Winooski High School - Carillon Yearbook (Winooski, VT)

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securing my own way. I, Howard Vuley, leave to Audrey Provost, my books with no covers to pass the time pleasantly. I, Thelma Mercure, leave to William Gregorek, what every young boy dreams of, my personality. I, Hugh Fitzgerald, leave to Beverly Francis, my truck, to bring her to school on time. I, Geneva Dashnow, leave to Albert Sweeney, my passion for going out steady. I, Marcel Fregeau, leave to Elaine Merchant, my book on “How to Attain Perfect Rhythm While Walking.’’ I, Jeannine Gauthier, leave to Lorraine Limoge, my Colgate smile. I, Donald Germain, leave to Robert Rabidoux, my love for photography, and I, Donald Campbell, leave him my X-ray eyes in order that he may appreciate its possibilities. I, Jacqueline Sullivan, leave to Janet Bouffard, a pint of my Irish blood. I, Theresa St. Jacques, leave to Paul- ine Bergeron, my speed and accuracy in typing. I, Claire Gamelin, leave to Irene Charland, a year’s supply of crackling, crunching, munchy, chewing gum. I, Barbara Gabbeitt, leave to Anita Quintin, my distracting red shoes to match her hair. I, Ernest Granger, leave to Rita Landry, all the pleasures I have enjoyed during my Senior year. I, Norman Bergeron, leave to any class wishing to go on a field trip, my blacksmith’s shop, with the sign over the door reading, “Quiet please, cow sleeping.” I, Janet Chicoine, leave to the W.H.S. Glee Club, my lilting voice. I, Bernard Companion, leave to the future members of the W.H.S. basketball team, my green and grey sweat shirts. There are enough of them to outfit the whole team. I, Edwin Chrystowski, leave to any Junior driver, my obsession for locking bumpers. I, Robert Greenough, and I, Ernest Sejftnour, leave to the Junior Class, our bachelor days. I, Joseph Jacobs, leave to any young enterprising Junior, my grocery store and my Dutch accent. I, James Jenot, leave to the Junior boys, my discharge button, to be shared when needed. I, Paul Kane, leave to any small Junior girl, my record “Little Girl.” It was bought for a Sophomore, by the way. I, James Myers, leave to the gossip column of the Junior Journal, my “nose for news.” I, Kenneth Myers, leave to any Junior, my knack of slipping out of class to buy a popsicle. I, Robert Racine, leave to the entire school, the memory which enables me to bring my Report Card back on time. I, Richard Sweeney, leave to any stag boy in the Junior Class, my collection of beautiful women as my wife doesn’t approve of my hobby. I, Donald Lacharite, Mr. America of the class of “50” leave my breathtaking physique to any deserving Junior boy or girl. I, Bette Niles, leave to any needy student, my roadmap to Mr. Couture’s office and seven easy lessons on “ How to come out smiling.” To Mrs. Long, our class advisor, and to Mr. Couture, we leave the utmost affection and gratitude, and the fervent hope that the class of 1951 will strive to be as good a class as we have been. We hereby appoint the said class of 1951, executors erf our last will and testament, jointly with Mrs. Long and Mr. Couture, and the Honorable Board of Education. Signed The Class of 1950 Bette Niles

