Syracuse Central High School - Scarlet Yearbook (Syracuse, NY)

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Our guide for the trip through the studios, Aram Iigarjian, comes over to our group, and leads us to our first stop, Studio A. Please be very quiet, ladies and gentlemen, he whispers as we tip-toe onto the set. You are about to have the privilege of watching the filming of a scene from our new opus, 'Mad Love,' adapted from Alma Hill's latest best-seller, 'A Puritan Maid,' and starring that dashing leading man who has taken all Van Iohnson's fans, Henri Hunt. Cameraman Richard Lapham leads us over to some chairs by the side of the set, and we sit there quietly until the principals come on. Directoress Marian Iacobs mumbles a few words of directions to Henri, who nods his head impatiently and goes over to stand by a window, carefully turning his right profile towards the cameraman. Suddenly his face lights up. Ah! Here she comes, my radiant love, he spouts, then dashes to the door to let her in. Honey chile! cries Margie Gage happily as she throws herself impulsively into his arms. Did you-all fohget yoh lil-ole Margie was a-comin'? It seems she Went to extremes in trying to lose her New England accent, and took so many lessons from Phil Harris that she cannot speak without a Southern drawl. While the two lovebirds bill and coo, the door suddenly bursts open, and there stands Sheila Kelleher, her black eyes snapping, a picture of regal fury. So, she cries, You- Cut, yells script girl Genevieve Dillabaugh. The actors return to their dressing rooms, and we file wistfully out the door, each determined to see Mad Love as soon as it comes out. and see who wins the title of Mrs. Henri Hunt of l957. Beverly Sherman and Iune Sellen, who are stopping in Hollywood on the first leg of their journey to Mars in Andy Constantine's new rocket ship, ask Guide Iigarjian where We are going next. Iig sticks his colossal chest out and says proudly, ANYWHERE you want to go, I can take you. tNo other Iigarette can make that statementll Oh, Mr. Iigarjian, you're SO cute, they coo, and Aram floats on ahead to our next stop, Studio C. As we come through the door, electrical technician Henry Nalbantian turns and frowns at us to be quiet, for the scene is already in progress. Producer Polly Newell draws us aside and explains that as a rule we would be allowed to stay and watch the shooting, but the stars of this drama, Anne Thomasmeyer's adaptation of Hamlet, are very high strung and tempera- mental, and if we remained we might disturb their mood. Anxious to find out who these dramatic stars are we peek around the door on our way to the next set and see the great tragedian, Iames McEntee, standing over the inert form of Rita Eassa with a dripping icicle in his hand. We hear music coming from the next set even before we enter, and can tell by the tune. Zip, Zip, Zip, Zip, Ah-Choo, that it must be a movie version of Dick Nojeim's current Broad- way musical, Goldenrod, and the Three Ragweeds. We enter and stand, fascinated, as the chorus girls go through their number. Among them we glimpse some familiar legs, belonging to Betty Murphy, Ruth Frink, Marjorie Martin, Delores Marnell, Ruth Price, Dorothy Crawford, Shirley O'Brien, Marilyn Butler, Rosemary Verzole and Mary lane Stone. We learn from a passing janitor, Alfred Spindleman, that the action is supposed to be taking place in lon Nicholson's Duck Club. Now the sultry-eyed torch singer, Roz Nicholas, glides to the front of the stage, and fixing her world-weary eyes on her audience. begins to sing in a low throbbing voice. A group of bleary-eyed socialites sitting at a ringside table push aside their piles of poker chips to concentrate on the song. By what we can see through the clouds of smoke they seem to be Mary Lou Geppinger, Lita Shamus, Carol Gwynn, Betty Clark and Mike Prokopiak twearing a mask so that Mr. Friedlander won't recognize him if he should happen in for his bi-weekly goat's milk-and-cokel. Several waitresses are dashing back and forth between this table and the bar, where bar-mail Peggy Carr is busily dispensing liquid refreshments. The waitresses are Hilda Burg, Antoinette Razzano, Ruth Gilbert, and Rose Volturno. The sight of so much food makes us hungry, so Guide Iigarjian recommends the Holly- wood branch of Saul's, run by Pericles Kambus, Barb Gordon and Lorraine Twomey. We hop into our Super-bus and steam over to Saul's for a Granowicz special-peanut butter and ketchup sandwiches. After we have been seated, we look around at some of the celebrities at the surrounding tables. At one table we view a group of big wheels-Larry Hinton, Dorothy Kempistry, Barbara Blessing, Morton Fromer-with his secretaries Shirley Weyer and Norma Stanton, one on each knee, taking dictation-and Ruth Hart, Helene Cohn and Lois Brownstein. At another table, close to the bar, we see a group of Cartoonists from the studios of Eileen Small, successor to Walt Disney, busily discussing making Maurice Axenfeld's life story into a cartoon. The ones who have the most ideas are Frances Eassa, Virginia Green. Eunice Caskins, Marilyn White and Alda Fabbri.

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bursts into hysterical sobs just as two of her keepers from Shickel's Sanitary Sanitarium for Saturated Celebrities drive up in a little white wagon piloted by Iimmy Hitt, one of the re- formed inmates. The strong-arm girls who hustle her into the wagon are phychologists Shirley Dowd and Vera Savonavitch. The band's girl vocalist is throaty-voiced Iulie Spencer, with her accompanist, Mary lane Paisley. Anne Chappell is the girl who had always planned to travel the world as Iu!ie's accompanist, but she is still resting from her last strenuous year at Central. It is rumored that she retired to her country estate immediately after finishing the American History Regents, and Dr. Louis Glazier held out little hope for her recovery without a long period of complete rest. Some others who had to follow the same treatment after the Regents were Elizabeth Nocera, Beverly Ross, lane Hilbert, Lois Rohme and Ilene Stern. The bus waits a while until Bob Denner and his father arrive. They just flew in from China for the last leg of their world tour. lust as Driver Letterman is about to pull away from the curb, a group of ravishing young secretaries dash thru the door, and make for the back seat. The door slams just in time to prevent the entry of a group of professional wolves who have been chasing these shy young beauties. As they settle themselves in the back seat, we can see that they are Io Anne Ferary, Iris Banks, Marie Wenborne, Nancy Brown and Shirley Illingworth. At last the bus leaves, its sudden starting jolt almost throwing bums Bob Rich- ardson and Ioan Crawford from their precarious perch on the upper right hand aileron. It roars off into the distance, leaving the wolves-Dick Kane, Nelson Henderson, Gene Vurbeff, Bob Lukins and Willis Cobb howling in disappointment for a full two seconds before turning to pursue a passing red-head-Norma Spafford, who is trying to disguise herself by dyeing her hair and wearing dark glasses, but to no avail. As we pass the corner we glimpse Ioy Delfosse on her portable soap box, addressing a crowd of high-class bums. Some of them are: Pete Poreotis, Ilene Dorn, Warren Eppler, Ger- trude Hoffman, Barry Matin, Dick Brisk, Gabriel Buschle and Rita LaGraff. Our first stop is at Hollywood's newly completed Cathedral, designed by the architectural firm of Kirchner, Munger and Seton, and built under the direction of Ross Nelson and Eugene Hebert. Driver Letterman announces that we are to view the marriage of two of the world's best known characters, but refuses to tell us who they are. The passengers buzz with con- jectures as they file in an orderly fashion into the church. Among the celebrities present are Bud Rudat, who had enough money to retire at twenty- five and marry Ioan Crawford II after Barb Eager, the famous Shakespearean actress, died in a too-realistic portrayal of Lady Macbeth, and left him all her millions. Also present are Dorothy Daugard, illustrator for David Aud1in's French edition of Esquire, and dark-eyed, exotic Sylvia Azoyan, renowned ballerina, now starring in Estelle Resnick's latest drama. All conversation is hushed as organist George Pappas plays the opening bars of Kathleen Bush's Wedding March in Q Flat. Priest Donald Cadwallader moves slowly to his place at the front of the church, then best man Bob Gilbert, who took over Fearless Fosdick's job when Anyface killed him, appears. Everyone sits forward tensely as the groom stalks solemnly to his place. Those sad, wise eyes! That luxuriant wavy hair! That strong, firm mouth, and coura- geously jutting chin, stuck out at its usual angle! Who could it be but the great Vincent Goodrich, the lecturer, just returned from a nationwide tour during which he enthralled audiences with his recitations of his Navy experiences. Now a nervous, girlish giggle is heard in the rear, and we turn to see the blushing bride come tripping down the aisle. We can tell by the blonde hair and bright blue eyes we see thru her veil that it is lovely Iustine Tichko, who has just published her latest book, How to Keep the Wolf from Your Door. Pat Nalton, the Maid of Honor, follows, wearing skis. She refused to remove them merely because she would be at a wedding. The other bridesmaids are: Theoni Roupas, Virginia Green, Ruth Crouse, Betty Allen, Diana Hondros, lean McCoy and Marilyn Spector. They have a hard time concentrating on the wedding because the handsome ushers are so dis- tracting. Ushers are: Arthur Roberts, Donald Faba, Ralph Wiegand, Larry Hinton, Bruce Cole and Hermann Friedman, friends of the groom. We leave the church before the wedding breakfast is served to escape the crowd, and continue to our destination, Simmons, Sklad, Sullivan and Stawroplus Studios! On our arrival at the stupendous movie factory, we are halted by a group of guards in purple satin uniforms trimmed with orange. These Centralites who were frustrated in their ambition to wear a football uniform and settled for this, are: Mannie Neri, Art Vassiliadis, Murray Glass, Richard Lohrman and Iohn Osbelt. Their ambition has been satisfied by getting up a team with some of the starlets. As we wait for the guards to check our passes, a group of the starlets comes over, practicing slinking on the way. They are Janet Kimmey, Peggy Wright, Mary King, Mary Ready, Dorothy Kempistry and Betty Ruo-oops-Betty Burkhard. We continue on into the studios as the two groups join and start practicing their plays, expe- riencing only slight difficulty in retaining our masculine passengers.

