Southwestern High School - Prospector Yearbook (Detroit, MI)

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WE BEQUEATH OUR TREASURES 1, Edward Heldt, do will and bequeath to Norman Min- cer my sunny smile, which has won me many friends. I, Juanita Millsap, do will and bequeath to Florence Mincer my sunny smile, which has won me many friends. I, Elizabeth Neff, do will and bequeath to Dorothea Sternad my ups and downs in chemistry. I, Lyle J annisse, do will and bequeath to Martin Cav- anaugh my dignity and seriousness in classes. I, Helen Petro, do will and bequeath to Alice Yager my favorite books--Elson's history of the U. S. and Guit- teau's History of the U. S. I, Hayes Johnson, do will and bequeath to Sol Efrusy and Emil Dubke my jolly air and hearty laugh. I. Bernice Miller, do will and bequeath to Gertrude Kibat my rambling loquacity. I, Michael Kareha, do will and bequeath to Frank Fekete my uncontrollable desire to run in the city meet. I, John Kenyeres, do will and bequeath to Scaley Fior- dilis my boxing power, so that Sharkey may have a competitor. I, Velma Riopelle, do will and bequeath to Myrtle Parker my chair in library and hope she doesn't get as many runners in her stockings as I did. I, Gerald Krause, do will and bequeath to Randall Gray my relentless nature when in the presence of a few senior girls. I, Emily Romberger, do will and bequeath to Evelyn Frank my unceasing chatter. I, Edwin Kurzatkowski, do will and bequeath to Frank Gasiorek my humorous attitude when taking charge of History VIII, the fifth hour. I, Irene Rosensweig, do will and bequeath to Phyllis Rago my senior dignity and the toy cop which I played with in some of my classes. I, Arthur Plots, do will and bequeath to Harry Mar- mion my excellent lungs and my saxaphone. I, Gerry Saville, do will and bequeath to Margaret Toth my jolly disposition. I, Michael Vargo, do will and bequeath to Victor Matulevich my exasperating nature, and my eagerness to write essays for English. I, Agness Schuelke, do will and bequeath to Irene Seech a few feet of my slim figure. I hope she doesn't feel hurt. I, Russell Reckwald, do will and bequeath to Fred Pagogna my heavyweight championship in Southwestern. I, Margaret Shopkin, do will and bequeath to Dorothy Oakley my position as goal keeper in hockey. I, George Reske, do will and bequeath to John Precobb my specs , and my knowledge gained in drug stores. I, Lenora Behm, do will and bequeath to Alice Smoot my ability to pass all mid-semesters and finals. I, Alfred Pugno, do will and bequeath to Ralph Nie- meyer my splendid build which enables me to be an all- round man. I, Julia Bennett, do will and bequeath to Olga David my ambition to write poetry. I, Eugene Rose, do will and bequeath to Robert Quiring my sweet tenor voice, which is to be used only in wide- open spaces. I, Clare Bagozzi, do will and bequeath to Rose Munt- yan my ability to vamp basketball players. I, George Sagatelian, do will and bequeath to Walter Schnierla my tremendous strength and good looks. I, Laura Crawford, do will and bequeath to Elsie Os- borne my knowledge of farm life. I, Clarence Sloan, do will and bequeath to Harry Rowed my good looks, accompanied by my fortune of 31.50, which is to be invested in S. W. games only. I, Leonora Corsini, do will and bequeath to Lela Ba- gozzi my brother's red-hot tieg my white shirt goes with it. We, William Sands and Kenneth Sansom, do will and bequeath to Carl Ritter and Edward Lally our ability to be good bluffers. I, Margaret Czap, do will and bequeath to Clara Henig my ability to burn up generators. I, Clarence Wieland, do will and bequeath to Glenn Steffes my school-girl blush. I, Milton Silverman, do will and bequeath to DeWitt Severance my rough readiness for picking on boys bigger than Severance. I, Florence Dubke, do will and bequeath to Anna Bush- weit my ability to get the Hudson. I, Edwin Zielke, do will and bequeath to Cardinal Stoddard my contagious giggle. I, Dorothy Frahm, do will and bequeath to Nor- ma Geloneck my curly blonde hair to add to her bounty of black tresses. fContinued on Page 151 We dignified Seniors, after four years in this school, have come into possession of very 'valuable things. These we whole- heartedly bequeath to you. Juniors. You. can show your appreciation of these gifts by cherishifng them forever. Page Thirteen

