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

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Senior Class Prophecy Stepping briskly from my newly purchased prefabricated bungalow, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred sixty-six, I am about to embark upon a trip to my old home town, Lakeville. As secretary to the editor of “Button Your Lip and Open Your Ears,” a strictly industrial gossip collector, I sometimes manage to play hooky and get out on my own. The only sad feature is that my boss has sidestepped all my attempts to publish my column “Snobs at Jobs.” Now to get started—I’ll have to gas up my helicopter first. “High-Powered Stuff Depot” is just around the corner so I’ll hop over there. BILL COLBY is back in business again after spending a year in the hospital and he’s convinced now that high-octane gas and DDT will blow up bridges, but will not make automobiles fly. Now that his gas is back to normal I’ll be in that great metropolis of Lakeville in a flash. Pierpont to Lakeville is just a high dive—Here I am already at my first stop, the RANTA ROLLER. DON has been bankrupt six times due to the fact that he thinks there is a market for electrically - operated roller skates. Upon entering the building, I spied a vaguely familiar figure indolently pushing a broom. I know this fella sure enough—it’s HAP HARMON. I stopped to shoot the breeze and found out that JAMES has given up the ministry, as too exhausting, and turned to the more leisurely life of broom pusher. I pried myself away and stumbled into the front office. There I found the former KAY BOS ICK, now Mrs. JERRY “FLASH” PUFFER. She told me bitterly that JERRY hadn’t done so well with his professional ball playing. His fans tired of him because he never failed to make a basket, hit a home run, or break a track record. To avoid starvation, KAY now brings home the bacon for the nine little PUFFERS. While she tapped out a letter, I flopped down to fill out the blank for BOSS RANTA'S report. Glancing at the calendar, my eyes fairly popped at the slick-chick they saw thereupon sure enough it is JEANNIE WHEELER! Has she at last reached her coveted goal—to be a Varga Model? The scribbling in the corner also caught my eye. I finally deciphered the scrawl—MARILYN J ARVI. KAY was now loafing with her feet on her desk, so I questioned her as to the whereabouts of MARILYN. She said that the JARVI’S are in Farnham trying to keep their chickens on a twenty-four hour schedule. While in the vicinity of Farnham, KAY reminded me of two more of our schoolmates; MERLIN McCRARY and ROY HUSTON. who finding it impossible to live without cows, pigs, and open fields, operate farms on Center Rd. It seems that ROY has invented a solution that kills potato bugs, delouses farm animals, and bleaches hair; but to date dares not apply for a patent since he read through his old P. O. D. scrapbook and remembered there is still a Bureau of Standards. Startled by the shuffling of feet, and the slamming of a door, I wheeled around to find myself face to face with a tall, dark man. Gazing slowly upward, I finally recognized CLIFFORD “Gabby” OSBORNE. He was carrying a iittle black suitcase, bulging (so he said) with nylons which no one will buy since the market is so flooded with them. “Yes, he continued, “the world stands against me. I have to talk for my rights. How familiar that sounded! The buzzer summoned me into the manager’s office, and OZZIE had disappeared when I had finished my interview. Spying a taxi, I decided to ride on the ground for a change. When I reached the cab I noticed the driver indulging in a bit of “shut-eye.” His television set attracted me. The voice sounded familiar- and that figure. Of course, it is DORIS “Shamrock The call from mounds where tender grasses creep. ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Page 19

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the well-worn ladder to the top deck. We were all sorry to see Ray McVoy leave us for the Navy, but as a recompense Richard Wheeler joined us after having regained good health. Richard was selected to guide us through the treacherous waters with Allan Punkar, vice president; Mildred Kultti, secre tary; and Margaret Dewey, treasurer as his helpmates. After our junior year got under way and our class rings had been ordered, we got down to work on our play “Spring Fever.” Those playing before a capacity house under the direction of Mrs. Wilma McCague, were Kay Bosick, Dick Armstrong, Elizabeth Waddle, Allan Punkar, Lois Gillespie, Don Ranta, Doris Healy, Arnold Mackey, Mildred Kultti, Stanley Graham, Margaret Dewey, and Jack Tuttle. Soon we were flashing our rings in front of everyone’s eyes and if they weren’t admired—off with his head! Coming back at the beginning of the second semester after missing almost thirty days of school due to a snow storm we settled down to planning the Junior-Senior Prom. The setting was a Southern Plantation and I’m sure it would have been the envy of many a Southerner if he could have seen it. At the end of our junior year the war in Europe came to an end and our future took on a brighter aspect for this, after getting over our initial thankfulness, meant the possibility of a senior trip. Then a few days before we embarked upon our senior year hostilities ceased with Japan. This really meant clear sailing from here on in. Welcoming Pauline Kostura to our crew we numbered forty at the beginning of our last year. After electing our captain, Allan Punkar, and his mates, Bessie Ring, vice president; Doris Healy, secretary, and Margaret Dewey, treasurer, we set our course and made fast our preparations for revenge. What revenge? Why the initiation of those green freshmen! With the initiation put down in the ship’s log as one of the most ingenious, we sailed on to more serious things such as making money for the trip and a school gift. The first project was a chicken supper. Our patrons seemed to enjoy the chicken dinner, the first sponsored by Rowe seniors since 1942. The first thing we knew term papers were due, then scrapbooks, and then semester tests. Coming back the second semester we found Richie Wheeler now a discharged veteran with us and sorrowfully we bade good-bye to Bruce Harvey who entered the U. S. Air Corps. Our play on April twenty-sixth was a grand success. Directed by Mrs. Kitchen, “Now You’re Talking,” held the audience in rapt attention. Those taking parts were Margaret Dewey, Dick Armstrong, Elizabeth Waddle, Allan Punkar, Mildred Kultti, Richard Wheeler, Bessie Ring, Jack Tuttle, Betty Ann Thayer, Laura Yusko, and Doris Healy. We seniors were well represented in all activities. Bessie Ring, Margaret Dewey, Thelma Mae Atkins, Elizabeth Waddle, and Harriet Montgomery were in the A Cappela Choir. Jerry Puffer, “Fat” Kennedy, Allan Punkar, Rich Wheeler, Roy Huston, Paul Evans, Bob Schlaich, Don Ranta and Dick Armstrong helped put Rowe’s sport teams in the headlines; while Millie Kultti and Kay Bosick cheered the boys on to victory. Laura Yusko was editor-in-chief of the Pilot Light, with Doris Healy, Liz Waddle, Bessie Ring, Margaret Dewey, Thelma Atkins, Catherine Kako, and Allan Punkar on the reporting end; Evelyn Huckleberry and Marilyn Stoker were our master artists; Millie Kultti, Betty Ann Thayer, Marcella Best and Kay Bosick typists. Ruth Ashby, Pauline Kostura, and Lois Gillespie served on the production staff. Bessie Ring, Margaret Dewey, Thelma Atkins, Doris Healy, and Allan Punkar represented our class in the National Honor Society. As our year nears the end we realize that our journey on the good ship “Rowe” is soon to be over; to embark on the ship “Life” for a much rougher journey—sometimes our vessel will be riding high on the crest of a wave and then low, listing from one side to the other, but always we hope able to right itself. Thus—“We have crossed the bay; but the ocean lies before us.” Doris Healy, Class Historian. Page 18 ★★★★★★★ Tell them, loud bugles, we have heard the call,

