Plainville High School - Plainsman Yearbook (Mariemont, OH)

Page 44 text:

4m: 70666 We, the undersigned, members of the Plainville High School graduating class of 1946, being of sound mind and memory, and about to leave the honorable station of seniors in high school to later upperclussmen, do bequeath to afore- mentioned upperclassmen the attributes which have made us great. Therefore, we do will and bequeath: Item IeTo the Senior Class of 1947-we give: ROOm three hundred and ten, our reverenced hull of fame, where, from choir to chair, our names may be read. Treat it kindly, 1947, that all senior classes may know their ioys and sorrows in it also. Our many, many college bulletins with wisdom to inspect and select. An annual as successful as we hope this one will be. Our dear Miss Keegan and our dear Mr. Martin, without whose wisdom and guidance the success of our senior year would have been impossible. Item lleWe do further respectfully lhecve: To Gordon DeWeese, my knowledge of farmingePdtty Anderson. To lucie Miller, my feet to help carry her many burdenseBtll Adkins. To Mary Patten, my Tennessee train ticketeBill Anthony. To Bob Oukes, my poiseeDotty Boinum. To Benny Cohee, my haircurlersePhil Banks. To Don Lemon, my red hatreEugene Bauer. T0 Phyllis Williams, my constancy in matters of loveeCharlotte Bldttmun. At home, my letterse-Jeanne Browning. To the already overcrowded trophy case, my tennis trophieSaJane Buckmuster. To Miss Keegan, my artistic ability to make her blackboard illustrations iust a little cleareRuth Calvert. To Jeanne Bonnell, my cameI-walke-Mary Cappa. To Charles Huzenfietd, my typing speed, and does he need me Kathleen Delaney. To Tom Roland, my never-shom beard-Duane DeWeese. The precedent established by my knock-kneed portrayal of Clarenceelaird Durham. To John Thompson, my desire to be a ministereDon Ferns. To anyone who needs it, my milk of mcgnesia-r-Murygene Francisco. To Frank Summers, my temper-Ben Fite. To Don Geiger, my basketball abilityleJanet Gilbert. To the senior class of 1947, the one left-over unnuolrlohn Gilbert. 40

Page 43 text:

Pam: and Pm: team, which won the school championship. The spotlight points with pride to the reserve basket- ball team which was the first to win the county championship for our school. The entire first string was made up of sophomores. The scene changes in our panorama of sports, and we see the young sophomores' fancies turning lightly to thoughts of track, mainly because the girls were preparing there for the Carthage meet. Our taking second place in the girls' competition at Carthage was largely clue to the ability of the sophomores. Then came basketball with six sophomores helping to win the East League Championship. Bending very close to the ball, we are startled to hear music mingled with the clinking of small coinsevery small. This could be only the perennial Sophomore Sweater Swing. Before the mist comes again to obstruct our vision completely, we see sophomores walking up on the auditorium platform to receive honors in scholarship. As the last award is presented, that same small gentleman rushes on the scene saying, There will be a brief intermission during which the sophomores will don the dignity of upper- classmen. The first glimpse we have of this next year is one of our class officers leading the mad Scramble for money. The aforementioned officers were Gerry Storch, Jack Swisher, Mina Shumway, and Sonny Tiberghein. In our desire to make our Prom the l'best yet, we worked hard to make the Hallow E'en Howl, our first dance, a howling success. We have cause to shake the ball, for we think it is out of control when it reveals a scene of sixth-century England. But then we recognize our classmates as the people of King Arthurls Court, and we realize it is just an excerpt from our class play, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthurls Court. This play was outstanding because, firstly, 39 it broke all previous records of profit, and secondly, because it was the tirst costume play given by a class in this school. A vision of a lone candy bar all but hidden by cookies stirs in us memories of a year of scanty candy soles and a very successful bake sale. We then catch brief glimpses of iuniors sporting handsome class rings, two iuniors as co-editors poring over a Blue Devil, and lots of our class- mates receiving scholarship certificates. With great pride we look upon our Prom in which we produced the charm and dignity of a southern plantation. Before the vacation mist gathers within the ball, we witness the election of the senior class officers, who were Pat Anderson, President; Stan Mc- Cracken, Vice President,- Charlotte Blattman, Secre- tary; and Duane DeWeese, Treasurer. Swami Fernski is here at our elbows, complain- ing that we've cut in on his trade, and demands the return of the ball. We really don't care much, because even our faulty memories have retained facts about this all-important year. Since the From left our class purse pretty flat, we began immediately to take advantage of every opportunity to better our financial condi' tion. Our period of drudgery began with the girls' selling hot dogs and apples at games and after school. We gave the first dance of the year, The Foot- ball Fantasy. A dance, given later in the fall, and a paper drive proved Very lucrative. We adhered to the tradition of sponsoring the Christmas formal which was, also according to tradition, costly. In this first year of eleven-man football, the seniors contributed eight men to the first string. Their athletic prowess was not limited to football, but was valuable in other sports as well. We'll always remember February 10, 1946, as the day We drew our first deep breaths in three weeks. The tension was due to the frantic prepara- tions for our Carnival which was held Febru- ary 9. in the spring we gave a bake sale, a paper drlve and our class play. With the menace of war no longer threatening our futures, we come to gradu- ation feeling that we have been well-prepared, in in both academic and so- cial arts, to meet any chal- lenge the world may present.

Page 45 text:

amt 7wmment To anyone who thinks he's big enough to take it from me, my H'I-Y pin-June Hannaford. To Harold Kruse, my doublewjointed toesmPc-t Herdtner. To the person who regularly carves on the desks in 315, my long fingernails-h- Evelyn Hill. To Frank Ruddle, my boss fiddle, and I hope you can reach the topFGlenn Horne. To someone who knows how to use it, my suntompyPct Hughes. To Charles Miller, my creaking basso-Bill Keown. To Betty Jean Hutchinson, my charming New England accent-Dick Mappes. To anyone who knows what it means, my desire to be a clinical pathologist- June Morkey. To Russ Heckel, my girlshy attitudemTom Marx. To Pete Hull, my toothbrush to polish his shoesmMorilyn Mills. To Carl, my inch-long eyelashes to sweep up the hallsmBibsi Mueller. To Eddie Crain, my many and varied t'1idst'mGeorge Metz. To Bob Summers, my practice basketball punts, tape and uIl-Ston McCracken. To the costume wardrobe, my villuinis eyebrowstoe McGowan. To the junkpile, my old car Ht, where it should have been long ago-Bob McGuire. To George Baker, my unruly shock of huir--Ed Parks. To Frisch's, my car-to-car personalitymWilma Raleigh. To next years money makers, my never-failing smileyNorma Summons. Behind, my nicknames, ChIOye, Cleo, and CedriCmChloe Schmidt. To the next poor devil, my skill in managing the carnival, Mina Shumway. To Ralph Sipe, my referee's whistle to add to his ownm-Carolyn Simons. To Joan Tice, my sleeveless, buttonless blouses, which she wouldntt wear any- wuy-Pat Simpson. To Barbara Hanaford, my cheerleading tightsmBarbara Spefman. Nothing. Nobody ever left me anythingthGerry Storch. To Dave Taylor, my casual attiremSonny Tiberghein. To Mr. Martin, my Giacier Springs distilled water to save a lot of trouble- Dotty Uvuas. To Jim Baker, my elbowless cashmeremLois Weingartner. To the art room, my cartoons--Ed Wilkinson. To George Kopp, my Navy experiences to support his talesm-Don Winder. To Jim Potter, my gigglemMary June Wood. 41