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

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Senior Class Prophecy I could hear the first robin singing the evening of April 21, 1955, when I laid aside my book, “Gigglin as a Fine Art,” which had been written by those two supercolossal authors, Jeanne Philley and Dorothy Rapose, and decided it was about time to scramble off to that mel-o-dramatic musical, “The Alexandrian Feud.” As you might have guessed from the title, the name of the composer and star in electric lights over the marquee is Christine Flagstaff Jones. As I left my cleverly decorated plastic studio, designed by Helen Clank, and rounded the corner by the drugstore, my eyes were attracted by a “Scrubo Shampoo” sign. Going closer for a better view and for confirmation of my hunch, I saw that the model was Rowe’s glamorous, golden blond, Rebecca Wright. Leaving the show window, I hurried to my destination and arriving there I was greeted by a poster which announced the coming appearance of Beatrice Taylor, premiere danseuse of the American ballet. Dashing into the last available box seat, I saw the curtain rise for the first act. One of my ambitions had been to attend an opera and at iast it had ibeen realized. Pushing my way through the record-breaking crowd, I hastened to Christine’s dressing room, but it was so crowded that I got only the autograph of the wardrobe girl, Evelyn Cole. Among other things she informed me that Christine’s manager is Paul Irish. Leaving the opera house I was struck down by a reckless driver and rushed to a hospital by a kind passer by. Who do you suppose was at the hospital to greet me? None other than Muriel Eric.xsen, acclaimed by a Gallop Poll as the No .1 nurse of 1955; the secret of her tremendous success is the fact that she reads jokes to her patients. I thought, “That’s Murial for you.” I asked her about the other girls who had had ambitions to become a nurse back in 1943. She told me that Harriett Smith had passed her course but the only way she can cure her patients is to hold their hand and sing them lullaibies; as for Donna Mae Clark, at present she is masquerading as ■ a man and studying for her doctor’s degree as a veterinary, at Harvord. After three days of convalescing I decided to strike out for the old home town, Conneaut. On boarding the AA plane, I was greeted by the hostess who turned out to be Kathryn Nelson; on the trip, we swapped bits of news about the old gang and it was from her I learned that Grace Hall had been a June bride and was now feeding Bob her all-bran muffins. Betty Wright, too, is now a very successful farmer’s wife—must be she also took a hint from P. O. I), class and learned to make her own bread. As for Gordon Stoker, he has just been proclaimed the world’s champion corn husker. Ruth Jane Walters would iby now be a rich woman due to her large celery and carrot farm but, alas, she has eaten all the profits and is now 'bankrupt. Since Kathryn had to attend to the demands of her passengers, I asked her to turn on my individual radio; she tuned in to the “Hit Parade” and who do you suppose the tobacco auctioneer was? None other than Kenneth Roberts, the cutter-upper of the class of ’43. The East Conneaut City Airport came all too soon and, after biding Kate good-by, I hailed a taxi and made a beeline for the school. When I had opened the north door, I was sorry I hadnTt brought along some cotton batting—I wondered who in the world could be making such a racket and on sneaking up to the music room door I saw Esther Montgomery teaching a music class and I thought , “No wonder.” My eyes then wandered to the home economic room and its teacher, Elizabeth Hogle. She beck oned for me to come in and began to give me the low-down on the class of ’43. Lawrence Best and James Quinn had gone into cahoots and due to the strict rationing of cow’s milk were successfully raising nanny goats. Elizabeth Baird is down in Washington, I). C., scribbling down shorthand and has just received her golden jubilee four-star medal at three hundred words a minute. I thought it no great wonder considering the way she had gone to town in Mr. Deevers’ shorthand class. The chimes ■ ► 15

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While the rest of us were enjoying our were Elizabeth Hogle, Grace Hall, and Charlie Sippola. (We’re mighty proud of them, too.) If the spring fever bug: hadn’t already been around it was biting hard by May 17, for that was the date of our super-gala-prom. It was carried off to the theme of a garden which was complete even to the pools, and the bridge. Large May baskets were suspsended from the ceiling, holding balloons which were released during the evening. In the music room was a similar .scene but with a wishing well and all its accessories—yes, even the frog. But these days were not to last forever and before we knew it we were again being seated alphabetically, but now by Mrs. Kitchen in room 307. Then they called us seniors. Again Philip Puffer was elected president; Waynie Wheeler, vice president; Elsa Kesatie, secretary; and Grace Hall, treasurer. As soon as we came to, we realized that this was the year we had been waiting for since we were freshmen. Now was the time to get revenge on those poor scared freshies. We ruled with an iron hand so they were forced to squirm but not squawk as they removed their first layer of outer clothing and continued with their sentence. But “all’s well that ends well” and this ended well so we felt our cordial welcome had been appreciated. The Pilot Light was edited by Phyllis Herbel assisted by some other able-bodied seniors; namely, Elsa Kesatie, Kathryn Nelson, Ethel Palagyi, Esther Montgomery, Harriett Smith, Becky Wright, Grace Hall, Jean Louise Titus, and Waynie Wheeler. Can we ever forget the third and fourth periods on Friday when the Pilot Light came off the press. Typewriters were flying, the mimeograph machine was rolling, and the stapler was banging. Such a racket! We hope that next year’s staff can run it off as quickly as we were forced to do at times. vacation last summer, Charlie Sippola and Richard Bunnell were attempting to learn how to run the government when they were elected president. They were fortunate enough to be among those selected to attend Buckeye Boys’ State at Delaware. None of the other activities lacked our two cents, either. Where would those Rowe “champs” be without our representative in the all county basketball team, Duane Wheeler, and his friendly rival, Fred Hirsi-maki? Of course, there are our other let-termen, Phil Puffer, Charlie Sippola, and David Jacobs. The a cappella choir probably will miss next year the official tuner-upper, Christine Jones; Harriett Smith, Esther Montgomery, Mary Ring, Vivian Lane, Grace Hall, Ruth Walters, Phyllis Herbel, Elizabeth Baird, and Philip Puffer will also bid the choir adieu. Remember, too, how we used to try to keep in step with the music being played by the orchestra in assembly? Someone will have to take our place in there and in the band also. There was no need to get excited if you saw two flying figures dashing wildly down the hall at noon. It was merely the girls who sold candy. Those super-saleswomen included Kathryn Nelson, Rebecca Wright, Grace Hall, Evelyn Cole, Dorothy Rapose, Ruth Walters, Jeanne Philley, Christine Jones, Elizabeth Hogle, and Harriett Smith. It was rather dubious if we would be able to have a senior play but it was a “must” and so by the cooperation of all we did put it over. Just as quickly as the year had come, it was leaving. Nearly before we realized it, we were choosing our announcements and cards and making plans for class night, baccalaureate, and commencement. It is with regret that we say goodbye to all those who have helped us through the years—to the teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Hold-son, Mr. Torrence and all the others.

