Bellingham High School - Epilogue Yearbook (Bellingham, MA)

Page 32 text:

CLASS PROPHECY ( Continued) Bob’s ties—a very delicate situation where he is concerned. After much time had passed, we remembered the reason for my being there. MacLerner’s Credit Department occupied the rest of our time and before we knew it—as if by magic—our work was done. After getting our crowd together we had dinner at the Esmerelda Inn, a novel establishment, specializing in roast goat dinners. Host for the evening was none other than Adrien Marcet, the owner. Incidentally, he hadn’t changed a bit. Even in suave atmosphere of the competitive business world he was still the same rumple-haired ’Cet. But, I compliment him—his quaint idea of a goat dinner was very palatable. The night was still young so we decided to go to the Caryville Gardens to watch the basket¬ ball game between Bellingham University and Rhode Island College. Collegiate games had changed little in the last ten years. Students and townspeople alike gave moral support to the basketball team. When the coach and his assist¬ ants walked onto the court, the two thousand spectators in favor of Bellingham University sent up strong and wild cheers. —‘Yea coach, yea Lewinski, —yea, yea Coach Lewinski.’ Yes, Chet was still bringing in cheers, the only dif¬ ference being that the prefix to his name had been changed from captain to coach. It was a beautiful game—fast footwork and telepathic co¬ ordination gave Bellingham University an easy victory—sixty-three points to State’s thirty-two. No, Chet had not lost his knack for ‘bringing the fellows in with a win.’ Back at the hotel we dis¬ cussed the game, then I made for my bed with the air-cushioned mattress. Fifteen minutes be¬ fore retiring you set the attached generator and compressed air inflates the mattress by means of complex levers and springs insuring the sleeper of a restful night. This revolution bears the trade-mark of the Jean-Paul Trudel Mattress Company. When Jean had perfected his mat¬ tress, Jane had insisted that every bed in her establishment be equipped with one. This move was brought on by her love of sleep. The next morning completely rested after a night on that wonderful mattress, I made my way to the business district. A very striking shop caught my eye and magnetically drew me in. It was the Milk Maid Cosmetic Shop. Only Milk Maid products were sold here. Everything on sale was intended to make mi-lady more beauti¬ ful. Bottles, jars, and packages bearing the labels of lotions, creams, colognes, perfumes, powder, rouge, lipstick, and nail enamel. Carpets two inches thick covered the floors and chromium chairs with light yellow leather seats were ar¬ ranged around tables. As my mind covered every detail, Norma Aldrich walked from her office. I could see it all now. Who else could have such a shop as this? Hadn’t Norma always helped the milkman? In this shop she had combined her in¬ terests. Dorothy Chattaway, her most capable employee, was out of town at the time. This was often the case since she was International Direc¬ tor of Norma’s chain of shops. Norma and I lunched at the Nineteen-Forty-Six Club next to her shop. She was very busy and felt that she must shorten her lunch hour. She told me that Ethel Schafer had completed her education at Simmons College and was now doing her part for the health and welfare of the children. She was finding happiness in teaching them the impor¬ tance of cleanliness and co-operative living. Norma went back to her shop and I went to the Globester Travel Agency for my return ticket. Norman Leblanc managed this agency. He did not confine his sale of tickets to the airways— definitely not. He also told tickets for bus, train, ocean liner, and rocket travel. Norman told me that he believed that within the next fifteen years they would have regular stops on Mars, Juniper, the sun, and the moon. Later he ex¬ pected all the planets would be covered, not to mention the ones that haven’t yet been dis¬ covered. My baggage was sent from the hotel. I hate ‘good-byes,’ so I didn’t go back to the hotel. It was night. The plane left the airport slowly at first, and then swiftly soared to great heights. In a few brief days I had captured memories that must last me for a lifetime. Bellingham had once more disappeared from my view. I could no longer see the city lights—only the vast darkness of the sky. —Muriel Lamothe

Page 31 text:

