Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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The Senior Year Book. — 1948 a glorious one. We were proud of a wonderful team of “Pic,” “Gene, “Nig,” “Dody,” “Henry,” and Jim who won the Class B Championship and the State Championship. W. H. S. can never forget such fine sportsmen and Coach Jim Federico, whose hard work and expert coaching have produced championship teams. It was questioned whether a senior play would he given, for we were Without a supervisor and director. Mr. Patrick Visgilio, a professional actor, was chosen for the position. The comedy, “Junior Miss,” was chosen along with a very fine cast. The play was an hilarious success. Much credit must be given to Joan Meyer and Bernard Matthews, editor and co-editor respectively for the Barker,” and to the entire Barker staff for the work they have done and for their perseverance which made possible the maintenance of the paper. The band continued to progress in leaps and bounds under the direction of Mr. DeBenedictis The head twirler was Betty Ferrigno. The receiver of the D. A. R. award was Jacqueline Kenyon. The valedictorian and salutator-ian chosen were Joan Meyer and Elly Heyder. Joan was also a finalist in the nation-wide PepsiCola contest. The date for graduation was set for June 16, 1948, the day of farewell to Westerly High. To the Entire Faculty: The class of ’48 gives you many thanks. You have been understanding and lenient in many ways. You taught us much and made our days l'ar from prosaic. We have placed a great value on the guidance and advice you have given us. We shall miss each and every one of you. To the Class of ’48: Our carefree days are over. We have had fun, we have worked hard. We shall miss the friendship we have known for twelve years. These are the memories we shall treasure always. Our high school days, our happiest days, the never-to-be-forgotten days! We face a serious future—one of maintaining peace and security in troubled, unsettled times. We must face these problems with careful forethought, responsible reasoning, and decorum always. May we always cherish within our hearts these fond memories of these joyous school days at W. H. S. and may the realization of the importance of the companionship we have known grow with the passing years. MARY COZZOLINO, Historian Class Prophecy Put on your hat and straighten your shoelaces; in our gorgeous time-machine we’re going places. This astonishing machine was concocted by Matthews, Payne, and Pete Grills—eminent (if mad), scientists, and was painted in maroon and gold stripes by Elly Heyder. Carl Brooks supervised the construction and the placing of the dials. Now Assistant Cherenzia throws the master switch. Lightning flashes! Thunder crashes! The air is filled with the acrid odor of “Tabu”! As the haze clears away, we find ourselves among strange people—our classmates. We seem to be in a bustling metropolis— llopkinton City. Only the New Look can be seen; across the street is a long black skirt, Bobby Welch. Screaming with joy, she rushes toward us. and trips on the white line. Zoom! Squash! “Charlie Cunliffe’s road is patterned with the people he has flattened!” screams Chief Azzinaro, local constable. “She’s still good,” says Jean Harding. “Charlie can use her for a drumhead.” An ambulance screams to a halt; out bounds Doctor Finster, who scoops up Bobby with a spatula. Sighing, we watch Interne Prosser drive her away. Then we step into the peace and quiet of Joseph Nicholas Cugini's Flower Shoppe, but we’re stopped short by another noise. Clank! clank! Professor Den-Den Barber trails past the flower shop window, laboriously dragging his green lunch pail. Joe explains that Ed Murphy has opened a new Boom Bridge Naval Academy and employed Den-Den as Dean. Hannah Whaley and Don Champagne are in a corner of the shop nursing a small wilted petunia in an onion patch. A few customers are standing in the center of the shop, sniffing ecstatically. Despite the blissful expressions we recognize two lovers of beauty—Donald Munger and Phyllis Cambra. “Viola le chrysanthemum,” says Phyllis. A blare of bugles! Throbbing drums! We rush out of the shop to see a gorgeous parade passing in review. Leading are Rosalie Moor-house and Jean Lanphear on white chargers. Behind them follow three twirlers—Betty Ferrigno, Dot Davis, and Connie Grills—with shiny gold batons. Occasionally they trip over their new

