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

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Class Prophecy June, 1%2 Dear Diary, What an exciting day! It was a surprise just to receive that note from Hetty Aher a week ago—to say nothing of what followed. Betty (she’s Mrs. John Martin, now) told me just enough about her little home and family to make her invitation irresistible. It is so easy to lose track of school friends after graduating; but they aren’t really forgotten, as this day has proved. Betty’s quiet ways and sweet, cheery smile I remembered in a flash as I saw her signature. But here is the real reason for her writing me: June is not only the month in which she was married, fifteen years ago, but also, it is seventeen years ago in June that we graduated from Hartford High School. She happened to see the name of one of our former class-mates in a newspaper and the idea of a combination anniversary celebration and class reunion occurred to her with extremely interesting results. Naturally, it was next to impossible to resist this invitation, even on such short notice as it had been given. She apologized for this, saying she hadn’t discovered some of our addresses until nearly the last minute. But the prospect of seeing all the kids (Wait a minute, we aren’t “kids any more, are we?) again easily overcame any objections that might threaten to keep me from going. So this afternoon—excited as a four year old going to a birthday party—I started out for Betty’s. It wasn’t hard to tell which of the houses on that charming side street was hers. The driveway was filled with cars; several people were standing in a group on the sidewalk in front of the house and I had started toward them when someone behind me said, “Hey, stupid, you look a mess!” What? Now who—?” I said, turning. “Oh! Tim Dunley, of course! And Luther Fletcher.” Then I had to laugh at the expression of relief that came over his face. “Gosh, I was afraid maybe you weren’t who I thought you were-,” Tim started in an apologetic tone, but Luther interrupted with, “I told you you were taking a chance. Just luck for you that she is who you thought she was. It would have been good if she’d slapped your face! “I was wondering if he still went around saying that to everybody he met. Apparently he’s one that hasn’t changed much! What have you two been doing since we left H. H. S.?” From then on conversation flowed too fast to be remembered exactly, but I managed to get the general idea. It seems Tim, always strong on the subject of jet propulsion, has done more than talk about it. He is searching for someone to finance the manufacture of some sort of a rocket which could be shot by jet propulsion—to the moon. Luther has great faith in the idea and is Tim's right hand man. “Sounds as though Raymond Hall should be connected with an idea like that,” I remarked. “He and Bill Liberty were always talking about digging a hole through the middle of the earth or building a bridge from Alaska to Asia.” 17

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SENIOR YEAR (at last) United in a home room for the first time since entering H. H. S., our number, reduced to 42, failed to fill room 5. Joyce Twiss and Rita Coutnoir were the new faces in our group. During the year we have lost eight members of our class. They are: Arthur Thibodeau, who has joined the Navy; Alvin Ricker, who joined the Army and also James Harvey who joined the Army Air Corps. Ellen Howarth transferred to Hanover; Edward Dcnn who moved to Roxbury, M ass.; Rita Coutnoir who transferred to Newport Center; Dorothy E. White who left school; and Eleanor Chase who is now Mrs. