Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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T11k Senior Yi ar Book — 1944 Class Prophecy Scene I: R. A. M. P. Club House. This club was organized to provide interest for our four prophets during and after school. ALICE: Hello, everyone! MARGE: Hi! BOB: Will the meeting please come to order now. The club has received a letter. Would Secretary Pearl like to read it. PEARL: June, 1964 Dear old-time Friends: You are cordially invited to visit the thriving community of Ardenville, one week hence. Ardenville. you may remember, was colonized bv the Class of ’44 (Westerly) shortly after Yours Trulv discovered the long-searched-for “Fountain of Youth.” After due deliberation, our colonv was called Ardenville for the Forest of Arden in “As You Like It” because of the similarity of climate. I must warn you, however, to be prepared for all temoeratures, as our climate is verv variable. As you might have difficulty in reaching Ardenville. I am sending mv own private tricopter, which has the remarkable powers of being able to speed on the ground, fly through the air. and sail over water with the greatest of ease. T hope you will find this invitation pleasing. Very truly yours. ARCHIE CONNORS, Mayor of Ardenville. BOB: What do you think, girls? Alice: Sounds wonderful. MARGE: I could be ready by tomorrow, if necessary. PEARL: I hear an aeroplane. BOB: Sounds like a car to me. ALICE: Listen. MARGE: (running to window) Oh, look! PEARL: What is that? BOB: That must be Mayor Connors' tricopter. ALICE: Queer-looking thing. Do you think it will be safe? BOB: Sure. What say? Let's all pack and meet here at the same time tomorrow. MARGE: I wonder what we should take. PEARL: I think I’ll take everything I’ve got. Just to be on the safe side. ALICE: O. K. Then I’ll be going. So long. BOB: Be on time. MARGE: Of course we will. PEARL: Bye. Scene II: After an amazing journey in the more amazing tricopter, our friends arrive in Ardenville. 20 miles from nowhere. MARGE: What a beautiful place! BOB: Here comes Mayor Connors, himself. What’s that he’s carrying? Looks like a key, but it couldn’t be. PEARL: Why not? Just because it’s a little large? It must be the key to the city. ALICE: This must be a big city to require that key. MAYOR: Welcome to Ardenville. I should like to present you with the key to the city. ROB: Thank you verv much. Mayor. This is a nice nlace vou have here. MARGE: It’s getting cloudy. Looks like rain. MAYOR: (looking at barometer watch) This barometer watch of mine savs heavy rain. Quick, jump back into the tricopter before vou get wet. PEARL: I should like to see Ardenville. MAYOR: If you like, you mav drive around a bit. I must go to my office. Bye. MARGE: Ix ok at it rain. Onlv a moment ago the sun was shining so brightly. ALICE: There goes mv hair. Originally it must have been string. PEARL: Look! There’s Bob Browning trying to pilot her way between the raindrops. What an occupation! Requires skill! BOB: Hear that thunder! Kenny Avery must be having fun trying to bottle the sound of the thunder to be used in fu- 4 lOjjr-

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Tin: Senior Year Book — 1944 I, Marion Taylor, do will my extra height to Bobby Ulles, who could certainly use some of it. We, Anne Waddington and Winnie Walker, leave our ability to speak the “er” language to Edith Riley and Gladys Moen. I, Irene Servidio, bequeath my absenteeism to that cute sophomore who looks like Alan Ladd—Ed Jordan. I. Mugzy Montalto, do hereby will to Marilyn Frechette my blushing and my good care of Mr. Barber and Miss Shorey. (She needs a bodyguard.) We, Nancy Ritacco, Mary Gabrielle, and Nora DiPaola, leave our “Tootsie with his Taxi Cab” to Miss Endicott. I, George Stillman, leave my inspiring trumpet notes during flag ceremonies to Alex Houston, who, I am sure, will benefit by them. 1. Bud Clemens, leave my ability as a wolf to Hank Nowak. I. Carolyn Barber, will my love for classical music to Corrine Palm. 1, Steve Grossomanides, leave my collection of excuses to Goose Gentile — they mav come in handy. I. Maurice Laing, do leave my good luck and ability to get out of tight squeezes to Bill Kmetz. (He is going to need it.) I. Terry Malaghan, leave my constant “gum chewing” to anv student who is smart enough to “hoard” it when teacher is near. We. Phvlis Burdick and Sue Capalbo, Hereby do bequeath our companionship to the un and coming juniors—Stella Gen-carelli and Mary Toscano. I. William J. Quinlan, upon passing from said noble institution, do hereby bequeath my gvm suit to any ambitious junior who hopes to break the record I have attained in the subject nearest to my heart. We, Punky Gilchrist and Gladys Payne, leave our ability to get out of school early to Mary Reardon and Phyllis Cutter. I. Eileen Niles, leave my love (!!!) for history to Dorothy Wright, who I'm sure will study it as enthusiastically as I did. We, Alice Giannoni, Alice Bressette. Margaret Toscano, and Jennie Grillo, leave to any other Italian Class that is composed of four girls, our love and respect for Miss Lillian Ruisi, and our perfect (?) knowl- edge of the Italian language. We, Ethel Palmer and Marion Sherman, leave our ability of getting on Miss Endi-cott’s nerves to anyone who can get away with it. We, Dorothy Edwards and Margaret Gledhill, bequeath to June Charnley our jobs as lunch ticket distributors, in hopes that she will enjoy (?) it as