath our horn-rimmed spectacles, so that they may thumb through their books and keep an eye on their beaux at the same time. A few of our students make the following bequests so that they may enjoy sanity again. I. Peter Parker, do hereby bequeath my limousine to anyone who has the nerve to drive it on the rims. We, Walter Brunetti and Ralph Perone, leave our nicknames, “Birdie” and “Chic,” to any zoo that can tame ’em. 1. Virginia Grace, leave my mysterious, quiet ways to the Shadow, with the hope that he may capture B-B eyes. I. Julius Senese, leave my curly locks to Barbara Powers, so that she may look as pretty as I. I. Julia Koczak, leave my Veronica Lake locks to any freshman who w ishes to play hide-and-seek. We. Martha Brewster and Roger Williams, leave our historic names to any history class who can possibly remember after whom we are named. I, Retty Tuttle, do hereby bequeath my given name “Olive to Popeye or any oil factory that can make use of it. We. Lois Conway, Betty Brcsnock. Ruth Dunn, and Eleanor Kuzminski, leave our tardiness and good excuses to Marian Hoffman, Barbara Gallagher, and Betsy Wooding, with the hope that Miss Clark will accept their excuses as she has ours. 26