JUNE 8, 1972

Seniors Will Possessions As Final Day Approaches

To the School

I, Dee Dee Scarff, will to this marvelous institution for the further advancement of academic excellence and higher secondary education, a bucket of sand and a seashell.

I, Kim Schlichting, will to the school my warm (?) personality

I, Jan Rudy, will good fortune and good wealth to the school.

I, Sue Meiling, will to the school my sack lunches from home. As I leave this school, it is the only gift it deserves.

I, Rick Matuszczak, will my much coveted i.d. that I keep in a most honored place (the left pit of my gym uniform) to the school.

I, Kevin McCalIum, will my ambition to go to breakfast to the school.

I, Steven Johnson, will the two patches of rubber in the parking lot to the school.

I, Robert Dadabo, will a case of Glade air freshener to the indoor track.

I, Jim Polanek, will to the school my guitar solo which I never got to play at the all school music assembly, which was cancelled anyway.

I, John Bohlin, will to this school what I have received from it.

I, Tom Hanna, will my seat in S-201 to the school to be used as furniture in the senior lounge.

To Teachers

I, Kurt Raack, will to Mr. Mattson, who needs it very much, my understanding of the school system.

I, Tom Hinde, will to Mr. Jacob Jerger all my roaches.

I, Dave Beeson, will to Mr. Bailey dance lessons at Arthur Murray's Dance Studio.

I, Carol Nickel, will to Mrs. Redwine all the cooperation to her next government class like she had with her second period class.

I, Donna Huff, will to Mr. Norris understanding for future classes. He needs it desperately; he understands no one.

I, Laurey McAvoy, will to Mr. Gould the conditional grade, for which I am truly grateful.

I, Maria Cybulski, will to my anonymous, tall, but too slender clothing teacher, some of my excess plumpness, because she'll need all she can get.

I, Thomas Gaenzle, will to Mr. Harris my bumper sticker that says, "Kill a Commie for Christ!"

I, Roberta Bober, will to Miss Koester my terrible spelling, which she had to cope with all year.

I, Maureen Jaacks, will to Mr. Green all my problems in Driver Education in hopes he may never have another student like me.

I, Marshall Sayad, will to my former government teacher, Mr. Martin, my hot comb and a set of wide, mod ties. . .which he desperately needs.

I, Michael Fedirko, will to Mr. Curtis a banquet in honor of Caesar's birthday.

I, Lynda Mielke, will my counselor, Mr. Johnson, another student who will make as many schedule and career changes as I managed in these past four years.

I, Debra Huizinga, will to Mr. Jobst for his fossil collection the librarians.

I, Sue Kern, will to Mr. Osborne and Mr. Craigle, one big "BAIL OUT!"

I, Debbie Brunke, will to Mrs. Sullivan the comb I used to open A-201 in the morning.

I, Jeff Goodey, will to Mr. Freeman all my issues, editorials, and vocabulary.

I, Cathy Collins, will to my beloved teacher. Mr. Jobst, an authentic lambhead complete with tongue, eyes, and expensive suede jacket to sustain him during the next potato famine.

To Students

I, Barb Spahn, will to anyone who wants it a SMASHING New Year's party and all of its side effects.

I, Steve Schwab, will to the gymnastic team the tumbling mat along with a lot of luck next year.

I, Lynda Dingler, will to all my friends who will be left here next year all of the things I didn't learn.

I, Debbie Henseleit, will to incoming freshmen the pleasure of learning to balance while falling up and down the ramps without holding the railings.

I, Alfred Cook, will to anyone or anything that is strong enough to withstand the odor of my four-year-old gym suit.

I, Sue Lawson, will to Sue Rasine all the plumbing facilities at Maine West.

I, Mary Owens, will to next year's office practice class my ability to break office machines.

I, Kent Carle, will to next year's V-Show choreographer 20 girls, each with two different sized legs.

I, Laurie Hrdlicka, will to all underclassmen the crummy, undependable, overcrowded buses.

I, Dan Sehimmel, will to students the hope that my Christian friends will grow in faith with the help of our early-morning Bible studies.

I, Jared Birchfield, will to future Path workers my collection of apples, cupcakes, or anges, etc. that have been thrown at the Path this year.

I, Steve Legg, will to Bill Giovanni, all the little rules that make school so interesting.

I, Carol Bobernac, will to Marshall Sayad my brand new sleeping bag. Come and get it!

I, Oscar Menoyo, will to all my friends my gym suit that's never been washed. They may find it walking around the indoor track.

I, Stan Bednar, will to all underclassmen who think they can handle it my Breakfast Club membership.

I, Polly Sikorski, will to some unknowing shnook my position as Art Editor and my photographer Mike Lombardo, who quits once a week.

I, Dean Kamin, will to "TP King" Brad Frost all the tp that has befallen my house.

I, Cheryl Boeckenhauer, will to the alto section of Concert Choir the ability to keep up its reputation as rowdies.

I, Wayne Gyssler, will to Ken Heller and Gregg Gyssler one hard port-a-pit.

I, Don Hudson, will to the juniors in the Concert Band all of Mr. Kuite's "I don't want to dwell on it" and "You're taking the time of 90 people."

I, Kathy Jordan, will to next year's Westerner staff 20,000 letters-to-the-editor, hysterically funny features, positive editorials, but most of all my sincere best wishes.

I, Sherry Didier, will to some stupid frosh the privilege of being the first kid in his class to drop a tray in lunch.


I, Carol Pederson, don't will anything to anybody or anything because it wouldn't be worth it.

I, Dave Doell, will all my craziness and love to Campus Life.

I, Chris Donahue, will not a thing . . . . I want what I have.

I, Debbie Carstens, will my four-year gymsuit to science.

I, Mike Bell, will to friends, teachers, and the school: the locked johns, crazy bell system, and a cockeyed bumper pool table.

I, Betty Minter, will to anyone who wants them, the old Twirling Corps uniforms.

I, Lynn Arndt, will to the third period PAR table my jeans.

I, Tom Parker, will a rutabaga sandwich and some snow to Ski Club.