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We turn as we hear a slight disturbance in the rear, which seems to emanate from a bunch of unsavory characters who are grouped around the pin-ball machine. It seems that lean Coats has just lost one of Phil Spivak's hard-earned nickels, and, Ioanne Bissen, in a fur- tive attempt to recover the coin without attracting the attention of the bouncers, Sonya Aiqouni and Ioanne Foley, has slipped, running a bobby-pin into Barbara Hall. A quick-thinking bystander, Ioan Pope, phones Bandall's Rest Home, and in a few minutes Pat McNally flies over in her amblecopter. Willing hands help the limp form onto the cot, and Peggy Iones goes along to watch over her on the gruelling flight back. On arrival she is rushed immediately to the operating room, where Drs. Mary Ann Carrino and Delores Quartier are preparing for surgery. Word goes around the hospital that these famed surgeons are about to operate, and a group of interns beg permission to watch. They form a breathless circle around the table, and even despite their masks we can tell that they are Flora Nappa, Donna Mothorpe, Margaret Williams, lane Dukat, Diana Hondros and Dorothy Crawford. Later, the operation successfully completed, Barbara is wheeled out onto the sun porch where she can amuse herself by talking to the other patients. Over in the corner where the most sun comes, we see Beverly Condon, who lost her right arm while chewing her nails too vigorously during the English regents. Beside her is Helen Augustyn, recovering from one of her periodic attacks of laryngitis, brought on by prolonged practice at saying Number. Please with a smile in her voice. Another very large, tearful group is situated at the other end of the porch. Because they broke so many hearts, they were confined for punishment in this male-less sanitarium. Among the tear stained beauties are: Olga Zona, Iean Pritchard, Emogene Russel, Rita Willoughby, Adelaide Anson and Ruth Crouse. Suddenly the peace and calm of the summer day is broken by the mutter of gutteral voices. A crowd of newspapermen has bribed Dr. Edward Kaish to let them enter the hospital. As they come closer we see that these hard-faced reporters are Harold Vann, Iohn Palmi- sano, Ken Cadwallader, Bob Fiel and Marion Davey. Iust as they are about to begin questioning Barbara about the recent crime, another trots up breathlessly-it is Ruth Burkhard of The Yearly Bibliophile, published semi-monthly by the inmates of Hollywood Branch Library. Burkhard leads the attack by shrewdly asking, Where does it hurt, Miss Hall? Barbara docilely opens her mouth to reply, but before she can give the required information, a squad of policemen bursts into the sunporch in pursuit of the journalists. Sol There ye be, ye blarsted scallawagsl shouts Sergeant O'Lukens. lnto the jug with ye. The other patrolmen dash up and drag the protesting journalists off. These proud pro- tectors of the peace are Asher O'Hurwitz. George O'Pappas and Charles O'Spafford. Before leaving the hospital, we decide to make a tour of the place. We visit the operating room, the kitchen, the wards, and various private rooms. Finally we come to a heavy steel door. The attendant opens it for us and we peer through iron bars into a heavily padded room. Three figures are seated at a long table, almost obscured by the piles of pink slips of paper which surround them. They are typing at a feverish pace, yet what they have written makes no sense at all. We ask who these poor idiots are, and the attendant whispers, They're Barbara Minik- hiem, Ioan Furze and Elaine Nisson. A New York Sanitarium sent them to us as hopeless cases about ten years ago. They have a very sad history-seems they went mad trying to fit 240 names into their Alma Mater's Senior Prophecy. We look at the figures again, and then at one another. lust then another group of white-coated attendants dashes up and seize us. Aha! Thought you'd get away by tieing monkeys in your places, didn't you? You'll learn you can't fool us. So, here we are, back in our familiar cell-Foiled again!