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

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I, George (Bing Crosby) Richards, will to Les (Spike Jones) Usher, my magnificent crooning voice. If you can sing louder than anyone else, you will have no competition. We. Barbara Bedette and Ellen Eccleston will to Joyce Spencer our capacity for scholastic achievement. Assignments are not at all hard if you make up your mind to do them. To Miriam Kultti, I Joy Wheeler, bequeath my job as cheerleader. After a few more years of practice, the aches and pains will cease to bother you. I, Robert Kahler, will my Buick to Gordon Griffey. If you have a car, you never will get lonesome. It is one taxi business that you don’t need a license for. To Dayton Greenfield, I, Tom Gilmore, will my liking for Industrial Arts. Keep a first aid kit handy, and you might survive the course. I, Joan Eddy, do bequeath my knowledge of P. O. D. to Tom King. Sit near the rear of the room, and perhaps Mr. Saari won’t discover you. To Greta Bristol, I, Jean Downing will my job at Grants. Remember the customer is always right, even if you don’t think so. We, Roy Dixon and Leland Baird do will our faithful jalopies to Mr. Nesha. He can use one in case his Ford breaks down again, and give the other to Steve, Junior. We, Barbara Williams and Delores Woodworth will our pleasing personalities to Lois Nelson. Remember the old saying, “Smile and the world smiles with you.” We, Donna Brown and Shirley Cole, do bequeath to that noisy junior, Vernon Atkins, our reputation for keeping quiet. You will never get in wrong if you open your mouth no more than is necessary for class recitation and eating. I, Hallie Truax, do bequeath to Leon “Mae” Jones my ability to make bright remarks in P. O. D. class. You don’t learn much that way, but “Keep ’em Laughing.” I, Carol Best, do will a certain junior boy to any girl in his class that can take good care of him. I will leave the ball and chain, and hand cuffs on him, so he won’t escape. To Jim Whitman, I, Thomas Bennett bequeath my curly hair and muscular physique. What girl wouldn’t fall for these assets? I, Fred Frank will to any semi-intelligent junior who cannot escape quickly enough the job of writing the will for the Class of ’51. The materials needed are one deficient brain, a ream of paper, a gallon of ink, ten pens, and a nice comfortable padded cell. Signed: Lawyer Witness Seal ★ ★ ★ SENIOR GIRLS WIN SOFTBALL CHAMPIONSHIP Although the victory mentioned in the fall writeup for intramural sports due to some conflict in the girls’ tournament, the senior girls also won the softball championship. The senior girls’ volleyball team hope to make it an all-around championship in intramural sports by winning the volleyball championship also.

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Senior Class Wil We, the Rowe High School Senior Class of 1950 hereby present our last will and testament, believing whole-heartedly that we do possess strong spirits and sound minds. As a class, we first of all leave our home room to that lucky junior class. May it serve them as well as it has served us. To Bob Horwood and A1 Gee, we, James Bunnell and Don Williams will our dashing tactics in basketball. If you have trouble with the referee, just remember that the hand is quicker than the eye. To Gary Evans, we. Bill Turner and Bob Richardson will our habit of being absent from school during a few days of each hunting season. Try presenting a rabbit to each member of the faculty, and maybe you won’t need an excuse. I, Hugh Hubbard, bequeath my hatred of all women to James Bayer. You have no idea how much money you will save, and you will never be inclined to fall asleep in study hall. We, Jean and Joan Miller, do will our golden locks to Mary Ann Buki. We are tired of having everyone guess which twin has the Toni. I, Chuck Waddle, will to any junior who can get away with it, my fiendish ideas for Chemistry experiments. Mr. DeVan is considering a new emergency escape door for the Chemistry lab because of my new atom experiment. To Shirley Redding, I, Irja Napp bequeath my knowledge of English. You may be Mrs. Lynchs’ protege. I, Betty Lou Perry, the junior partner in Perry’s Antique Shoppe, do will my job to Nela Litwiler. The main objective in this business is to keep from dropping valuable objects. To those two junior short stops, Tom Picard and Ronnie Punkar, we Ed Fiala and Bob Whitman bequeath some of our height. This should come in handy during the basketball season. I, Connie Lovell, will to Veryl Colby, my characteristic southern accent. You-all will find that the boys all fall for it. To Bob Flick, I, Tom Beers will my girl in Baltimore. They say that “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” so don’t make too many trips down there. We, Arlene Hanger and Charleen Quinn, will to Irene Olson and Sally Shuster our knack for playing a good game of intramural basketball. Twenty-five points per game is a good average. I, Birdena Gilbraith, do will my driving ability to Marian Cummins. As far as I’m concerned, red lights and stop signs are only highway decorations. To Bonnie Nickels. I. Leota Kennedy, will my reputation of getting to school just as the tardy bell rings. You will find this much easier to accomplish if you don’t get up until eight forty-five.

