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

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her any good) to be used only to keep Bob Herb in hand. We, HAROLD WILEY and RICHARD SPRINGER, hand over to Ike Kent and Bill Neal all of our dates with Conneaut girls— except two—(everyone knows who they are) provided they don’t go out with the same one twice in one week. To Pauline Petaro, I, DOROTHY KOPP, donate my efficiency on the basketball floor with the agreement that she will fumble the ball five times to my ten. 1, FLOYD BATCHELOR, present to Joe Schor my position as Rowe High’s “Singing Cowboy.” (Of course, there are several strings attached.) He must come up to the Senior room every noon and serenade the fairer (?) sex. To Mid Maki, I, ROSE PROLONG, bequeath my fantastic notions on fashions. May she use them to the best advantage in snaring her one and only. I, PAUL WHIPPLE, alias “Parson Paul,” impart with my impulsiveness and aptitude for always arguing myself into a predicament to Bryce Bryant—for the benefit of the teachers (so they won’t forget me) in good old Rowe High. To Donna Mae Clark, I, KATHERINE “0. K.” BRISTOL, bequeath my unlimited imagination and yarn spinning. She must answer to me if she doesn’t keep the ball rolling. I, CHARLES DEVEREAUX, leave to Ben Roberts my “Super Snazzy Snooze Society” of which I am president. The members consist of me, myself, and I. It goes into session every day in English class—no violations permitted. To Elsa Kesatie, I, FLORA HUCKEL-BERRY, will the task (?) of being certain “not” to have her French paper so Mrs. Kitchen can have someone to scold. But I caution her not to try it too often—Pm speaking from experience—ask Katherine. I, WILLARD PUFFER, gladly hand to Charlie Sippola my questionably warm spot in Mr. Ward’s heart because he’ll need it ir chemistry. To Kate Nelson, I, AUDREY HAZEL-TINE, present my simple duty of supporting the future senior class by purchasing two or three candy bars every noon — may her shadow never grow less. To Clifford Osborne (the lucky guy), I LEONARD BLOOD, leave my passion for women and if he keeps this fire burning brightly, I shall also dub him the “Romeo of Rowe.” To Waynie Wheeler, I, RUSSELL KNAUFF, render my facility for dashing into the room lust two seconds before the tardy bell rings, agreeing that he will make it one second if Mrs. Kitchen will kindly allow him to do so. I, JUNE RING, surrender the job of being the “Delilah” of Rowe to Geraldine Kennedy, with the stipulation that she must find another Sampson somewhere other than in Jefferson. But Heaven help her if she gets the razzin’ I got. To Kay Graff, I, EDWARD STEPHENSON, will my brain (?) and my brawn(?) and my super-farm ability with the understanding that he must get himself evicted from the library once a week and have an argument with at least one teacher a day. I, NAOMI BRADY, present my weakness for sailor boys to Dot Rapose. I’ll sympathize with her when she’s left to sit at home while the boats are out. I, ROBERT FRAME, grant to Emerson Page all of my prevailing chemistry memories involving my quips and cranks plus the broken test tubes and the everlasting smells which issue forth from the lab. I, VERA BLAKESLEE, allot my proficiency (and I DO mean technique) of speechlessness to Muriel Ericksen. May she have more success than I. To William Greenfield, I, ROBERT GAUS, assign my position as Mrs. Kitchen’s joy and consolation with the understanding that he should keep her reminded of the previous senior class (and me). I, LAVERNA HELMBRECHT, bequeath to Louise Carey all my different coughs and giggles—very effective too—as I won’t have need of them now that I am grown. I, JAMES WALTERS, will my petite niche by the fountain near 307 to Bob Herb only on the condition that he and Ruth are to occupy it every noon and all other convenient times (without getting caught.) To Helen Fisch, I, MILDRED TURNER, hand over my flarey temper—as you might need it—but I have found that it gets a person no place fast. To Altha Bates, I, MURIEL QUINN, present all Sunday nights—personally re- 16

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Our mouths drooled as we lustily reaped our revenge. Unsuspecting freshmen cringed before our iron touch. It wasn’t too bad, though the committee had to turn Sherlock and track down one reluctant little lass. Our only complaint on our chicken supper was that we gave ’em too much to eat— truly constructive criticism. I won’t mention the incident of someone’s putting NaCl in a sugar bowl instead of what belongs there. Never say “no versatility” in our senior class—recollect our assembly ? Helen and Ruth wrote it, but that didn’t do the wowing. Barefoots “Cherry Blossom” Ring and a L’il Abner Holdson set a new style note —a bag dress and dirty feet and on them the feet in such condition looked good. Sloppier end-men there never were than Frame, Puffer, Holdson and Whipple. Whenever I hear “Chatanooga Choo-Choo” I think of their “Special.” Old grads trooped back to the Yuletide shindig and swung themselves to the music of Morrell Starks’ orchestra. Activity was our middle name. Representing us in behalf of basketball—the sport of Rowe—were Springer, Walters, Taylor, Wiley, Holdson, Hubbard and Knauff. Piloting of the “Pilot Light” was in Marian’s hands and scads of reporters scurried for fresh news, gossip, or inside dope on the kids. Snoopers and production whizs were Turner, Williams, Puffer, Scully, Ha-zeltine, Quinn, Nelson, Bunnell, Evans, Fogg and D. C. Browne. A sextette of singers, Frame, Holdson, Bunnell, Whipple, Gaus and Ring will make their “cheerios” to the a cappella choir. A projector, new in idea to almost every- SENIOR We the Seniors of Rowe High School, being of sound mind and memory, do make, publish, and declare this, our last Will and Testament, in manner following—that is to say: I, “Little” DOROTHY BROWN, bestow my incessantly shining sex appeal on Arlene Schlaich with the stipulation that she must receive at least ninety-nine and forty-four one, was the class gift to the school. This baloptican may be used to project on a screen any type of ordinary picture from a newspaer or book. It surely got plenty of work-outs during P. O. D. news report sessions. We admit our class doesn’t lack too many nit-witty people, but “Mr. Hyde,” Priscella,” “John Alden,” and “Lady Mac-Beth”—a “nut house”—and a dummy who is “murdered” rather exceed the limit for any one class. “Lunatics at Large,” had all these and more—excitement with a capital “E”, but definitely. Whipple, Fogg, Bristol, Frame, Puffer, Bunnell, Turner, Haz-eltine, Nelson, Holdson, Springer, Williams, Ashby and Wiley trod the boards for this laugh-and-scare killer-diller of a thriller. Then suddenly like toadstools, little signposts started bobbing up—they were all pointing toward “Graduation.” We were measured for gowns; then rings took the center of attention. We had our pictures taken; in rapid succession came cards, announcements, trip discussions, the “Saga” and class night. Like raindrops, matters new tc us began falling into our hands. I guess it’s all a part of becoming a senior—a complex individual, to say the least. Wanting school to end—yet, regretful because for some of us it may be our last taste of school life—outside that huge school of which we’ve heard so much and which now shall see for ourselves—the “school of hard knocks.” Our class motto was “Not for school, but for life, we learn.” Will this prove true? Time has the answer to this question within her covers. Ruth Scully, Class Historian CLASS WILL one hundredths per cent of the letters from handsome soldiers as I have. To Bill McCrone, I, KEITH ANDERSON transfer my unique facility for being absent from school at least three-fourths of the time—more if possible. If he can improve on this record, it is his privilege to do so. I, PATTY NELSON, will gladly my “sweet disposition” to Ruth Akerley (if it will do 15

