Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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The Senior Year Book — 1945 Class Will We, the Class of '45, being in full possession of our normal mental powers, do hereby bequeath, on this sad, but historical occasion, a number of our dearest belongings and most cherished eccentricities to the lower classmen of W. H. S. We sincerely hope they will accept our humble offerings in the proper spirit, and will, hereafter, look upon our memories in a kind and reverent manner. The individual blessings are as follows: We, the Transcript class, do will our stenography notebooks with their curious hieroglyphics to the library for future reference. (We hope you can decipher them.) I, Alex Houston, leave my position as president of the “Flunk E” Club to that able and prominent member, “Goose” Gentile. My successor has, in the past few years, proved that he is worthy of this office. I, Lane Krause, leave my uncanny powers of beard growing to that fuzzy-cheeked .Junior, Irving Panciera, who gazes with awe upon my lusty growth and who spends hours trimming those two whiskers of his. I, John Fox, leave the quiet purr of my motor to any Junior who can stand the racket. I, C. T. Barber, with tear-dimmed eye and aching heart, hereby resign as the venerable Mayor of Potter Hill, and as there is no one to succeed me, I have no choice but to turn my little hamlet over to Ira Murphy, Mayor of Ashaway, trusting that he will lead my people wisely. I, Frances Salisbury, leave my ability “to be seen, and not heard” to Alice Allen. I, Mary Toscano, leave my accomplishment in “sticking to one” for three years to Mary Dohring, whose longest romance lasted three months. I, Margaret Pickering, leave my shy, retiring manner to that timid Sophomore, Charles Peterson, as I feel that we have a lot in common. I, Robert Ulles, bequeath my wornout basketball shoes to next year’s team, provided they are kept in a trophy case in my remembrance. I, Pauline Dinwoodie, hereby will my extraordinary ability for out-talking Mr. Buckley in Solid class, to anyone who is unfortunate enough to be needing it next year. We, Esther Turco, Gilda Nardone, and Camella Capalbo, do hereby will our jobs at the basketball games to Marie Misisco and Irene Terranova. I, Joseph Siciliano, leave my ability and overwhelming importance to the basketball and football teams, to Skanky Pellegrino, that up-and-coming Junior athlete. I, Jean Phillips, leave my astounding appetite and ability to consume vast amounts of food to all those puny little Sophomores around school who could stand more meat on their frail frames. I, Jean Clark, leave my dancing ability (heard about but never witnessed) to Mary Bamford. We, Corinne Palm and Elinor Gray, are willingly bequeathing our scanty chop-stick ability on the ivories to Oliver Crandall, the boogie-woogie artist of High Street. We, Eileen Rea, Janet House, and Rose Fusaro, do leave our jobs of collecting “ads” for the “Senior” to any little Juniors willing to wear out shoe leather. I, Stella Gencarelli, leave my collection of late slips to Dorothy Walker. As they accumulate, may she ignore them as well as I have. We, the graduating members of the football, baseball, and basketball teams, leave to our successors our spirit of fair-play and team work, and sincerely hope that they will continue to carry Westerly’s banners high. We, Arthur Dionne and Robert Beattie, do not will our places in the Navy to any-

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The Senior Year Book — 1945 they got the break. Lady Luck wasn’t sitting on the Westerly bench that night, but nevertheless, our team showed the up-staters that their heart was in the right place. Long Bob Ulles, who, with his own talent plus the generous support of his teammates, smashed all sorts of state and national records this year, lived up to everything the newspapers had said about him, and did it with a sprained ankle and bad knee, too. He and Joe Si-ciliano were named to the All-Tourney team. To the basketball team—Bob Ulles, Joe Siciliano, Don Barber, Goose Gentile, Skank Pellegrino, and Irv Panciera—our thanks, for giving us a priceless something to look back upon, with pride. There was a momentary lull in sports activities at school, but never fear, we formulated another plan to bring a fresh attack of nervous agitation to our silver-locked professors. The class threw' itself into a mighty dramatic production— “The Barretts.” It was a big job in any man’s language, but we were ready and rarin’ to go. The play is based upon an authentic love affair of the great English poet, Robert Browning, and Elizabeth Barrett. Doris Bradshaw' assisted Miss Evans, our director, and the cast was as follows: Robert Browning—John