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These gifts, tha-t we, the grad- ua-ting class of 19:28, have so thoughtfully cherished through- out our yea-rs of high school, we bestow upon our shadows, the January class of 1929. We are hoping and trusting that they will think as much of them as we have, and use them to the best of their ability. In depart- ing, we wish them. immeasurable success. T0 ALL HEIRS AND ASSIGNS For four years we, the members of the June, 1928, gradu- ating class, have dug for mental treas- ures. We are taking with usmost of these valuedtreasures,but are leaving a few tokens which will be worthless to us in our new life. We know that you, who are still digging, will be only too anxious to secure some of these articles. We are leaving now and Wish to will to the future seniors the following: I, Kenneth Beckett, do will and bequeath to Dan Bar- nabo and Albert Beauvais my ability to charm the infant department of Southwestern. I. Harriet Hull, do will and bequeath to Coryl King my famous back stroke, so that the world's champ may have a competitor. I, Dorothy Quandt, do will and bequeath to Margaret Kanoc my reputation for good attendance, especially after parties at Woodland Beach. I, Carl Dettmer, do will and bequeath to Marvin Albrecht my wicked manner while in the senior class. I, Velma Koska, do will and bequeath to Viola Schlack my formula for making pink cheeks. I, Fred Ebeling, do wil land bequeath to Edwin Casen- hiser my untiring ambition to get jazz out of the piano. I, Anna Kovacs, do will and bequeath to Evelyn Miller my endless gossip. I, Dale DeWitt, do will and bequeath to Stanley Bur- bank my popularity with the weaker sex, also my red-hot sport outfit. I, Adeline LaJoie, do will and bequeath to Charlotte Firth my very desirable back seat in English class. I, Harold Gloyd, do will and bequeath to John Burns my endless supply of energy for running errands for the teachers, also my talent as a fire runner. I, Hester Wood, do will and bequeath to Sylvia Zimmer- man my red-hot temper, accompanied by my steel-gray eyes. I, Clayton Brechin, do will and bequeath to Clifton Capen my roadster, on condition that he always keep a pair of roller-skates in the back seat for emergency. I, Phyllis Wolven, do will and bequeath to Jean Burgess my charming and alluring ways. I, Edward Budnik, do will and bequeath to Kenneth Armstrong and John Binkewicz my boldness in asking girls to dance. I, Regina Singer, do will and bequeath to Eleanor Petzke my golden tresses, also a few freckles added for full measure. Page Twelve I, Steve Tompos, do will and bequeath to Joseph Aberl my delicate choice of vocabulary. I, Edward Coulson, do will and bequeath to Edward Bohash my brown, wavy locks, and my love for reading novels. I, Lillian Siegel, do will and bequeath to Dorothy Hit- tinger my position as valedictorian. I, Elva Strong, do will and bequeath to Isabelle Drouin my permanent wave and flashy glances. I, Ann Zorvan, do will and bequeath to Ethel Tuchelski my ilapperish ways. I, George Miller, do will and bequeath to Harry Nephew my gift to gab with the girls foutside of schooll. I, Stephen Martin, do will and bequeath to Walter Behnke my rare talent of winning out against all odds. I, Helen Townsend, do will and bequeath to Mildred Gagnon my partiality to anything green--or red. I, Otto Marotz, do will and bequeath to William Herling my alertness in journalism class. I also bequeath my ability to make an eloquent speech when called upon. I, Lois Windmueller, do will and bequeath to Dorothy Ritchie my reserved manner and self-restraint. I, James Magadini, do will and bequeath to Joseph Laitis my shyness. I, Gladys Meinzinger, do will and bequeath to Mary Vers my agreeable disposition. ' I, John Kuhr, do will and bequeath to Alfred Gairdner the fascinating features which make my personality resistless. I, Norman Koch, do will and bequeath to Stanley Henry a few feet of my tremendous height. I, Edna Rebert, do will and bequeath to Edith Kruem- pel my roller skates. I hope she keeps her balance on them. I, Andrew Papp, do will and bequeath to Henry Leid- ich my ability to maintain an interest in the lady and keep awake while driving her home in my new Hup- mobile. I, Joseph Marvaso, do will and bequeath to Francis Reyfuss my golfing ability so that he may beat Bobby Jones. I, Agnes Radcliffe, do will and bequeath to Elizabeth Van Lier my art for telling humorous jokes. I, William Knight, do will and bequeath to Charles Frampton my ability as a peacemaker and diplomat. I, Grace McLean, do will and bequeath to Edith Peters my collection of fraternity pins. I, Gerald Hallahan, do will and bequeath to Victor Floyd my small feet and the ability to use them to advan- tage in dancing. I, Anna Miglin, do will and bequeath to Elizabeth Banonis my famous swan dive. May she never get the boos that I did.