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served, provided she and her dandy use them only when Hube and I are busy elsewhere. I, HAROLD BELNAP, transfer with joy to Richard Bunnell all of my beautiful blue “dan-Dees” and red “Fines” in chemistry. I, HELEX-ON-THE-LAKE FOGG, bequeath my rights during school hours on Richie Wheeler to Robby Puffer with the agreement that he keep all the girls away from said Richie. To Phillip Puffer, I, JOHNNY HOLDSON, will my throne—a dirt mound—and as king of the Hillbillies, I command him to keep the future seniors from feudin’ too much during meetings at noon. To Bernice Hershey, I, LOIS WILLIAMS, bequeath my ultra-modern hair styles, which have led me to fame—did I say something? Here is the formula, wash it once a month, curl on one and one-half inch strips of bright red and green cloth, allow to dry, comb into curls—come to school and let the boys pull it out—result: hair-do of the future. I, RICHARD TAYLOR, hand that unde-finable “something” which makes me the Robert Taylor of Rowe to Gene Spieldenner. To Bernadene Yusko, I, RUTH SCULLY, leave all my excursions to Yankee Lake with the agreement that it is to be Phil who takes her there, as Richard of Jefferson did me. So that the tradition of having at least one sailor in the Senior class, I, CHARLES RILEY, award this trying assignment to Fred Hirsimaki. If he maintains this tradition faithfully I shall give him another prize possession that he should appreciate— that of postponing appointments, but “Re member Pearl Harbor.” I, MABLE SMITH, lavish on Delores Davis exactly forty-one pounds and ten and one-fourth ounces as I have heard she needs a little excess ballast and I really don’t need it—or do I ? I, ALBERT HUBBARD, impart with my many dates with “overtown” girls to Archie Buie. May he have as many classy times as I—you see I must settle down to just one •blond, two brunettes, and one redhead now. To Betty Jack Wright, I, AUDREY CLINE, donate my original tittering as I must be a lady from no on out in the cold, cold world. May it get her into as much trouble as it did me. I, DORIS BUNNELL, turn over to Harriet Smith my bespoken honor of having all the mirrors I need. But in investigation she is conceded the wee sum of 15; one in each book, one in every coat pocket, two in her locker, and three in her purse. To Grace Hall, I, HAZEL KIRKWOOD, offer my chemistry book in hopes that she will open it more than I did. If she carrys out this trivial mission faithfully, I am sure Mr. Ward will appreciate it. To Christine Jones, I, ELOISE EVANS, grant my high rank in the United States Navy, provided she leaves the sailor with a label “hands off” alone. Beach is reserved for me. I, WALTER CHAMPLIN, bequeath my technique of being the blushing senior of Rowe to John Mononen. If he loses this trait, he must turn it over to someone else more adept at the business of blushing. To Esther Montgomery, I, “Big” DOROTHY BROWNE, will my graceful art of ballet dancing. On an after thought she had better practice every day, but be sure to do this on the ground floor. I, MONA WARD, bequeath exactly 4 and 1-2 inches of my waistline and 3 inches of my height to Betty Hall, I am positive she doesn’t need it. To Ida Mae Jones, I, FAYE STACK, surrender my willowy figure with the stipulation that she has to drink one pint of milk every noon plus one orange, and at least one candy bar, and stand on her head in the northeast corner of the gym. I, MARIAN COLE, will my talent as the Bette Davis of Rowe to Jean Conway—May she participate in as many activities as I have. To David Jacobs, I, JUNIOR ASHBY bequeath the position of the Nelson Eddy of the Senior class, I hope they don’t laugh at you as much as they did at me when I sang. I, VIRGINIA SPENCER, bequeath the enjoyable (ha, ha) job of writing the Senior class will to everyone who thinks he is unfit for the undertaking. In Witness Whereof, we have hereunto subscribed our names this 28th day of May in the year of our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Forty-two. SIGNED: Class of ’42 Attorney—Virginia Spencer WITNESSES SEAL 17