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

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Bunnell. May you ever act as dead as I did during senior assembly. To Jane Hibler I, Flora Hall, will the graceful cartwheels. These will always serve as an aid for cooperation, not only at basketball games, either. My magazines and old scrap books I, Jean Barlett, leave to Dorothy Norton. Because of present conditions I am not able to give you a time piece but I trust, Dorothy, that you will find some means for getting P.O.D. scrapbooks in on time. After having spent a very successful year in salesmanship, I, Davis Fisher, now find myself qualified to will to you, Bob Parker, this achievement. I have also discovered that it has a practical usage but I doubt if you would care to have the use of this. I, Gertrude Shumake, leave my position as money-taker-upper in the hot lunch room to Dorothy Lewis. This gives you an opportunity to get an inside view' of the students’ food consumption, and so forth. As all classes have official gigglers, I, Marion Braden, will my talent for giggling to Lois Wallace. Always remember, Lois, only laugh when others are doing the same thing as spontaneous combustion is fatal. I, Eunice Hicks, bequeath to Louise Carey the spice of life—My correspondence— Remember, if you don’t write, you’re wrong. To John Ericksen, I, Edw’ard Moisio, bestow my desire for learning. After a summer of shoveling gravel, I sure w'as glad to come back for a vacation-excuse me-for work. Lastly, I, Barbara Kaiser, being still physically able will this honorable position as class lawyer to any able-bodied junior who so desires. The requirements are (1) to be mentally able to achieve its composition and (2) physically able to protect one’s self after delivering said legal document. In witness whereof, the seniors have hereto subscribed their names this 19th day of May in the year of our Lord, One Thousand Nine Hundred and Fourty-four. Signed: Class of ’44. Attorney—Barbara Kaiser. Witnesses. (Sealed ) Class Prophecy Being manager and chief buyer for the Bartlett Shoe Shoppe, which specializes in wedge-heeled shoes, it was necessary for me to visit the leading cities of the United States. As this w’as in May, and just before Easter, my boss, Jean Bartlett, sent me out to bargain for the snappiest of wedge-heeled shoes, especially those wedgees with portholes, and also those equipped with an electric ticker which warns the w'earer of approaching mud puddles. The first stop settled me in New York where Jean had her branch office. As I strutted up the street in the classiest of 1954 duds, I came upon a billboard 'brilliantly illuminated with neon lights—“Shumake Precipitates Gas From Hot Air”—featuring a huge picture of the world famous inventor, Ed-W’ard Shumake. Upon reading further I discovered that Ed had been awarded the medal for distinguished service to his country after he found a new gasoline made from hot air. (He said he had been inspired by gas rationing in 1944.) Entering his lab, I was amazed to find Flora 16 Hall ably assisting Ed in producing his new discovery. Flora is conducting a business law class in co-operation with Mr. Deevers and, as her students blow out hot air over their assignments, Ed catches it in a can and duly proceeds to condense it. Not being able to stand the nauseating odor of this hot air gasoline, I hurried from the lab, only to bump into an old friend, Richard Clark. After visiting with Rich, I learned that he is operating a Vitamin B1 farm which he founded as a suggestion from several of his former classmates. He has been using Ruth “High-test” Best as a guinea pig, and the results of his Vitamin B1 have won her an opportunity to become a doctor. He remarked that she is to graduate from Bushwhacken University with a B1 degree next spring. Leaving Rich, I walked on down Broadway. As I neared 42nd Street, I was rundown by a motor-scooter. Its driver, much to my surprise, was Bernadene Yusko. Not wishing to be a hit-and-run driver, she stopped and picked me up. Suffering little, I will not be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will:

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Class Will “We, the 1944 Senior Class of Rowe High School, believing ourselves to be sound of mind and body, do wish to leave this last will and testament to those who desire to follow in our light, erratic footsteps. May our successors, aided by the following bequests, be ever mindful of their achievements. I. Joe Greenfield, bequeath the sarong 1 so gracefully demonstrated in the junior play to Marjorie Tinney. If she can be a pistol-packing mama, she can try a Dorothy Lamour role. To Jo Anne Wright I, Evelyn Dalrymple, grant my vocal cords so that she can easily be heard, not only above the clamor of a heated argument, but also at both ends of the corridor at once. I, Frances Mam, bequeath to Richard Olson my ingenious ability to type. There are two necessary articles for a typing class. One typing eraser, and, two—typing paper. Don’t forget them and your success is in the bag. So that you will never again have that troublesome lock of hair, I, Richard Armstrong, give to you, Frank Fogg, my ability to make lustrous, deep ocean waves. Too bad you don’t have a younger sister, Frank. My fondness for murder mysteries, I, Carol Ward, bestow upon Pauline Cole on the condition, Pauline, that you read them during the hurly-burly of the noon hour, as silence is terrifying. To Kay Graff I, Ida Mae Jones, leave my ardent love affairs as I know you will cherish them forever. Being an expert on love, I can tell you that love is very healthy and that love sickness isn’t what its’s cracked-up to be. So that Allan Ritari will never be drained of jokes, I, Helen Fisch, will my exceedingly long list of anecdotes. May he amuse his class as much as I have mine. I, Richard Clark, impart my Sinatra appeal to Alex Elonen. However, Alex, this means you must not gain any more weight. Now you know why I stay on a strict diet. Because I wouldn’t want you, Delores Davis, ever to be without typing erasers, I Norma Kezertee, entrust to you the secret of my continous supply. You must be sure, though, that there are no spies around when you obtain these erasers. I, Dora Zeppetella. grant to Clifford Osborne my drawing ability so that you will always be busy in classes. Warning—not too busy, now! Since I wouldn’t care to have Mary Lu Torrence exert herself, I, Bernadene Yusko, will to her my knowledge of shorthand. May you be successful with this knowledge and pass “a’’ dictation. So that Tom Kantola will not have any trouble securing kisses, I, Bill Philley, surrender to you my osculatory commando technique. I have it well worked out. To Gordon Turner I, Ruth Akerley, yield my ability to deliver outrageous oral reports without a front tooth. As a result of this missing link I also discovered I had a delicate topic for discussion. Because I, Robert Puffer, desire that next year’s class be ruled well, I leave to any one that feels physically able to endure ihe mental wear and tear, the gavel. For those who want a few extra winks in the morning, I, Shirley Blood, grant you my solution. The clamor of the incoming buses will always manage to wake you by devotions, giving you at least forty more winks. I, Evelyn Karal, will my position as songbird to Arnold Mackey. It is much easier to study when you are singing. It keeps up the morale. To Dorothy Cook, who also walks to school every morning, I, Irus Kent, bequeath my alarm clock. It has successfully gotten me to school on time all of twenty times this year. That talent for fouling in a basketball game, I, Audery Kirkwood, bestow to Dorothy Holbrook. Perhaps, Dorothy, you can figure out a system whereby you will become invisible—that is to the referee. My technique for getting into classes without assignment, I, Ruth Best, yield to Dean Beckwith. It’s a deep secret, Dean, so don’t mention it to a soul. I. Georgiana Kako, will my deep appreciation of moron jokes to Altha Bates. Since I realize that she also enjoys many moments of hearty laughter, I know she will appreciate this soul-satisfying talent. So that the senior class will never be without a mummy, I, Edward Shumake, transmit this so-classed ability to Clair Albeit you have deserved 15

