Rowe High School - Viking Saga Yearbook (Lakeville, OH)

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▼ Last Will and Testament continued ▼ ride with a shy, bashful blonde. I, Dorothy Bankston, will my long, tapering finger nails to Voletta Lane, with the warning that they may not seem attractive to certain members of the male species. A dangerous, yet alluring weapon, Voletta. To Bob Glenn, I, Martin Ojajarvi, will my playful nature and my ability to make a general nuisance of myself. Such playlulness is to be exhibited whenever he does not happen to have his lessons, to bluff any teacher. I, Hugh Dixon, bequeath my hate of women, especially the blondes, to Tommy Schlaich. One misogynist may lead to another and certainly the Junior Class can profit by a few women haters.. I, Bruce Clark, will the entire Magnetic Field to Hal Baker, feeling sure that he will better understand it, if he has it willed to him by one who is as much in the dark as he. Hoping that she will charm all of the boys with them, I, Arlowene Goldsmith, bequeath my gleaming page-boy-bob and my bewitching eyes to Inez Ward. Not wishing anyone bad luck, I, Oiva Kangas, bequeath my shattered pieces of glass tubing, including the splinter I managed to break off in my hand to Alberta Bennett with the warning “to be sure the tube is wet before inserting it into a stopper. My passion for falling down, I, Margaret Langdon, will to Josephine Bennett, hoping that she finds it to her advantage to pick a conspicuous corner near Amboy for the afore-mentioned prone pose. I, Harry Kirkwood, bequeath my quiet dignity and my ability to grin and bear it to Reino Hill. May he profit by my quiet unassuming demeanor. I, Shirley Paananen, bequeath my favorite ventilated foot gear to Elizabeth Herman. I also will her my rapid-fire sneeze, which attracts a second glance and a sympathetic smile from the opposite sex. I. Regina Stephenson, bequeath my task of writing the Class Will to any Junior whose Muse will bring adequate inspiration for such a stupendous task. With a sigh of relief I bring to a close the compilation of these bequests. In Witness Whereof, the Seniors have hereto suoscribed their names this twenty-third day of May in the year of our Lord, one thousand nine hundred and forty. SIGNED: CLASS OF ’40 ATTORNEY—Regina Stephenson. WITNESSES (SEAL) SENIOR CLASS PLAY The Senior Class gave its annual play on April 12th. This year the class chose a comedy in three acts, “The Merry Hares. The plot centers around the Hare family, which is an eccentric one but not in an obnoxious way. The younger daughter of the family is much taken up with motor boats in the first scenes, but after mistaking a noted young man for a mechanic she finds herself deeply in love with him. The father is as absent-minded as all professors are apt to be and the mother centers her interest in her appearance, although her real concern is for her children. The older daughter is set “on getting her man , while her twin brother amuses himself by selling stocks and getting into trouble. The able cast included Fred Ollila, Henry Brooks, Marjorie Wright, Dorothy Bankston, Hugh Dixon, Phyllis Whipple, Louis Palagyi, Margaret Langdon, Arlowene Goldsmith, Martin Ojajarvi, Shirley Paananen, Martin Andes, and Donald Cline. It was directed by Mrs. Kitchen. 16

