Greenville High School - Hi Life Yearbook (Greenville, MI)

Page 20 text:

Class Prophecy Naturally, we, the class of ”44 , wanted to know just what the future held for us. We were eager to know along what path and toward w'hat destiny our footsteps would turn in years to come; so we consulted a certain member of our class, gifted with mysterious, prophetic powers, namely, Swami Don Russell. This talented soothsayer, after performing the necessary ritual and uttering the magic incantations, gazed long into his crystal ball. At last he spoke, and in a losv tone proceeded to give us this revelation: Richard Kraft, I see you selling false teeth. You, Anne Bradley—hmm—a lively old maid, and—shh!—Dorothy Petersen, you are an orchestra w’ife, following the band around. Claude Longstreet—I see palm trees, and tropical plants—you seem to be making a living diving for pearls. Phyllis McGee—Ahh, this intrigues me—I see marriage licenses by the score, perhaps you are running a flourishing matrimonial bureau. Iiene Forward—books I see—you are a prominent book reviewer. Anne Field—a Congress woman—Bruce Chamberlain—you are seated near Miss Field carrying on a filibuster in the House of Representatives. Sally Church—journalism is your bent—you are managing editor of the N. Y. Times. Eleanor Corneil—silence if you please—this vision is blurred . I see Bob Hope and toothbrushes. Oh, I see, your smile is supplementing Bob Hope’s Fepsodcnad. Well, here’s Bruce Hansen. Hmm, interesting indeed—you turned out to be a vacuum cleaner salesman. Betty Emmons—1, 2, 3, no 4, amazing, you are the mother of 4 up and coming quads. Bob Lincoln, methinks I hear a fiendish yell, you are taking Johnny Weismuller’s place in the movies as Tarzan. Well, Muriel Forward, here you are passing our gum on an airplane, and Ruth Hall, hmm, 1 see lots of people and—gracious—a stork. Oh yes, you are in the midst of a gay circle at the Stork Club. Ellen Lawrence—Ah, this is lovely, here you are—star of the Ballet Russe executing a grand jete, and what have we here—Max Larsen—who’d have guessed it—a bellhop. Here the Sw'ami unwrapped his turban from his head, mopped his brow, and said he must have a few minutes rest and it was a strain on both him and his crystal ball. A few minutes later, he again wrapped his turban about his head and began: Well here’s Smok-woops, I mean Charlette Fries, whom I see reaping the profits from her current best seller ’The Corpse in the Bathtub’ or ’Don’t Slip on the Soap’, and next we find Pluma Grosvernor starring as corpse in the stage play of Fries’ best seller. Lifting his eyebrow, the Swami proceeded, Barbara Larsen—you are a happy little milkmaid, and here’s that Barnes fellow, Bob, who’d have guessed —a Fuller Brush man. Here’s a quiet lass whom I see working diligently as a nurse at Grace Hospital, and here’s Venus Arnold, 2, 4, 7, 10, 15, egad man! 17 children on your knees! Here again the Swami mopped his brow', then continued: June Mayberry—you are drawing cartoons for the Sunday comics. Crystal Peterman—I see a candy store with you as the manager. Dick Bowser—you are, we might have known—running an information booth. Dorthea Brammer—here the Swami took a long deep look into his magic ball and, as if reluctant to look away, said Dorthea, I see you as a Bubble Dancer at the El Morocco. Dale Moore—you have a w'histle in your mouth— you must be a traffic cop. Stella I.uno-—what’s this screeching? You are singing grand opera with a voice that w'ould make the dead, glad they are. Here the Swami took T. I I ! I f I I I. f £ 16]