Class Prophecy The Globester Air Lines had certainly pro¬ gressed since their first flights after World War II. Now trips were being made every day. MacLerner’s newly formed corporation in Bellingham had sent a cablegram to my office at Manila-Macy’s only this morning requesting that I help establish a credit department and here I was at noon lunching on board the Globe¬ ster. My seven day trip passed swiftly for among my fellow passengers was Burt Rhodes, a lum¬ ber magnet from Bellingham who was investi¬ gating the use of the cottonwood trees of Tasma¬ nia in the manufacture of a fine paper material. Burt’s constant companion and chief chemist, Bob Bennett, had made the trip with him and they proved to be worth-while companions on my trip home. After college they had both come back to Bellingham, the largest city on the At¬ lantic seaboard, to make their fortunes. They met and decided that success would be assured if they joined forces. Our trip was pleasant and we reached Bel¬ lingham in seven days and eight minutes accord¬ ing to my Patrick Contact Watch that automat¬ ically changed with the time zones. Maurice always is looking for something different and he certainly struck upon something revolutionary this time. A waiting cab took me to the Bay State Hotel and upon registering for my suite the clerk suggested that I go to the manager’s office —where who should greet me but Jane Tuttle. This certainly was a surprise to me. I had ex¬ pected to find her keeping someONE comfort¬ able, but not eight hundred people. However, she does manage to keep him comfortable, too— in a twelve room pent house apartment. We spent the evening at home gayly talking about the time that had passed since last we had been together. Anna Jastrzembski, our amiable cheer captain, was now physical director at Belling¬ ham Commercial High School—a magnificent structure having a capacity of one thousand stu¬ dents. Her interest in sports at old B. H. S. is certainly helping Anna now. She and Marie Dore, friends since high school days, are still to¬ gether. Marie is head nurse on the high school staff of eight nurses. It seems that the casualties of the basketball teams kept Marie and her staff quite busy. Doris Chamberland is switchboard operator at the school. An ingenious labor saving device of hers, a recording of her voice eliminat¬ ing the continuous ‘Operator, number please’ has revolutionized the telephone industry. Jane asked if I would like to hear radio’s newest, “Thrills and Chills.” It is only a fifteen minute program, but so interesting because of the pleasing combination of the realistic and fan¬ tastic. Margery Hughes who writes the script is kept very busy since this program is presented five times a week. Ruth Wilde is kept on her toes taking Margie’s dictation and typing. This is only part of Ruth’s day since she has to attend broadcasts with Marge. Lil Guyette has a studio in the Bay State Hotel where she is instructing prospective commercial artists. Her Navy re¬ cruiting posters coincide with the posters of Nor¬ man Rockwell of ’46. Chief postmistress of the city is Elizabeth Thayer who keeps her staff running at the pace of a perpetual motion machine. Had I not experienced it myself I am certain that I would not have believed that Jane Tuttle could change so. She who never before had said one word more than was necessary and was now quite loquacious. I was certainly glad to get away to my room. The next morning, although not too early, I went to the offices of MacLerner’s where Patricia Shahtay is executive secretary to Elizabeth Petrosky, general manager. In her ef¬ ficient and dignified manner she asked who was calling. I handed her my card and at that mo¬ ment Pat lost all her reserve. She ushered me into Betty’s office. Betty dismissed her six sten¬ ographers to whom she was giving dictation. Four telephones were ringing simultaneously. The atmosphere of this office reminded me very much of Diet Smith, Dick Tracy’s tycoon. We had a jolly time. Everything was discussed from our Senior Hop to the construction of the bridge from Bellingham to a seaport town in New¬ foundland. Marshall Cowen’s degree from Mas¬ sachusetts Institute of Technology had certain¬ ly sent him on his way to success. The news of this his greatest accomplishment had been car¬ ried round the world on ticker-type direct from the office of the World Traveler owned and man¬ aged by Robert Murphy. Bob had always had a nose for news—at least he knew that Waldo was in the broom closet. Betty Skalubinski, Bob’s private secretary, was a boon for she not only did the routine office work but also had to choose

Page 33 text:

Class Will We, the class of nineteen hundred and forty-six, in a normal and would be state of mind, do make, publish and declare this to be our last will and testament. We do, therefore, give and bequeath our worldly gifts as fol¬ lows: To the members of the faculty, who have been our guides for the past four years, our sincere appreciation, our deepest gratitude and a promise of loyalty and co-operation when we shall be called upon to uphold the tradi¬ tions and principles of our school. To our principal, Mr. Collins, we leave a book of answers. He sure can find the ques¬ tions! To the future Seniors, we leave a package of genuine rubber bands that they may uphold the tradition of all Seniors—Unity. I, Dorothy Chattaway, leave to Buddy Delaney a rainspout up which to holler his dry humor, preferably during a severe cloud¬ burst. I, Marshall Cowen, leave my superior mathematical ability in a lump sum, to be divided evenly among all classes. I, Marie Dore, leave my unfailing pep and penetrating cheers to all future cheer leaders at the crisis of all games. v s. I, Lillian Guyette, leave to Pauline Ros¬ setti, a Corny” joke book in memory of the many laughs we had together. I, Anna Jastrzembski, leave a copy of Bell Bottom Trousers” to Eunice Foley since her main attraction also centers in the Navy. I, Muriel Lamothe, leave to any senior girl a fashion book so that she may uphold my title as, Best Dressed Girl.” I, Robert Murphy, leave my Casanova” personality to the most romantic lover in the Junior Class, Nick Petrosky. I, Patricia Shahtay, leave my typewriter with the magic keys to Eileen Buckley, so that she may acquire that certain touch. I, Elizabeth Thayer, leave my high scho¬ lastic standard as an example to all future seniors. I, Jane Tuttle, leave to next year’s Editor- in-Chief of the Epilogue an abundant supply of aspirins. Without a doubt whoever it may be will use them. To the future Juniors, we bequeath our sophistication to be used in classrooms, cor¬ ridors and at all extra-curricula activities. I, Norma Aldrich, the jitter-bug kid, leave my book of congas to light-footed Shirley Cowen. I, Doris Chamberland, leave my reserved manner to the future Juniors. They need it! I, Norman Leblanc, leave a subscription to the French Journal” to anyone who may wish to attack that awful stuff. I, William Lewinski, leave my Charles Atlas Physique” to Tracy Garneau. No hard feelings, Trace! I, Adrien Marcet, leave my Red Skelton wit to that Sophomore character Bib” Tuttle.