North Andover High School - Knight Yearbook (North Andover, MA)

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1938 YEAR BOOK sleep again with the remark, “O, K., but don’t wake the rest of the boys.” The first thing I did after departing from my job was to go to the bank. I drew opt my W.P.A. earnings, which amounted to about seventeen thousand dollars. The cashier of the bank turned out to be none other than Frank Coughlin, my old classmate. I stood chatting with him for a while and he told me another of our classmates, Clarkson Earl the 3rd, had just been ap¬ pointed president of the bank. After leaving the bank, I decided to buy a car and trailer and tour the coun¬ try for a while. As I passed by an automobile display room, a huge sign caught my eye, “Try our Twelve Cylindered Youngerbilt Special.” That name seemed to be familiar so I went into the dispay room. There was Speed King Pete Young, all shined up like a duke. This was a fitting occupation for Pete I thought as I remembered how he used to make his Ford Sedan do everything but the Big Apple in his high school days. After he had sold me a convertable coupe, a twelve cylinder job, he took me into another display room to look at trailers. Who was there showing people the cute little trail¬ er windows? Veronica Fitzgerald of course, but Pete introduced her as Mrs. Young. Then I remembered how friendly they had been at Johnson High, and guessed the rest. Bidding Pete and Veronica goodby I drove my car and trailer down town, and decided to get something to eat. Driving up to a small inn called, “Ye Little Red School House”, I entered and waited for some service. After about ten minutes, a waiter came out singing, “Bei Mir Bist Du Shoen,” and said, “OK, Hot-shot, what’ll it be?” Taken aback, I looked again and sure enough it was Mike Koroskys, all decked out in a white apron and towel. The proprietor turned out to be none other than our old friend Stella Maz- urenko. When I asked where she was, Mike stated she was out back teaching the hired help how to do a hot Polish Polka for which she was famous in her Johnson days. After waiting around for about an hour, I finally got a meal. As I went to the cashier to pay the check, I discovered her to be Stella’s side- kick, Helen Stefanovich. When she recognized me, she gave a cute wink and tore up the bill. Wow! Was I tickled. Leaving the inn feeling like a Casonova, I climbed into my chariot and headed for New York. As I neared the great metropolis, I stopped for gas at a station marked “Clarenbach’s Service Station”. Sure enough our pal Eddie had picked up where his brother had left off. Eddie said business was good and he owned a whole string of service stations all over the country. While I was talking with Ed, he gave me five tickets to the Brown Derby’s opening night. I left Eddie feeling a little better having met an old friend. Pulling into an auto camp at sundown, I unhitched my trailer and was just heading into town for something to eat, when I heard a shout. Stopping the car I was joyful to meet my old pal Pete McGrail, who was also parked at the camp. With him was Joe Shea (his partner,) his wife, the former Helen Waters, and the three little Pete McGrails. After eating, I remembered the tickets Eddie had given me, so we decided to take in the Brown Derby. Joe and Pete helped me struggle into my Tuxedo, just as they did the night of the Athletic Association play back in Johnson in 1938. We traveled to the Der¬ by rather quickly, and as Pete took a turn doing about seventy, looking a state trooper right in the eye and waving to him, I began to feel rather un¬ comfortable. Pete, noticing, said, “It’s all right. That was Larry Shyne, another of our pals.” I wiped the sweat off my brow, and thought of how Larry had followed his brother Dan’s occupation. Reaching the Derby with no further mishaps we were astonished to find the doorman none other than 29

