Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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THE CHIPMUNK Page Seventeen I am on the quest for the governor. I have been sent to interview this great personage. I admire the beautiful capitol building as I climb its steps. Soon I am at the governor’s door, and I set myself for the ordeal. The unexpected happens, however, for as I open the door, there sits Betty Fowler, the first woman governor of California. Barely surviving the shock I make my way into the gallery of the senate chamber. Who is this woman in the senatorial body who is now speak- ing.' Who is the silver-tongued orator? Upon inquiry I am surprised to find that it is Marjorie Champ. The scene again changes. I find myself in a lady’s shop. Judging by the number of customers gathered within its doors, it is a mighty popular one. As I watch fashion mannequins modeling coats and gowns, the two proprietors approach. There seems to be something familiar about these two ladies. Sure enough it is La Verne Payne and Vesta Ford, now selling latest creations from Paris in a fashionable New York shop. I am on a college campus. Students pass to and from classes. This must be a girls’ school, for as yet I have not found a single boy upon the grounds. As I enter one of the stately buildings, I peer into a class- room and whom do I see but Evelyn Utz. She has received her college degree and is now a full-fledged college professor. My greatest shock is yet to come for upon visiting the office of the president I find that she is Adelyn Stout. Suddenly I hear someone swear loudly and fervently behind me. I hen Bert exclaims, “Gosh, Hal, these bugs surely do bite! My com- panion is none other than Bert Ricketts. We are in darkest Africa, making a name for ourselves in big game hunting. As we are talking, we are charged by two rhinos and find ourselves looking into their jaws. Then Les punched me in the back, awakening me and saving Bert and I from a terrible death. H. R. H. ’28.

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Page Sixteen THE CHIPMUNK Senior Proptjejsy The day was a hot one. As the sun beat down, it cast a drowsy blanket over everything. As I sat thinking, I dozed off to sleep. Strange things began to pass before my mind. I see a baseball park with cheering thousands in the stands and players dashing to and fro. The umpire announces the batteries for the Giants. I hear the names Ricketts and Wilson. Can it be possible? Sure enough the pitcher and catcher are “Les” and “Twinkletop” of high school days, and I see, from the heated conflab they are engaged in, that they get along as well as they used to. Suddenly the cheering ceases and dead silence follows. Nurses are moving noiselessly about in the white operating room. A figure lies upon the table. The great surgeon is performing a dangerous oper- ation. Soon the nervous tension is replaced by one of relief, for Dr. Walfred Dick has again conquered death. Dancers appear and move gracefully across a polished hardwood floor. As 1 look on with interest, I decide that I am looking upon a dancing school. In one corner of the ballroom I find a dancing in- structor. How surprised I am to discover that she is Marie Phelan. Crowds are proclaiming a new actress. Within a great theatre of a city, seated thousands are expectantly waiting for the new show to begin. At the box office the management is turning thousands away. As I see the great electric signs flashing into the night, 1 nearly have a heart attack, for in glowing letters is the name of a famous actress, Lois Taylor. Leaving the theatre I find myself within a science laboratory. I behold a man of science, bent over his work and an assistant at his side. I can tell by his quick breathing that the crisis has come in his experiment. Then he slowly raises his head, a broad smile on his face, lie has another scientific victory. I recognize Lyle Thunen. I am in the midst of a scene of industry. Derricks are swinging and whistles screeching as a great skyscraper thrusts its head into the sky. I marvel at the systematic care with which everything is done. As I meet the officials of the construction job, I almost lose my footing on a steel girder, for the chief engineer is Clarence Jacobsen, himself. I find myself in a great city newspaper building. As I pass through the printing department, the great presses are fairly humming. Then I make my way into another part of the building where I find the editors of the various departments. I find only one woman editor, and great is my surprise to find that she is Nettie Perine, now society editor for the New York Sun.

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Page Eighteen THE CHIPMUNK Senior Cla Will We, the solemn and prudent seniors of nineteen hundred and twen- ty-eight, not wishing to totally deprive our beloved school of our en- lightening presence and talents, do hereby will and bequeath to certain students of our alma mater the following things: I, Marjorie Champ, do hereby will and bequeath my becoming smile to Hilda Ward. I, Walfred Dick, do hereby will and bequeath to Bob Gleason my ability to play tennis, though he really doesn’t need it. I, Vesta Ford, do hereby will and bequeath my height to Freda Bryant. I, Betty Fowler, to Elba Miller, do hereby will and bequeath my slender figure. I, Harold Hull, do hereby will and bequeath my large gum fact- ories to Maxine Stutchman. May she profit by them! I, Clarence Jacobsen, do hereby will and bequeath to William Watson my ability in all athletic sports. I, La Verne Payne, do hereby bequeath my avoirdupois to Donalda Felion. I, Nettie Perine, do hereby will and bequeath to Grace Rosecrans, my graceful dancing. I, Marie Phelan, to Ruth Bush, do hereby bequeath my black hair and charming smile to go with it. I, Bert Ricketts, do hereby will and bequeath my prowess as an actor to Marjorie Woolman. I, Lester Ricketts, being of unsound mind and light head, do here- by will and bequeath my knowledge of student body affairs to anyone who can grasp it. I, Lois Taylor, do hereby will and bequeath my fondness for in- sects and other “ani-mules” to Alice Rosecrans. I, Adelyn Stout, do hereby will and bequeath my regular attend- ance to Bob Jones. I, Lyle Thunen, do hereby will and bequeath my stout figure to Faith Mullen. I, Gordon Wilson, do hereby will and bequeath my red hair to Aleda Knudsen. C. J. ’28.