Flat Rock High School - Parade Yearbook (Flat Rock, NC)

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oe cenes at Sat Koel. Sit down, dear Reader, get comfortable, and do some thinking while we picture for you some scenes at Dear Old Flat Rock High School — scenes which are very familiar to us, the members of the class of 1948. Oh, wait! We should have warned you. Don’t sit there! Nor in any other seat in the Senior home room. We want your mind to be free to consider the things we have to tell you. Any seat in this roony is apt to collapse, bringing you to the floor with a thud, or even perhaps with a crash. We are used to it. We know just how to slide into the seats, just how to adjust our weight so that the worn-out desks will hold us up. And when we do get dropped, we know how to throw out an arm or a leg to break the fall. After nine months in this room and four years in the other rooms in our schoolhouse, we know the art. One of our fond hopes for the future is that when our children attend Flat Rock High School, they may sit down in confidence; that they may know the seat will hold them up; and that they may have a place inside the desk where they may put their books and other school materials. | But we were going to tell you about our everyday life here. There comes Mrs.’ Crawford. She’s sorter slipping up on us. Wish some- body would tell her to have those rubber heels taken off her shoes, so we could know beforehand when she’s around. Darrell wants to whisper something to Robert Lockaby. He’s saying that there’s a flat on the Model T, and does he suppose Mr. Justus will let them out to fix it during the geography class. What’s that? “Darrell, you and Robert, report to study hall this afternoon.” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice. Goodness, can’t somebody tell her that one of the provisions of the constitution is “freedom of speech”. There’s the bell. Out into the hall we go. We wish they’d install some traffic lights to protect us from that speed demon, Mrs. Kessler. If she doesn’t learn to use the brakes as she races to and from her room to the office, there’s going to be a bad wreck some day. And we have an English class — all of us together. Let’s run! Might not get a seat. Not enough to go ‘round, and who wants to sit up there in that extra straight chair by the teacher’s desk? It’s raining cats and pups. Gotta go to the library for a study period. Pull your coat collar up, scrooch down, and run like the — like the mischief. The girls have those doo-hickeys they can put over their hair, but some of their “New Look” dresses will get wet and will soon have the old look. We boys don’t worry too much about that, but some day maybe Flat Rock will have a covered walk between the buildings. We are staying after school to practice ball in our gymnasium. ‘This building was begun fourteen years ago and hasn’t been finished yet, but we children are thankful for small favors. We're glad they finally got a roof over it. We hope that future Flat Rockets will have dressing rooms with showers, a heating system, and that the spectators at our games will have seats which do not endanger life and limb. Getting back to the familiar scenes — See that boy over there studying? Yes, it’s done at Flat Rock — some- times. Look at that book. It is dirty, dog-eared, worn out. He rented it from the state of North Carolina. He paid one-third the retail price of the book as a rental fee for one year. The book has been used for ten years, as is shown by the names of pupils listed on the flyleaf. The first name was a graduate in the class of ’38. Our beloved state has been paid for that book three times and is now starting on the fourth go-round. The book still holds itself together somehow or other. It is smelly, and the soilure collected during these years represents all the different kinds of germs in the medical encyclopedia. But why worry? After all, our state isn’t expected to be fair to the schools — we learned that in the first grade. If we get any textbooks at all by the end of the second or third month of school, we should be properly grateful, even though we do pay rental fees for the whole nine months. Nope, we ain’t kicking. We know it won’t do us any good. But we do hope that some sweet day in the sweet future, not too many years ahead, pupils at Flat Rock and at other state public schools may expect and get what they are justly entitled to and what the taxpayers would like for us to be getting now. We ain’t mad at nobody. Just thought you might like to be thinking things over. Come to see your school sometime. Might learn something not in books. Norman Jongs, JR.

