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Page 22 text:
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Joyce, Bob, and Frannie must think it is summer. . . . well, if it isn’t Miss. Hunnell. . . . Phyllis, loafing as usual in the library. . . . homoward bound. . . . eating up the profits. ... the eternal triangle, chemistry, Fluff and two boys. . . . Pasteur, the second ‘Mr. Saari, with his little helper, Sylvia. ... a familiar sight. . . . take your pick, buses, we mean. . . . two members of the intelligence division, working hard. . . . freshman pulchritude on the loose. . . . getting that arm limbered up. . . . coming to school, dear old school. 18
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Page 21 text:
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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.
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