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

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JOHNSON HIGH SCHOOL Ed Doherty leaves on the back of an Army mule. Dot Kreusel wills her map of Lawrence’s night spots to Shirley Harrison. Mildred Margerison bequeaths her devotion for a sophomore boy and Florence Petteruto her love for a certain red-haired senior, to any girl de¬ siring them. Red Greenwood leaves an amazing ability to score baskets for his opponents to Scarecrow Willis who should prove adept. He also leaves us seasick with the waves from his hair. Eleanor Valpey bestows her business ability upon Ruth Atkinson. James Flanagan leaves to Charles Welch his indefatigable wind and spirit in cheering Johnson’s athletic teams to victory. Hazel Morse leaves her soundproof slippers, used for coming home in the early hours of the morning, to Marguerite Soucy. Thus, we, the Class of 1940, having bestowed upon our worthy successors what little we had in our possession, do affix our signatures to this worthy and legal document, in the year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and forty. Signed, WILLIAM F. MACKIE In behalf of the Class of 1940 CLASS PROPHECY EING thoroughly fed up with the big city, and with nothing to do, and all summer to do it in, I decided to take a trip up through New Eng¬ land. I wanted to do something different from the usual thing, so I decided to go by way of the fifth finger or the horizontal thumb or anything else that you want to call it. I mean bumming. I had hardly left New York, when I was nearly run down by a mammoth van, that, though called a truck, resembled a streamlined train more than anything else. The driver had stopped a little farther along and was waiting for me. What a break! As I climbed up into the cab, I saw a familiar face grinning down at me from behind a long dead and cold cigar butt. It was my old classmate, Jack Lanni. But what a difference! As I remembered Jack, he was the he- man athletic type, but now his fine big athletic chest had slipped down to a position half way between his shoulders and his knees. I noticed that he was driving a truck labeled Robinson’s Rapid Transit. — Nothing goes Rancid with Robinson. I could well believe that, as I remember how William Edward used to breeze around town during our high school days, but Jack informed me that this was only a side line with Bill, as he and that other Casanova of the senior class, Bob Hall, were the proprietors of the Enchanting Escort Enterprise. And I could see why this was so, for I vividly remembered the lists of names and telephone numbers that these two had. He said that their most popular escorts were Harry Bunker, Albert Hebb, and John Lamprey among the boys. I was surprised, for they were never exponents of the Terpsichorean art while in school, but Jack explained that that was all changed now, and also that Agnes McNab, Lillian Polichnowski, and Dot Costello, were by far the most overworked members of the fair sex employed by our auspicious business men. But this came as no surprise, for I remembered they were very pop- 20

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1940 YEAR BOOK Elinor Cole bequeaths one of her better and more emotional poems to Mary Plummer. Rita Camire leaves her quiet friendliness and good fellowship to Barbara Bishop and her French accent to Virginia Gile. Grace Driscoll leaves her ability to get along with her classmates to Made¬ line Cashman, who seems to be doing all right by herself. Bing Miller leaves his voyages to Scollay Square to Ray Broadhead and Arthur Detora with the hope that they enjoy them as much as he has; and his quality of triumphant leadership to Robert Sullivan. Betty May, the girl of a very few thousand words, bequeaths her prodigious vocabulary to Eleanor Barrington and June Barnard, her expeditious talk to Joyce Chadwick, and her variable moods to Barbara Dearden, who always wears a cheery smile. John Cronin Roche leaves the directions on how to obtain a permanent in three easy lessons to Dorothy Harris and Ethel Lewis. Ruth Wheeler wills her brief case to Rita Pickles and Mary Howard, who we know will use it properly. Vito Melnikas wills two pounds of fish, mainly haddock, to anyone who wants them. Dorothy Dainowski bequeaths her acting ability to Helen Lang and Connie Kruschwitz, who are doing very well for themselves, and a mind of penetrat¬ ing keenness to Sarah Jacobs and Virginia Collins. Katherine Wainwright bequeaths a natural sweetness of disposition to Dorothy Nicoll and Elaine Kelly who are worthy successors, and her ability to set people at their ease to Charlotte Kruschwitz and Mary Carroll who also possesses this quality. Ruth Stevenson leaves her fourth dimension jokes to Doris Jackson and her contagious laugh to the Ayer twins. John Casserly leaves his First National Maxwell to Joseph Noone. Lottie Huminick leaves her quiet manner to Irene Taylor. Albert Hebb bequeaths his book “Beautiful Belles from Boxford” to Alex¬ ander Fraser. Robert Cunningham, the boy who is allergic to senior girls, leaves his title of “Freshman Thriller” to Gordon Rokes and his oratorical ability to George Emmons. Betty James leaves her genteel voice to Marion Flanagan. Eva Hoel leaves her indefinable charm to Virginia Miller. George Mattheson leaves his many travels to Methuen to Joseph Saunders. Marcia Barker leaves her cool manner of playing basketball to Ruth Ken¬ nedy and her humor that keeps the vision true and mind sweet to Marion McClung. George Porteck bestows his golden opinions upon George Wilton who will have to use them to the best of his ability. Janet Kershaw leaves her good nature and perpetual smile to Katherine Earl who has plenty to spare. Joe Flanagan leaves an overflowing quantity of broken hearts to Douglas Culpon, and a new hockey stick to William Donahue, who handles one nicely. To Wade Westbrooke, John Ranfone leaves his latest edition of “Art from the Acre.” Louise Detora leaves the perseverence which has made her one of our best girl students to Marguerite Costello. Marguerite Kenyon and Elsie Lundquist leave many charming qualities for Eleanor Lewis to add to those she already possesses. 25

