Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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Tiif. Senior Year Book — 1948 25 children across the street. The car begins the wobble—a flat tire! We halt, dismayed, but Muscle-Man Brainard comes to our rescue. Holding the car up with one hand, he removes the tire with the other. His wife Lila stands by wringing her hands in terror. Marie Pignataro runs up and inquires whether Charlie would like a handkerchief with which to wipe his fingers. Once more we proceed on our way. Now we arrive at a magnificent church. From within come the melodious strains of Browning’s Sonata, sung by Myrtle Stapleton. Rosalyn Giardino accompanies her on the organ. Biswurm and Boris, the altar boys, have burnt their fingers on the candles. The Reverend Father Joseph Abosso stands at the altar. Down the aisle bounces Fluffy Lenihan, strewing rose petals. Slowly, sedately, Chick and Jack Harrison, the happy pair, trip down the aisle. Owen Scott is obviously best man; opposite him is Doris Simpson, maid of honor. Behind them Gordon Burrell and Doug Clark support a pillow bearing a fifty-carat diamond. Eagerly we scan the faces in the crowded church. In striped tails and cutaway is Louis Ferendo, the local lighthouse keeper. Next to him, dressed entirely in green, is Ann Lamb, society editor of Cozzolino Blah, the morning paper. Three rows back, Jacky Kenyon is standing on her head. “My feet are tired.’ she murmurs. The wedding proceeds smoothly until Rev. Abosso says, “IF there be anyone with objections let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” “I object.” cries Catherine Gencarelli. “On what grounds?” demands Rev. Abosso. “I saw him first,” she declares. The church is in an uproar. Lawyer Malagrino soothes her. “Remember, you’re already engaged to George Quat-tromani, Ernest Paterno, and Nat Gabriele.” “That’s right, I forgot,” says Catherine thoughtfully. The noise subsides. Jack kisses his bride and the wedding is over. Outside the church we wave gaily at Marge Dinwoodie and Nancy Hazard, who swoop by in a helicopter, singing at the top of their lungs. Across the street is a billboard. Raymond Ritchie, Kenny Brightman, and Richard Hinch-liffe are busily pasting a great sign on it. Vote for the honest letter-writer—Moby Dick for President !” Several onlookers are cheering wildly. Overcome with emotion, Helen Sposato faints, and is promptly revived by Georgiana Fenner, who pours water over her briskly. “My hairdo is ruined,” wails Helen, wringing herself dry. She hastens down the street toward Theresa Cayer’s Beauty Salon. We follow and watch Terry welcome her. “Give me the works!” cries Helen. Immediately Dot Salimeno seats her in a leather chair and cranks her up. Terry gets the curlers. Betty Taylor, who has been quietly swinging on the chandelier, drops down and begins to manicure Helen’s fingernails. We hear snatches of gossip. “Did you know that Madeline Rossi and Lucille Palmer have a new car with the steering wheel in the trunk? Makes the front seat lots more roomy.” “Jane Rae was elected water commissioner yesterday. She’s going to rearrange all the water pipes.” “Dot Marra’s little boy swallowed three tacks this morning. Lea Dobson, the child nurse, had to shake him upside-down for three hours before he would spit them out.” “Ooooh, look!” At this point all the girls scramble to the window, sighing yearningly. Bob Turco is passing by. Bob Turco—the greatest basketball star of them all; 108 baskets in his last game! Opposing teams sob like babies when Bob strides onto the court! Bob Gauvin, twirling four golf clubs at one time, conducts Peggy Emerson, Dot Adamo, and Margaret Algiere in a rousing cheer. “Yea! Rah, rah! Bob!” Clara Colbert leads us all in a hilarious jitterbug down the street. Finally we collapse gleefully on the curb, still cheering madly for Bob. Lois Terranova, R. N., passes out cough drops to us hoarse cheerers. We’re very hot and dusty; all at once the same thought strikes each of us. Down we race to Melissa Fenner’s swimming pool where we find all our old classmates have gathered. “Last one in is a hard-boiled egg!” screams Mike Gardella. But at the very edge of the diving board we halt. It’s time to return to 1948. Regretfully we wave goodbye to everyone and reluctantly climb back into our faithful time machine. Lightning flashes! Thunder crashes! We’re back in ’48 again! After this prophecy your faces have brightened. Could it be that you’ve been enlightened? We’ve visited the future, and are not to be scorned; When 1960 comes, don't say you weren’t warned! JOAN MEYER BERNARD MATTHEWS JACQUELINE KENYON IAN ST. CLAIR

