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

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1940 YEAR BOOK those poor kids. As we neared the basement of the school, I heard a voice saying, “Save the line, don’t go over the line,” over and over again. It sounded like Mr. Vincent, but when we got down there, who should it be, but Alex Hay in the role of manual training teacher. This was the last room, so I thanked Sam and started back down town. As I walked along, I opened my paper to the sports page, and there in big type 1 read, “Miller Pitches Third Consecutive No Hit - No Run Game,” and there was a three column picture of Bing Miller. He was pitching for the Red Sox, who were now on top in the big league standings. Just after crossing the highway, I caught sight of a familiar looking figure in the uniform of a state policeman. It was Eddie Doherty, who had become a finger in the long arm of the law. But our conversation was rudely inter¬ rupted by a speeding car which Eddie had to chase. As I continued on my tour, who should I run into but Eva Hoel, who informed me that she was go¬ ing from house to house getting pupils for the kindergarten she was about to open. A little farther along, I saw a familiar looking salesman. As I got a little closer, I discovered that it was David Ritchie. He told me that he was the sole New England representative for the Little Duster Vacuum Cleaner. I sneaked away as David went into a lengthy discourse on the value and ex¬ pense of the “Little Duster.” Two new buildings had been recently erected in town ; one was the home of “The Keyhole,” North Andover’s latest newspaper, and the other one was the North Andover Clinic. I decided first to see the newspaper, and then the Clinic. As I walked into the building of the newspaper, whom should I see at the combination information desk and telephone switchboard, but Betty May, who was trying to convince a prospective customer that he should subscribe to “The Keyhole,” and I couldn’t help thinking that Betty could do a good job at convincing. She stopped just long enough to welcome me, and to direct me to the office of the editor. As I walked into the editor’s office, there was another classmate, Rita Camire, in the role of the editor’s secretary. The surprise of seeing so many classmates was wearing ofif, so I almost expected to see another one in the next room. Sure enough, there he was, Bob Cunningham, in the typical office position, feet on the desk, reading the latest copy of his paper. He was very glad to see me and offered to take me on a tour of inspection of the place. The first section that he took me to was the sports department, which was lorded over by a huge bulk of a man whose orders sent assistants scurrying all over. This man looked up as we approached, and low and behold, who should it be, but that versatile wit of the class, Billy Mackie. As Billy was in a bad mood today, we did not stay around there long. We then went to a little room that was set off from the rest. As we went in the door we were greeted by a loud snore coming from behind a large drawing board and a monstrous pile of used drawing paper. Behind this mountain, we found the comic editor of “The Keyhole,” Phil Kelly, sound asleep after completing the arduous task of drawing the comics for the day’s issue. We next went back into the news room and over to a corner set off for the woman’s page editor, but Bob explained that “The Keyhole” had two of them because of the quantity of women’s news in town. And there they were, the typewriting twins, typ¬ ing their column for the next day, Lillian and Helen Burns. We went from there to the corner set apart for the poet of the paper. This 29

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JOHNSON HIGH SCHOOL Mary Cary, who, John explained, was also owner of the place. John signalled for a waitress, and who should come gliding over to greet us but Lottie Huminick, who looked perfectly devastating in her trim, attractive uniform. While we were waiting for our lunch, I glanced at the copy of the morning newspaper that I had picked up in the cab of Jack’s truck. There on the front page in large, bold type was the heading, ARMY vs. NAVY. In the article that followed, it said that General Joseph Provencher, Chief of Army Intelli¬ gence, would debate this evening over the radio with Admiral John S. Ran- fone and Commander Joseph Jacobs on the topic “Resolved: that the Army can better defend the U.S. in case of attack than the Navy.” I made a resolu¬ tion that I’d hear this program. As we were leaving, I stopped to give a word of praise for the exceptionally hue meal that we had just eaten. But Mary was cjuick to reject all compli¬ ments that I tried to give her, saying that her dietitian was entirely respon¬ sible for all the menus and dishes that were served in the place. I naturally asked who this dietitian was, and who do you think she introduced by our old classmate, Elsie Lundquist. By this time it was way past the dinner hour and John had to get back to the field, so, as we approached the cashier to pay for the meal, who should look up from the arduous task of polishing her nails, but still another classmate, Dorothy Kreusel. I was so surprised that I al¬ most forgot to pick up the change that Dot laid out for me. It was here that John had to leave me, but I assured him that I could get along by myself. The first thing that I did was to get myself a new shirt. As I entered the establishment, the dazzling brilliance of the displays had a drastic effect on the eyes. This store carried the loudest and goofiest creations that Botany or Arrow or anybody else ever made. They reminded me somewhat of the kind of shirts and ties that a certain classmate of mine used to wear, and sure enough, the owner turned out to be Bob Miller. After buying one of his less boisterous shirts, I continued on my journey. The next place that I decided to visit was the high school. What a change there was in the old school! There was even a new building with all the latest conveniences and facilities. As I walked through the door labeled Principal, what a surprise greeted me! For with the new building they had hired a new secretary for the principal, none other than Janet Kershaw, who was at this moment making out checks for the athletic department. I leaned over her shoulder to find out who the new coach was, and I almost swallowed my up¬ per bridge when I read the name Arthur Greenwood beside the Coach and Athletic Director, and the name of Anna Mackie beside the title, Girls’ Coach, and I wondered which basket Art taught his boys to shoot at in basketball. This was shock enough, but when I walked into the principal’s office and saw Sam Messina seated behind the desk, it was five minutes before I could gather up enough strength to ask Sam to show me around HIS school. In the first room that we came to we saw Grace Driscoll trying to drive Pascal’s into the minds of a rather dim witted senior physics class. The next room was also occupied by an old classmate, June Crossman, vainly at¬ tempting to instill in the minds of a bewildered class a few simple rules of French. We went from there to the art room and here was Virginia Went¬ worth showing a very interested class how she got her A in art when she was in school. As we went past the auditorium, I heard what was supposed to be an orchestra grimly trying to play a classical masterpiece, but the harder they tried, the worse they got, and the worse they got, the more angry the inst ruct¬ or got, and if you have ever seen Betty James angry, you can sympathize with 28