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Last Will and Testament of Class of ’40 We, the Seniors of the fourth graduating class of Rowe High School being of sound mind and body, do bequeath the following most-prized possessions to our beloved classmates: To any Junior boy who might find it alluring, I, Louis Palagyi, will my guardianship of the Junior Paper Sales Table hoping that he might find it as attractive as I have during the past year. I, Peggy Kennedy, bequeath my penchant for frequenting West Springfield to Mae I awrence, under her premise, which is supposed to be reliable, that she charm all the males of the district, with the exception of one marked “reserved.” To Tony Hall, I, Donald Cline, bequeath my companionship with a certain blonde Sophomore with the stipulation that he dees not copy any of my various methods of chivalry and does not monopolize her after-school hours. I, Deris Thompson, will my marked affection for bashful boys to Beatrice Kirkingburg, hoping that she will profit from her observations of my technique. To Flora Langdon, I, Leonard Christopher, bequeath the cute, all-suffusing glow of my gorgeous blush as well as my much prized memory for definitions in Chemistry. If she be found unworthy of the latter, she receives one of my scornful “zorts.” I, Marjorie Wright, with much heart-rending agony, leave my beautiful, white socks to Pauline Ring, with the warning that she must be ready to receive a great many verbal comments, complimentary and otherwise—but usually otherwise. To Bill McMullen, I, Earle Poole, will my excessive height. To him also, goes my mathematical ability at counting tax stamps. May he count stamps instead of sheep to woo the god Morpheus. I, George Rector, bequeath my dashing, man-about-town manner to Raymond Kostura. To the president of the forthcoming class of 1941, I bequeath the honors and various duties ascribed thereto. To Elizabeth Schmidt, I, Helen Hirsimaki, will my athletic ability and my alluring blonde curls. I, Clara Kellogg, bequeath my freckles to Francina Seibert. She may also have my fiery temper, as I feel I shall have no need of it when I take my place in the world. After great consideration, I. Melvin Barker, will my ability to portray Clark Gable to Roland Fisch, but first he must learn the knack of acting Shakespeare on the stage. Thereupon he shall be deemed worthy of such a prized heritage. I, Phyllis Whipple, will my love for typing to June Britton. If she be willing to accept my first request, she may have a second gift—the little curl that bobs in the middle of my forehead to the distraction of the stronger (?) sex. In return for his promise to use it to good advantage, I, Marvin Andes, bequeath my favorite expression “What’s it to you?” to John Liimataine. He is to consider it a privilege and a trust and use it only when an inquisitive freshman becomes obnoxious. My passion for giggling, I, Josephine Prolong, will to any Junior whom Mrs. Kitchen may designate. I suggest Elsie Shultz. Ella Poole, Marjorie Cook or Bernadene Dewey as the beneficiary. I, Henry Brooks, leave my physiognomy, which is of such manly pulchritude that my fellow students deem it fitting to place my photo in various conspicuous places, to Marjorie Montgomery. May she blush as becomingly as I did. My poetic talent with my popular half-pint meat truck included for good measure, I, Fred Ollila. bequeath to Lois Bagnall or any other Junior who would like to Continued on page 16 15

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SENIOR CLASS HISTORY continued only because of Christmas, but also because of the preparations being made for the Junior-Senior-Alumni dance, one of the major parties of the year, it was a great success and most of us spent December 27th nursing our tired feet back to normal. The seniors placed only one man on the basketball court but he proved to leave his tracks behind him by linishing the season as high point man in the league and being chosen captain and guard on the all-star league team. We refer to none other than Louis Palagyi. The desire for entertaining was gradually growing among us and on March 16th we sponsored a St. rati ick’s pa: ly, opening the doors to the entire high school and alumni. Never let it be said that we did not lend much dramatic ability to the entertainment of the public. Ihe seniors had a monopoly on the parts in the one-act play contest, placing Margie Wrigni, rhyllis Whipple, Fred Oliila and George Rector in the cast. Immediately ioilowing tnis production, rehearsals were started on the senior play, “The Merry Hares,’ under the direction of Mrs. Kitchen. The remaining two months left in our last school year at Rowe High were busy with selecting invitations, cards, rings, pictures, and a destination for our trip, but as the time drew nearer ana nearer for our graduation night, many of us looked back with a pang of regret, feeling somehow that we were leaving a part of us behind. However, oven though this may be our last night as a unified body, we shall carry with us wherever we go fond memories oi our school days spent together—memories of friendships formed, victories won, deieats suffered, heartaches endured and pleasures shared. And as for the future, we, the class of 1940, the fourth graduating class of Rowe High School, share the desire to conduct our lives in such a way as will be a credit to our Alma Mater and thus show our gratitude for the priceless foundation she has given us. Arlowene Goldsmith CLASS PROPHECY continued By purchasing a new set of tires, Marj finds Barbara’s bicycle just as efficient for taking census in New York as in Conneaut Township. Marj and I closed up shop and set out for a bite to eat in my Ford, which I had purchased from Mr. Halchin some time ago. Mechanically, 1 turned on the radio and the Woeful Warble of Doris Thompson greeted us from Station WICA. Just as we were enjoying the music, I got caught in a traffic jam. As usual, the cause of all the excitement was Gib Dixon, now selling crank-case oil, and shoe-strings to anybody that will slow down. He still maintains that fluent line of flattery that is the secret of his success with the weaker sex. Fortunately, we extricated ourselves without serious damage to the car. I drove to, or rather we pushed to, the nearest garage, where Donald Cline was combination grease-monkey and Justice of the Peace. Finally we reached our destination, the Cannibalistic Cafe for Cagey Capitalists, where the current glamour girl of yesterday, Margaret Langdon, prepared the meals. We stayed only for a minute since I had an appointment at the Palagyi Beauty Parlor. Really, if you like a classy up-sweep, you should try that prominent stylist. Monsieur Louis. As usual, I was pretty worn out by the time I reached Kitchen’s Boarding House. But I quickly donned my coveralls and made off for Wool worth’s Five and Ten where I work evenings as janitress and stockboy. 17 —Phyllis Whipple.