much as we have. We, Jeanne Coon, Margaret Wilson, and Jeanne Merithew, leave our Senior Board positions to Janet House, Pearl Maki. and Mary MacKenzie of the Junior Class. May they always make the deadline. We, the Salesmanship Class, do hereby leave our sales ability and victory talks to those lovable college students. (It’s about time they did some work.) I, J. J. Faitani, Sr., do hereby bequeath my collection of B. T. U.’s and other confusing soliloquies to next year’s tug class, hoping that they may fare as successfully as I. We, Stella Saddow and Irene Priore, bequeath our basketball ability to those star juniors. Sarah Maggs and Marilyn Carr. I. Gertrude Tyler, do hereby leave to any junior who likes the job my position as secretary to Miss Sturtevant. I, Frances Gaccione, bequeath my secretarial ability in typing tests for Miss Mc-Weeney’s infants to some person who will apnreciate her kindness as I did. I, Helen Lamphere, do hereby bequeath my bookkeeping ability to one of those most beloved college students, Mary Doh-ring, who may need it for her budgeting before she reaches college. I. Pat Butler, do bequeath my tardy slips to any soph or junior who can keep up to my record. I. Gertrude Edmonds, leave my sports abilitv to Marilyn Frechette. I. Pearl Ricci, leave my red wagon to anyone who can take care of the keys. I. Bob Chamberlain, leave my stride when entering the auditorium leading the snappy seniors, to Tippy Salimeno of the juniors. We do hereby appoint Mortimer, the skeleton in Room 12, the sole administrator of this our last will and testament. GILCHRIST. SMITH. SPOSATO, Inc. Doctors at Law. -5(9)5-

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Tin: Senior Year Book — 1944 ture warfare in place of gunpowder. How that lightning flashed! Kenny’s associate, Lydon Oatley, has tried in vain to catch a flash of lightning for his flashlight, but there seems to be a little difficulty because of the swiftness of the flashes. MARGE: Gosh, is that sun hot! Let’s go swimming in the ocean next to Steve Grossomanides’ horse show, called the Su-per-Duper Merry-go-round. ALICE: Isn’t that sand as white as salt. (Tasting) It is salt! And that’s Phyllis Autry counting grains of salt. I’EAKL: Who’s that leading that camel? Why it’s Gert Edmonds. HOB: There’s an oasis. Let’s stop and rest under a palm tree. MARGE: Anna Church is standing under that palm tree. Oh! Look! There’s a lion creeping up behind her. Oh, what shall we do? Oh! Sammy Brown to the rescue! He trails the lion and with one hand throws it to the ground. The lion is running away. Sammy is the victor. For a moment I was in doubt. PEARL: I’ve heard that Louis Brown has developed a coconut which, when ripe, bears meat already shredded. ALICE: Next to Louis’ coconut grove is a sw'eet lemon grove managed by Joseph Perra. It seems that all one has to do is insert a straw and sip to his heart’s content. Anyone thirsty? BOB: Oh! Oh! Look at the snow! Must be a blizzard! There’s Gladys Payne hanging out her sign. It reads, “My Fix-All-Payne-Is-Now-Open-For-Business.” Br! Feel that cold creeping in! MARGE: Is that the snow falling that I hear? Couldn’t be. Sounds like an Aria from Carmen. Oh! It must be Alice Giannoni singing, for I’ve heard that she can’t refrain from bursting into song when she hears snow fall. Imagine! PEARL: I can’t imagine. But no imagination is needed to hear Bob Smith and John Sposato and Louis DeFanti tightening nuts on peanut brittle in that shop across the street. BOB: Ah! Spring! L’amour—L’amour. ALICE: I know what you need. Some of Terry Malaghan’s tonic for spring-fever victims. MARGE: There’s another spring fever victim. It’s Hope Green reeling off her own poetry. PEARL: Didn’t she just walk by Connie Crandall? Connie is leaning against a tree with hearts carved on its trunk. BOB: Speaking of trees, I’ve heard Billy Quinlan is tying apples on lilac trees, imagining himself another Burbank. ALICE: Gee! The leaves are all falling off the trees! Dot Edwards and Margaret Gledhill must be busy now, sewing multi-colored leaves together to form patch work quilts for the poor shivering trees! MARGE: Autumn seems to be a tense season. Can’t tell what will happen. That’s why we see Mike Santoro walking on that high tension wire to calm his nerves. PEARL: That’s nothing. Look at Marion Taylor using telephone wires to hang her wash on. Convenient, huh? BOB: In the good old summertime! Oh for a dip in the ocean. MARGE: You’re not the only one with that idea. Patty Butler, Martha Moor-house, and Gladys Hagen just whizzed by on a surf board built for three. Alice Ferrigno should be with them. She must be busy with her collection of rare tropical mice. I’m glad that they have leisure for such frivolities! BOB: Frances Moshier is seeking a musical giraffe to add to her biological specimens. ALICE: Water, water everywhere. And not a drop to drink! Look at Mike Sposato rowing that sailboat ! PEARL: People don’t use sailboats on a desert. Must be a mirage. (To those who are in doubt: Remember—this is ARDEN-VILLE.) MARGE: Cheer up! Even if it is a mirage, there can’t be a desert here for long if Louis Zanella and Jiggs Cherenzia succeed with their plans for irrigating this desert. BOB: But their plans aren’t necessary. I hear that Pete Turano is working on a plan for making it rain. PEARL: Haw! Haw! There’s Betty Johnson teaching those snakes how to do the conga to the music of George Stillman’s Hot Horn.