Blend High School - Memories Yearbook (Blend, IL)

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PROPHECY The night la cool and refreshing, the atara are gleaming softly, and the moon ia a huge, golden diac in the aky. Aa I ait alone, my thoughts wander, and I find myself wondering about my claaamatea. What shall become of them when our high school days are over? Where will they be and what will they be doing a few years from now? Suddenly my head begins to whirl and I feel myaelf flying through space. The uni- verse spins around me, and everything seems blurred and somehow beyond my grasp. Around and around it goes, until everything is one huge ball of darkness. With a last ter- rific lurch, the world rights itself again and I begin to breathe easily once more. Then-I gasp. No longer am I sitting on my own front porch, safe at home. I am in a large city, with traffic whizzing around me and tall buildings looming darkly against the heavens. It is late afternoon and the men and women are coming home from work. A trolley clangs to a stop, and a young man carrying a lunch pail boards it. Eugene Koniak’s factory Job makes him pretty tired. He slumps down into a seat for a brief nap, but is interrupted by the entrance of two secretaries who take the seat in back of him and proceed to giggle at nothing in particular It looks as though those two Inseparable companions, Joan Yatcko and Olga Wasylenko, haven’t changed a bit Another girl hurries in and joins Joan and Olga with glad cries of recognition. Doris Perona is a telephone operator now, and she Is Just dying to unload all of the latest gossip on someone As the trolley rolls off, I find myself before an enormous hospital. Suddenly a white ambulance screeches to a stop and the white-clad attendants rush a man on a stretcher up the stairs. As they carry him past me, I seem to recognize him. Why, of course, I do. It’s Donald Kalvin, the great oil king. He was Just hit by a rotating gusher. I follow them Inside and into the operating room. There the great surgeon, Dr- Donna Wyskocil is preparing her instruments. A nurse, whom I recognize as Camille Gir- ardi, hands them to her. Scalpel, sponge, hammer, saw----------yes, everything is ready The operation Is about to begin when a man carrying a gun almost as big as himself rushes in. It seems as If Bob Bednar, the famed big game hunter, got his directions slightly mixed. Just as I leave the hospital, my attention Is attracted by a loud hubbub coming from the courthouse. Judge Jack Hickey is presiding at the bar. (The bar of Justice, that is.) James Passero, the traveler of life’s highways, has been charged with vag- rancy. His lawyer, Melvin Gerardo, is gesturing emphatically, a bunch of grapes In one hand and a law book in the other. Suddenly he turns red, then blue, then purple. Is he angry? Is he threatening? No. He almost choked on a seed. On the Jury I see Benny Duncan, the man who built the first railroad across the Pacific Ocean. In one comer of the room, aits a girl rapidly typing everything that is being said. Gilda Di Paolo enjoys her Job as court stenographer very much. Suddenly she stops, confused. Daml She forgot to put a ribbon In the typewriter. I continue on my way until I come to a factory where everyone is busily at work. I enter an office marked private and there I see a man I once knew as Jack Chulick. He is now the successful manufacturer of Jet-propelled motor scooters. At the moment he Is In conference with another big business man, carpenter Jack Bertagnolll. Mr. Bert- agnolli is trying to sell Mr. Chulick on the idea of making plastic motor scooters. Jack Bertagnolll has been highly fortunate with his light-as-a-feather plastic houses. There Is only one slight flaw in them. Every time a storm comes along, the houses are blown away. This could become rather annoying. All of a sudden the door bursts open and a distinguished-looking man, wearing a loud plaid suit and yellow spats, strolls nonchalantly in. The two business men wel- come him cordially. Donald Crum, the mad genius, ia plotting his new 4-lane highway to

