Moorestown Senior High School - Nutshell Yearbook (Moorestown, NJ)

Page 22 text:

 CLASS WILL I, Jesse Brubaker, cio bequeath my imitation of Joe Penner's giggle to Frank Mill-man. (My yellow socks go to anyone who can wear them without blushing.) I, Edyth Wilkinson, do bequeath my Swiss yodel to one Laura Howison. We, Leonard Gwathney and Norman Boudwin, leave our sphinx-like silence and aversion to making speeches to Paul Hullings. I, Ruth Mozcr, do bequeath my art to wield the mighty paint brush to one Pauline Mohler. I, Bud Luce, leave my girlish modesty to Mervin Umbergcr. I, Lydia Green, do bequeath my superior knowledge of mathematics to Nancy Mahon. I, Daniel Stcinmetz, leave my austere bearing to Bruce Broomall. I, Rose Palme, do bequeath my unusual excellence in basketball to one Betty Woolston. I, Bill Schneider, bequeath my power over women (teachers excluded) to John Bartello. I, Thelma Schwartze, do bequeath my heart-rending sobs on the sax to one Georgia Regn. I, Herman Schinimel, do bequeath my blond tresses to Dave Katz. I, Marjy Lyons, do bequeath my talent as a stage lady to one Pauline Whitcraft. We, Harry Repsher and Bob Fauver, leave our aversion to blondes to A1 Shuster. I, Emily Barclay, do bequeath my supervision of the hockey team to one Mildred Boyer. I, Hazel Lord, do bequeath my viola squeaks to Edith Collins. I, All ert Andrews, bequeath my girlish giggle to Charles Curtis. I, Jane White, do Itcqucath my executive powers to my loving sister, Dorothea White. I, Thcrese Dix, do bequeath my passion for blondes to Anna McLear. I, Charles Steinmctz, leave my partiality to red suspenders with green polka-dots to the highest bidder. I, Mary Bailey, do bequeath my love for French verbs to Marie Cline. I, Bill Paterson, leave my frailty to Howard Gray. I, Dorothy Seward, do bequeath my modest blush to Frances Lindquist. I, Mutt Boyer, leave an example for the freshmen. I, Wanita Keller, do bequeath my use of correcting fluid and the “little wire brush” to Pauline Blombaum. I, Walter Dolde, leave my curl papers to Joe McCourt. I, Peggy Bolton, do bequeath my girlish giggle to Dorothy Williams. I, George Lockwood, leave my voice with a smile to John Lawrick. (Continued on page 111) Pag 18 THE NUTSHELL ------------------------

Page 21 text:

 • HaB i - Can draw the ocean to the sky in Jove's dread agonies. Our steadjasl wag is nearly lost, hut jrom our sinking ship Our captain sights a mighty spire and scorns the ocean's whip, ire leave the water s chi tty touch and, in our thanks jor tije. There is amusement in a play and we Jorget our strije. Our “ in Hie, ” Eugene Raymond, is the hero on the stage And in perplexity he brings the “ Xul harm” from its maze. Across a plain oj dying grass that seems to say jare well. The old year goes to the Land oj Time, to the lotting of a belt. Our leaders do not fail, and soon we stop to play again; Our stage is even brighter and our latent wins more fame. Gene Raymond plays the hero rote, and stars in Smilin’ Thru, And .Uarjorie wins many hearts with her gay eyes oj blue. Then soon we view the splendid sight oj snow-white colonnades And tread a thousand steps that lead to where our laws are made. Our comrades Jeel quite dazzled by great works and mighty names. And hope that they in future years can these great heights all in. The time has come, my friend, alas, Jor everyone to part. This world is large and cannot hear the throbbing oj your heart. IFe shall ascend jar higher yet, but this hard trait is done; JFe have its hidden harvests and its blooming laurels are won. The shades oj evening sigh goodbye and sadly soothe our brows; And even Folly sheds a tear with Melancholy s owls. And now our journey's over, are you sad that we are through? Each jailing stars a beacon to some happy place Jor you. Come, every friend, and haste your step that we may look once more And see the parting comrades of the Class of ' Thirty-Four. CLASS OF 1934 P s 17

Page 23 text:

JsGl PROPHECY Rose Lu Goldman, '35 in collaboration with Bob Plum, '35, Pauline Wiiitcraft, '35 IT WAS a dark and stormy night. Three men were sitting around a fireplace. The leader said, “ Bill, tell us a story. So Bill Stewart began . . . “Say, Bud, speaking of stories, who do you think popped in at the bank the other day? Bud Luce, now a prospering young broker, leaned back in his chair, “Haven t the slightest idea,” he replied. “Well, considering that you’ve tried so hard, and couldn't seem to guess, it was Byron Nichols. He’s doing wonderfully well. Has a honey of a business out in upper New York State. Manufactures radios.” Up to this time the third member of the group had said nothing. Yes, you’ve guessed it; it was none other than Jim Haines. “Speaking of radio, I saw in the paper the other day that Harry Kellner has perfected a new kind of coil, especially adapted for radios. I don’t know much about it, other than that it is supposed to be a big improvement over the old type. He sank back again with the air of a man who had completed a great task anti doesn’t expect to undertake another one for a long time. All three sat gazing into the fire, till finally Bill spoke. “You know, that was a grand oltl class, that class of 1934. It has gone a long way from Moores-town. Many of its meml»ers have made great names for themselves; many have dropped back into the obscurity of private life; but nearly every one of them has been successful in his own way.” “Yes, agreed Bud, “and it is surprising how many you can account for, too. Take this paper here, he said, Miss Betty Ellis, contributing editor; here is a column by Dorris Grulnr; and theother day I saw in some Boston Paper ‘What Paris Is Wearing’ anti it was written by Jeanne Elkins and Myrtle Christ. Say Jim, turn on the radio, it’s about time for Norman Boudwin's News.” The radio blared out raucously, but after a slight tuning they could make out the words, “And tomorrow night, kiddies, we’ll find out what happened to Jim and sister Kate down in the dark, dark cellar. Now, don’t forget, eat your Roast Toasties like good little boys and girls, and tune in again tomorrow night. Good-night. This is Albert Andrews announcing. Station WZZA owned and operated by the Nichols Radio Corporation, Little Creek, New York. —Home Coal and Feed gives you tomorrow’s weather report, as sent to you by Richard Klotz. ” “ I heard from Charlie Ball the other day. He and Iwanicki have a surveyor’s outfit, and arc coming along quite well!” put in the talkative Jim. “Said they just got back from Brazil, where they've been laying out a model plantation for the two CLASS OF 1934 19