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JOHNSON HIGH SCHOOL Russ Donnelly, the boy with the beautiful pair of legs, endows his captain¬ cy of the baseball nine to any junior who is able to exhibit a pair of legs like those of Russ. Auditions next Monday. Dot Atkinson leaves her pamphlet entitled, “How not to Drive an Auto¬ mobile” or “How One Should Back a Car Off a Nice Lawn Without Being Embarrassed” to Genevieve Kane. Tom McGrail wills this and that to Edward Garvey. Tom says to Ed, “An education never helped a fly to walk on a ceiling.” Stella Mazurenko le aves her Dodge truck to any junior girl being able to change a flat tire on a rainy night on a dark road in the middle of winter. Anna Lorenzo leaves to Helen Murphy, the reputation of not being heard from often but when heard from, giving an excellent recitation. Balbina Mandry to Ida Narushof, her delight in seeing Mr. Donovan enter the room in which that extraordinary class, English IV-I meets. Milton Howard, that tempting triple tonguer of the Johnson High School’s trio of trumpets, leaves to his under-studies, Bill Amshey and Phyllis Killam, the manful art of how to get out nights with the trumpet as an excuse. Too bad you don’t play a piccolo, Bud, you could put that in your pocket. Lillian Robertson leaves that half torrid smile of hers to Barbara Mac- Pherson. Just a little more added to what you’ve got makes a lot more, eh Mac? Wes Randall, swing pianist, wills his propensities to Ernest Viger the mouth organist. Lest the connection be lost it is just a case of hand to mouth. Elizabeth Windle bequeaths her happy-go-lucky nature and charming smile to Helen Richard. Robert Young, jokester superlative, leaves his talents as well as the im¬ plements of the trade to Robert Ayer. “Pete” says that when he goes to work he will have to be more serious. Oh Yeah! Ed Cunningham wills his successful cure for insomnia to Thomas McCub- bin. This cure is forty-five minutes in an economics class. To Claire Doherty, Helen McEvoy wills her commuting boy friend. Don’t worry, Claire, fox if they will come from as far as Matt comes, love must be grand, even though he doesn’t see you every recess. Last, but it doesn’t mean a thing, Eleanor Parker leaves her dandy Fleisch- man’s Yeast complexion (or is it cosmetics) to Virginia Woodhouse. We, the graduating class of 1938 (we hope,) having placed upon the backs of our most worthy colleagues, the class of 1939 (they hope,) about every¬ thing but the shirts on our backs, do hereby affix our signatures with tears in our eyes, trembling hands and second-hand fountain pens, this seventh day of June in the year of Our Lord one thousand nine hundred and thirty-eight. Signed, in behalf of the Class of 1938, FREEMAN C. HATCH, III. o CLASS PROPHECY NE DAY IN AUGUST, in the year of our Lord, one thousand nine hundred and fifty, I was spending a very strenuous day, leaning on a shovel on project No. 9664, of the local W. P. A. As I stood there, I suddenly made up my mind to resign. Besides, I was getting blisters on my elbows from leaning on the shovel, and was wearing out too many pairs of pants sitting down, so 1 woke up the boss who happened to be Robert Carroll and told him I was quitting. He just yawned, rolled over, and went back to 28

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1938 YEAR BOOK little Johnnie Ford, our English friend, all deeked out in a red coat and brass buttons. Who should be collecting tickets but another Johnsonite, Lily Ackroyd. I expressed my exclamation upon seeing so many of my old classmates, and she said, “Well, Johnny Fletcher is managing the club now, and you have a good many surprises in store for you.” Refusing to tell me more, we made our way to our table. Just then the band swung into action. It happened to be the famous swing band, known as Hatch’s Rags, led by the Maestro Freeman Hatch the 3rd who occasionally added his usual sour note to the jam session. Also playing in this noted combination was Swing-it Randall who was tickling the ivories; he turned out to be our old pal Wesley. Way up back, banging away in ma¬ niacal fashion, was Tango Cunningham who was following in the footsteps of the famous Gene Kruppa. While listening to the music a low, pleasant voice sounded sweetly in my ear, “Cigarettes sir?” Turning, I was greatly surprised to find that the cute cigarette girl was none other than Hazel Blanch. After I had bought half of Hazel’s cigarette tray, she informed me that Mr. Fletcher, the manager, wished to speak to me. Thanking her, I excused my¬ self from my party and made my way to the manager’s office. Upon entering, I found John who was quite the sheik, rapidly giving dicta¬ tion to our old friend Elfreda Withee, who seemed quite thrilled to be able to take dictation for John. Excusing Elfreda, John very heartily shook my hand. After conversing a while on different subjects, I happened to comment on all the Johnson classmates T had met at his club. John grinned, and said, “Yes, I am seriously thinking of changing the name from the Brown Derby to the Johnson Hi-Spot.” Asking him why he had sent for me, he told me that he had to fly to North Andover, and asked if I would like to go along, and see my old home town again. Eagerly grasping the opportunity, I read¬ ily agreed to go. Hurrying back to my table I explained to my friends in de¬ tail. John wanted to catch the midnight plane out, so I hurriedly bade them goodbye, leaving my car and trailer in care of Pete McGrail. After collect¬ ing my luggage, John picked me up in his 16-cylindered Cadillac. A uniformed chauffeur leaped out to open the door. Seeing that John was rather small of figure, he had to have a small chauffeur whom he could boss around, sc naturally he had chosen his diminutive classmate Jackie James. Seeing that Jackie could not handle my heavy hat boxes, I obliging gave him a hand. After roaring down Broadway we passed through the East End tunnel, and down to the ferry. Driving onto the ferry, we had stopped and begun to con¬ verse on old times, when suddenly a fog-horn-like voice roared out, “Full steam ahead.” There stood Captain Chu LaFountain. I called Chu over and asked him in a bewildered tone, “Why aren’t you in the United States Na¬ vy?” George replied that he had been bounced out of the navy, but the life of a roving sailor had gotten into his veins, so, determined to stick to the bounding main, he had joined the ferry-boat service. Bidding Chu good-bye, we’left the ferry, and drove onward to the airport. Upon reaching the airport, we got out, and sent James back with the car. Entering the office to purchase our tickets we were greatly surprised to find the ticket seller to be Helen McAvoy, another classmate of “38.” Walking to the plane we gave our tickets to the hostess, who spoke cheerfully to John. 30