Hartford High School - Hartford Key Yearbook (White River Junction, VT)

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I immediately told him why I was bound for bite River, and asked him whether he knew anything about any of our old friends. “Well, he said, “1 met Albert Couture about two months ago, and he told me that he had taught English in a high school in Arizona for nearly ten years. He said that after graduating from Hartford High, he decided that English was what he really liked the l est of anything. “Good old Albert!’ I ejaculated. “I’m glad to hear such a good report! “Only yesterday,' Earl continued. “I heard that Katherine Bagiev was a candidate for the governorship of the State of Mississippi. What do you think of that? “Fine!” I exclaimed. “1 only hope that if she s elected she will always remember how to s|h 1 I ‘Mississippi.’ Those little things used to bother her some. “I sav, he continued, “have you heard or seen Russell Bement o er the radio lately? “I’m afraid not. You see, I said wryly, “1 don’t believe that I’ve looked into a television set for five years. I’ve been so busy. “Well.” Earl explained, “Russell's been for years to the kids of today what Gene Autry used to be to us. You should hear him ‘go to town’ on his guitar sometime. “I'll try to, the very first day I get home! I vowed. “Do you remember Ellen Davis? he asked after a pause. “Why, of course! What about her? “Well, she's now married to a descendent of Henry Ford, who owns the Ford Submarine Company, and she’s considered an absolute authority on the art of steering a submarine. We talked on and on, until, at about three o’clock, Earl remarked that we were nearing our destination. Home again! Little wonder that my heart-beat quickened! I step| ed to a window. Had the old town changed much? Was Teddy’s Diner still standing? Would the Surprise Store be having an Easter Sale? I looked out of the window, and down on the W hite River valley. As I did so. I gasped. As far as the eye could see were spread hundreds of business blocks, and stretching beyond them in all directions were the residential sections. The whole city appeared to be a solid mass of buildings, skyscrapers, railroads, and avenues, with here and there a spacious park. “City of spires! My city! “Hold tight! Earl called out. “We’re about to land! Ten minutes later I was in a taxi which was taking me away from the City Airport. I had, of course, said “au revoir to Earl, who was now bound for Hong Kong. “W here to? asked the driver. “Well, what’s the best hotel? I inquired. “The Ritzy Rox,’ he replied. “It's the best in the state of Vermont. “Then take me to the Ritzy Rox! (What a name, for old White River!! )’’ In a few moments we drove up in front of a grand hotel on Maple Boulevard, its granite sides towering fifty stories into the air. To say that I was greatlv impressed by life's changes would be putting it mildly. As 1 entered the Ritzy, a bellhop came up to me, whom I instantly recognized as Burton faneuf! He alone hadn't changed at all! The same carefree, happy Burton that he was back in high school! A great deal of handshaking followed. “Say, I’ve got a surprise for you! he exclaimed suddenly. “Wait here while I go get him. the owner and manager of the Ritzy Rox!” Completely baffled, I stood there waiting. Meanwhile a silver-toned radio was announcing at the further end of the lobby: “This is your announcer, Adlord Dulac. returning you to New York. You have just heard from our famous foreign correspondents, Fulbert and Frederick Demers, who have brought you the latest news direct from London! . . . Friends of the radio audience, for better quality and better service, do your shopping in the Ben Franklin Stores, which are located throughout the United States, and oj erated by New Eng- [30]

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CLASS PROPHECY One day about a year ago — I believe it was in the middle of June, 1964—as I was poking around in the attic of my mansion home, located in Sydney, Australia, I noticed, in a remote corner, an old, brow n pasteboard box, bound with white string. As it seemed vaguely familiar, I was curious to learn what it contained. I cut the string with my knife, removed the lid, blew away the dust, and lo and behold —-saw at the very top of a stack of old books, yellowed with age. the “Hartford Key of the Class of 1941! I spent nearly two hours inspecting the old book, looking at the now antiquated pictures, and perusing Jean's History. Many scenes flashed before me—“The Ghost Train,” the Junior Prom of 1940 — and countless others. Then there was the Class Prophecy, written by myself. Luckily, nothing that I had predicted ever happened. 1 wondered how I could possibly have forgotten about the book for so long. It bad seemed an unforgetable volume on one June night in 1941! 1 excused myself, however, by saving that my becoming a multi-millionaire through teaching kangaroos to wage war on the underworld with machine guns had permitted no time for such things. And yet I had never really forgotten the old days nor the old crowd. There were a few of my old classmates that 1 was aware of, for they had become internationally famous. Noreena Raykowski (Noreen Ray back in high school) had become one of the world’s foremost singers through her interpretations of the old classics, such as “Rumboogie” and “In the Mood. I had already read every novel that I could find bearing the name of Anne Benson Miller. Her best work, now known as the “Great American Novel, had been filmed. It was a gripping mystery concerning a blue petunia which grew in a window box, entitled “High On a Window Sill. Her husband. Mark Miller, drew all of the cover designs for “The Saturday Evening Post.” Little did we think in the old days that among the most prosperous members of our class would be Ellen and Ella Alger, the fair owners of the Alger Aspirin Tablet Company, whose annual income was a paltry thirty thousand dollars! Charles Blood and Marjorie Jennings. I knew, were employed as the head chemists in the world's largest chemistry laboratory, in New York, where they had toiled ever since their discovery of the element, Vermontium. in 1951. Betty Lovell now held the world's record for distance sw imming speed, having recently swum the Atlantic Ocean in two hours and fifty-one minutes. Jean Jockel had toured in Asia for several years, teaching the Chinese the Highland Fling, which the Chinese government had decided to adopt as their army’s new marching step. All these facts I had gathered here and there. But what had become of the other members of the Class of '41? Then and there 1 decided to find out. About a week later I boarded a special plane for old White River, which would reach the Junction in about four hours. I had at first planned to stop a moment to visit President Roosevelt in Washington, but. having heard that he was so busy with his stamp collection that lie might not lie able to run in the coming election, I had given up the idea. As 1 seated myself on the velvet cushions, 1 became conscious of the pilot, who was walking briskly past me, towards the pilot room. Something alxiut him seemed familiar, but I could not quite place him. Then it came to me in a flash! Those eyes! Those shoulders! That build! It was Earl Goodell! I followed him into the pilot room, where he was standing by the controls. A look of happy recognition flashed across his face. “Everett Savage!” he cried. “Yes, I exclaimed, “and you. Earl! How on earth do you happen to lie here? “Well, he replied, “after graduation 1 took up flying, and as. a result, here I am. pilot of one of the country’s finest planes. You remember. I didn t drink, I didn t smoke, and 1 didn t chew! [29]

