Frenchtown High School - Decouverte / Bronc Yearbook (Frenchtown, MT)

Page 11 text:

Senior The time is June 1, 1970; the place is the Metropolis Hotel in French- town. The graduating class of I960 is having a reunion after ten long years of separation. As I walk in the door of the fifteen-story hotel, I see the doorman in his bright yellow uniform, directing the flow of people coming in the revolving doors. Looking again I see that the doorman is a fellow Senior of I960, Jack Lenoir. Looks like all that physics didn't do too much good. Just about swallowing my partial plate because of the harsh words blaring from behind me, I whirl around and see ny old buddy and owner- manager of the Metropolis Hotel, Jack Billington, screaming, between puffs- on his fifty-cent Havana cigar, orders at the decrepit old scrub woman— oh, gosh, it's poor old Donna Richardson Lenoir, trying t o help earn a living for her five little redheads and her doorman husband. As I enter the Uni- verse Room, I'm approached by the maitre'd, a stubby, balding little char- acter dressed in a green Martian suit, John Robbins. Following him to the table, I see seated, and naturally, already eating Colleen Groom, doctor and part-time housewife who we all know as the finder of a cure for cancer. As lam about to sit by her, we are hailed by a hearty Howdy Pardners from the door. Looking up, I see Maurice Felton accompanied b y George Bissonette. If you read the western magazines, you'll know that Maurice has worked from an $80.00 a month cowhand to owner of the biggest ranch in Arizona. George, who is as yet not so fortunate, is Maurice's foreman at the ranch. By the way, they have a mink ranch. From across the crowded dance floor, w e are heralded'by the ringing of trumpets, signalling the entrance of the governor of the state. She comes slithering down the ivory and gilt stairway fol- lowed by her servant. Bob Crookshank, vtfio is holding up the ten-foot train of her black shiek evening gown, Paris original. As she approaches the dance floor, the music stops, the crowd moves back from the glare of the diamonds shinuierlng from around her neck; she hides her face until she is almost upon us; we all gasp with admiration when we see who it is, our old class president, Bonnie Lucier.

Page 13 text:

Well, I guess I'd better be getting to work. My show at the Cocabanana Club opens in a few minutes. I hail down one o f the jet—lined taxis that go whizzing by, and who to my surprise is driving it, but Nora Brester, owner and operator of the largest fleet of taxis in the world. She informs me that if you want a ride. Just whistle, pay your hundred dollars down, and you'll be taken jet-propelled, of course, to any place you wish to go. So we' re off I By: Jon Parker Nora Brester Betti Jonas