Mansfield High School - Hornet / Green Years Yearbook (Mansfield, MA)

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Rolling in dough “Baby Take a Bow” Hitting the trail All trial and no balance Brief interlude “She never rode in a rumble seat in her life.” “Eat, drink and be merry.” If pleasure interferes with business, give up business. “Angle-ing” for an A The Tatler will get you if you don’t watch out. 26

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Pat (hear-ye, hear-ye) Ballou gives her Cape Cod yarns to Helen Rathbun. Elinor Cross wills to Frances Navitsky her innate ability for satisfying those much-too-easily pleased seekers of blind dates. Audrey La Har bequeathes to Peggy Moore three war whoops and a wooden motorcycle. May that M. H. S. spirit never die! Thomas Branigan leaves to some handsome sophomore in need of a fair partner for A. A. sessions, “My Girl Audrey,’ guaranteed not to rust. To Dorothy Plausse, Jean LaRoe be- queathes her ability to write humorous verse. Mable Lowe leaves Eleanor Murphy directions on how to sleep peacefully in spite of tin curlers. To Bob (Tanko) Thomas, Edmund Hoogerzeil passes down his love for food, especially those three-decker “T)agwood”’ sandwiches. Virginia Ballou wills her alarm clock to Virginia Richardson, in order that the latt er may get to school on time each day. William Maurer graciously leaves his prestige as our star basketball player, to Albert Scatolini. To all commuters from East Mans- field, Alice Conrad offers her large and roomy V-8. Dena DeSantis wills to Miriam Milson a pair of wings, which added to the latter’s cherubic smile will make a perfect angel. Gladys Williams, a dark-haired damsel from our fair class, bequeathes to Helen Harris a certain fondness for “teen-age” boys. To Marguerite Riley, Rachel Swett gives the book titled “The Art of Getting Acquainted with College Boys.” Alfred DiGiampietro hands down his position as night watchman to Albert Chandler. Robert Sherman bequeathes to 25 Richard Phelps, his blushing and bashful manner, so evident when Bob is seen presiding over class meetings. Philo Palladino leaves to Priscilla Phillips, a seat in the typewriting room on all make-up days. Philo has con- sidered herself very much of a fixture. Donald McKillop, one of our more enterprising classmates, leaves his am- bition to become a scholar to Edward Nielsen. Dorothy Cruser leaves Thelma Thompson her propensity for being absent from school at the most con- venient times. Blanche Manson donates her sophisti- cated accent to anyone who admires it. Stuart Sweet, one of our most eligible bachelors, gives up his favorite seat at recess time in Room 6, to Bob Brutcher. Lillian Chace, that little ray of sun- shine in the domestic science class, leaves to Catherine Wondergem the suggestion that she always work with a smile. Ethel Macomber leaves Ruth Brown her ambition to become a glamorous office girl. Chester Haskell gives a bit of secret advice on creeping along the corridors unnoticed, to that incoming senior, Scoop Ingram. To Francis Harrington, George Mc- Coy presents his earnest classroom manner, sure to impress any teacher. Yours truly, Ruthe Sheehan, picks up her grips and boards the first train headed for the big city, with the voices of her pursuers ringing in her ears. In witness, whereof, we, the Class of 1940 of Mansfield High School, hereby set our hand and seal to this, our will, the eighteenth day of June, one thousand nine hundred and forty A. D. Witnesses: Gene Tunney Bing Crosby Douglas Corrigan

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Prophecy By WILLIAM BAXTER The telephone gave a loud ring. Again I picked up the receiver. “Ts this the government bureau for locating missing persons?” inquired a shrill feminine voice. Eager to be of help, I replied that this was the office of the newly organ- ized service of Uncle Sam. “Will you please try to find my dar- ling Rudolph? He’s such a sweet little dog!” For the tenth time that day I ex- plained that we were interested in find- ing people only and settled down to re- sume my nap. No sooner had I closed my eyes than an abrupt, once-familiar little cough caused me to look up. “Will!” “Bob!” I cried, as I looked in amaze- ment at the face of my old classmate Robert Sherman. At the same moment my secretary, glancing up from her work, gave a startled scream and collapsed. Bob, always equal to the occasion, rushed to her aid and began to shake her vigor- ously. “Why, it’s Dorothy Wellman,” he exclaimed, as she opened her eyes and stared at him blankly. “Tt can’t be Bob Sherman. It can’t be,” she mumbled. Before any explanations could be made, the door opened and in stamped our chief, Cleo Griswold, followed by my assistant, George Goddard. “What’s the cause of all the—why, if it isn’t Bob Sherman!” Cleo gasped. “We never expected to see you again,’ said Dorothy, not yet fully re- covered from her shock. ‘Why just two weeks ago, we read that Robert Sherman and James Armfield of the United States Marines, had lost their lives in a brave attempt to save a fellow marine from drowning.” “Well, you know you mustn’t believe all you read,” admonished Bob laugh- 27 ingly, as he gave each of us one of his old-time, bone-crushing handshakes. “Do tell us what really happened,” pleaded Goddard, impatient as ever to get to the heart of any mystery. “Tt is all very simple,” said Bob; “just a case of mistaken identity. Ac- tually James and I were three thousand miles from the scene of the accident.” “Well, that Gee Gee Bo Bo never does get anything straight,’ remarked Dorothy disgustedly. “I told Yolanda DiMonte and Rose Santucci six months ago that they ought to get a new editor, some one like Lila Thurber.” “Oh, by the way, what’s Lila doing now?” queried Bob. “She’s teaching journalism at Har- vard,” Dot replied. “Let me write that down,” said Bob, drawing a notebook from his pocket. Then he explained the purpose of his visit to my office. It seems that Bob was planning a reunion of the Class of 1940. Having difficulty in rounding up some of the members, he had finally de- cided to appeal to the government for help. Bob’s suggestion that he reveal to us the information that he had al- ready gathered met with hearty ap- proval. “Donald McKillop,” he began, “a prominent millionaire, is treasurer of the First National Bank in Mansfield. “Francis DeVine is a famous artist. I traced him through one of his great paintings which was on exhibition in a gallery, Rogues’ Gallery, to be exact. “Betty Dean, after successfully using her old high school tactics on Carl Gross, the producer, is completing a picture in Hollywood. “Viola Fornaciari is now a member of the teaching staff of the Mansfield High School, under the well-beloved principal, Anna Tretakoff. “Margaret Jones and Gladys Wil- liams are both instructors in Foxboro High School. Margaret teaches domestic