Millbury Memorial High School - Aftermath Yearbook (Millbury, MA)

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Beier eccab etl WE We UVF Parents, Teachers, Classmates, and Friends: We, the Class of Nineteen Hundred Forty-Six, are gathered here today to commemorate one of the most important events in our lives, our graduation from high school. Throughout our high school careers, we never co uld believe the saying that “our school days are the happiest days of our lives.” Today, however, as we relive our four years spent in Millbury High School, we realize that we shall never again find such friendship and happiness as we have enjoyed here. We wish to express our sincere gratitude to our parents for their unselfishness and devotion to us throughout our school years. With- out their interest and understanding, we might not have completed our education. We also wish to thank our principal and the mem- bers of the faculty for the guidance and encouragement they have given us. Therefore, I, in behalf of the Class of Nineteen Hundred Forty- Six, cordially welcome you to our Class Day Exercises. THomAsS HAMILTON, Class President Urgall ter Nee ether) etree) os Nb (Words by Emma Chapdelaine) (Tune: There’s A Long, Long Trail A-Winding) (Tune: Auld Lang Syne) There will be a trail of mem’ries Each hall we'll see, each bell we'll hear, That brings us back to this day, Every class we'll live once more; Even when our eyes are dimming, Each joyful cheer for Vict’ry’s boys And our hair has turned to gray. Wiil ring, as oft’ before. And we'll cherish all the friendships We'll hear the clear September call, Recalling good times gone by, And Freedom’s shout in June; As we wander o’er that trail of mem ’ries We'll hear, in distant fading tones, Back to Millbury High. Our voices, and this tune. (Tune: There’s A Long, Long, Trail A-Winding) On the trail of mem’ries ling’ring Are thoughts we’d hoped for and planned, And our happy cheers and laughter Is the music of the land. But within the music’s splendor A single sad note will mix— “Farewell to Millbury High School From the Class of 46.”

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Carter; Cartoonist, Emma Chapdelaine; and Business Managers, George Brady and Alphonse Lacouture. Such seniors as Thomas Hamilton, Ed- ward McLaughlin, Allan Ojerholm, Don- ald Boucher, Walter Tebo, George Brady, and Martin McManus played on the foot- ball team. Ruth Boutlier and Ruth Moore were elected Co-Captains of the hockey team. They were aided by the following senior girls: Mertie Angell, Blanche Caron, Mar- garet Donnelly, Elinor Fleming, Emma Chapdelaine, Sylvia Rice, Beatrice Gillert, Shirley Bertrand, and Norma Fontaine. In October a meeting was called for the purpose of electing a picture committee. Those chosen were Fred Carter, chairman, Anne Young, Alphonse Lacouture, Rich- ard Fairbanks, and Grace Welch. They selected the Loring Studio. Betty Johnson was elected the D.A.R. representative on the basis of dependabil- ity, leadership, service, and patriotism. We now turned our thoughts toward ar- rangements for our Senior Prom. The following chairmen were chosen: Roland Gibeau, orchestra committee; Fred Car- ter, decorations committee; Edward Mc- Laughlin, ticket committee. Elections for the AFTERMATH brought the following results: Thomas Hamilton, Editor-in-Chief; Alphonse Lacouture and Grace Welch, Assistant Editors; and Rich- ard Fairbanks, chairman of the advertis- ing committee. T hose chosen to write special features for the AFTERMATH were: Sylvia Rice, Reflectorette; Beatrice Gillert, Glee Club; Betty Johnson, French Club; Alphonse Lacouture, Science Club; Mil- dred Konkol, Biology Club; Allan Ojer- holm, Football; Donald Moe, Basketball; Blanche Caron, Field Hockey; Cheering Squad, Elinor Fleming; Girls’ Basketball, Ruth Boutlier; Baseball, William LeClaire; Class Song, Emma Chapdelaine; Grace Welch, Reflector. The Prom, which was a huge success, was decorated in a schooner scene featur- ing a life-sized schooner complete with the effect of water. This was effectively and artistically decorated, and the members of the decoration committee received much deserved praise. Robert Lucas was chosen captain of the boys’ basketball team. Other seniors on the team were: William LeClaire, Donald Moe, and Kirk Anderson. Byron Angell and Alphonse Lacouture were co-managers. During the latter part of February, the seniors elected the Class Day Speakers. Those chosen were: Prophet, Ruth Moore; Statistician, Fred Carter; Giver of Gifts, Richard Fairbanks; Testator, Mertie An- gell; Omissions and Corrections, Gloria Hunt; Historian, Grace Welch. Elinor Fleming and Eleanor Tolman served on the cheering squad for four years. They contributed much to raising the morale of the team. Horace Mann pupils, under a new sys- tem adopted some time ago by the School Committee, were announced during the year. Seniors in this group included: Ada Cowan, Anne Young, and Grace Welch. The Girls’ Basketball team enjoyed a very successful season featured by the cap- able playing of Captain Ruth Boutlier and the following seniors: Ada Cowan, Norma Fontaine, Elinor Fleming, Blanche Caron, and Emma Chapdelaine. In March Mr. Beaton called a meeting of the Senior Class to announce the names of the pupils who had received an average of eighty-five or better. They were: Blanche Caron, Ada Cowan, Beatrice Gill- ert, Thomas Hamilton, Betty Johnson, Ruth Moore, Sylvia Rice, Grace Welch, and Anne Young. On Thursday, April 25, they presented oral essays before three out-of- town judges. From this group the follow- ing were chosen to speak at the graduation exercises: Beatrice Gillert, Thomas Hamil- ton, Sylvia Rice, and Grace Welch. Mr. Roach called the baseball team to- gether in April; those chosen from the senior class were: Captain Robert Lucas, Alphonse Lacouture, Donald Moe, and William LeClaire. The last few weeks were spent in prep- aration for Class Day and Commencement —events which will be forever a part of our most cherished experiences. Now the time has arrived for us to bid farewell to our teachers and classmates. As the curtain falls on the last act of our high school careers, we shall try to live up to the lessons we have learned and strive to achieve the promise which we made in our motto: “Deeds, not words.” Grace WELCH JENTUH CLA Sop o bie