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brought us back to the home economics 100m as the boys began to stroll in for their sewing class. I noticed that their project was a multicolored “zoot suit.” 1 reluctantly left Elizabeth and got into the elevator to get to the third floor. When i opened the door I was greeted by a very iamiiiar voice shouting, “good, go, will, can, and, he,” and I hurried to see if it could Le Jane Ross’ voice I heard. It was Jane exercising her vocal cords but the racket clidn t oother her any because she was wearing earmuffs. Not wishing to bother her . nowing the kiddies would not like it—I strolled on down the hail but not seeing any more familiar faces 1 went in search of a bunk for the night. Great was my astonishment when I saw an up-to the-minute skyscraper on the site of the old Conneaut Hotel. Deciding that it must be a new hotel, 1 wandered over to ee if I could reserve a room and greater sti.l was my astonishment when I found the , l. prietress to be Elsie Gabel. She ushered me to her best room (I had to take her word ter it) at five dollars a wink. Thinking it was better than a hay stack, I accepted it and then decided to walk down Main Street to see if there were any other changes. As I was strolling along I came upon a sign which urged the reader to learn French in six easy lessens—I wondered how it could be done—from Mile Doris Kopp but I thought if anyone could do it she ought to be the one. Departing hence, I wandered » n towards Woolwcrth’s but I wondered if my eyes were deceiving me, when I saw instead, the sign, “The bine Schlaich Five a:id Dime.” I decided that they must have learned the -business from working after school in Newberry’s store. 1 wandered still further until I reached the City Hall where, of all things, I found my old schoolmate, Jean Louise Titus, resting her size ten, triple A shoes on the mayor’s desk. After chatting for awhile she informed me that the fire fighting demon, Wilbur Hillyer, is her Fire Chief. Just as I was leaving the City Hall the mayoress called for her secretary and I glanced around in time to see Florence Parris dash in. Leaving the City Hall I heard sobs, screaming and yelling and rushing out; I thought it no wonder when I saw a large neon sign across the street which read, ‘Bring your kiddies here while you work and play—Shirley Brauch, proprietress.” Be-iae her establishment 1 noticed the sign of “Jean’s Curel Shop” which I later learned i . the beauty salon of John Mononen, the creator of that new and glamorous coiffure 1 hr ;.uper-Fuzzeroo.” As it was getting dusk, I thought I would pass by the news stand, get a paper and scramble back to my room. Who should . find there grinning from ear to ear but David Jacobs; he had to keep this business on the side line so he would not have to staive between his appearances on Broadway. Me sold me the “Page Special” which is edited by Emerson Page and I soon had no doubt about its editorship when I found every other page upside down—must be he is still thumbing that well-worn little black note book. I settled myself for a nice evening of reading and turning to the front page whose picture should I find but that of the great movie actor, Philip Puffer. On leafing the legend, I learned that he had i.opj.ed into his jeep and eloped from Hollywood w'ith Bernadene. It had come as a surprise to the great mobs of women who ido ized him; even his manager and publicity agent, Richard Bunnell, had been kept in ignorance of his intention. On the sport page 1 was hit in the face by the blazing headline, “FRED HIRSIMAKI SCORES 7‘J,” and I immediately remembered those scores he had rolled up during ’43 and now’ he has broken the world’s record. I was greatly interested in a column, “Snoops With Wanie,” wrhich is jotted down by that great sports writer, Dwane Wheeler—I wondered if his position on the Pilot Light staff had prepared him for the job. Two articles interested me especially: one fea-tuied the great Olympic figure-skating star, EthJ Palagyi, w'ho is at present training at East Lake in North Kingsville for her next engagement; the other informed me that my old pal, Mary Ring, is at present working on a new set of basketball rules between her own spectacular plays on the professional basketball team, “The Lone Riders.” Down at the bottom of the page w'as an article of particular interest—Phyl- ■ ► 16