Meadow Grove High School - Trojan Yearbook (Meadow Grove, NE)

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 BUBKAS 'WWiXi S'rM- Lli]BDp;jf)P!J VcoNT. I next found myself among the 3ky-scrapers of New York City. Turning around and 'round, I finally located the window with the words—Dorothy Schutt. Public Stenographer. In a few minutes—after fighting my way past several secretaries, I stood In her presence. She was the same gracious Dorothy of our high school days. Her success hadn't changed her. I learned that her real name was Mrs. Vanderbilt Van Aster, but In spite of her husband's wealth, she still preferred her career. Prom Dorothy I learned that Dona Glaze la now fulfilling her lifelong dream of saleslady In Saks Fifth Avenue. She had an opportunity of meeting Mary Worth once back In 1950. Maybe that accounts for her success. On my wsy home I casually picked up the latest Post Magazine and received a big thrill when I saw the name Don Johnson In bold print under a picture of the St. Louis Cardinals. Evidently little Don ate his Wheatles and grew to be a blg-tlme ball player. I wonder whatever became of all the beautiful silk shirts he used to wear? Next I boarded a streamliner—Rhode Island bound. About twenty miles from the 3tate capltol In a desolate uninhabited area, I was able to find my old pal--Mllton Pugh. He Is raising Rhode Island Reds. He says they are still the only chicks he can talk to without blushing. Still the same old bachelor at heart. During a stop-over In Denver, I wandered Into a ten cent store to pick up my weekly supply of corn pads. I heard e familiar touch at the grand piano and stepping over to the music counter to see who might be playing Cheer! Cheer! For Meadow Grove Fame, I saw a stunning and graceful lady. When Joan Gast turned around, I was really suprised. She told me she was In the dog house that day because she was late to work (Train on the Track) Our helicopter was forced to land in Albuquerque, New Mexico for g83 so with a few minutes to spare I decided to look the town over a little. As I passed a big department store on Main Street, I spotted a familiar face In the window. There was Betty Arrlson pinch hitting for a manikin and modeling jeans and plaid shirts. Just at this point—the telephone wakened me. It was Ken Carpenter telling me to hurry down and tske Bing's spot on the radio.