Lathrop; Elizabeth Barrett—Doris Payne; Henrietta— Jean Phillips; Octavius—Joseph Keegan; Miss Mitford—Doris Rathbun; Capt. Cook —Thomas Salimeno; Cousin John—Richard Owens; Wilson—Barbara Flynn; Ara-bel—Elinor Gray; Milly—Eileen Rea; George Bairett—Thomas Jursa. We are far too modest to elaborate upon the tremendous success of our Senior Play, but it really was a tough job well done. » Our little regiment with its humble deeds has paraded before you. Its sturdy ranks are marching proudly into the battle smoke of tomorrow’. There is an air of fearlessness in those receding shoulders; defiance in the tilt of that chin, and fresh hope in those sparkling eyes, eagerly fixed on far horizons. There is determination in the rhythm of their tread, an untried determination w'hich says, “We shall and w’ill go on to greater heights, and w'rite a far nobler history. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here today, but, God willing, it shall never forget what we do here—tomorrow.” —THE CLASS OF ’45 -«t{ «3 £►-

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Tin; Senior Year Hook — 1945 one, for we are enjoying ourselves thoroughly. I, Vera Parry, generously consent to will my genius for top marks to any one of the Junior girls who feels she can read movie magazines in class and yet carry on the tradition. It’s nice work if you can get it. I, Mary Geary, will my job as ticket manager for the operetta to anyone drafted for the position. (Go light on the aspirins; they’re habit forming.) We, Dot Grispino and Camella Pellegrino, leave our ability to get a ride to school in anything from a Cadillac to a milk-wagon to any Sophomores capable of accomplishing this task. We, “Jeep” Keegan, Sally Briggs, and Joe Murray, leave our devotion to the Democratic party to all the fine, upstanding youngsters who are brave enough to feel as we do, midst these scores of enemy G. O. P. rooters. I, Adele Eusebio, will my referee’s whistle to Anne Clarke, hoping she won’t have to blow it as often as I have. I, Doris Bradshaw, breathing a sigh of relief, joyfully leave my constant bickerings with Mr. Buckley to “the poor kid sister.” We, Dot Murray, Dot Hurtado, and Claire Klemish. bequeath our sales talks, guaranteed to sell the unsellable, to Jean Clarke, Lois Brown, and Esther Bernas-coni. I, Phyllis Cutter, willfully leave my task of picking up any papers on the gym floor to Ruth Collings. May she perform the task as well as 1 have. We, the members of a very successful Senior Board, hereby bequeath our beloved publication to the Juniors, trusting that they will conduct meetings with irreproachable decorum, give their undivided attention to the editor, and pass all material in before the deadline, as we have done (?). I, James Sposato, leave the privilege of spending every spare moment with my little girl friend to anyone who can find a willing partner. We, the Class of ’45, leave to the world our sincere regrets that we couldn’t have been rich instead of having all these brains. We, Rose Gengarelli, Dot McClure, Joyce Woodfield, and “Kit” Greene, bequeath our friendly “chats” with Mr. Stevens to Mary Ellen Tyler. We, of the East-West Club, leave to our new members the task of ironing out difficulties between the Orient and the Occident, and hope, too, that they will be able to stabilize the price of eggs in China. We, Simon Majeika, and Putsy Turco, leave our rare collection of disreputable news publications to any masculine member of the Junior class who enjoys, now and then, a bit of “spicy literature. We, Doris Rathbun, and Theresa Slattery, because of the present housing situation, do hereby lease our much-used “doghouse” to any tenant willing to pay the price. I, Shirley Sisson, leave my undisputed title of “office bench warmer” to my kid sister, Claire, as I have a horrible feeling that she is just a chip off the old block. We, the members of the Dramatic Club, leave only fond memories to our fellow schoolmates who have had the privilege of witnessing our many fine productions: productions celebrated for their depth of thought and artistic finish. After signing this, our last will and testament, we painfully take leave of the greatest high school in the world and the nicest people on the face of the earth. We’ve had quite a struggle in the past three years and, at times, it has seemed that all the odds were against us, but now, looking back, we clearly see the good outweighing the evil, and we do hope our poor, baffled faculty can bestow a friendly glance on our retreating faces. To all the future classes of Westerly High School we leave our love and friendship, with a true devotion for the “old building.” Goodbye for now. Everyone, and all the luck in the world! ELINOR GRAY DORIS RATHBUN JEANNE RAINVILLE PHYLLIS CUTTER —e{