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

Page 25 text:

1940 YEAR BOOK This year, a new disciplinary system had been introduced, forbodingly called, the demerit system. It certainly had given Room 12 a little more ex¬ clusiveness, if we could call it that. Rings and things too this year, well anyway rings, and they’d done well, considering, mused -the building. The fortyites had started talking about the class supper in February, and when the big night arrived, it certainly had been no disappointment. The will, prophecy and history, having been duly read and accepted with laughter in gales, the memorable junior year drew to a close. Seniors! That unbelievable rank had been bestowed upon the heads of the class of forty— could they live up to it? I’m afraid there were a few skeptical minds. However, these were soon convinced and everything had gone quite smoothly and conventionally. They had started by reelecting Bing for president and had done their duty where the freshman party was concerned. There were so many things to do as seniors— “Journal,” “Year Book,” ath¬ letic leadership. They had done these things commendably. The teachers hadn’t been quite satisfied with their conduct, but I’m sure they made allow¬ ances for the excitement of the senior year. April rolled around, and with it pictures, and all the hustle and bustle they brought. Just to be different, they decided to have a prom that year and al¬ though many were dissatisfied, they all worked together to make it a success. -Preparations for graduation made the seniors oblivious to all as they tried to catch up on chats with classmates who might not be seen for a while. The school heaved a sigh— a sigh of both regret and good wishes to that incomparable class of forty. KATHERINE E. WAIN WRIGHT CLASS WILL © E, the Class of Nineteen Hundred and Forty, being, it is rumored, of sound mind, though we doubt that a competent physician could prove it, do declare this to be our last will and testament. Without any fur¬ ther ado, the following bequests are made: To Patrick Kennedy, John Jackson and Clifton Stone we leave a sigh that they have plunged into things too deeply now and might as well stick it out. Harry Bunker, who, were silence golden, would be a millionaire, bequeaths his silence to Thomas Calzetta and James Richardson along with the advice “ ’1 is better to be brief than tedious.” Joseph Provencher leaves his success in bookkeeping to William Lafond. Anthony Giragosian, the Turkey town terror, bequeaths his guard position, which he handled so capably, to James Guthrie, and his robust baritone voice to Glenn Farley, the boy soprano. Helen and Lillian Burns leave a vast amount of good sense to Eliza and Marcella Hebb. Alex Hay wills his boldness towards girls to Robert Garneau. Kathleen Long leaves her wisdom teeth to Isabella McKinnon. John Casale bequeaths his ambition to be an airplane pilot to Frank Carvell, and his strong desire to be among the girls to William Bartley and Frederick Chase. James Winning leaves the loudest yawn in the school to Warren Rea. 23

Page 24 text:

JOHNSON HI G H S C H OOL D CLASS HISTORY HE monotonous passing of time was recorded by a loud tick! tock! re¬ echoing through the desolate corridors and silent, shadowy classrooms, so lately filled with tumbling laughter, hurrying feet, chattering girls, and happy-go-lucky boys. The desks, now emptied, the stairs with their hollows complained no more under the weight which each bell had for¬ merly brought. The old, red brick school settled itself for a long rest cure ’neath the soft summer rains and warm sun, only to revive itself again in the fall so that another crop of frightened, frivolous freshmen might enter its staid portals. With a sigh, it remembered the last graduating class, the class of forty. How raw and green they had been that first day, so young and eager to grasp their new life. Somewhat noisy and rather undisciplined at first, but the faculty had soon seen to that. Let’s see, the biggest honor that year had been given to that boy with a mile-wide grin, Billy Mackie. He’d done well at it, too. That thank-you speech to the seniors, at the party they had given the freshmen, had been a work of art. It must have been in November, because the decorations had been corn stalks, which by the end of the evening were strewn from one end of the floor to the other, due to the peppy music of Hatchie’s Jig Jags. My! How dressed up in manners and clothes the fresh¬ men had been that night! How much envied were the seniors who danced so effortlessly. Of course, there had been lessons by these same seniors be¬ fore the affair, but to no avail; the stiff one-two-three, one-two-three style still hung on. However, you wouldn’t have known they were the same freshmen in April, at the return dance ; they had grown up entirely in five months. First, they put on a super-colossal theatrical production named “Elmer” in which Mackie, the renowned actor, had taken the lead. Miss Pierce had coached them with success, she hoped. Their dancing had improved and they weren’t quite so shy— by the time refreshments came around, in fact, they were hav¬ ing quite a fine time. After that dance, the commencement activities of their beloved seniors had quite over-shadowed everything. The next fall they had come back, that class of forty, as sophisticated soph¬ omores, and they certainly made known to the new freshmen their authority. Mackie again was chosen president. That year, there had been a new addi¬ tion to the faculty, Miss Jensen, by name, and the library certainly became a well known retreat for harassed, admiring, confiding students. Their com¬ bined dance with the juniors had been a real success. They seemed to have a jinx, however, where stunt night was concerned. They just couldn’t seem to win that prize, but they did manage to take second with their radio program this year. The old school smiled gently to itself in remembrance. When the leaves began to turn color, the class trooped back— well browned and ready for work, full fledged juniors. They had gone to the big¬ gest from the smallest for president, and Bing Miller was the honored one. Yes sir! They had chosen an able pitcher to control the ball game of their junior year. There was plenty of pep that year, and as soon as those small scholastic matters had been settled, the Sophomore-Junior Party was held. Mmmm, that had been in October. They’d rented a nickelodian. “First time I’d ever seen one of those contraptions,” murmured the school to itself. What a time they had had, what with prize waltzes and broom dances. 22