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CLASS HISTORY, Cont'd. May 10, the long awaited day, had finally come. The gym was decorated as a Parisian street scene. The moat Impressive decoration was the Illuminated stars which glittered In the dark. The height of the banquet was reached when balloons, of all shapes and sizes, were released from the celling. Another highlight of the banquet was the announcement made by Mr. Philippe, our band Instructor, that the band had won first place In the band contest at Macomb. To climax our third school term we met at the school and Journeyed to Hillsboro where we picnicked. After a brief vacation, our class again resumed Its studies for the last time In the B.T.H.S. As Elite seniors our responsibilities Increased. We were In charge of the Carrier under Mr. Marcaccl’s sponsorship. After the semester exams It was agreed upon at a class meeting that our class would publish an annual. During the last semester of our senior year preparations were made for graduation Individual pictures were taken; Invitations, rings, and gowns were ordered. All of the students who entered school four years ago are not here now. Somewhere along the way we lost Joe Vodka, Wesley Frltzchi, Jules Borlo, Ella Mae Laurie, Benny Rocker, John Lolle, Prances Davis, and Gerry De Pauw. Although they were unable to finish school here, we shall always consider them a part of our class. ( Ln.ss (Colors- Blue avTfc TUhite. (flltiLSS iPloxuer— Anh’rirtur Beauty; (£fia Motio- Ttfe EletCb, (Others Jffollow.

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PROPHECY, Cont'd. the planets, and they are eager to have him use their products. Riding a plastic. Jet- propelled motor scooter to Venus or Mars along a 4-lane highway could become a national pastime. Leaving the business scene, I hurry on until I come to a lavishly decorated build- ing bearing the name, Prank’s Place. On entering, my ears are assailed by a series of strange noises. Then I see the cause. Orchestra leader George Park and his Lively Lunatics are rehearsing for their evening performance, while Irmaline Piana, the vocal- ist, is trying to sing above the racket. Prank Simutis, the proprietor, puffs happily on a stogie, meanwhile talking to Richard Zarr. Richard is quite a big shot himself, for his peanut machines can be found in every tavern in the country. Off in a corner, a young man I recognize as John Misik sits alone, taking every- thing in. John has realized his great ambition to become a farmer, and he now owns a large 150-acre farm. Occasionally, he wearies of having no one but his cows to look at, so he comes into town to see the sights. I continue my tour and soon approach a building on which hangs a sign reading, Clarence Zimmer—Dentist. Inside, Dr. Zimmer and a harassed young mother are struggling to get a wriggling child into the dentist’s chair. I recognize the young woman as my former classmate, Phyllis Taylor. Waiting patiently for her turn is Lillian Shimkus, a commercial artist. In the adjoining building, Jacquelyne Edwards is giving Mary Demuzio a permanent. Jackie is a successful beauty operator now, but as usual, she is talking at the rate of a mile a minute and Mary can’t get a word in edgewise. As for Mary, she is now quite a social butterfly. Her name is a byword to society. (She’s personal secretary to one of the members of the Pour Hundred. ) I hurry on until I come to a theater. There on stage, Bettegene Nebesnick is practising one of her new ballet numbers. Suddenly she slips and falls on an Ace of Spades. Donald Triplo, the wealthy professional gambler, has been sneaking backstage to play poker with the actors again. But this time, manager Pauline Herman has caught up with him. There she goes, chasing after him with a broom. Following Mr. Triplo’s rapid progress down the street, I find myself standing at the entrance of a race track. Going in, I see from the signboard that one of Betty Jane Hughes’ Kentucky thoroughbreds is running. All of a sudden, a frightened scream re-echoes through the air. Jo June Tarro, the glamorous movie queen, has fallen onto the back of one of the horses and off he goes down the track. Then out of the side entrance gallops Journalist Virginia Home, after the story, her legs streaming in the breeze. Prom the stands, reporter Betty Overmeyer cheers her on. As they gallop down the homestretch, the voice of opera star Wilma Paolino can be heard singing Pony Boy. When they canter back to the grandstand, Josephine Ingrando, the creator of many of the Hollywood stars’ clothing, dashes up to see if her latest creation has been damaged. She gasps in sudden horror. There is a dust spot on the Jacketl Suddenly there is a flash of light before my eyes. When I open them, everything is gone. Here I am, sitting on my own front porch. Nothing remains but a pleasant memory and a question in my mind. Was this really Just a dream? Or was it in truth a prophecy of the future, a glimpse into the days that are to be?