Snyder High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Snyder, CO)

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KENNETH SKRABACK DONALD McFALL Class Plays 2, 3,4 Class Secretary 3 Spotlight Staff 3 Annual Staff 4 Class Vice President 4 Boys' State 3 Class Vice President 3 Class Plays 3,4 Spotlight Art and Ad Editor 3 Annual Art and Ad Editor 4 Class President 4 F. F. A. President 4 OUTSTANDING BOY AND GIRL Bob Holzworth Sharon Peterson

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LINDA WILLIAMS Pep Club 1 Library Club 1,2, 3,4 Chorus 1 Class Plays 1,2, 3,4 Student Council Rep. 1,3,4 Class Sec.-Treas. 1,4 Class President 3 Library Club Sec. -Treas. 3 ''Spotlight Editor 3 Annual Editor 4 Office Practice 4 ELLA MAE BAUGHMAN Chorus 1 Library Club 1,2, 3,4 Pep Club 1,2,3,4 Pep Club Reporter 2 Student Council Rep. 1,2 Class Sec. -Treas. 2 Class Plays 3,4 Office Practice 3,4 Spotlight Assistant Editor 3 Annual Business Manager 4 Student Council President 4 AVA THOMPSON Chorus 1,2 Library Club 1,2, 3,4 Class Plays 2,3,4 Student Council Rep. 3 Spotlight Business Manager 3 Annual Staff 4 Office Practice 4

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SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY As we come to the end of our school career, we can't help but wonder what lies ahead. We realize we are stepping out into a big. almost frightening world, leaving our childhood and old familiar friends and teachers. What lies ahead for us? Fun? Adventure? Work? Sorrow? Let us dust off the old crystal ball and peer for a moment into this mysterious future. The picture I see is a little hazy, but just a moment, its coming into focus. Now I can see it - there's a big crowd - people in evening dress, tuxedos, and mink coats. A hush falls over the crowd as a young man steps into the flood lights, raises his trom- bone to his lips, and fills the hall with a beautiful melody. The face of this famous entertainer is familiar, but I can't quite place it. Let be borrow a copy of the program of course I know him. It's the talented Donald McFall who graduated with the class of 1960! As the last mellow note of the trombone solo folds away the picture changes. I hear the lowing of many cattle in the distance. The picture turns. I see a beautiful rambling ranch house, many buildings, row after row of ranch machinery and equip- ment; but now the picture has stopped moving. I see a tall thin young man dressed in western clothes and bronzed by the sun and wind. He's standing on a hill, gazing thoughtfully out over his vast expanse of green pasture, admiring his herd of black An- gus. Who is this prosperous young rancher? It must be - it is - our old pal, Paul Wolever. As I share the feeling of satisfaction and contentment with Paul, suddenly I am startled by a shadow fleeting across the picture. The ranch fades quickly away, and in its place we have only the trails of vapor left by a maneuvering twin jet plane. Again and again he almost disappears over the horizon, only to appear again. It's almost as if he is performing for me. He's writing something in the sky. He's spell- ing out in perfect letters, Greetings, Larry Held. The picture doesn't seem to be moving, but the vapor is settling to the ground. It's changing from white to grayish black. I see a billowing cloud of dust and smoke coming up from the middle of a race track. I hear screams as the crowd jumps to its feet in the bleachers - out of the cloud of dust and smoke they are dragging a man dressed in a racing jacket; goggles and helmet still on his head. A wheel of a racing car settles in the field across the fence after a final bounce. Is the man hurt? Who is he? The loud speaker blares the announcement out over the crowd, Ladies and Gentlemen, Please keep your seats. Driver number 13 has been rescued from his rac- ing car. He is Kenneth Skraback from Snyder, Colorado. After brief preliminary examination it looks as if Kenny has suffered only twisted shoulder. This boy is lucky to be alive!” The crowd pushes forward, trying to get over to comfort the still dazed driver. A squad of motorcycle cops race up to hold back the surging crowd. The captain of the group shouts forth his orders, and arrests the movement of the crowd by the piercing blast from his whistle. I know that captain, it's Kenny Becker! Suddenly the scene changes abruptly. A vast rippling desert stretches as far as I can see. There is a big black limousine gliding across the shimmering ribbon of a road. In the front seat are two important-looking men, apparently in the middle of a most serious discussion. In the back seat, under the brim of a sun helmet and behind