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I began to question her about our mutual friends from Rowe. It was then that I learned that Berny had collaborated with Philip in inventing a flying motor-scooter, but during its premier performance someone had clipped its wings, causing the invention of these air-minded inventors to crash to the ground. Now they are trying to get together a twelve-piece orchestra, which has to belong to the “Yusko-Puffer” union which recently united under the I do’s of Judge Armstrong. The password for entrance to this union is coined from the Russian expression “da da.” Berney told me more about Conneaut—its new scyscrap-ers and plastic houses—but she was in a hurry to get home so asked me to go along. Climbing on the back of the scooter we rode on through the night. As the sun came up, things began to look familiar . . . the state iine, the bend in the road, and then the red brick of Rowe High School shining in the early morning rays of the sun. Arriving at the school, we parked the scooter in the bicycle racks. Upon our first glance at the north door of the building, we were confronted with a new plaque—“Through this portal pass the most beautiful girls in the world”—a contribution from the class of ’44. So through this portal Berny and I passed only to be set back several steps when we were struck head-on with a nauseating odor. Rushing automatically to the chemistry lab, we discovered Shirley Blood laboring away as industriously as ever. She had taken a P. G. course in 1945 and refused to be taken from her Alma Mater. Many scientific—and otherwise—discoveries have been accredited to her, but at present she is slaving away over an old problem—that of producing a plastic icicle which will not melt when put on a register to warm. (Doc Olds says there are still hopes for her!) Finding things much the same around the school, we decided to look over the old home town. To me East Conneaut is really a great surprise. It has been extended to the lake front and has a harbor running rival to that of Conneaut—just across the river. When we got down to the “Point” I somehow lost Bernadene, so continued on my tour alone. Passing the Greenfield Hock Shop I had an inspiration. Joe was there to greet me as I entered his establishment, and he welcomed me with a persuasive sales talk on the good points of a slightly used family helicopter. His technique overpowered me—I bought one. Not knowing much about the operation of a helicopter, as I was still browsing a:ound in my ’41 Olds Hydromatic, I cautiously crept up into the air. While flying around, I went out over a suburb of East Conneaut and was amazed to see a girl leading a flock of goats in these times of dehydrated goats’ milk. Settling my helicopter In her vicinity, I ventured to pry into her affairs. Yes, it was Helen Fisch, who after studying nursing at Western Reserve for eight years, has gone back to her old home town of “Farnham” to raise goats. Upon severe questioning she revealed to me the whereabouts of her old—and yet brightly burning—flame, Bill Philley. Bill, she says, has made good in the cold, cruel world, ha ing become chief-hide-scraper for the Little Hope Soap and Glue Company. Along with his other duties he is laying out the horses which are too tough to be made into the usual soap and glue. When horses were mentioned, I immediately thought of those two horse lovers, Barbare Kaiser and Norma Kezertee, so I started off in search of a horse with a female owner. Crossing over what was once called Hog’s Back, but now is referred to as Romancers’ Paradise, I saw a horse. Gently alighting in my helicopter I sawr Norma twirling a rope to the music of Ida Mae Jones and her “Pumpkin Hook Hawg Callers.” Ida has finally organized her own hill-billy band, and Norma is feature attraction. After having practiced her rope twirling for twenty minutes a day for ten years, she can now perform successfully for ten seconds. She told me that Barbara and Jim have purchased a track of land and built a horse farm which centers around Tyler’s watering trough on wfhat was once called the Old Main Road but now is Wheeler Boulevard. Here in their new home they can sit on the porch of their horse shoe shaped house and water the horses without shifting from their chairs. Over their door hangs the very fitting motto “Idle Awhile.” Leaving Norma, I walked up Welton Road toward my helicopter. Before I had progressed very far I met Robert Puffer, still trying to keep in training as he used to do for track meets in ’44. Robbie told me about himself—he is now chief engineer on the U. S. S. Scuttlebutt which runs weekly between Amboy and East Conneaut, carrying a hamburger supply to the Ed Moisio’s “Chow-scow ” As w’e walked on up the road together, I learned that Ed Moisio is also All this give you 17