Page 26 text:

JOHNSON HIG HSCHOOL Dot Costello leaves her super walk with all its bobbing and weaving to Betty Hopping. Doris Rea leaves her glorious goldy locks and-her beautiful blue eyes to Sylvia Harris who has plenty to spare. Frances Martin wills her skill to argue though vanquished, to the debating team of Thomas Lesure, Joseph Finneran, John Greenler, and Robert Kimel. Doris Gustafson leaves her long list of telephone numbers to Arlene Smith whose supply appears to have run out. Bob Hall leaves the role of class shiek to Ernie Summers. Bill Robinson leaves his ability to trip the light fantastic and his version of the jumping jive to Robert Richard who, we hear, is an ardent devotee of the Terpsichorean art. Doris Robinson bequeaths her studious habit to Doris Goodrich and An¬ toinette Montanaro. Arthur Currier leaves a strong musical inclination aroused by several years of intense study to George Hayes, the Harry James of the junior class, and to Robert Weatherbee the reputation of a physicist-deluxe. Mary Dineen wills her recent trips to Nashua to Frances Lefebvre. She also attributes her ability to bring Barbara home early to Robert Sullivan. Sam Messina leaves his adroit excuses to the faculty, and an avalanche of toys to Philip Donnelly. Thomas Sullivan and Bertram Patterson, those two distinguished scholars, Isabel Rabs endows with a set of “Dolly Dimple Stories” to be read when the teacher gets boring. Agnes McNab and Marguerite McKinnon, being Scotch, merely leave. David Ritchie leaves the song, “I Can’t Give You Anything But LOVE Baby,” to Louise Page. Jack Lanni bequeaths his bewildered facial expressions seen frequently in physics to Robert Wainwright and Daniel Valpey, and his quiet, demure ways to Hele n Polichnowski. John Lamprey leaves a voice delightfully musical to Ernest Lickenworth and his innocence to Oliver Kirk. Eugene Ruess wills his successful method of passing notes under the very noses of the sharpshooters of the faculty, to Irene Oates. Mary Carey, the blushing violet of the senior class, leaves her preference for out-of-town boys to Bernie Brierley, Dolly Phair, and Josephine Tardiff, and her ultra soprano voice to Lena Ranfone ; also her ability to talk herself out of study periods to Evelyn Dawson and Pauline Frost. Virginia Wentworth bestows upon Mary Giarusso and Frances McCallion her ability to wield a crayon and paint brush. Harriet McQuesten leaves her multi-colored jacket to Wilma Haddow— take care of it, Wilma. Mary DeNault and June Crossman leave their intimate friendship to Elaine Farnham and Muriel Chadwick, also to Ethel Lawton and Bea Murray. Phil Kelley, the atom of the senior class, bequeaths the excess weight that kept him on earth during the windy season to Thomas Howard and Thomas Casale, and his own top-notch hair tonic to James Dewhirst and Kenneth Robinson. Lillian Polichnowski endows George Massey with the ability to whip the tune from a violin. Robert Chandler Miller leaves his collection of neckties, shirts and sport coats, the loudest we have ever gaped and gasped at, to Carleton Lacaillade. Joe Jacobs leaves Johnson sighing, with relief. 24