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We Sem'ors can now face the great wide world where our dignity will help as not, but oar firm will-power will give us the impetus to sail our ships safely into the har- bors of success. A GLANCE INTO THE FUTURE By LYLE JANNISSE '4Such is the life of a trav- eling salesman, I mum- bled as I hailed a taxi for the station. As the yellow carry-all approached, whom should I recognize behind the wheel but Russell Reck- wald. On the way to the station, he told me that he and Stephen Martin, who had been in the navy for eight years, were the champion boxers of their respective weights. Stephen went under the name of Battling Stevenski and Russ, Kid Reckemf' I inquired why they left the Navy. He said that they married Grace Kirchoff and Velma Riopelle and were now living happily on Hast- ings Boulevard. He also added that they did all their buy- ing at Bagozzi's grocery store. Clare is now a big busi- ness woman. When I arrived at the station, six bellhops dashed for my suitcase. It looked as if I were going to be killed in the rush. They finally slowed down and I saw that they were Norman Koch, Clarence Wieland, James Magadini, Edward Heldt, Edwin Zielke, and Clarence Wissman. I settled the argument by letting all six of them carry my grip. I thought maybe it would be too big a load for one of the little fellows to carry alone. I tipped each of them a cent. Noticing I had thirty minutes to wait for the train, I wandered about the station. Due to force of habit I roamed into a lunch emporium. After waiting fifteen minutes for service, I happened to glance under the counter, and, to my surprise, I saw Al Pugno and Clate Brechin, wrapped in aprons, sound asleep. From then on I believed in the old adage that habits formed in school could never be broken. As I turned away from the counter, I saw a big crowd collected around a doorway over which hung a sign, Beauty Par- lor. In my inquisitive way I went over to see what it was all about. What a shock I received! There, on a platform, Arthur Plots, now a famous French beauty ex- pert, was introducing Professor Ebeling. From the intro- duction, I learned Fred had found a marvelous formula for growing hair. At last his ambition is realized, I thought, as I saw his long curly hair and his little mus- tache. In the audience were many beauty experts, such as Edna Rebert, who now had become pleasingly plump, Grace McLean, Dot Quandt, and Aggie Radcliffe. When I turned away, whom should I see coming across the floor but Ruby and Fern Johnson, dressed in old house aprons, carrying mops and pails. Bringing up the rear was Lenora Behm, wearing a beautiful dust cap and shouldering a broom. Just as I was going over to speak to them, something boomed out like a peal of thunder. My fears were soon quieted, however, as I saw the figure of Clarence Sloan announcing the trains. On my way to the car I saw Tom Naubert and Eugene Rose selling crowbars, with which to open the Pullman windows. I always did say those boys had good busi- ness heads. Ann Zorvan was buying a dozen of them. She passed a remark about running out of rolling pins. Here's hoping her husband has a hard head. I had just settled in my seat when I heard a familiar voice shout, Peanuts, popcorn, chew-gum, chew gum. Looking up, I recognized the owner of the voice as Eddie Budnik. He told me that he had just had a fight with Gladys Meinzinger. She ate all his candy and then told him to charge it to Santa Claus. I felt sorry for Eddie Page Fourteen because Gladys is a strong woman in Florence Dubke's famous circus. After the train had started, John Kuhr came wobbling down the aisle asking for tickets, in his good old Irish brogue. He sat down and talked to me for a long time. He told me that Harold Gloyd and Kenny Townsend were in an insane asylum. Gloyd had gone crazy over fire engines and all he did at the asylum was ride around in a red kiddy-car. Kenny became insane when Regina Singer threw him down. All at once we began to smell an irritating odor in the train and we both began to sneeze. When I turned around to try to find its source, I saw Dale DeWitt and Norma Heddle blowing sneezing powder at each other. I quickly stuck my head out the window for a little fresh air. My glance happened to rest on a lanky figure standing on the engine, holding a net over the smoke- stack. Every minute or so he emptied the net in a basket. I quickly asked John to explain it to me. He told me that the railroad had given Scottie Sands permission to collect cinders that way, because he wanted to build a drive-way for his notorious Ford. I asked John if anyone else I knew worked on the railroad. He told me that George Reske was a section boss and that George Sagatelian, Wilbur Wagner, and Steve Tompos. who had run for president of the Correct English Club and had been defeated, worked under him. He said that Jerry Hallahan was an engineer, Mike Kareha, a fire- man, and that Elizabeth Neff sold popcorn in a big sta- tion in New York. As John had to leave me to collect some tickets, I busied myself looking around the car. There, in one corner, was a big banner, Reform Workers' Society. I saw Peggy Czap dressed in a long black gown, wearing big glasses, with her were Ethel Kendy and Velma Koska. They seemed to be talking and nodding to some one on the other side of the car. When I looked in that direction I had the surprise of my life. There sat Phyllis Wolven, Bernice Miller, and Jerry Saville, with their faces all powder and rouge. Geraldine seemed to be fiirting with a big butter and egg man across the aisle, whom I recognized as Gerald Krause. As I glanced at their suitcases I saw they were from a show company. Just then I saw Kuhr motion for me to follow him. He led me to a private car. We slowly opened the door. I almost dropped dead! Kenny Sansom, sitting in a big easy chair, was telling his private secretary, Julia Ben- nett, what he was going to do in the next golf tourna- ment and how he was going to defeat the new champ, Joe Marvaso. On a little table next to him was a pic- ture of Leonora Corsini. We quietly closed the door. It was still the same old Sansom. I bought a paper from Karl Wagner, the famous red- headed newsboy of the Michigan Central R. R., and set- tled down to read for the rest of my journey. I had no more than picked up the paper when the train came to a grinding stop. I quickly looked to see what was the matter. There, on the track, about three feet in front of the engine, sat Anna Kovacs, Anna Miglin, and Helen Petro, playing Jacks. Soon the track was cleared and the train started. When I resumed my reading, I received another shock. In glaring headlines was- Dettmer follows in the foot- steps of Nancy Miller and turns Hindu. As I read on I saw he had changed his religion, and had gone to India.