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The Senior Year Book — 1948 humanly possible for such an active group, and work was begun. The officers elected that year were President, Kenneth Panciera; Vice President. Andrew Boris; Secretary, James Lamb; and Treasurer, Francis Gencarelli. We were very fortunate to have as our advisor and counselor for three years, Miss Josephine Gernsheimer, to whom we owe our undying gratitude for the help and inspiration she has so readily given us. It appeared that the bashful sophomore boys were women haters—this condition didn t last very long. Our class’ athletic ability was immediately shown during the football season when many of our classmates were on the squad. In fact there wouldn't have been a team without such boys as Walt Nigrelli, “Chief” Azzinaro, Jim Lamb, Johnny Finster, Charlie Browning, Fran Gencarelli, Ken Panciera, “Terpy” Nardone, Joe Monti, Len Holland, Ray Nardone, and Rus Payne supplying practice opposition for the first team. The same story was true with basketball with our own Nig” on the first team, which won the Class B championship that year. The entire Jay-vee team was made up of sophs with just one exception. This was a truly remarkable class. We even shocked the teachers with an occasional paroxysm of intelligence. The rest of the year passed swiftly and uneventfully and was soon over. The sophomore class looked forward to a new and better year as juniors in W. H. S. The Second Year: Time marches on, they say, and with it came September and a new school year. There were many new faces that year, for we were joined by students from Ashaway and Hope Valley, who became our firm and lasting friends. Many events were scheduled to take place during the year. The capable officers chosen were President, Francis Gencarelli; Vice President, Kenneth Panciera; Secretary, Rose Marie Rosso; Treasurer, James Lamb. As usual, we had many athletic stars. The football team came home with the Class B championship. Those who shone especially were Walt Nigrelli, Jim Gulluscio, Pete Grills, Jack Eldridge, Johnny Finster, Dave Robinson, Len Holland, “Chief” Azzinaro, Andy Boris, Ken Panciera, Ed Murphy, “Terpy” Nardone, and Rus Payne. In basketball, through the prodigious efforts of “Nig,” “Gene,” “Jimmy,” “Hendy,” Pic,” and “Dody.” the Class B and State Championships were won. “Nig” was selected as All State and All New England center. In baseball we had Ken Panciera, Jack Eldridge, Pete Grills, and James Gulluscio. During our junior year, we saw the beginning of the W. H. S. band, under the supervision of Mr. Silverman. Twenty-one members of our class were members of the band, and five girls were twirlers. Two girls from the junior class, Maria Li-gouri and Jackie Kenyon, were cheerleaders. Edwin James, a junior, was a member of the cast of “Gold in the Hills,” a play given by the Dramatics Club under the direction of Mr. Crockett. Proceeds were given to the band fund. Ed also won the first prize in the Prize Speaking Contest and third award in the Martha C. Babcock Essay Contest. The most important social event of the year was the Junior Prom held in April. The gym was beautifully and elaborately decorated with an April Shower theme. The prom was a tremendous success—another happy memory. At the science fair in Providence, Elly Heyder was awarded first prize for her casein exhibit. Thus was brought to a close another wonderful year at W. H. S. The Third Year: At last we had reached the height of our glory. With a feeling of elation we resolved never to condescend to lower classmen. We walked about with such complacent looks on our faces as if we were the first ever to reach the senior status. The year was destined to pass much too quickly, or so it appeared. In our last election in high school, we chose as our leaders: President, Francis Gencarelli: Vice President, Ed Murphy; Secretary, Glennis Geyer; Treasurer, Evelyn Reese, and Marshal, Joseph Cugini. We had our usual abundance of stars for the football season. “Cap,” “Gullu,” “Chief,” “Finst,” “Jackpot,” “Artie,” “Pete,” “Russ,” “Andy,’ “Murph,” “Terpy,” “Ken,” “Quatt,” and “Nig” gave their all for the Blue and White. With the end of the football season came the resignation of Mr. Robert Mudge as coach of the team. His wonderful leadership and guidance encouraged the teams on to greater victories than was believed possible. We have been fortunate to have had such a wonderful friend as coach and teacher. With pride we say “Our team was coached by Bob Mudge.” We had an exceptionally fine cheerleading squad made up of Betty Champlin, Glennis Geyer, Catherine Brucker, Marie Pignataro, Lois Lenihan and co-captained by Maria Ligouri and Jackie Kenyon. In October we held our Senior prom, which was another successful, happy event. Basketball season was here again, and it was 3io)s—