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HEALY, broadcasting her weekly program, “Men Are a Menace,” or “How to Catch a Man in 10 Easy Lessons.” It didn’t take me long to agree with that title, so I snapped off the radio and reached over to awaken the driver. With a drowsy, “Where to lady?” he slid into high gear and in a flash I was breezing around a clover-leaf turn. After I collected my wits I stammered, “TUTTLE Toe Shovel Works.” Those feet, that hair—don't I know this guy? It’s RICH WHEELER, how could I forget him! At the same time RICH said—“Aren’t you— sure you are.” I asked him if he ever ran into any of the old gang. RICHIE replied, “Half of the class is on Main Street and the rest are somewhere in this neck-of-the-woods.” Giving me the low-down on some of them, he related that LISLE NORTON had been wandering from one job to another, trying to find himself, while his poor everlovin’ wife and six children are cold and hungry. We drove past Lakeville Memorial Hospital where CATHERINE “Butcher” KAKO performs all the major operations. The head nurse, HARRIET MONTGOMERY, was taking a south-sea cruise to cure her heart condition. Here we are at “TUTTLE Toe Shovel Works.” This is always another enjoyable stop, because my school chum, BETTY THAYER works here. I sauntered into the outer office and was ushered right into the manager’s inner sanctum. JACK’S report revealed that shovels are on the way out, even his type that you manipulate with your toe as you sit in a chair. On my way out, BETTY stopped me and invited me to bunk with her and take in a dance. Having nothing better to do, I promised to pick her up at four o’clock. Boarding the Whiz Dizzer, I landed on HIRSHEY Boulevard, with cwo jerks and several bumps. As I walked down the street, I noticed a sign that read “STEVIE'S Male Clinic.” It seems that THELMA STEPHENSON tries to trip male passers-by to interest them in her beauty salon. Continuing my walk, I was stopped by THELMA ATKINS PROPER, who breathlessly told me she must hurry home to put the roast in the oven, because she was entertaining LOIS GILLESPIE EVANS and family in just one hour. LOIS has her hands full with ten little tots to keep out of trouble. Is that a new city hall over there? Sure enough. Trying to cross the wide boulevard, I almost had an accident. Open manholes are dangerous. But what do you think was in that manhole—BOB MOISIO, now City Engineer. His blush gives him away every time. There on the windows of the streamlined City Hall appeared two names, J. ALLAN PUNKAR, Mayor, and STANLEY B. GRAHAM, City Solicitor. ALLAN apparently has done wonders for Lakeville, in his five years as mayor. Lakeville finally has succeeded in annexing the entire area which formerly extended out into the lake, reclaimed several square miles, and turned them into a wonderful boulevard and exclusive residential section. A loud crash in the street turned out to be a collision of two milk trucks. Upon examining them more closely, I found that they bore the name of “ARMSTRONG Moo-Juice, Inc. and “ASHBY Vita Pure Dairy. Looking again at the pieces of the ASHBY truck, I recalled reading in the PIER-PONT TIMES that RUTH injects a serum into her cows so they’ll produce vitamin enriched milk, buttermilk, chocolate milk, and thick milk shakes. On the ARMSTRONG truck appeared the slogan, “For strong arms and weak minds drink ARMSTRONG’S Vitamin IQ Double Zero Milk.” DICK would indulge in “corn”—as always. I heard he is still a bachelor and almost given up hope of ever winning BESSIE MAE. In the window of a hat shop, sat MARCELLA BEST, creating new hats, if that’s what you call them. On the corner, stood PAULINE KOS-TURA on a soapbox, trying to sell a cold cream that would make you beautiful overnight. All I could see was about fifty men—good prospects?? (continued on page 55) Page 20 if ★ ★ ★ it ★ -¥■ If we break faith with them we too shall fall