Napsonian School - Napsoniana Yearbook (Atlanta, GA)

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Class History The class of 1945 Turns back a page or two In the book that holds their history Of the days when they were few. They've always been a noble Class, Standing for high ideals, And when it comes to friendliness 'Tis the greatest of their appeals. They started in the seventh grade A class eleven strong, Their Duke was Prince of Mardi Gras Life seemed just like a song. And now they found that they'd become The Seniors of Junior High: They studied Diana, Venus, and Zeus And Apollo's ride in the sky. They lighted the candles at Christmas, Each holding a flaming taper, And, before they came to graduate, They put out the Snappy Newspaper. High School! At last they'd reached the goal And what a new sensation- They sat in Study Hall and dreamed About a grand vacation. They delved in Shakespeare, Coleridge, and Poe, And in sports they did excel, They gave of their best to the Freshman Class And jumped at every bell. 3 The Sophomore year was glorious Except for the novels of Scottg Then after they struggled through all of this They found Charles Dickens their lot. Their group always had time to play No matter how much work, And when came time for Mardi Gras They were the last to shirk. Mrs. Miniver was their theme, 'Twas beautifully done, They also made the pink Rose Chain- They had just worlds of fun. As Juniors they were snappy, Big sales talkers as well- They won the greater Naps Campaign And then ran out pell mell To get their Lorna Doone books done Before the stated date, For if they failed to know it well They met a gruesome fate. . Their Senior trials seemed so many And true there were a few With Milton, Bunyan, and dear old Burke And Boyle, and Malta's jew. The Mardi Gras was glorious, The best you've ever seen. Then they looked forward to Class Day To its honors and its Queen. The last page of their history With joy and richness flows, And from each high school day A loving memory grows. They found their teachers glad to help A In failures and success, And with each golden hour that passed They shared our happiness. It's hard for us to say goodbye Because we've had such fun- We've had so much to bind us all And make us seem as one. But an opportunity greets us To go out and make Naps shine- We all will work and do our best for A school that is so fine! E. WHITNER E. WILLIAMS, '45 f X f 4 61.1.15 A '

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CLASS We, the Seniors of '44-'45, being of educated minds and Miss Fugitt trained bodies, do bequeath to next year's Seniors the agony of chemistry lab in the cold gray dawng the delight of not keeping study halls, and the haven of Senior Hall. I, Betty Anderson, bequeath to Kenny'Sutter my mathematical mind. I, Barbara Berman, bestow upon Sonia Freitag and Renee Newman my frequent trips to Mrs. Hodges. I, Helen Anderson, leave my vocal chords Qfor screaming at basketball gamesj to Nancy Smith. I, Virginia Bishop, bequeath my talent as a model to Frances Clapp. I, Katherine Blackshear, will my chapel announce- ments to Pat DeFord. I, Jean Bodin, leave two inches of my height to Doris Patterson. I, Barbara Bostick, bequeath my place on the honor roll to Betty Barnes and Miriam Reams. I, Alice Jean Caswell, do leave to Beverly Miller the piano. I I, Julianne Cook, bequeath to Marian Mattison my basketball prowess. I, Florence Crook, leave my lovely blonde locks to Martha Zellars and Pat Lemasters, who wanted them so badly. I, Ruth Fiske, leave my high notes to Hazel Johnson. ' I, Elizabeth Frink, will my even temper to Patsy Fulton. I, Frances Harbin, bestow upon Ann Whatley my talent for theme writing. I, Elizabeth Hirleman, leave my remarkable ability to tumble to Gloria Orkin and Martha Grist. I, Martha Hosford, bequeath to Frances Dominey my tardiness to chemistry lab. I, Anne Howington, bestow upon Dolly Davis all my bobby pins. I, Clodie Hubbell, leave my double joints, so useful in gym, to Charlie Will Josey. ' I, Eleanor Huie, leave to Jonny Carpenter my ability to Whisper in class. I, Nan Ivey, bequeath to Judy House my spark- ling wit. I, Myrtis Jentzen, leave to Peggy Champion my history discussions. I, Frances Jordan, bequeath my gay, rippling laugh- ter to Betty Anne Wilson. I, Charlotte Kerr, leave my calm dignity to Jane Macrae.