Blend High School - Memories Yearbook (Blend, IL)

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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?

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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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With all respect and due solemnity this was witnessed by the following: Jack Bertagnolll, Olga Wasylenko, Joan Yatcko, Virginia Horne, Bettegene Nebeanlck and Pauline Herman. Because we are rather certain that the faculty will never forget us we want to leave a few remembrances to those who mayl I, Bob Bednar, will my Banty rooster, Napoleon, to George Scopel. I, Jack Bertagnolll, will my growth In height (no matter how little) to myself; I need It more than anyone else. I, Jo June Tarro, will my pet saying, Ohl rattlesnakesln, and my habit of talking fast to Dora Florio. I, Jack Chullck, will my singing ability to Jack Contratto. I, Donald Triplo, will my belief that Wilkie should still be president, my library of excuses and bluffs, and my original poem, Twenty Years with the Wrong Woman to whomever will take them. I, Gilda Di Paolo, will my distinctive laugh to Lucille Kytik. I, Ben Duncan, will my flair for remarks and talkativeness to Mary Ann Puskarich. I, Camille Girardi, will my constant giggles to Rosemarie Enrico. I, Donald Crum, will my weight to Danny Polonius. (At 5i a pound I) I, James Fassero, will my height to Bob Badstebner. I, Jack Hickey, will my dimples to Mr. Marcacci and my dark complexion to Ted Chowanec. I, Mary Demuzio, will my forthrightness and variation of hair styles to Frances Aloise. I, Betty Jane Hughes, will my knowledge of horses to Ron Carney. I, Donald Kalvin, will my angling walk to Merlin Walter. I, John Misik, will my shoulders to Ding Dong Dingerson. I, Betty Ovcrmeyer, will my ability in writing to Nicky Gazzoli. I, George Park, will my facial expressions to Joe E. Brown, and my Republican attitude to all the Democrats in the freshman, sophomore, and Jun 01 classes. I, Irmaline Piana, will my lankiness to Iris Katz. I, Frank Simutis, will my I don’t care, do you? attitude to Richard Wright. I, Phyllis Taylor, will my copper-red hair and nickname Pinky to Kathryn Casaletto. I, Olga Wasylenko, will my quietness of manner to Aileen Rolando. I, Joan Yatcko, will my verbal battles with Pauline Herman (all in fun) to her future husband.............or is that fair? I, Pauline Herman, will my—Wait a minutel--Personally, I wouldn’t give a thing awayt So there I (Our bookkeeping teacher confirms this.) I, Donna Wyskocil, will my strong voice and power of assertion to little Carol Leone. I, Clarence Zimmer, will my girl-attentiveness to Bernie Verna. I, Jacqueline Edwards, will my naturally rosy cheeks to Georgia Plovich. T, Virginia Horne, will my slight forgetfulness (I) and gift of gab to Betty Lesicko. I, Wilma Paolino, will my high-pitched laugh to someone who can pitch It lower. I, Lillian Shimkus, will my artistic talents to Mr. Makuh. I, Doris Perona, will my Toni permanent to any other girl whose hair insists on get- ting straight. (Don’t all file your claims at once, please.) I, Bettegene Nebesnlck, will my good taste ln clothes to those who need It. I, Melvin Gerardo, will my willingness to argue with Mrs. Baker and Mr. Makuh to a timid freshman. (Tit) to freshman; There’s a trick in doing It without getting a detention, you know.) I, Eugene Koniak, will my sincere smile to Larry Rlggin. I, Richard Zarr, will my ad-taker’s position on the Carrier staff to Robert Fritz. Being generous, I also bequeath my record of walking across the bookkeeping room ln four long strides to Steve Majzel. I, Josephine Ingrando, will my large black eyes and let’s be pals disposition to Mary Dugan•