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land's Busiest Business Woman! Miss Frances Mace!! . . . and now, ladies and gentlemen, we bring you the nine hundred and ninety-ninth episode in the daily presentation of ‘One Man’s Family Relations,’ starring Miss Jacqueline Gohie in the leading role of Maggie Mophandle. Today we find . . At this moment Burton returned with the manager, who was, of all people, (even in this dream world I had entered I, “Herbert Smith!” I cried. “So you’re the owner of this establishment! Why, it’s impossible! 1 can’t believe it!” “Yes,” he replied, smiling. “You see, I won it in a raffle five years ago. But come into my office, where there’s less confusion.” In we went to what he modestly called his office, and there he motioned me to an easy chair. “Well, Everett,” he began,— and then the telephone rang. “Hello . . . yes . . . yes . , . what? . . . really! . . . how many tents? . . . well, well! . . . when is it coining? . . . yes . . . yes, we certainly shall . . . thanks for calling . . . good-bye!” “That was Margery Roberts,” he said, turning to me. “She says that Mary Izzo’s Circus is coming to White River. Mary surprised even the most imaginative of us a few years ago by becoming a bareback rider. Margery, you know, handles the column on ‘Advice to the Lovelorn’ in the ‘White River Post.’ She’s wonderfully adapted to such matters, it seems.” “Say,” I queeried. “how about telling me what some of our other classmates are doing now? I haven’t seen or heard from them for years!” “Well,” Herbert began, “Joyce Bixby is still living in West Hartford, where she runs the famous dance pavillion. Island Park. Her husband, Evans Perry, is the bartender. and is noted for his delicious lemonade. Leon and Leona Chase are still together, and own more than half of Quechee, including Chases Mills, the largest woolen mills in Vermont.” “What about Arlene Lyman?” I interrupted. “Oh, Arlene still lives in Jericho, ‘the thriving metropolis of the hills’ as she puts it. Why, it now contains a store, a post office, and a hotdog stand! 't ou know. Arlene was Vermont Senator in Washington for six years, hut is now married and has three children, all future Hartfordians! Her husband owns the largest dairy-farm in Vermont. But it took Lucille Hill to he really different! She’s conductor on a sub-street car, which runs under the ground from West Hartford to Quechee. Doris Putnam drives the school bus from Quechee to Hartford High School, where, incidentally, she teaches Pig Latin. She holds the record for having always made the trip in two minutes and four seconds flat. Once again we were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. “This time it was Lucy Drew,” said Herbert, after the conversation was over. “She told me that Althea Hefllon is playing in the concert at City Hall tonight. She has, you know, travelled all over Europe, playing piano solos, hut she has returned, reporting that it’s very cold over there, for since Iceland won World War No. 2 in 1946, every European citizen has been required to buy one cake of ice each day. Lucy, by the way, operates the toll bridge over the Connecticut River. Her job pays her thousands of dollars each year. “Now that you've told me about everyone else, how about yourself?” I asked. “Well,” said Herbert shyly, displaying his becoming blush. “I’m married, and have three little hoys; Billy, Bobby, and Berty. “My, my,” 1 laughed, so ‘history repeats itself,’ eh? Hurrah for the Smith brothers” A short time later I retired to my room, and went to bed. Soon I was dreaming that Herbert’s children were trying to smuggle Althea’s piano out of the city by way of Lucy’s toll bridge. The next day I visited Hartford High School. Of course I did not recognize the new building, so large that it could easily accommodate four thousand students. It [31]