Berkshire School - Trail Yearbook (Sheffield, MA)

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, X X XZ N I CJ R S Xl!

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x K I -,,, -FW 1- 'Q Y K,-,Zi Mr. Thompson wouIdn't like it! Efficiency at work. 1 Well, which team had the better season? Is it Albany or New York this weekend? You've been smoking again!

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Class Will To be read in the event of my graduation: Being of sound mind and body and in the presen-ce of the witnesses undersigned, I here- by do make allotment and disposal of my estate in the following manner. I hereby be- queath: to George Berger one hundred pounds of pulverized Rock 'n Roll records, to Joseph Bodak a lifetime subscription to Time maga- zine, to Richard Bradley five basketball play- ers, each of whom shall exceed six feet six inches in height, to Peter Colket, a book of stale jokes. I also bequeath: to Stephen Collins an automatic egg-poacher, to Michael Crawford a carborundum sharpening wheel, to David Edson a bed, to Alan Ekstein a map showing all the towns and villages in upstate New York, to Robert Field a wealthy heiress, to Milo Folley, anti-dog-allergy serum, to Ken- neth Fox a scholarship to drama school, to Gerry Francis a comb, to Andrew Fried a life- time supply of coffee: to Richard Granger the collected works of Sigmund Freud, to Stephen Jenks a cold-water flat, to Clifford Johnson a trot of Cicero's Orations. In addition, I bequeath: to William May- her one hundred shares of Schenley stock, to Donald Miller a charge account at Brooks Brothers, to Smith Mowry a book on the art of deception, to Stephen Norman a Life pic- ture book ofthe Watusi tribe, to Peter O'Hara a certificate good for ten ski lessons from Betsy Snite, to John Oldham an ashtray three feet in diameter, to Peter Otis, wings, to Scott Patton a copy of How to Win Friends and In- fluence Peoplei to Donald Polak a continuous magnetic tape saying Hiya , to Roger Powers a butler to do his corridor sweeping chores: to David Pyle, ten gallons of 'Waterman's ink, to David Ressler a one-pump gas station, to William Richards a morning valet. I also bequeath: to Robert Richardson a chalet for two at Bromley, to John Roy five hundred dollars in quarters, to Joseph Salem- bier a tennis raquet built for two, to 'Eric Schmidt, fifty shares of B810 Railroad, to Mac- Kinnon Simpson a paint brush, to David Smith thirteen pairs of custom-made sun glasses, to Stephen Smith, Buff, to Robert Spencer, ear- muffs, to Todd Spofford a set of dumlbbells, to Russell Strasburger a seat in classroom 23: to Peter Ware a guilty conscience, to Hugh Weid- Inger, twenty pounds of raw meat a day, to Stephen Williams a reproduction. of The Thinker , to James Worthington a Woo Woo. Class Prophecy I have recently undergone the most extra- ordinary experience I can contemplate, one so extraordinary that I am not a little dubious of its credibility even now. Yesterday I met a man whose name I shall probably never know, a most unusual man. I should never have realized just -how unusual he actually was had we not entered into a conversation about some mutual acquaintances, and found some wide discrepancies in our descriptions of these in- dividuals. Rather than try to interpret the story I shall reconstruct the conversation to the best of my ability. I begin when he told me that he had re- cently met Dave Pyle, a wealthy financier, and a quite affable man to boot. The-n he spoke of meeting a man named Michael Craw- ford, a strangle sort, a medlium who professed to have spiritual contact with the ghost of a French-Canadian fadclist author named Jack Kerouac. He then described to me a play he had seen the previous night, in which had ap- peared an impassioned actor named Kenneth Fox, who played Falstaff in Henry IV. At this point I should have stopped him and politely suggested the improbability of his stories, for I knew that I had graduated from preparatory school with these individuals not two weeks before. But since I was intrigued by his narra- tive and there seemed little possibility of stop- ping him, I allowed him to go on. Basso profundo John Roy, he told me, had recently given an outstanding performance at the Met. My informist then produced, much to my amazement, a copy of The New York Times, dated June I7, l975, and pointed out an editorial, written by the syndicated column- ist, J. D. Bodak. In the same issue I read of the latest marriage of international playboy Bill Mayher, and how Rich Bradley had broken the six-month-old uranium strike. I noted in