Greenfield High School - Evergreen / Exponent Yearbook (Greenfield, MA)

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16 THE EXPONENT —She’s candidating—for president. Oh—ha—I knew Miss Hamilton’s re¬ veries on “How Woman Would Sur¬ pass Mere Man,” would some day be realized. H. B. continues. Say, I think I’ve got a bite! Merle Wilcox. He will serve a life term at bell hop for Mr. Smith. Good Luck, Merle! Who? Marion White? Married? That’s good—Oh, ye gods—seven children, the Lord help us—What’s that? Gordon Wil¬ lard? (Say, this bloomin’ board is going to fast for me.) Gordon Wil¬ lard will run a barber shop under Miss Austin’s beauty parlor. Wow! a barber shop and a beauty parlor! Who? Marjorie McLaughlin? An inspector of Indian Motorcycles? Wow! D. T. continues. But Ouija, it’s getting late! Can’t you hurry up a bit? Tell me quickly about Atwood’s illustrious future. You can’t hurry it? Why not? Oh, he’s president of the Conway St. railway. Enilf sed. Then there’s Norma Foster. She’s what? She’s what? Spending her ' life hunting? For what? A code to Freshman Short-hand. What ails you, Ouija! Are you crazy, or have you just naturally gone mad? You’re trying to show me something? Oh, I get you. Howy’s idea of a taxy-driver. Steady there! I’m waiting for a message on Bonnie, now. Fishing— what?—for shiners in Lake Michi¬ gan. Theresa Barker? Lecturing on hy¬ giene? In what branch?—“How— to get—fat—on one meal per day!” H. B. concludes. Ouija, what about my fellow prophetess? Here—here—don’t— there now it’s busted. Well, I can do it myself just as well. I see as time flies on apace. Dot Taylor’s round and smiling face (pretty good, what?) The crowded city she will seek, find some poor fel¬ low, sad and meek; him the piano she will teach. (I mean she’ll teach him to play). Him the piano she will teach ’till he can’t hear the six o’clock whistle screech. But soon to Shelburne she’ll return to pound the chubby butter chum: with bash¬ ful lovers at her call; Norman, Francis, Dick and all. She can’t de¬ cide with whom she’ll roam so she’ll tell them all to run along home. She’ll live in happy spinsterhood and —and—aw, I can’t say it in poetry but anyhow, she’s going to be an old. maid, and teach the kids how to bang on a piano and everything. D. T. concludes. Now, Ouija, I’ve almost finished with you! But before I go, I must learn something about Harold Bea¬ man. (Ouija gives a terrific leap! Jumps olf Ouija-board.) Well, if that’s your state of mind. I’ll have to prophecy all myself: Somewhere in the distant hills, I see a spark of red. Oh, it can be nothing else. Than Harold Beaman’s head. It shines so bright on that great height. It fairly dims the stars: It sends out streaks of golden light. That truly rival Mars. You see, on leaving Greenfield High, His bashful state of mind Forced him to wander far away From all the female kind. And so he chose a mountain peak. In some secluded nook. And there the natives of the place. Were teaching him to cook. His state of health’s so weak, they said. He couldn’t stand the strain, And so they sent him back to town With dancing on the brain. He tried his luck at clogging first On Mr. Lawler’s stage But if I told you all of that, I’d waste another page. Since then however, he has changed At such an awful gait. You’d hardly know him now at all Thru miracles of late. You see. He’s now been wiled away. By a Bell’s perfect chimes. And if I told you of her power ’Twould take two hundred lines. You never see him smoking now; You never hear him swear; He never drives his car too fast He never tears his hair.