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TESTAMENTUM CLASSIS To Whom It May Concern Now that the class of 1950 is about to leave this sphere of activity it devolves upon the members thereof to put their desks in order, set the classroom to rights, and make disposition of these treasures that must be left behind. Therefore, representing the class of 1950, I have prepared the following document. But right here, a word of explan- ation. A will made in proper form always stipulates, first of all: “After the payment of my just lawful debts.’’ Classmates, in- solvency threatens, for we are indebted to parents, to other members of our families, and to the Board of Education. Then there is our debt to Uncle Sam, who is “rich enough to send us all to school.’’ Our moun- tains of obligations would be a crushing load were it not that our future usefulness is the insurance policy which guarantees, this payment of cur “just and lawful debts.’’ So, to our creditors, we pledge our future service, loyalty and labor. To the class of 1951, we give, devise, and bequeath certain chattels and properties 4 to wit: “The use of Room 16 and its furnish- ings for one year. See that you take proper care of them, and hand them down to your successors in as good condition as you pred- ecessors have turned them over to you. This room has housed for the past year a vast amount of industry, ambition, honesty, help- fulness, courage and other class virtues. Cherish the class spirit we leave behind for in so doing you may hope to equal the fame of the class of 1950 and be the source of as much pride as we are to parents, friends, and teachers. Upon consultation it has been deter- mined that the rear right corner seat is the most desirable one, being most protected from the teacher’s eye in case a weary and famishing student desires a nap or lunch. A student given to such late retiring and arising that his sleep is curtailed and his breakfast abolished should make strenuous efforts to secure this strategic point, em- ploying such tactics as will not betray his eagerness to possess it. I will now mention the following person- al bequests. I, Mary Jane Arcand, leave to Joyce Shiner, My diet, as I have finished with it, long ago. I, Beverly Best, leave to Norman Poulin, my knack of making money selling hot dogs, part time. I, Mary Brown, leave to Paul Lister, my ability to swing without missing. I, Stella Bergeron, leave to Gerald Seymour, my efficient manner. I, Una Brunelle, leave to Colleen Dillon, my yen for little men. I, Richard Cadieux, leave to Shirley Fitzgerald, the art of disguising my hand- writing. I, Jacqueline Carpentier, leave to Aline Hatin, my skirts, so that she too, may have the new look. I, Helen Debarge, leave to Donald Ignaszewski, my name in exchange for his. I, Barbara Decarreau, leave to Mary Leveillee, my rust corduroy skirt, as its twin is graduating. I, Eleanor Garrow, leave to Theresa Julian, my athletic prowess and all that goes with it. I, Rodney Germain, leave to Norman Moquin, my intelligent look to be used in Chemistry class. I, Blanche Harris, leave to Betty Lister, my petiteness. I, Constance Jarvis, leave to William Daley, my yen for getting in early. I, Andre Leblanc, leave to William Arcand, the sparkplugs from my car. Try them on the Mercury. I, Richard Langlais, leave to Marion Sallah, my president’s chair to use as she sees fit. I, Margaret Leclair, leave to Jacqueline Bergeron, my sultry look, which aids me in

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HISTORIA CLASSIS A Page From History The story of our life reads like a thrilling tale of a western movie, or a story in a true story magazine. The brave deeds and great accomplishments we have failed to record in this brief narrative would fill all the inooski High School library. We have omitted many of these facts for the benefit of those English students who dislike reference work, and out of respect for the wishes of the history students who dislike the idea of remembering dates. Before continuing with the main plot, we shall tell some of the things we have done. We have not endorsed any toothpaste advertisements. We have not written any best-seller novels. We have not yet achieved stardom in the talkies. We have not invented a way for students to get high grades without working, although we have figured out a method that works fairly well under certain c ircum stances. Before you begin to think this is a game of “Guess Who,” we shall get into the plot proper of this story. We first started on our road to fame as youngsters only six years of age. Our first lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic were taken under the direction and supervision of Miss Ella O’Brien, who showed us how to make a, b, and c; she taught us how to count from one to ten, and many other interesting things. There were thirty six-year-old youngsters in our first grade. One fine day we found ourselves in front of a great big door that said, “Second graders admitted here.” In we went, and by the time we had seen all there was to see and had learned all there was to know, we found ourselves in Room 3. We played around for several months in Room 3 with Mrs. Hardacre, who proved to be a fine playmate and who knew just lots and lots about numbers and reading. And while we associated with her, we learned much about them too. Time passed. We were growing fast, and that’s the reason we made the fourth grade with flying colors and came to the portals of a great castle called the Castle of the Knight of Know- ledge on Highway Number Five. We liked this castle so well that the Knight invited us to remain as his guests for several months, which we did. While there, we learned much about how to put letters together to make words, in a game called “Spelling.” This was a fascinating game. However, we ran out of words after playing several games. One day we were touring and came to a sign which said, “You are now half- way between here and there.” There were twenty-five of us in the touring party. We all wondered what the sign m eant until one of the boys said it meant that we had reached the end of the Sixth Mile Post on the Highway of Education.