Western Canada High School - Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

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BOOK Page fifty-seven seemed to be in great distress. This was Marion Salmon who appeared to have lost something. I wondered what it was, but understood when I noticed that she had no halo. My observations were interrupted by Bercuson who said, “You’ll have lots of time to meet them later. Come with me, I have something to show you.” We went in, and I followed him down a long corridor upon each side of which doors opened. Two of these doors were ajar. I stopped outside the first, and hearing strains of music, I opened the door wider and peeked in. I saw a small orchestra which was playing Chopin’s snappy “Dead March.” Ruth Benedict on the Piccolo was accompanied by Helen and Marion Aikenhead on the telephone, Nora Williams on the gigg lephone and Jessie Lees on gum. I closed the door, and moved on to the next room. This was furnished with two chairs, a table upon which several different kinds of cheese had been placed; a long bench covered with chemical apparatus, an operating table and a grindstone. Dick Sharpies and Douglas Stuart were busy eating cheese. Asleep on the operating table, his fea¬ tures contorted with agony, lay Robert Brews. I felt quite sorry for him. Fraser Macalister was turning the grindstone while Robert Hood bent over it with a Latin text book. Hardly believing my eyes I asked Leonard what they were doing. He informed me that the first three were experimenting to remove the nightmare from cheese, while Hood and Macalister are grinding Lenzes for the Bridge Club. Pass¬ ing on down the corridor, we stopped in front of one of the doors. Bercuson said, “This will be your room while you stay here. I hope you like it.” He unlocked the door, and I stepped inside. My first suspicion of foul play came when the door slammed behind me. Smelling an onion I leaped around and tried to open it, but it was locked. I shouted, and thumped upon the door and walls, but all of no avail. The room was padded! Mr. Pulleyblank—“Look more closely at your books. Pm at (c).” Mr. Harding—“Name a transparent object.” Marion Ruppe—“A doughnut.” Miss Sage—“We borrowed our numerals from the Arabs, our calendar from the Romans, our banking from the Italians. Can anyone think of any further examples?” Bill Russell—“Our lawnmower from the Smith’s, our snow-hovel from the Jones’s, our baby carriage from the Brown’s.” s H Miss James—“Order, please.” Alfred Groberman (sleepily)—“Apple pie and coffee.” Mr. Stewart—“Take four out of five, and what have you got?” Crichton—“Pyhorrhoea.” Mr. Kankaroo—“But Mary, where is the baby?” Mrs. Kangaroo—“Good heavens! I’ve had my pocket picked.” Johnny was sent to the doctor with this note: “Please will you do something for Johnny’s face; he has had it a long time and it’s spreading.”

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Page fifty-six YEAR lly the Itearfo nf tlip Jfriipltrt—GHaisa 1 Hy PHILIP HADFIELI) After a peaceful week-end at Chicago, whither I had journeyed on behalf of the Vicker’s Munitions Co., I decided to pay a visit to my home-town Calgary. Imagine my surprise and gratitude when I beheld at the station Armand Powlett who came forward to greet me. However, I was still more surprised when he pulled forth a blue-nosed automatic, saying, “You are the last; Pu Manchu is avenged!” and shot me dead. My next sensation was one of delightful airiness, and opening my eyes, I perceived that I was floating through space. Somewhat startled that I should thus defy the laws expounded by Mr. Flick, I looked over my shoulder and perceived that I had a nice pair of white wings. Greatly pleased, I flapped them back and forth, and sped through the air like an arrow. 1 was brought to a sudden halt by bumping into something hard. I turned around and beheld Jack Love, a bumptious lad, who had at last achieved his ambition to speed 600 m.p.h. Continuing on my way, 1 arrived at a glistening palace of Gold, which was built on a cloud. 1 rang the golden bell, and the door opened to admit me. A butler, clothed in butter, relieved me of my wings, and respectfully kicked me in the face. I was displeased to recognize Basil Cole. I was just about to wander into the main hall when I saw Solomon Lipkind and Walter Johns coming towards me. They received their wings from Basil and went out the door. As they passed me, I heard a snatch of conversation. Said Solomon, “Walter, what is a cynic?” Walter looked vaguely apprehensive, but brightening up, replied, “Oh, I know. A cynic is something you wash dishes in.” After this episode, I sauntered through the hall, and, seeing a door, I opened it and found myself in a large room liberally but tastefully furnished with cockroaches. The first thing to greet me here was a speech: “My dear Comrades, I must draw your attention to the fact that the present condition of the gates of Heaven is most deplorable. St. Peter is much too strict. Why, our good friends Ella Christensen, Mary McKill, Dorothy Mercer and Betty Sitlington would not be here at all, were it not for the fact that they managed to slip by him disguised, as the eye of a needle, singing ‘Carolina Moon.’ Even now we are receiving frantic radiograms from Arthur Davis and John Stevenson to tell us that they cannot get in. A crisis has arisen which must be squelched!” The orator was Bercuson, and his audience—Margaret. Webster, Sadie Grainger and Vincent Allan—bit their nails by way of approbation. Bercuson turned around, and seeing me, came forward saying: “My dear sir, I am very pleased indeed to see you. Allow me to escort you around our humble palace.” Willingly I complied, and we began to ascend a long spiral staircase. On the way up I inquired after the rest of my classmates. “Well, I cannot tell you about them all,” he said, “but Paula Mayhood and Alice Belkin are shelling water-lilies for Sunshine; while Aileen McCullough, Iris Kingston and Grace Cummings have gone to visit infinity for a term—the (n + l)th I believe. Lorraine Hunter, Madeline Austin and Kathleen Smith are at present engaged in finding out by statistics how often ‘Once in a blue moon’ occurs. They also want to know why it is ‘blue.’ ” “No, not actuary!” I exclaimed. “’Pun my word,” he retorted. By this time we had reached the top of the staircase, and found ourselves on the roof of the palace. Fleecy clouds were floating all about us, some of which were crying, much to the annoyance of some of the angels who were flitting around below them. I scanned the horizon to see if I could pick out any Western Canada angels, when sure enough I beheld three of them. Grace Egleston was having wing trouble, and Paul McLeod and Gordon Beavers were rushing to her aid with parachutes. Simultaneously I perceived John Chaston drive a fried egg- 200 yards with his brassie. It was a perfect shot. The egg landed on a ham and Carman Johnson flew away sizzling with rage. I noticed another angel, also, who

