Bromfield High School - Beacon Yearbook (Harvard, MA)

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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

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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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Bromf-Q-eLd Beacon To Jane Turini, a pair of knee guards to keep her knees from being burned when she plays basketball. To Kenneth West we leave a harness and wagon so his dog can bring him to school. H To Alan Blue, free taxi service to the basketball games. To Mona Callaghan, a box of writing paper to help her with her cor- respondence. To Susan Campbell, a Whizzer motor bike so she will have transpor- tation to basketball games. To Chester Day, a book on argument. To John Foss, a back seat so that the teacher will have a hard time to see him. To Laurence Gates, a box of reducing pills. To John Hopkins we leave the Smithsonian Institute s-0 he will always have science around him. To Nancy Leet, a seat in the hall so she may watch for that certain boy. To Robert Leet, a little more weight so he can hit the line harder on the football team. To Phyllis Perry, a box of crayons to help her make those posters. To Paul Haskell, a swimming pool in his back yard. To Glenn Sawyer, a book on Massachusetts motor vehicle laws. To Frank Sloan, a pair of six-shooters to go with his cowboy outfit. To Sylvia Small, a book on vocations. To Robert Stephens, a bottle of vitamin pills to help him along. T-o Marcelle St. John, someone who can stop those fast passes on the basketball floor. To Robert Turner we give the right to talk and fool in Mrs. Turner's classes. ' To Paul White, the position of right forward on the basketball team. To Donald Daugherty we leave a rabbit to help him along in his busi- ness. To Tiiu Kruus, a seat beside the handsome president of the Sopho- more class. To William Beauvais, a noise-maker so that we shall know that he is around. To Elliot Blackwell, a motorbike so those newspapers will never be late. To Dorothy Cregar, a package of Pep. To Jenifer Culliton, all the latest sheet music to add to her present supply. To William Fox, a little more will power. To Mary Greenwood, a strait jacket to keep her still in class. To Richard Hall, a diet to stop him from growing any taller. To George Lennihan, an alarm-clock so he will reach school on time. To John Linehan, a pair of stilts so he may become center on the bas- ketball team. To Elizabeth Maloney, an Evening in Paris set to help her catch a certain Junior boy. To Norman Marr, a position on the varsity basketball team. To Marilyn Murphy we leave free voice training so that people can hear her in class. Page Thirty