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THE EXPONENT 15 don Bickford? What’s his line? Soft soap. Now for Issy. Issy Davenport, of course. Oh-o-o-o-o! A chorus girl. And Dorothy Church? 0-1-d, old? M-a-t-r-o-n? Old Ma—? Oh, par¬ don me—the matron of an old ladies’ home. H. B. continues. That’ll be about enough from you. How is Fran going to get along in the world? Going up? Oh, I see he is going to be an air plane pilot. M-a-i—Oh a pilot in the mail service. And he will drop propaganda for the prohibition of cigarettes. Say, Ouija, have we got a politi¬ cian among our number? Edith Pot¬ ter. Her most prominent action will be against the Town of Greenfield, suing for a new (say, this is long, too) for a new side walk on the meadows road, charging unnecessary waste of shoe leather. Well, who’s the next culprit, Ouija? Willard Seibert? An inventor! Ye Gods! Another! Will what’ll he invent? Ice? How d’y get that way? Did¬ n’t ya know that Adam inventjed that? Oh, another kind! Meltless Ice. Well, good luck Seibert. What about Katherine Ryan? A singer? How perfectly lovely! Where will she sing? In a restau¬ rant? Which one? R-a-w-d “Raw Deal”—Some place. Say, I think it’s a crime to let etc.,— D. T. interrupts. Now tell me about S ' auter-Eppler Co. Will they still be sticking together? M-hum. Running a res¬ taurant, eh? And Margaret won’t give up the piano, will she? She will? What for?—A Jew’s harp! How about Barnsey, Ouija? What can you see in him? A what?—A matrimonial bureau? Oh—Well what does he have to do? Write models for love-letters? Ouija! What did you say? A partner? Who? Harold Grousbeck? Well, what has he got to do with it? Takes in the money? Huh! Whatever will become of Roger Crouch, Ouija? I’m getting worried about that boy. Still writing? On the 99th Volume of the “Boer War”! —Well, I guess he’s safe, after all. Let’s have Ellen Pierce now, Ouija. Surely the valedictorian of the class ought to have gone a long way. No? What do you mean? She’s going to get married? How senseless! I hope our precocious Edwin will do better than getting married. What? He’s going to marry her? What is this world coming to. Then there’s Esther Austin, Ouija. A drummer? I didn’t know she could play a drum! Oh—I know a drummer for ladies’ hose—and neck¬ ties. I know! And Eileen Donovan? A private secretary—o—o—for a millionaire. I wonder if he talks to her about his silver, and his gold and his—What’s that?—Oh—Diamonds! Ouija, is King Soloman still on the wire?—Well, tell him to steady him¬ self—I’ve got a big one for him now —Marjorie Bell. Will you please prophecy for her? She’s what? Thin!—Thin!—One dozen raw eggs every day ?—Thin!—Thin!— (Shak¬ ing ' Ouija)—Oh, stop that. H. B. interrupts. Just a minute! Ouija, can you tell me anything about Francis Smead? A teacher? What, in a grammar ‘school? Oh that’s different! A danc¬ ing master! What? Thompson? Well that’s a profitable trade. (Ouija says he’s going to run an an¬ tique shop specializing in old auto¬ mobiles.) How about “Fat” Ward, Ouija? A clog-dancer? (Well he always was light on his feet.) What’s this? Beulah Upham? Yess, Yess, soon! On—account of—her—good—eye¬ sight she-was-appointed Fire War¬ den, on Shelburne Mountain. There’s a nice tower up there. Oh, I think it is perfectly beautiful, so strong, don’t you know—etc. D. T. continues. Have you any information on the out-come of Zadie DeLoach Ouija? —An opera singer? You don’t mean it. And Margaret Class?—Come— none of this funny business. Peg might be Fran-tic. What? Her toe? Oh—she’s to be a toe dancer, is she? Have we a reckless one in the bunch Ouija? And may I ask whom? —Blanch Bourbeau? How’s that?—• Trying to run a new kind of an auto, —one that’s minus a steering-gear! That is her specialty, isn’t it? Then there’s Amelia Arrighi— Whoa! Back up! I didn’t get that

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JOSEPH BONNEVILLE THEOPHILUS GRISWOLD HOWARD HEWITT Captain Captain Captain G. H. S. 1920 BASEBALL TEAM