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Page fifty-eight YEAR Honor Standing for Both Terms Arthur Davis (1), Walter Johns (1), John Chaston (1), Robert Brews (1), Richard Sharpies (1), Robert Hood (1), John Stevenson (1), Paula Mayhood (1), Margaret Webster (1), Wallace Joyce (2), Staave Kruse (2), Joseph Walker (2), Mildred Fyten (2), Isabel McRoberts (3), Doris Ambler (3), John Hall (3), Sam Kaplan (4), Eleanor West (4), Bessie Hacker (4), Ella Noble (6), Mary Picken (6), Hiroshi Kuwahara (6), Maxine Fox (6), Gordon Buchanan (6), John Irvine (6), George Bass (6), Spencer Cumming (6), Robert Barron (6), Rothnie Bell (7), Elizabeth Fee (7), Geraldine Mavor (7), Margaret Wallis (7), Mary Davidson (7), Toby Katzin (7), David Collier (7), Harcourt Smith (7), Maurice Groberman (7), Lily Waterman (7), Vivian Clarke (7), Frances Cadzow (7), Frank Johnson (7), Lloyd Hutton (7), Howard Patton (8), Daisy Robb (8), Margaret Colley (8), Jack Marshall (9), Graham Sexsmith (9), Sandy Mackenzie (10), Joan Mayhood (10), Alma Bercov (11), Doreen Clapperton (11), Margaret McFarlane (11), Audrey Baxter (11), Lloyd Smith (11), Charlotte Hoyt (11), Jean Anderson (11), Muriel Valk (11), Aileen Macfarlane (11), Duncan Campbell (11), Arthur Bums (11), Rhoda Porter (11), Muriel Harvey (11), Dorothy Hutton (11), Templeton Hugill (11), Stanley James (11), Winnifred Chalmers (11), Thomas Pinder (11), Doris Stewart (11), Doris Newman (11), William Russell (11), Margaret Humphries (11) , Basil Godfrey (12), Betty McMillan (12), Tom Dixon (12), Marion Egleston (12) , Margaret Rhodes (12), Jack Simmons (14), Paul Zabok (15). Honor Standing for One Term Madeline Austin (1), Helen Aikenhead (1), Ruth Benedict (1), Lorraine Hunter (1), Leonard Bercuson (1), Fraser Macallister (1), Vincent Allen (1), Mary McKill (1), Aileen McCullough (1), Marion Aikenhead (1), Paul Macleod (1) , Helen Higley (2), Charles Macqueen (2), Daisy Ambury (2), William Barron (2) , Harold Nelson (2), John Biddell (3), Robert Wright (3), Frances Holditch (3) , Eva McTavish (4), Lois Brooks (4), Alex Crichton (5), Lucy Vanderhoorn (6), Frank Iwama (6), Betty Black (6), Sydney Mitchell (6), Gertrude McAulay (6) , Barbara Jarman (6), Marjorie Bagnall (7), Robert Taylor (7), Jessie Skene (7) , William Yule (7), Kenneth Robertson (7), Evelyn McLean (8), Margaret Nancarrow (8), Kathleen Lovell (8), Margaret Robertson (11), Flora Gibb (11), Ruth Clendenan (11), Stanley Hartroft (11), Dorothy McCaig (11), Joe Simon- ton (11), Donald Irving (11), Viriginia Cook (11), Maclean Jones (12), Arthur Miller (12), Betty Gilroy (13), Margaret Clutterbuek (13), Violet Wilson (15), Arthur Gill (15), John Miller (15), Vera Noble (15). Our idea of a monologue is a conversation between a late student and Mr. Stanley. $ He—“I want two pillow cases.” She—“What size?” He—“1 dunno. I wear a 714 hat.” The novelist’s son had just been punished for telling ' a lie. His sobs having died away, he sat for a while in silent thought. “Pa,” said he, “how long will it take before I stop gettin’ licked for tellin’ lies, and get paid for ’em like you do?” Little Girl—“Did Santa Claus come down your chimney?” Little Boy—“Well, Santa Claus didn’t . . . we’re economizing this year, so Daddy did.”