Fort Benton High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Fort Benton, MT)

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THE PIONEER + Vice Pres. GLASS Piss Evans J ( First row: Clarence Willson, Margaret Collins, Albert Morris, Marjorie Manley, George Paul, Laura Jane Olmstead, Victor Fatz, Alice Elliott, Emily Myers. Second row: James Morger, Lillian Bokovoy, Charles Christofferson, Elva Whitehorn, Rita Dale Ruth, James Allen, Esther Humphrey, Glen Hicks, Florence Cooper. Third row: Beatrice Klay, Melvin Weeks, Helen Christensen, Vernell Fisher. Fourth row: Henry Grossman, Helen Collins, Arthur Kleinschmidt, Beryl Schultz. Fifth row: Ellen Eveleth, Donald Gall, Joyce Gall, Clair Sykes, Betty Callison, Delbert Long. Sixth row: George Elliot, Audrey Rody, Dorothy Ritter, Kenneth Young, Florence Elliott, Mabel Lucas, Bill Baumann, Margaret James. Seventh row: Chester Halley, Dawn Gallagher, Cecil Roddy, Dixie Schoonover, Calvin Fultz, Elsie Mae McSweeney, Elmer Bokovoy, Eldon Adams, Barbara Van Horn.

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—rds SBOPHONORE

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sae Eee PIONEER Page 31 SOPHOMORE CLASS When we were only Buck Privates, under Brigadier General Evans and Private Halley, we longed for the time when we would advance to the rank of Sergeant. Well, here we are and to prove it we really did a “ship-shape” job of cutting the hair of those youngsters, the Buck Privates. Under Brigadier General Evans and Lieutenant Kilroy we fought our way through and finally threw a huge party. We don’t mention, however, that we were too fatigued from “hot-footing” that we neglected to clean-up and scrub decks. Consequently, we were deprived of shore-leave for a week, besides losing part of our salaries. We are looking forward to becoming Lieutenants next fall. MODERN VERSION OF A LADY IN DISTRESS Let me sing you the tale Of a lady in distress With a hero who was handsome, And a heroine named Bess. Bess was a snappy little blonde Who drove a Chevrolet, The Hero wasn’t up-to-date He drove a hoss and shay. One day when it was raining hard Bess went to take a spin She drove too close beside the ditch And presently slipped in. At this awful predicament Bess let out a shrill wail, And if she hadn’t had on rouge Would really have turned pale. It so chanced then that hero Joe Was coming down the lane On seeing Bessie in distress He gave his horse more rein. He left the shay beside the fence He ran unto her aid To put the car back on the road He willingly essayed. “If I got out,” said lovely Bess, “Perhaps the car would lighter be.” “Unto the shay,” said rustic Joe, “T’ll gladly carry thee.” He took the lady in his arms, With her so very near It was a simple matter To say, “I love you, dear.” She put her arms around his neck Her head upon his shoulder laid, Impishly smiled into his eyes, And kissed him—naughty maid. But since that it was raining hard, They in such bliss couldn’t tarry. He asked (and was not answered no) If she with him would marry. The youthful passion in his veins Increased his strength a thousand-fold, He got the car out of the ditch With one good heave, I’m told. Ww ° He put his love into the car, He left his horse and shay, He motored to the county seat, And married her that day. The moral of my story, gals, In case you’d like to know, Is when you’re out to get a man, Be anything but slow. —Mariam Newhall. FBHS AVENGER All is quiet save the constant drone of airplane motors in the heaven. innocent child, possessed with fear, clings helplessly to his mother. Her eyes are turned upward, where, in the distance, tiny black figures can be seen weaving a pattern in the fleecy clouds. The peaceful green valley lies contentedly in the sun, unaware of the approach- An ing death. The drone becomes louder and louder until, high in. the sky, three tiny winged figures are visible. They look like graceful birds flying inno- cently over the countryside. But lo! What is dropped from the first plane—that tiny object speeding to- ward the earth? No! It can’t be a bomb! But it is. The mother tightens her grasp on the small child. Horror mingled with tears fills her soft brown eyes. The terrified child, sensing the danger, begins to cry in a series of pitiful sobs. Even the meadow takes on a sombre appearance. A faint whistle is heard; Gradually it grows, and grows, until With a crash it brings its message to earth. The planes are still there, still winging onward with their cargo of death and destruction. But where is the young infant? Where is the frightened yet brave mother? What has happened to the peaceful meadow? They are all gone. This is Europe. This is today. —Clark Hilton.