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I,  Verna  Stoll,  leave  my  famous  '·'ha-ha"  to  Ona  Wallace and  Francis  Warring.
                   They  can  divide  it equally between  themselves.
                       I,  Maude  Stroud,  leave  my  infinite  knowledge  to  John  Cummings.
                       I,  Marvin Sturgeon,  leave my "handy-man-about-the-house"  job to  Jimmie  Cook,
                   Gordon  Landers,  Harold  Robinson,  Frederick  Padelford,  Leonard  Amrhine,  and
                   Harry  Lechler.
                       I,  Virginia  Wammock,  leave my  flashing  auburn  hair  to  Opal  Lee.
                       I,  Cecil  Warring,  leave  my  town  car  to  Calton  Easly  and  my  runabout  to  the
                   Wileman  brothers.
                       I, Madge Wileman,  leave my method  of arguing with Mr.  Hull to  the next  clerk
                   of the  commissioners.
                       I, Ruth Wileman,  leave  my  "even  disposition" to  Patsy  Patterson.
                       I, Fay Wilson, leave my daily routine as  office  trotter to  the winner of this year's
                   cross  country  race.
                       I,  Lois  Young,  leave  "Mooselini"  to  me  kid  brother.  Maybe  he  can  make  her
                   do  over  thirty-five  miles  per.
                       To  this  document  we  attach  our  seal  and  sign  our  crosses  on  thirtieth  day  of
                   April  in  the  nineteen  hundred  and  thirtieth  year  of  our  Lord.

                                                                  - CLASS  OF  '30.










                                               FAY'S WRECK
                                           It's  got  four  wheels
                                           And  an  engine,  too,
                                           The  gas  tank  leaks
                                           And  the  horn  never  blew.
                                          The  wheels  are  round
                                           And the  tires  flat,
                                           But  she  hits  on  four
                                           For  all  of  that.
                                           The  timer's  shot
                                           The  top,  it  ain't,
                                           All  the  body  needs
                                           Is  a  coat  of  paint.
                             (Lovingly  dedicated  to  Fay Moorehouse,  the  one  from  whom
                                        I  received  my  inspiration.- D.  E.)









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