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Deg ea eiesy: With the atomic bomb question now settled thoroughly and the U.N. O. well organized, it seemed that peace was here to reign forever. I decided that a nice trip through the peaceful land would be pleasant, even though I had to draw half of my savings from the bank to do it. As I had not seen all of the United States in my twenty-five years of existence, | planned to travel from Boston to San Fran- cisco before embarking for South America. My train ride to New York was to last for eight hours, after which I was to travel to Florida by boat. I left Boston on an early train and as I settled back to enjoy the view I heard a timid voice inquiring, “Peanuts, pop- corn, magazines?” This voice did sound familiar and as I turned, who should it be but George Brady. George and I chatted a while but he had to leave in ten minutes to renew his selling efforts. I began to think that Millbury High School graduates owned the railroad when down the aisle walked Tom Hamilton and Johnny Gauvin, who were widely known as the “singing conductors.” They liked their work, and as they went on down the aisle singing “The Chattanooga Choo Choo,” I thought th at their singing had improved slightly since high school days. The train on which I was riding ran out of coal and we were forced to stop at a small town named Youngstown for emer- gency refueling. This town, I later learn- ed, was named after their mayor, Anne Young, who had found her career in pol- itics and was proving very successful at it. The coal truck came with a load of coal and you can imagine my surprise when the driver turned out to be my former classmate, Kirk Anderson. To catch his attention, | opened the window and leaned out. When I finally caught his eye, the train began to move causing me to lose my balance. I surely would have fallen if two strong arms hadn’t pulled me back. I turned to thank my rescuer and saw that he was Roger Morin. Roger was now a movie producer in Hollywood, and he was then on his way to New York whence he was to fly to California. After meeting all of these ex-classmates, I decided to write their names down to keep a record of all I had met. My pencil broke, however, and so I went in to the dining car of the train to see if I could borrow a knife with which to sharpen it. I entered the car, but seeing no one there, I decided to go into the kitchen to ask the chef for a knife. The chef was putting the finishing touches on a beautiful cake paiesUbsteh labels (CM that must have measured all of three feet, and you can imagine my surprise when he turned around and I saw who he was. It was Donald Boucher, a former classmate and football star at Millbury High School. After chatting a while about old days at high school, he sharpened my pencil and I returned to my seat to add his name to my list. The train went faster and faster until finally it came to a halt in New York City, I stepped off the train and since I had a whole day and a half to wait for my boat to Florida, I decided to find a hotel at which I could leave my luggage while I went sightseeing. The information desk in the railroad station was nearby, so I strolled up to it and waited for the clerk to finish with one inquirer before asking her my questions. I stood patiently for ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty min- utes, until finally my patience left me. I thought, “That clerk can really talk.” I called to her, timidly at first, then with such volume I’m sure everyone in the station must have heard me. Slowly she turned her head, and you can imagine my embarrassment when the clerk turned out to be Sylvia Rice. Well, I knew she was an able speaker but I never supposed that I would find her at this sort of occupation. After three hours reminiscing, I left to find the hotel that she recommended. The taxi I hired reminded me of the old Millbury school bus, in that they both rattled; both had a few cracked windows: and both proved most uncomfortable. I had my fingers crossed that we would sur- vive this dash through the heavy New York traffic, but evidently crossed fingers weren't enough. In the middle of Times Square the antiquated automobile gasped its last gasp and refused to move. Cars were packed tightly around us and the square was turned into a bedlam of honk- ing horns and accusatory remarks from irate motorists. A tall policeman made his way through the throng and in a loud voice demanded to know what was the matter. The loud voice—I knew I had heard it somewhere, and so I had, for it belonged to Calvin Hoyle. It’s a good thing I knew him or I’m sure I would have spent the next thirty days in a New York jail. He guided us through traffic with his motoreycle siren going steadily. I was riding, incidentally, in the wrecker that pulled the faithful old cab to its happy hunting grounds—the garage. I hadn’t even looked at the driver of the wrecker because I was so mortified I just looked down at my feet. When I did steal