Bromfield High School - Beacon Yearbook (Harvard, MA)

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E UBYOTHYIGLA. Beacon Bob told me that two other classmates of ours were in constant touch with him. He said that Wayne Blackwell had his own machine sh-op now, in which Paul Thatcher worked as a welder. I wasn't surprised to hear this, because a long time ago, each of them had talked of doing work of that sort. Both were married. Paul has five children and laughs at Wayne who has only four. We stayed there a little while and then decided that if we were to see more of this lovely village, we must leave. I told Bob not to be surprised if he found me dropping in for a week-end sometime, and he replied that he always had a spare room ready for a classmate. Driving down the main street in that town, I noticed that I was almost out of gas, so I scouted around for a gas station. Presently, I turned into the only one in town. While the attendant waited on me, I noticed a man in dirty dungarees, sticking his head under the hood of the car in front of me. I thought that he looked very familiar, but I couldn't be sure, because of the cake of grease on his face and hands. The more I looked at him, the more positive I was that I knew him. Finally, my courage came to me, and I walked over to him. After watching him for a few minutes, my sus- picion was confirmed. That's right - it was Albert Tooker. I had never expected to see Albert as a mechanic, but he seemed to enjoy his work. We chatted for awhile, and then I left. I laughed as I told Pam who he was. I couldn't picture Albert with such a dirty face, because in our school days his face always shone. The more I think of it now, the more I realize that it wasn't his face that beamed so brightly, but his eyes, whenever they wan- dered over to the girls' side of the study hall at Bromfield. We stopped on top -of the hill just a few yards from the main street to admire the quaint village. Suddenly, we heard a crash at the bottom of the hill. Instantly we went to investigate, and found that a car had blown a tire and had crashed into a stone wall. When we arrived at the scene, a group of people had already assembled there. As we tried to move in closer, I felt a hand on my arm, and a woman's voice asked me if I had, by any chance, witnessed the accident. I answered her before I turned around. Hearing my reply, she exclaimed shrilly, No! It can't be! I turned to look at the woman with the high-pitched voice. I thought you sounded familiar, she said, and then, before I knew it, she called me by my first name. I instantly recalled hearing that high voice a long time ago, back in my high school days. Jane Waters had grown older, but her voice was still the same. Since she worked for the Daily News , she had come to write up an account of the accident. Jane asked me if I would take the poor man to a near-by hospital. Naturally, I agreed. Jane piled into the front seat of my car and directed me there. Two boys with Jane scrambled into the back seat to care for the injured man, so I didn't get a good look at him. Jane was busily writing her report, so she didn't bother to look at him either. When we reached the hospital, I caught my first good glimpse of the man. In amazement, I turned, interrupted Jane, and told her that the man looked like our old classmate, Frank Lennihan. She agreed without any hesitation that it was he. Evidently, he had been out selling his pro- ducts and was late returning to his office, so he had been driving a little . . . ah . . . faster than usual. Later, when Frank was resting comfortably in the hospital, we went in to see him. After a few minutes, the door opened silently, and then, the next minute, I heard someone exclaim, Why Lois, what are you doing Page Twenty-eiqhl

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Br-om?ieLd Be anon In the last few years the Civilian Conservation Corps has done more to cooperate with the forestry service than any other organization. Over 700,000,000 new trees have been planted since 1937 by these 500,000 men. Not only are they building parks and planting trees, but they are protect- ing hillsides and watersheds with heavy planting. In some regions they have made the enviable record of keeping seventy-five per cent of they planting alive. A number of federal departments are working in the forestry field. Some are reforesting the Tennessee hills to prevent floods and erosion of the Tennessee Valley. The Forestry and Park Bureaus are struggling to keep the areas in vast timber growth. There are those who vision planting the north side of every farm in Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska. The trees are needed. They benefit the farmer tremendously. lf we in America wish to protect our parks, the beauties of our ancient redwood trees and of our Douglas fir trees, if we wish to prevent destruc- tion of our forests with the resulting loss of lumber supplies and danger of fiood and soil erosion, we must cooperate with our country's Forestry Service. Paul I. Thatcher ,lf if Pk PROPHECY OF 1950 On one of my days off from the ofiice where I am a secretary, my friend, Pam, and I decided to leave the city behind us and venture forth into the country. We packed a light lunch and then left. Pam had never been in the country before, so I took pride in showing her many beautiful views. Upon arriving in a small town, we st-opped for a soda. While we lin- gered over it, Pam happened to pick up the local paper. There on the front page was a large picture of a famous writer, who was going to appear in person at the Town Hall the following week. The minute I looked at the picture, I recognized it to be that of one of my old classmates at Bromfield School. Of course! It was Barbara Benjamin! As I read the article, I learned that Barbara was going to be present to autograph her latest book, The Passionate Heart . After making a mental note of the day she was to appear, we continued on our way. As we drove along, we noticed a very prosperous-looking farm a few yards to our right. At the driveway there was a sign that said Hallstead . Two boys were walking down the driveway, so we stopped to speak to them. They reminded me very much of someone I had known in my school days. I asked them what their name was. When they said, Hall, I asked them then if, by any chance, their father's name was Robert Kenneth. They said yes, so 1 told Pam that I wanted to call at the farm house, and ask if this Robert Hall were the same one whom I had known. It didn't take me 1-ong to find out, because the minute I saw him, I knew that it was the same one I had known. Pace- Twenty-seven

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Brom9ieL5l Beacon nere? When 1 turned, to my surprise I saw Marie St. John standing there. She hadn't changed much since our graduation from Bromfield School fifteen years ago. She told me that her husband was still in the Navy and at present was off on a cruise, so she was filling in her time at the hospital. When I learned that Frank wasn't hurt seriously, Pam and I started on our journey homeward. That evening, as I talked my day's experiences over with my husband, I remarked that it was strange that I should run across all my old school- mates. He agreed that it was very unusual. Presently, I began to make plans for a class reunion, which would be held at my h-ome. Before the evening was over, I had sent a letter to every one of my classmates who had graduated with me from Bromfield School, setting a date for our re-union. The rest of the evening, I spent looking through all my old scrapbooks, dreaming of my school days. - Lois A. Dickson lk lk Pk CLASS WILL OF 1950 On this, the twenty-third day of June, we, the class of 1950, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be our last will and testament. To the Bromfield School we leave the balance of our treasury to be used to rent new films for the new projector. Now to the members -of the Bromfield School we leave these reminders of our class. To Paul Anderson we leave Robert Hall's free taxi service. To Rebecca Anderson we leave Lois Dickson's position as star player on the basketball team. To Carole Bigelow, an extra period in the day so she may get her homework done before night. To Doris Bigelow, free postage between Harvard and Troy, New York. To Mary Belle Blackwell we leave free passes to all dances. To Ernest Cregar we leave a pile of Class-ic Comics so that his book reports will be in on time. To Harry Creswell, a flock of crows so that he will have plenty of tar- get practice. To Donald Crowther, a book to help him in his future detective work. To Paul Curley we leave a complete set of accessories for his hot-rod. To Jean Ford, a bone to help her keep her collies contented. To John Hendrickson, a governor to put on that car he drives. To Robert Hynes, the right-of-way down Lovers' Lane. To Philip Messersmith, the right to have the family car when he wants it. John Murphy, a car to go with that license. Mary Ann Poitras, a note book so that she may write all her thoughts down. To Maude Stephens, a pair of boxing gloves so that she can keep up with that certain boy. To To Pace Twenty-nine