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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

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The Senior Year Book — 1948 Class Will We, the class of 1948, having ended our three years of learning at this memorable institution, do, in parting, bequeath to our underclassmen, the possessions which have been a living part of our school life. As a class, we leave our gratitude and appreciation to the faculty for their patient hours spent in helping us to prepare for the future. To our underclassmen we leave the sinceie wish that they will derive as many pleasant benefits from their years at Westerly High as we have derived. „ „ . . We, Lou Cappuccio and Jim Gulluscio, leave our bonds of friendship to Angelo Sanquedolce and Tommy Toscano. I, Tommy Henderson, do leave my little wagon to Bill Reynolds (at least mine has a roof on it!)- . , i i We, Lois Lenihan and Maria Ligouri, do bequeath our vocal abilities to Trilby Bennett and Ann Lazzaro for use in cheerleading tryouts. I, Joan Meyer, leave my intelligence to Roberta Wilcox of the Sophomore Class. 1, Walter George Nigrelli, bestow my athletic ability upon Tony Liguori. I, “Chief” Azzinaro. leave my title of ‘Personality Kid” to Frank Nicosia. I. Jackie Kenyon, bequeath my smile to Marilyn Panciera. I, Tony Piccolo, leave my ability to make a joke out of everything to any junior who enjoys life as much as I do. I, Joe Cugini, leave my handsomeness and ability to attract females, to the underclassman who thinks himself capable of filling my shoes. I, Nellie Sposato, bestow my late slips upon Ronnie Gardiner. We, Betty Ferrigno and Rosalie Moorhouse, leave our loyalty to each other to Joyce Finizio and Gilda Liguori. I, Bobby Welch, leave my neatness to Kay Turano. I, Glennis Geyer, leave my white uniforms to future dental assistants. I, Lenny Holland, leave my friendship with Mr. Foster to John Terranova. I, Ken Prosser, bestow my “mad chemist” activities along with a life insurance policy upon Mooney Connors. I, Ed Murphy, leave my title of “Mayor of Canonchet” to my sister Anne. I, Art Matteson, leave my square dancing technique to any junior boy who likes to dance. I, Russ Payne, bequeath my fireman’s badge to anyone else who likes red trucks. I, Marguerite Edmonds, leave my knowledge of Kenyon to Bobbie Sisson. I, Jackpot Eldridge, leave my precious car to Johnny Tasca. I, Doris Davis, bestow my shyness upon Dag-mar Baldwin. We, Jackie Harrison and Margaret Chicoria, bequeath our thoughtfulness in providing taxi service for panting teachers, to any junior capable of providing transportation before 8 a. m. 1, Rudy Bentlage, bestow the honor of being band soloist upon Gene Wright — provided he promises to practice faithfully every day—as I have done! I, Charles Brainard, leave my Tarzan-like agility on gym apparatus to that promising young man—Victor Grasso. We, Georgianna and Melissa Fenner, bestow our skill in manipulating calories upon Jane Terranova. I, Jim Lamb, bequeath my Stonington acquaintances to Wally Radicioni. I, Billy Hall, leave my “only man in the commercial division” distinction to Matthew Serra. I, Alfred (George) Kennedy, leave my girlish blushes to Tommy Sminky. 1, Francis Gencarelli, bequeath my alcove to Leonard Brown. I, Denison Barber, leave my 4-H activities to Charles James. I, Edwin James, leave my oratorical abilities to Ronnie Jursa. I, Jean Lanphear, bestow my extra inches upon Priscilla Greene. (She might need them!) I, Betty Champlin. leave my bangs to Eleanor Pendola. We, the commercial division, leave our trips downtown to the next class, provided they don’t mind walking through snowdrifts. I, Marie Pignataro, bequeath my job after school to anyone who can take it. I, Catherine Brucker, leave my job in the office to Martha Schwarz. I, Mary Cozzolino, bestow my quietness and ability to keep out of trouble upon Anna Booka-taub. I, Bob Turco, leave my job as team manager to Anthony Giordano. We, Lucy Vuono and Martha Boss, leave our positions at the Activity Window to Joyce Parker and Joan Woodfield of the Junior class ... if they can make it by 8 o’clock! To the classes of ’49 and ’50 we leave our best wishes for success and happiness in the future. JAMES LAMB GLENNIS GEYER FRANCIS GENCARELLI