Rock Port High School - Bluejay Yearbook (Rock Port, MO)

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C L A S S P R 0 P H E C Y O F '4 8 May 14. Ah, how well I remembered that fateful day in 1948--ten long years ago. As I mused idly, I suddenly felt a plan forming in my agile mind. Then, making my usual instantaneous de- cision, I called to .my pilot, E.-15:1 fLeland, that isj, and leaped into my Rocket Helicopter, and feu d myself zooming westward. I glanced out of the window and my gaze came to rest on an extremely prospe,-OuS-1o0king fam, Ah, Yesv. the JOHN HENRY OIZHT Hoc FARM--Best chester whites of All Times. I settled back and turned the dial of my television set. A roar of applause burst upon my ears. I perceived that the cause of the commotion was a football game in progress. Above the din of the excited crowd, I heard the voice of the announcerzn.......witnessing in action West Points' famous pair--its second Glenn Davis and Doc Blanchard--the mighty Kenneth Reynolds and Marvin Bellln I switched the dial--this time to the scene of a boxing match. The referee was counting--N7-8-9-lO! And the winner, the new heavy weight champ of 1958, Don Greenln I could hear Donald protesting that he owed his success to a product known as Speedies, invented by Anna Adams and H. C. Kessler. I switched off the television set and turned my attention to the ground below. We were above the grounds of a circus. I signaled to Ebert that I wished to land, and in a moment he had set the ship down.' I walked toward the main tent, and--well, of all things Y.--a tent bearing the lettering, The Fat Lady, Lida Mab-:le-y. I hadnlt the heart to go in and talk to her, but proceeded on my way to the big top. The performance was just starting. There was a roll of drums as a daring aerialist began her death-defying act on a high trapeze. I knew at once that it was g235LQEEmeyg5...A few moments later we were flying over the small, Midiwestern town of Red Cloud, Nebraska. Getting out my electric eye and looking into its mag- ical depths, I found myself gazing into a quaint little cottage. A tall, thin, spectacled, old spinster was in her rocking chair humming to herself a most forlorn tune. As I looked closely, I was temporarily stunned by the familiar face of--it couldn't be--but it was--none other than the former girl about Tarkio, Katie-iilin-Pginingtpn. Soon we were circling the city of Denver. I sighted a hospital zone, and there on the lawn in a wheel chair was Qharlgs-fgfgheg, the former football king of R.P.H.S. The name of the hos- pital was Nook for Nervous Neuroticsgn really more of a sanitarium than a hospital. I then proceeded on my journey toward the west coast. While flying over Reno, Nevada, I again employed the use of my electric eye and perceived a familiar figure coming down the steps of an official looking building. At closer inspection I recognized Fern Tudgg, who had evidently just become unensnared from the evils of married life....0n I flew to the notorious movie-center of Holly- wood. On the corner of Hollywood b Vine I saw a crowd of squealing bobby-soxers. They were 29

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perefta The grade operetta, 'She Didn't Believe, was presented December 23, 1947 by the first six grades, and was sponsored by Anna Proudfit, Velma Inbody, Bertha Kemper, lluriel Humphrey, Wilma Grubb, Dale Howell, and Mrs. Wilma Simon. Jane Curfman played the leading pert, as the little girl who didn't believe. 28

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around theat tall, handsome, blonde, movie star, Jan Vahnson, whom I knew as Harold Vernon. One little blond in the crowd seemed to be making more headway than the rest by a windmill-like action of her arms and legs. Unmistakably, Cvrene 122 5 ..... I was feeling the need for refreshments, so I ordered Ebert to land the plane and made my way to the nSwinging Iantern,u a small tavern down by the wharf. The floor show was just starting. The singer swayed her way between the tables. Although her face looked familiar, I did not at once realize that it was Nola Pierce. M attention was momentarily diverted by the appearance of a woman who was ob- viously the manager of the place. To my great amazement it was Sharlyn Herndon. She knew me at once and clasped my hand in a warm greeting. She informed me that she had recently talked to her to her former classmate, X252 EEE Roberts. It seemed that Vera had been disappointed in love and was keeping a home for aged and decrepit old men, called the HHaven of Shady Rest.n I bade Sharlyn farewell and departed toward the nearest hotel ..... Arriving in my room, I unfolded the newspaper which I had acquired in the lobby. The headlines leaped at me. HSUICIDE FROM GOLDEK GATE ERIDGEH lad Ieaves Note Explaining Tragic Action---HELEJ Qalrymple, late this evening, leaped to a watery death from the Golden Gate Eridge. A suicide note explained that he was unable to face life after his failure to invent a hair-oil to surpass that of the Fitch Company.u However, recalling that E. R. had always expressed the desire to die young, I felt somewhat comforted and was able to turn to the sports page. There I found the spectacular news that a Volley Ball team, organized by Delores Smith and Jean Schultz had just become the World's Champions. As I finished reading and folded the paper, another article on the front page caught my eye. Oh, Not This was too much! Kathryn E222 was sent to Alcatraz for poison- ing her sixth husband. Weekly, I switched off the light and fell into a fitful slumber. . . In the morning I began my return trip east flying over Texas. As we crossed New Mexico, whom should I see below me but Ellen gays. She and her husband were living quietly on a goat farm raising kids. . . As we entered Texas, I was impressed by the sandy barrenness of the land. Then a small town came into sight. I noticed two or three lone cowboys, all sauntering in the general direction of dilapidated old saloon. Adjusting my electric eye, I observed the interior of this unfortunate edifice. The figure that drew my attention was the startling one of a lady sheriff leaning against the bar. She carried an n88H fdouble protectionl slung on either hip. It was none other than Isabel Emith. My attention was next drawn to a small hut where a man was brutally beating his wife. Yes, it was Marvin Moore and the former Marilyn Crownover. As we flew over Virginia I observed a crowd of people whose attention was focused 30