Boyden High School - Echo Yearbook (Salisbury, NC)

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((pJwph af QimiinusjcL) are Jim Horah and Bill Poplin, business administrators, shooting a friendly game. Jim Rodgers and Jim Kluttz, two well-known engineers, are trying to advance a theory on why the acceleration is lessened by fric¬ tion and the useful component is greater, when Jim Kluttz, the big Diesel engineer, puts bottom right English on the cue ball. Glancing at my watch, I see it is time for the special train to arrive, the one carrying my ole school chums from all parts of the world. I rush out, flag a taxi, and give my destination as the depot, which is now much larger and is not where it was in ’49. On the ride I notice “Cobb ' s Store,” owned by Ethel Cobb, and coming out of it in a straw hat, farmer, Jerry Whitaker. “Stop the cab,” I cry; then I shoot the bull with Jerry a little bit, finding him to be very successful. I ask him to come to the depot with me, but he has to milk the cows and slop the pigs. We part, promising to see each other tonight. As the taxi cruises along, I see that beautiful drive-in theatre called the “Circle” owned by Don Byerly, Lamont Hess and Bill Link. Why here’s the “Boyd Dog Pound for Cocker Spaniels.” I hear Ann raises lots of blue ribbon winners. Just think, this started because she got a little black pup her senior 3 ear in Boyden. At last, here’s the depot and Engineer Bill Trexler has just pulled the train in. The first person to step off the train is Art Patterson, President of the Kiwanis International. He is followed by Bob Hall, the chem¬ ist who invented the light bulb that would never burn out. The main reason was that he couldn’t ever get it to burn. Oh, there’s Jo Ann and Grady Hilliard. Grady has been pitching steady ball for the Cardinals in the last few seasons. Jo Ann is now kept busy cleaning house and throwing pop bottles at umpires. Eugene Atkins, the Lucky Strike Tobacco Auctioneer, steps off the train singing, “Smoke a Lucky.” I ask him for a cigarette; he pulls out a pack of Camels and gives me one. Thanking him, I notice William Kesler, the Atomic Bomb scientist, stepping off. Next comes Eleanor Weber, head of the Campfire Girls of America, and Eleanor Shumaker, just back from Hollywood. Last but not least come Shirley Peeler and Carolyn Snead, both missionaries just back from Hung Chow, China. My, they look cute in kimonos. Greeting each other, we start on the way to our Alma Mater, B. H. S. Arriving at the Boyden Stadium, which incidentally was started our Senior year, we pile out of the cars anxious to see a demonstration of talent which consists only of people from the class of forty-nine. We take our seats in the bleachers and the Rev. David Arlendo Staley opens our reunion with the devo- tionals. Following him, there are many songs, acts, etc., some of which I especially like. The opener is a piano trio played by Molly Griggs, Margaret Heck, and Frances Thompson, all famous pianists. The compo¬ sition was written by Joe Durham. There is a short wait while Leon Chao tunes each piano, but no one minds this. The next act is David Honeycutt and his thorn jumpers. Boy! What talent! David always was a favorite with us. Mary Ida Drye and Mary Jo Reid, the two opera stars, sing next. A little later in the show comes the real excitement. Those two famous showmen, “Suicide Kizziah” and “Lucky Hobson,” are getting ready to give us a death-defying fete. They are asking for a volunteer from the audience. Jack Hollis, the Veterinarian, is going down front. Kizziah is strapping him in the hood of a “souped up” ’35 Packard, while Hobson warms up the motor. He now lights the straw barricade, soaked with kerosene. Bob Ritchie, the special mechanic, checks the motor. Sonny Carpenter, the super-duper in¬ surance salesman, runs down front to sell Dr. Hollis a policy. Hollis has trouble signing on the dotted line since he is strapped to the car, but Jules, Jr., never misses a sale. Meanwhile, Paul Cheney is down close, writing up this act for tomorrow’s sports column. There they go through the flaming barricade and it’s over. Doctor Bobby Hall leaves his nurse, Jane Boyd, who has fainted, and runs down to see if Hollis is all right; he is. After all that, we go into the gym to dine and dance. The gym is decorated with flowers from the shops of Frank Kimbrough and Flora Hayworth. The housewives of our class, Betty Rinehart, Barbara Overcash, Annie Kearns, and Becky Cauble have given their children to Miss Jones, who is now a little grey around the temples. Miss Jones is still teaching at Boyden and we know she will take good care of the kids as our class voted her the best teacher in ’49. Near me sit Engineers Harry Heilig and Kenneth Foster. Terry Barringer of the F. B. I. and His Honor. Governor Ben D. McCubbins, Jr., are shooting the breeze. Beryl Lewis, Joyce Cline, Eunice Stoner. Doris Koontz, and Sally Grubb, who are all telephone operators, are talking to their big boss. Glenn Peeler. Sec¬ retaries Pat McCurdy and Doris Bean are here, too. I am sitting beside Jerry Honeycutt, a foreman of the Southern Railway. The dinner tonight is being served by “Candy Hall’s Cafe,” owned by Nancy and served by its all girl waiters, cooks, etc. The girls handing out this tempting food are Rose Kesler, Frances Ann Kesler. and Betty Lou Yarbrough. Hugh Preble, the composer, is really eating. He is just about broke from working on “Preble’s Third Movement,” which he finished today. But all great composers must hit the rough spots. And now, after eating, we dance to the music of “Hot Lips Haynes and His Horney Hornets” includ¬ ing all of the successful musicians, E. J. Beck, Johnnie Farmer, Vincent Woodford and vocalist, Caroline Bar¬ ringer. Tom Llewellyn, the rich pro of the country club, is dancing with everyone’s wife tonight, but no one seems to mind. As I sit talking to Bill Lippard, basketball coach at Catawba, it grows into the wee hours of the night. Getting ready to depart, Rev. Staley gives the benediction and we sing Auld Lang Syne. And while singing that song and thinking of the fun we have had in this dear old school, I believe tears come into every eye, even Jim Rusher ' s the undertaker. ’Til we meet again, ROBERT CANUP, Prophet

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