Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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ON LEAVING HIGH SCHOOL No more shall we have those classes: The tricky trig, and the senseless solid, The frantic French, and the provoking problems. The erroneous English, and the frustrating physics. No more shall we dash to the cafeteria, To listen to the chorus at the drop of a bottle. Or march to the auditorium to pledge our allegiance To our (lag, to our country, and to our teachers. No more may we attend the class meetings: To argue with our beloved president On questions of dances, rings, and pins, And to give our opinions on these essential things. All these chores may we do no more. For our days of gruelling labor are o’er. Now, the lucky one to college goes, But most of us arc to become G. I. Joes. Orchestra................................................Harry James Oswald Honkalehto An ornamental box, all gilt and red . . . A nickel to a hungry slot is fed. A symphony, a lingering tune . . . Sinatra baying at the moon! Lena Ha j.jar

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FRUSTRATION There was no need for preparation For such an easy recitation. Such was Petunia’s hallucination That ended in her ruination. Leaving her modest habitation En route to the hall of education. All of her filled with a wild elation. At thought of the grim week’s termination. Aroused from a flight of imagination, She gave a start with an exclamation When asked to give her interpretation Of an expostulated derivation. At once o’ercome with a faint sensation She rose and commenced with vascillation Before the class’s sibilation And to the teacher’s aggravation. 1 ler heart leaped up with a quick saltation. She felt a tintinnabulation In her mind — but no inspiration On how to meet that interrogation. At last she blurted with trepidation A few words minus enunciation. Then to calm her agitation She spent a moment of contemplation. In her pause of self-stabilization 1 ler face reflected radiation, For she had received an inspiration. Petunia gained the cooperation ()f all the class’s population, But caught — to her humiliation — In an attempted communication, Her knees were seized with a wild vibration; And much to the class’s fascination, She gave a perfect demonstration Of a victim of gross intoxication. Removed at last from her hopeless station By the teacher’s explanation Plus advice on some concentration, Petunia felt need for an expiation And wished for the quick elimination Of all instructors by extermination. But being a child with realization Of the benefits of an education. She agreed after careful cogitation To see it through until graduation. Mari i'. Bi.nfdi ru Movie Actor . . Van Johnson

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IVild Styles of 1945 Girls love a uniform! (So do boys) In fact, they like them so much they wear the uni- forms themselves to school. Of course, there are styles to suit everyone, male, female, glamorous, so-so, — let the chicks fall where they may. Girls’ outfits are really the most unusual. For instance, there’s the regulation-wool skirt, sloppy joe, white dicky, and. of course, loafers and bobby socks (Oh, Frankie!) The girl who wants to be different wears her boy-friend’s size 42 lumberjacket, ski-pants, and shoes to match (an especially tasty touch is plaid shoelaces). With this outfit usually goes straight black bangs to simulate the Queen of the Nile (and So many go cross-eyed trying to look slant-eyed! tsk-tsk!) Speaking of hair, there’s no lack of it around here, with most of the able Grables wearing theirs in curly splendour half-way down the back (and what fun the guys sitting behind them in class have draping it off their desks). And this isn’t the worst. The poor girls are thought to be dopes because they can’t raise their hands in ( lass from the weight of all those silver slave bracelets (less than three on each arm and you’re not hep, Jackson!). The ladies are also keeping the engravers busy with name, address, and phone number on every gadget they own— (wait, maybe after the war, we ll have walkie-talkies to broad- cast that information) . But—don’t think the boys are inno- cent of weird costumes. Oh, no. Haven’t you heard of the latest fraternity? It’s called “Brothers of the Hanging Shirt- tail or The Polka-Dot Pinball Boys”, and to be initiated you have to own one of those gorgeous red and black checked shirts we’ve all seen enough of. Failing this, a Reindeer sweater or an oversized bow-tie might get you in. Watch, all members must have no less than three inches padding in each shoulder (the password is “Onward, Sons of Sinatra” but don’t say we told you). Well, you get the idea. That’s what they’re wearing this year. We’re not talking about the next, but the way things are progressing, we wouldn’t be surprised if — well, we just wouldn't be surprised! Marii.yn Cutler - vr Magazine .......... ‘‘Life”