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1 9 4 0 YEAR BOOK alar partners on the dance floor in school, and, as Jack so aptly put it, it didn’t always have to be on the dance floor, either. As we rounded a bend in the road, a sign labelled “North Andover Airport, Air. John Cassale, Mgr.” came into view and it dawned upon me that we must be in North Andover. Jack’s continual line of chatter had kept me so ab¬ sorbed. that we almost got completely by before I succeeded in getting out of the truck. After a word of thanks to Jack, I started up a short, dusty road which led to the airport. As I came to the top of a hill I came upon a modern and up-to-date enough place, but what seemed strange to me, was a dearth of airplanes and people around the place. Then I saw a large transport plane warming up a short distance down one of the runways. The pilot was leaning against the plane, so I went down to ask him where I could find Air. Casale, and you could have pushed me over with a feather when the pilot turned around, for it was an¬ other classmate, John Roche. He was the last one in the world that I had ex¬ pected to see under these circumstances, but he informed me that it had long been a secret desire of his to be a pilot. We didn’t have much time to talk, for he was due to take off then, but he directed me to the “beast,” as he called Air. J. Casale, and with that he was off. I soon found the manager himself, seated behind his desk industriously poring over the latest copy of “Ballyhoo” which he quickly put aside at my entrance. He welcomed me to the airport, and we had just settled down for a nice quiet chat, when another old classmate, Tony Giragosian, bustled into the room with the complaint that his ankle bothered him, and that he wanted to go home. He was delighted to see me, as I was to see him, and the ankle was soon forgotten. John told me that Tony was his chief mechanic, now that he had graduated from the aeronautical school. We didn’t have much time, however, to talk over old times, for just then the noon whistle blew and John invited me to have lunch with him. Just as we were leaving, in rushed Florence Petteruto. We exchanged very warm greetings, and later as we were on our way down town, John explained that Florence was chief labora¬ tory technician in the field laboratory, and that right now she was in the midst of a very important experiment concerning the further streamlining of wings in speed planes. As we passed Sutton’s Corner, I saw a large, prosperous looking fish mar¬ ket displaying the sign “Melnikas’ Fish Alarket — If it swims, we have it.” And sure enough, there was Vito out on the sidewalk drumming up business with that fog horn voice of his. He told us that even though he sold all kinds of fish, his main income was from haddock. As we turned to go, I noticed in a vacant lot across the street, a large billboard announcing to the public that Art Currier, the Titan of the Trombone and his Classy Cutups, featuring that sweetheart of the air ways, Kathy Long, managed by George Mattheson, would soon be in this vicinity. I turned to John in amazement. “Is that the Currier and Long I used to know?” I asked. And when he replied that it was, I said to myself, “Boy, oh boy ! What a difference between the Currier that played the trombone in the physics class and the Currier of today. And where had Kathleen been keeping that voice of hers all the time that I had known her?” And I thought to myself, “Will wonders never cease?” By this time 1 was almost caving in from hunger, so without further delay, John led the way into a lovely place, with the odd name of “The Green Lan¬ tern.” Here I was in for another surprise, for the hostess was none other than 27