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Senior Class Pro ph ecy “Breath deep Jim—that’s the way. Ah! Now you’re doing fine! Can you still see me Jim?” “Hey Doc—you’re getting hazy!” “Don’t worry. Everything is under control Jim.” I feel as if I haven’t a care in the world—just as I did back in my high school days. Oh!—those were the days! I can still remember the fun I had with my classmates—all thirty-eight of them. Say! I wonder what they’re doing now. Everything is so confused. I can almost see people off in the distance. If I didn’t know better I’d swear that that fellow coming towards me—well I’ll be—it is Hallie Truax! What are you doing now in this great year of 1982? You mean to tell me you’re married to the former child movie starlet—Margaret O'Brien—and you own your own studio? You crashed society through your thousands made on desks modeled from the prize you spent two years to complete in our old high school shop class. Hey don’t go, Hallie! Oh well, so long! He just faded away. What’s this I see coming off in the distance? Why it’s a parade humming a tune “Sail on Vikings!” And some of the marchers—Look! A stunning lady! Why, it’s Ellen Eccleston! Did you say you’re a retired Miss “U” movie actress and that you won $20,000 and an Oscar for being the shapeliest girl in Hollywood in 1960! Hey! Who’s this big six-foot-nine inch giant striding toward me? I can’t believe my eyes! Charles Waddle! And you claim. Chuck, that you grew that tall from riding in bantam cars? You say the former Joy Wheeler is just behind you? Oh yes! Here she is—carrying the youngest of her family of—let’s see—one, two, three,------eight! And married to a laundromat proprietor at that! It was in Milwaukee that you saw Bob Kahler—the billiard wizard—the man who grew the five o’clock shadow on the eight ball! He’s married too—but to no one I know —right? Well! This is a surprise. Here is the famed piano accordian winner on the Arthur Godfrey Show—sophisticated Edward Fiala. I guess he become a regular Romeo right after he graduated. I’ve heard rumors now, that he and Ellen were “that way” about each other! There are only two left in the parade now, and one resembles Joan Miller. She still looks very young! No wonder I’ve heard of her as the youngest looking grandmother in the thriving metropolis of Hubbaville—named for their Mayor elected in 1978—Hugh (Cy) Hubbard. Hugh’s success was due to his tireless battle (vocal, that is) against the Communists and his efforts to rid the city of Model A Fords—after his discovery that they were running pink headlights! Cy has converted his city into one of the cleanest in the state. Remembering the arguments from our P. O. D. class where the girls maintained that they were equal to men and should be eligible to hold any man’s job, he appointed the former Carol Best as his Captain of Streets and she now weighs 475 pounds—sufficient ballast to hold the brushes, of the street sweeper, tight against the pavement! She employs her ten children as helpers. Her husband, Jim, is home doing the laundry. There goes Joan and here comes the last one in the parade—a man. He looks weary and exhausted and extremely old—in spite of his blonde curly hair—like that of my old classmate (Georgeous) George Richards. But this fellow is all stooped over. He’s closer now and it really is George! Did you say your six-foot ten inch height is due to your thirty years of driving spikes on the Pennsylvania Railroad? Is Don Williams still an employee of the NKP? No? You mean to tell me he was fired because his wife Marge persisted in calling him from his work to chide him for not coming straight home when the whistle blew? I can’t seem to visualize the parade any longer but what’s that I see now? It looks like a big city. Yes it is! It’s the modern metropolis of Aeroton—the city that’s built up in the air, and designed by the one and only Lee Baird—master architect of the aerial world. Lee’s shop experience and noon period sessions with Professor Hopper of Rowe High have paid off. Aeroton is managed by “The Brain,” Barbara Bedette Whitman. After graduation she married one of the smaller boys of the Class of ’50, and now she’s supporting him and their twin daughters. I guess Bob always did aspire to be a man of leisure! Now I can plainly view the main streets in the metropolis, called Bowling Lane. Look! A memorial in the square—a huge bowling ball on a pedestal bearing an inscription: The Bowling Ball that Master bowler, Tom Beers, rolled with such