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The Senior Year Book — 1948 long skirts, which hang four feet below the knee. And now comes the Hopkinton City Band itself, with gleaming instruments. Rudy Bentlage conducts the new national anthem, “She’s Too Fat for Me with fiery enthusiasm. As the last of the parade disappears around the corner, we find that we are standing outside Robinson’s Miserly Trust Company. Peering through great glass doors we see the bank teller, Lenny Holland, thoughtfully counting new bills, while Artie Matteson sweeps the old ones into the street. Suddenly Eldridge’s great black limousine (with air-conditioning throughout) screeches to a halt at the curb. Gangsters! Guns! Fear strikes our hearts as Jimmy Roche, grim and forbidding, steps out of the car flourishing a rapid-action repeating St. Clair water pistol. With mighty strides he reaches Holland’s window, seizes the bills, and jams them into the pack of his confederate, John Fraser. At this point, Secretary Shirley Perkins, who has been tying her shoe laces, looks up and lets out a horrified scream. Ed James, the local bartender, comes to her rescue, flattening Roche and Fraser with one blow of his great fist. However, his triumph is short-lived, for Jack Eldridge runs in crying, “April Fool!” Tears of disappointment course down our cheeks when we realize it is only a joke. Sobbing uncontrollably we step into an elevator run by Mary Hickson Gavitt. “State three floors to which you wish to be transported, in the order of your preference,” she says quietly. “Second, third or fourth,” we stutter as the elevator shoots to the fifth. We step out and stroll down the long corridor, reading the names on the office doors. The name on the second door catches our eye: Lamb and Rosso—Ballroom Dancing. We fling open the door. Thirty or forty pupils are gazing rapturously at Jimmy Lamb, who is doing an Irish jig. Bob Buteau accompanies him on the harp with the “Irish Washerwoman.” In a quieter corner Rose Marie is leading suffering pupils in the two-step. “That’s terrible!” she cries suddenly. “These are my only bright pupils.” Gully and Cap blush rosily. We close the door quietly. On the next door is the simple legend, “Don’t Know, Do Ya?” Intrigued, we peek inside. Amanda Denison, Nona Geary, Catherine Brucker, and Maria Ligouri, public stenographers, are typing at a furious rate. In the center of the room stands Billy Hall with a fiendish grin. He has just fed Martha LaMarche into the jaws of an enormous adding machine. Eleanor Uzzi and Lucy Vuono are filing letters close by, unaware that the same fate awaits them. We start to protest, but Janitor William Autry stops us. “Leave Bill alone,” he says. “Just innocent fun.” At the next office Earle Travis greets us, beaming with delight. “I’ve just encased Evie in plastic,” he announces proudly. “My assistants, Monti, Martell, and Main, can hardly wait for her to jell.” We back out hastily, bumping into Gordon Greene. “I’m late!” he cries in a distraught voice and rushes down the corridor. “He manufactures alarm clocks,” volunteers Joe Gaccione, popping up at our elbows. Joe explains that he is going to the dentist in the next office. But already there is a long waiting line outside the dentist’s door. Joe points out Gene, a doctor. “He’s very successful.” says Joe. “Patients visit him only once.” Next in the long line of aching jaws is Betty Champlin, who runs Chow Foo, a Chinese restaurant; her cashier, Marge Edmonds, and several of her customers—Anita Gaccioch, Elizabeth Clarke, and Charlotte Potter. At the end is Tom Henderson, bent over double. “His little car gave him a permanent twist,” says Joe sadly. But who is this dentist? How does she attract all these people? Martha Biss, a crisp starched receptionist, opens the door. “You may all come in now,” she murmurs sweetly. In we rush, trampling her carelessly. The dentist is none other than Glennis Geyer. Don Barber and Grant Ralls, famous sign-painters, have just hung her motto on the wall—“Painless extraction or your money back.” In the chair is Loretta W’eston, shivering with fright. “Nothing to it,” smiles Glennis reassuringly, reaching for her pliers. Again we take our leave hastily. Deciding against the elevator, we patter down the stairs. At the foot is Charlie Peterson. I’m going to fix it so the stairs go up instead of down,” he chuckles. We step out into the fresh sunny air once more. There we see Joan Meyer, with her ice cream wagon. “I'm a Good Humor Man at last,” she sighs contentedly. “Good girl, Joan,” shouts Tony Piccolo from across the street. “He and Walt Nigrelli are expert telephone linesmen, because they’re so tall they save the trouble of climbing the poles,” explains Joan. We nod and move on. A great automobile warehouse comes into view filled with jet-propelled cars—Floyd’s Flashy Fort Fleet, obviously. Outside the warehouse stands a bright blue Model A. Alfred Kennedy and Artie Grills are shining the headlights; Lihou checks the air pressure in the tires. Underneath the car Mechanics Moore and Obermann are playing checkers. Floyd appears in a tall silk hat. “Want to come to a wedding with me? My chauffeur, Ken Panciera, will drive us.” We accept; Arthur Nardone opens the car door for us. Down the street we hurtle, narrowly missing Shirley West, who is herding Margaret Savy’s