Blanchard High School - Lion Yearbook (Blanchard, OK)

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Sector (?C zd4 'Ptafi tecy Dear Thomas, It was so thoughtful of you to send me the phalangio. I've worn it constantly, and it has helped to ease the loneliness that I have felt since you have been gone to the Assembly Meeting of U. N. in Paris. You cannot know how proud I am to be the wife of a delegate to U.N. Assembly. Speaking of the phalangio, yesterday, as I was coming in from the stables, I noticed that my phalangio was flashing wildly. I can always tell when Kathryn is calling from the way the rays dance with energy. When I reached the sitting room, I turned the phalangio face so that I could expose the picture of the one calling on the living room wall. Yes, there was Kathryn's image talking as fast as it's tongue could clip. Oh, Dorothy, she was saying, Get yourself over here. Paul has bought me a new telefindit; and if I can keep these kids still, we can call up people all over this world. Needless to say, I grabbed my jockey cap and raced back out to the stables, saddled Citation III and was off. Tommy, I believe the Richey Plantation gets more beautiful all the time. That green meadow on Walnut Creek is beautiful, and it's fairly dotted with fat calves. When I arrived, Paul, Kathryn, and the kids were in the living room trying to telefind Number 1683 Flood Street, Norman. They weren't having any success until I turned a little gadget on the back of the machine, which gave a big pop; and there on the screen was the cutest backyard scene you ever saw. Coach Vaughan and his six sons were playing with a football on the lawn. Gordon Walter, now thirteen, is a big blond like his mother. All of them are cute. How do we make them talk? asked Kathryn. Paul finally found the talk button just as Jahree walked out the kitchen door with a pitcher of lemonade. Paul yelled, Hello, Coach, and told Vaughan who and where we were. You may know that a long conversation ensued. Coach and Jahree knew where to telefind a number of our old classmates, and soon we were trying for the numbers they had given us. Kathryn was turning some knob when there was a whirr, and little black dots began to dance all over the screen. I turned the vivideer, and Kathryn screamed, Chickens! Millions of them! Every black dot had become a chicken, and there in the middle of the situation stood good old John Staggs. We talked to him for a long time. He is called the Chicken King of the world, and his chickens are eaten in every good hotel in this country. From John we learned that Dorothy McClain has acquired a very high position in the Library of Congress, since she is head of the cataloguing department. And, believe it or not, she is engaged to be married to a prominent senator. John also told us that Pruitt Lewis had risen in the financial world. It seems that Pruitt was down and out, and could find no employment. Finally, he got a job digging ditches and dug so deep that he struck oil. The man for whom he was working gave him half of the royalty. (Always leave it up to lucky old Pruitt!) While we were talking to John we got some addresses of other members of our class, and with very little trouble, were able to telefind three former classmates, who live in Chicago. John had told us to teletune in No. 6788 Michigan Avenue. When we finally found the place we realized that we were viewing a National Contest in a swanky pool room. A tall, well-groomed gentleman was the center of attention. He stood ready to make a final play for the national championship. Wham! The cue ball struck the thirteen ball, which in turn hit the fourteen

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DOROTHY McCLAIN SAM BINGAMAN REATUS BRIGHT WELL LOLA WEATHERFORD JAHREE VAUGHAN JOHN STAGGS JO ANN HUNTER

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ball before rolling into a pocket. The fourteen ball struck the side of the table and rolled back with enough impact upon the fifteen ball to throw both fourteen and fifteen into pockets. There was a confusion of applause and babble of voices as spectators closed round to shake hands with the National Snooker Champ. First to shake hands with him was a distinguished-looking woman whose dress and dignity proclaimed her one of the elite. Congratulations, S.T. ! she said. When I heard the name I looked at both, and recognized S. T. Flowers and La Moyne Pybas Brooks. S.T. was a commanding figure, standing, cue in hand with a smile on his handsome face, and La Moyne, accompanied by her distinguished-looking husband, Lieutenant Colonel Brooks, looked like a true member of the higher class. Kathryn turned the speech switch just as an athletic-looking gentleman grasped S. T.'s hand. Congratulations! exclaimed the newcomer. I'm proud of you, old man! And maybe I'm not proud of you too!” replied S. T. It's no little matter to pitch the Dodgers to victory in the World Series! Just then Kathryn's Paul, Jr. turned the whole set off. I could have brained him! as Miss Champlain used to say. Who was that fellow congratulating S. T. ? I asked. Oh, I know! exclaimed Kathryn. That was Ray Ward. Don't you remember seeing his picture all over the paper when he pitched that famous game last fall? Paul, Sr. , began trying to teletune Oklahoma City, when, with a sound like a young explosion, a new scene burst upon the screen. Whew! I yelled, Where are we? Look at those big trees! What is that terrible monster? Goodness! said Kathryn, it's a caterpillar tractor; but isn't it a big thing? Listen! Can you hear the driver singing? I listened. God so loved the world came a clear voice. And then I saw his face. Sam Bingaman! I screamed. But where is he? Looks like the worst sort of a jungle. Then............... Dot, I'd kill that kid, said Kathryn. Little Bill had turned the thing off again. We talked the scene over, and Paul said that we had been looking into the reclaiming of a jungle in South America. He said that he had heard that Sam was an important engineer in this project. We set ourselves to work teletuning in different channels from Oklahoma City, and soon we were viewing a scene in the Municipal Auditorium. A judge from Hollywood was awarding a prize at a baby beauty contest. The award was being made to Archie Creswell, Jr.; and there were Maxine, Archie, and Danny Leon, all looking so pleased. We switched from the auditorium to the downtown business district, and a comical scene flashed on the screen, an office in a big up-to-date grocery establishment. The proprietor, a jolly, fat man, was sitting in an easy chair with his feet propped up on the highly polished surface of a good desk. He had his hat perched at a rakish angle and was smoking a fine cigar. Someone called him evidently, for he lowerea his feet and turned so that we got a good view of his face. It was Donald Bowser, a little heavier, a little more serious, but otherwise the same. He got to his feet just as a tall dignified man entered. When we had adjusted the talk button. Bowser was saying, Why, hello there, Senator! When did you get back from Washington? Looks like your bill's going through, doesn't it? We