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

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operator of the lighthouse at East Conne-aut Harbor and is doing an efficient job of directing the boats into the bay. Not wishing to interrupt Robbie’s exercises, I left him without too much delay and sauntered on my way. As my helicopter was still waiting for me, I climbed in and decided to explore the new metropolis, East Conneaut. My first burst of amazement came as I saw a huge neon sign which read “D. A. Fisher Red Flannel Manufacturing Co., Inc.” Seeking further information afbout this luxurious establishment, I went inside, where I met its manager who—to my astonishment—is none other than my old classmate, David Fisher. He confided to me the fact that he had discontinued holding hands with Georgiana during the depression of 1950. As Dave talked on, I learned that Richard Armstrong is the judge of this new metropolis. East Conneaut. He had been voted into the position by those who had heard him give those verbose talks in P. O. D. class and assemblies while he was still at good old Rowe. ‘Georgiana,” Dave said, as he couldn’t get her out of his mind, “ now working on a book entitled “The Gentle Art of How to Catch on to Jokes Readily.’ but is having much trouble selecting a joke she can understand to use as an example.” Evidently her old trouble with jokes is still a thorn in her side. Looking out the huge plate-glass window of David’s store, I noticed directly across the street a huge and very glamorous portait of Betty Grable Kezertee. This blond charmer attracted my attention to such an extent ohat I was forced to leave Dave and go admire her. Below the portrait, I noticed, was a notation—“Painted by Dora Zeppetella for Yehudi Menuin Philley, now B. G. Kezertee 's ex-, 'but still admiring, husband.” As I walked on down the street I noticed a familiar profile—its owner pecking away at a typewriter. Looking closer, I recognized Marion Braden, who is now official typist in the office of the “Jenny Renn Whistling Tea Kettle Co.” Marion told me of Eunice Hicks, the star student of our shorthand class, who is now in Washington as personal secretary to the president of our country. She also mentioned Gertrude Shumake Townsend who has gone back to England with her husband, George. It had been discovered by a close friend that George was the third assistant to the second assistant to the first assistant polisher of the king’s crown. Leaving Marion, I passed a new theater located on the corner of Furnace and East Main Roads. On a lavishly illuminated marquee were blazoned the words “The Marn Fable House.” Its latest show, “The Drums of Fisher Fu,” co-starred Evelyn Karal and the child singing prodigy, Frank iinatra Greenfield, Jr. Evelyn had just been chosen “Miss Gloria Jean Karal of 1954.” Speaking of the movies, Audrey Casablancr Kirkwood is also in Hollywood where she is a stand-in for Carmen Mirando. It so happened that she is just the size 3'2 ) to be used as a form for styling those three-inch soled shoes and flower pot hats which are featured by Miss Miranda. The second feature of the “Marn Fable House” is a new mystery thriller which was written by our talented, charming author, Carol Ward. The title of her sensational book is “Who Swooned Away My Llie, ’ a murder mystery based on the life and death of Frank Sinatra, Sr. Irus Kent had had the title-role, but because of his tardiness on the set every day of the first week, Ed Shumake had won the coveted role. Disconsolate over his failure lrus has taken to writing, and in one short week has produced a best seller entitled “Life Begins With An Alarm Clock.” As I reached the public square of East Conneaut, I was overwhelmed to see Evelyn Dalrymple perched on a soap-box. Coming closer I could hear her very stentorian voice chanting “This is it, this is it, just what you’ve been waiting for. Come closer—you can get all the nylons you want down at the Greenfield Hock Shop.” This announcement caused no sensation. Evelyn apparently hadn’t heard that the war had been over for nine years and that nylons are now a drug on the market. With disappointed taces the crowd she had attracted stole away. As I walked away with the rest of the crowd I noticed a sign over the very modern store I was approaching—“Wedgee Shoe Shoppe.” As this was the place to which Jean had sent me, I ventured in. Clerks are slow even in these advanced days, and as I relaxed in preparation for a long wait, my thoughts wandered back. Fond memories were among my recollections, but foremost in my mind stood the fact that the graduating class of 1944 is still essentially the same, and Conneaut, with all its modifications and improvements, is still the old home town. Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 18

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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

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THE JUNIORS Altha Bates Dean Beckwith Dorothy Lewis Gordon Turner Louise Carey Clifford Osborne Dorothy Snow Duane Loomis Dorothy Cook Richard Olson Marjorie Tinney Arnold Mackey Pauline Kostura Robert Parker Geraldine Kennedy John Erickson Dorothy Holbrook Alex Elonen Clair Bunnell Mary Lu Torrence Howard Irish Jo Anne Wright Allan Ritari Lois Wallce Thomas Kantola Ethel Shuster Frank Fogg Dorothy Norton Kay Graff Pauline Cole Jane Hibler Catherine Cole Delores Davis Whither to go and what to bear with us; 19