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(EVRA Stopes ean Rte al peat I was sitting in the algebra class. [The afternoon was warm. Spring was in the air, and | found some difhculty concentrating my attention on the hgure X. The voice of the teacher was indistinct and finally became inaudible. ‘lhe figure X, strangely enough, was no longer a letter written in chalk on the blackboard. The blackboard itseit had become a kind ot platform or stage, dark curtains inclosing the space. And the figure X had changed into another kind of figure — quite shapely. And it had a familiar look to me, somehow. On the dark curtain behind the figure, huge letters appeared, and they gradually became very luminous. I read them with amazement. ‘Lhe letters were | 9 5 8. And in the light ot their brightness I recog- nized the shapely figure standing in front of them as that of my class- mate, betty Jo Beddingfield. Betty Jo was a grown-up young lady, modeling a bathing suit. Then it came to me that the impossible had happened, and [ was looking ten years into the future. When Betty Jo’s figure disappeared, a spotlight shone from some- where and lighted up the countenance of another old member of the class of 1948. He was seated in a brand-new P-80. Just before he took off I read the advertisement written on the sides of the plane. It said, IF IT’S MOVEABLE WE MOVE IT TRANSPORT COM- PANY. Clarence Kilpatrick, owner and manager. Perry Fisher came on the stage and showed me that he had become a BIG SHOT. He was manager of the A and P store of Henderson- ville. He had been promoted from his job of chief window-washer. Fred Dorsey came on the scene wearing spikes. He was playing baseball for the Yankees. I saw Roy Duncan, the forlorn cowboy, trying to herd cattle on a motorcycle, and he was singing, “No Letter Today”. Robert Fain had invented a better mousetrap and the public was really beating a path to his door. Joyce Huggins was getting rich on her chicken farm. And although my glimpse of her was brief, I think I saw some other young things — not just baby chicks. Dovie Stepp, er — ah, Blythe, was having trouble with the triplets, but that was to be expected. Katherine Powell had taken over the inspector’s job at the rug plant. She was supposed to see “if there are any strings attached to them.” Verda Shipman, when she could spare the time from her favorite pastime of joke-telling, was acting as man- ager of Green River Cotton Mills, her main duties consisting of keeping the boll weevils out. Gussie Bayne was bookkeeping for Sears Roebuck. After a number of years in business, this company had finally decided to get somebody who could really keep books. They found Gussie, and will never be satisfied with anyone else. Frances Justus had a program on the radio. She to!d housewives how to make soup from week-long left- overs. She used to work in the lunchroom at Flat Rock High, you know. Eva Blythe was happily married and was quite busy looking after four kids. But Eva had help though. Her old side-kick, Lois Edmundson, was County Health Nurse, and often when her work at the schools and hospitals was over, she dropped in to see how Eva’s family was. Between the two, they kept everyone healthy. Elizabeth Jones was working at a store, and after looking very hard at the sign, I could finally make out that it was OGILVIE FREEMAN — Dry Goods and Groceries. Doris Orr was a lawyer with an office in Asheville. She had been admitted to the bar at the age of 21, break- ing some kind of record, or sump’n. Louise Satterfield was a farmer’s wife, but I didn’t manage to learn his name. I saw her, up bright and early, leaving the house with two milk pails in her hand. a Helen Drake, as cute as ever, was in politics. She was using her persuasive ways to get herself elected to ongress. I was really surprised to see Dorothy Justus teaching school. But she was not just an ordinary teacher. Oh, no! She was head of the department of English at the University of North Carolina. And Mildred Mintz had also taken up the noble profession, and was teaching mathematics at Furman Univer- sity in Greenville, S. C. Elizabeth Edwards had attained fame as author of a best-selling book entitled, HOW TO CONTROL YOUR TEMPER, THOUGH REDHEADED. And bless my soul, Margaret Burns was Elizabeth’s secretary. It took both of them to keep the autograph hounds away from the door. Jane Ella Bell was doing all right too. She was acting for Warner Brothers. She was starring with Lohren Guice in a picture called THE BUTLER STRIKES BACK. Betty Dean Cornwell was playing basketball with the All-American Redheads. And Clara Mae Orr wes on the same team. Clara Mae said she would rather dye than let Betty Dean get the better of her, especially since that Shealy boy was one of the official referees. Robert Lockaby was still running along. He was the champion long-distance runner of the United States. Following close behind Robert, I saw Norman Jones and Darrell Hammett, his managers, in the old Model T. It also was still doing its duty. William Morrison, the BRING THEM BACK DEAD trapper, was supplying Charles Blackwell’s Persian Lamb Coat Company with rabbit skins. I saw Herman Fisher in the same old rut — the one that leads to Bettie Pace’s house. He still hadn’t popped the question. I wondered as I gazed if he would let his shyness ruin his whole life, and hers. But look! I saw someone else coming into view on that lighted platform — a very important someone. I became tense with excitement when I realized that it was me, er, myself! I mean it was I. I braced myself to get a good look at that handsome figure — “Herbert Justus, will you please wake up!” It was Miss Osteen’s voice which broke into my consciousness. i pee ee my eyes. “Look at problem 48 on the board, and explain to the class what that figure X stands for and why. Oh, woe! If she had only let me dream just a few minutes longer! Henrsert Justus 748

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lone Jtimigr i lass SyivA SMITH ‘THERESA JONES ALIcE GILBERT President (seated) Vice-President Secretary- Treasurer Jock Buiors J. C. Burre.y Bossy CarRNES Sara Capps CHRISTINE CoATESs Henry Conprey CAROLYN CRONIC CHARLES FREEMAN