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JOHNSON HIGH SCHOOL was our old class poetess, Eleanor Cole, which after all was as it should be, for she was really good when she was in school. I noticed that “The Keyhole” had an art page with criticisms on the latest pictures. I asked Bob if he had to buy this column, but he was quick to assure me that his paper didn’t have to buy anything, and to prove it, he led me into another office where I found classmate Frances Martin in the act of examining an old Raphael with her trusty microscope, so we left her to her work. We went from here to the dramatic department which I found to be under the able supervision of Mar¬ guerite McKinnon. She was writing a review for the play “Yesterday’s Goodbye” and I saw as I read her stuff that the leading lady and leading man were Dot Dainowski and George Porteck, respectively, with the leading sup¬ porting part being played by Mary DeNault. But I am sorry to say that Peggy was not very much impressed by the performance of her former class¬ mates. She said that “Yesterday’s Goodbye” was today’s farewell, and a few even less complimentary things, so I decided not to see it. She said that the only good thing about the play was the orchestra, under the able direction of Gene Ruess and his piano. I told Bob that I wanted to see the new clinic next door, so he said that he would take me over there himself, but just as we were going out, who should come charging in, but the ace reporter of the paper, Doris Gustafson, with a hot scoop, so Bob had to excuse himself and 1 went there alone. As I walked in, whom should I meet as the receptionist but Eleanor Valpey, who directed me to the office of the medical doctor of the clinic, Dr. Joseph Flanagan. When I walked in through the door of Dr. Flanagan’s office, there, staring me in the face, was Mary Dineen, who was the nurse for brother Joe, lucky fellow. Mary told me that Joe wasn’t there just then, so I didn’t stay, but de¬ cided to go next door to see Dr. John Casserly, who was the dentist for the clinic. And who should be his nurse but Ruth Stevenson. She said that the doctor was busy with a patient, so I decided to wait. I picked up a book that was lying there and started to read it. The title was, “Personality, and How to Obtain It.” The first few pages were very interesting, so I looked for the author, and who should I find had written the book, but Kitty Wainwright! Ruth told me that Kitty was quite an authoress now. Just then John came out of his workshop with the announcement that he was all through for the day, so we went out for supper together. I asked him how all this building in town had come about, and he told me that since the women had taken over the town affairs, things had changed. I asked him to explain, and he told me that three years ago, Marguerite Kenyon and Hazel Morse had been elected to the board of selectmen. I asked him who the third one was, and he said Jimmie Winning, but added that he had no more say or authority than a hen-pecked husband. John said that he wanted to stop in at the library, and as we walked in the door, what should greet my eyes, but two librarians’ desks. John explained that the town fathers couldn’t decide between Ruth Wheeler and Harriet McQuesten, so they gave the job to both of them. When we came out of the library, we found that someone had put a handbill in John’s car announcing the opening of a new and different com¬ mercial school by two more classmates, Louise Detora and Doris Robinson. While going back down town, he told me that he had to stop for a moment at a beauty shop to find out about an appointment. And I’ll be darned if he didn’t stop at a beauty shop that was being run by Isabel Rabs and Mildred Margerison. Their window was decorated by a large picture of a girl with 30