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1. Stella Luno 2. Hap and Cobby 3. Chris Cornwell 4. Mary Lou Whiters 5. Ole Olson 6. Bcv Smith 7. Jackie” McMann 8. The Cornwells, A I, Sharon, Chris 9. Nancy Whitelaw 10. Monk Taylor and Ole Olson 11. Lornie 12. Alvie Cornwell 13. Torchy” Bradley 14. Donna Jacobs 15. Little Sally Church 16. Hank and Nancy 17. Buggy 18. Cocky and Cobby Bob 19. Cobby Bobby 20. Hap Bruce Hansen £15}

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— — Class Prophecy time to yawn and continued, Hap Plauman, heh, heh, you are life guard at Baldwin Lake. Wanda Raymond, what a fate—you’re captured by a redskin! Jeanne Wright— please remain quiet—Jeanne, you are residing in a little white cottage nestling in a hollow. Look at A1 Renford now would you? He sports a Van Dyke beard and I see him rewriting Einstein’s theory of relativity. Margaret O’Brien, you are busy in a research laboratory searching for a substitute for nylon. Dorothy Kaeding—you are running a beauty parlor in the Fiji Islands, and Earl Lundsberg—fleas I see--you are raising fleas for a flea circus. Now here’s a distinguished looking person— Phyllis Barlow—Dean of Women at the U. of M. Minnie Horton—a farmer’s life for you, and Janet Bauman, it seems you turned uot to be a seamstress.” Again the Swami stopped to remove his turban as before and remained at ease for a moment. Sighing, he continued: Bud Backus, here you are a politician running for the Mayor of Podunk. Joyce Bower, this looks like fun, you have become head hostess at the Stage Door Canteen. Don Brayton, I see you on a desert island and what are you doing? Hmm. Selling shade. Joyce Teufel, I guess you are stuck with selling gum on street corners and Gertrude Rich, you are a Sunday School teacher. Jean Bissell, now here’s a likely profession—you are selling noiseless soupspoons. Nina Sheldon, what’s this? I see busy in your country home. Oh I get it, vou are running a nursery school. Who’s this giggling gal? Frannie Van Allen—you have given your life to gardening and the study of insects. And here’s Cobby Bobby, otherwise know'n as class crud, now a drummer with Spike Jones band. Donna Cannon a peculiar odor arises as I see you are manufacturing Cannon’s Cure-Colds Camphor Capsules, and here are tw'o people together—Virginia Cassady and Lucille Peckham, each of you own one-half interest in Peckham and Cassady’s Beauty Shoppe. Kenneth Thomas. A bench I see. A park bench? No. You are a judge on the Supreme Court Bench. Beverly Smith”—here the Swami looked again as if he didn’t believe w'hat he saw— Beverly, you are a criminal lawyer in Chicago. Jean Livingston, valentines I see. You are writing verses for a valentine company. Chuck Hall, well, you are plaving cornet in your own band. Elton Crawford, wouldn’t you know, you are a barber with butch cuts a specialty. Dale Hubbs 1, 2, 3, and you’re out—at the old Ball Game— Dale you are star pitcher for the New York Yankees. Ginny Silverthorne, ahhh! you are a lovely John Powers model. Luana Fuller, you are a dress designer in New IYork City and Geraldine Wolverton, you are managing Madame De Wolverton’s Success Course. Mary Lou Whiters, boats I see, you are private secretary to Henry Kaiser. Donna Reynolds, I see you reaching for another medal for being the cham-• pion lady basketball player in the U. S. Priscilla Barnes, you are teaching piano to young hopefuls. Virginia Petersen, I see you running an advertising agenc), and here again 1 see double—Leone Snyder and Ruth Hansen, you are perfecting Snyder and Hansen’s bristle-less tooth brushes, and last—Eddie Getzen—shall I be tactfui or truthful? Well, 1 see you Getzen, sitting in a padded cell in Kalamazoo cutting out paper dolls.” As if this last prophecy were too much, the crystal ball suddenly shattered into a million pieces and no one could evermore behold therein these marvelous visions. The Swami removed his turban, mopped his brow, and the last we saw of him he was picking up the pieces. [ 17]