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Page 16 text:
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Oklahomans are going to be as proud of you as we've been of President Kerr, if you keep going as you are! When the senator blushed and became speechless in the face of praise that he justly deserved; I knew he could be none other than our own Senator Donald Waggoner. I bet your wife. Barbara, is really proud of you. Well, after that, we turned off the Telefindit, and Kathryn and I decided to leave the kids with Paul and go to Oklahoma City and eat a good meal at the Anna Maude. You know, Tom, on the napkins at Anna Maude is printed Miss Weatherford, Manager. ” It makes me proud when I see that fine food and know that a former classmate has made the menu. I had a talk with Lola recently. She told me that Hubert and JoAnn Hunter drop in often for a meal. Hubert is one of the biggest wheat farmers in this section, and I'm told that JoAnn just loves their big ranch house up near Woodward. Lola told me also that Reatus Brightwell is manager of the complete Greyhound System of Bus Lines. She says he looks and talks like a millionaire. This is a very long letter, Tom, but I thought you'd enjoy hearing about all my classmates. They are all doing well, but I’m willing to bet that not one of them is happier than your own loving wife. Take good care of yourself, and see that you build the walls of peace higher and firmer. Affectionately, Dorothy Thomson Green
”
Page 15 text:
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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
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