Schuylerville Central School - Schuyler Yearbook (Schuylerville, NY)

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;5rttwr Cirtss -Will We, the Seniors of Schuvlerville High School, city of Schuvler- ville, county of Saratoga, state of New York, having been declared of unquestionably sound mind by a young, gifted, and somewhat earnest would-be lawyer in our midst, the Honorable Provost, do hereby draw up, establish, ordain, and publish this document as our last will and testament. We hereby command that all our just, unjust, and otherwise ill- incurred debts be immediately, expeditiously, and promptly paid from the fund we leave for that purpose. We bequeath to the Junior Class, who some day may, we hope, be high and honored seniors, Room 2, the first two rows in Assembly, and the honor and obligation of suppressing unseemly demonstrations and ju eniie pranks, such as loud guffaws of mirth and outrageously loud clapping which spoil the pleasure of that wise and autocratic body decorating the front rows. To the “Frosh” and “Sophs” we present handbooks on “Duty to One’s Superiors,” to be consulted when they see an upperclassman approaching. We bequeath to some ladylike junior, if there be one, the popu- larity of Betty Harvey; to Mr. LaLone, Mary Cudahy’s gift of art; to “Peg” DeGuire, Winnogene Cromie’s position in the orchestra; to Pat Yarossi, James Cochrane’s sense of humor; to “Barb” Potter, Mary McDermott’s gracefulness; to Kilmer Myers, Ken Brophy’s happy-go- lucky ways; to Kate Maynard, Kay Coffin’s freckles; to Russ Mc- Dougall, Joe DeGrechie’s basketball ability. We leave James Hoey’s presidency to someone in the Junior Class who can really equal him; Bob Booth’s soft voice to John Martis; Mary Macklin’s shyness to Aileen Cummings; Tom Clancy’s curly hair to Helen Hewitt; Donald Eddy’s avoirdupois to Don Seney; Gordon Rus- sell’s Ford to Joe Szekely; Frank Fogerite’s way with the girls to Wayne Overbagh; Francis Farrell’s acting ability to Alan Meador; Cora William’s gentle manner to Mazie VanDerwerker. We bequeath Chet Pekin’s “dudishness” to Harry Brophv; Dot Shearer’s skill as typist to Ernestine Miner; Mil Hudson’s short sched- ule to Bob Lansing; Mary Reed’s friendliness to “Tub” Beaulac; Charles Nichol’s knowledge of physics to Bessie Galusha; Charles Davis’s blushes to Mary Gruner; “Wink” Prindle’s ability in math and science to “Runk” Sciurba. To Miss Lasher we leave our sympathy for the trying hours she will encounter with the law class of 1933, and to Miss Healy our sin- cere appreciation for the patience she has had throughout this year in American history class. Signed, MILDRED HUDSON ’32 DOROTHY SHEARER, ’32 Witnesses, LEONA BENNETT, Junior BERNARD SLADE, Sophomore THOMAS FAHJE, Freshman Fourteen

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(Class trtmherjt Rather excited, I set out one May morning in 1943 from New York, en route to my old home town. While I was delayed in Albany for a few hom s, 1 took a walk through the business section of the city. As 1 passed a theatre, 1 noticed two pictures labeled “Cochrane” and “Far- rell.” Studying them closely, 1 realized that they were the Jim Coch- rane and Francis Farrell of my high school days. I decided to lunch before going back to the station and entered a place called “Prindle’s Luncheonette.” Imagine my surprise to find “Wink” occupying the position of cashier. 1 took a train to Saratoga Springs and went to see “Mil” Hudson who was a nurse there. When I arrived “Mil” was going off duty; so she asked me in to see her patient. It was Millie Haas, now married. Millie told me that Harriet Birch was married to someone in New York and that Betty Harvey, a teacher in Saratoga Springs, expected to he married in August to an up and coming lawyer, Dan Barrett. When I got off the bus in front of the Hotel Schuyler the next morning, the first thing to meet my eyes was a sign, “Dorothy Shearer’s School of Business.” I entered the building and was shown into the office of my old chum, “Dot.” She asked me if I would like to meet the principal of the high school and who should I find occupying that noble position hut Jim Hoey, with Joe DeGrechie and Ernie Provost as two of his assistants. I learned that Mary Cudahy and Esther Carlson were also teachers. Sylvia Barker was dean of a very exclusive girls’ school, with Kathleen Coffin and Winnogene Cromie as teachers in the same school. Jim had just received a letter from Charles Nichols who was a “handicapper” in Jamaica. Ray Sparling was married. Boh Booth and Gordon Russell were successful farmers. “Dot” told me that Boh Sloane was still taking pictures and Tom Clancy was still a soda jerker. I learned that Mary Macklin was ex- pected home next month from Europe where she was studying music. Ken Brophy was running a night club in Chicago. I was told that Frank Fogerite was making tour of the world seek- ing excitement. Bert Lee and Charles Davis were operating an air route between New York and Montreal. Don Eddy was a retired busi- ness man. The only ones left were Chet Pekins, a doctor; Mary Mc- Dermott, a mannequin at Saks in New York; and Cora Williams, a nurse in the Glens Falls hospital. Thus ended a happy visit to my old home town. After having renewed acquaintance with my classmates of 1932, I was happy to find that they were all prospering and successful. MARY REED, ’32 Thirteen

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Highlights Washington! Electrified, twenty-seven jaded sonls spring for their shiny suitcases, clutch their brand new hats, and sally forth from their stuffy coach to view their dream city. As I sit in reminiscence, 1 have a mental vision of our pilgrimage and I long to be able to make you see it too. Try it! Let us forget the little details and see only the highlights. See! There is the dome of the Capitol, tranquil and se- rene, gleaming through the morning haze in unruffled unconcern. Turn your head! There crouches the Union Terminal, stupendous in its suggestion of power and force. We move on, register, eat, bathe, or sleep to prepare for the monu- ment climb. Dizzy and foggy from altitude, we look in admiration at the orderly outlay of the perfect city and survey the simple grandeur of America’s tribute to Lincoln. What a feeling of impotence possesses us as we gaze up into the domes of the Library of Congress and the Capitol. All seems infinite. Man realizes how puny he is in the sight of his own handiwork. We exclaim in little gulps and humble murmurs at the ornate sculptures and intricate friezes. A great silence in our hearts makes us gush on the surface as we try to escape the inevitable message at Arlington. Reverently we gaze upon the austere and graceful amphitheatre, and, turning away, attempt to disperse gloom with forced levity. Disregarding the rain, which was the one disturbing element in our journey, we marvel at the contrast between monastery and cathe- dral. On one side are lavish decorations, warm mosaics, and a Byzan- tine dome; on the other we see, half finished, in ornate simplicity, calm delicate sculpture and graceful gothic arches. Anchors A weigh! Little tingles go chasing up and down our spines as we watch the gaitered legs of Annapolis bluejackets moving with matchless precision. This was called by some the best day of all. On our last day Old Man Weather and Little Old New York co- operated to give us a perfect panorama of the man-made mountains of Manhattan. Slowly fades the vivid scene of towers, spires, and domes. Look! What is this that unfolds before our eyes? Snow-covered hills, a silver ribbon of water, a white road. See the little village nestled in the valley and in the distance a diminutive Washington monument. Truly: “Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” JAMES COCHRANE, ’32 Fifteen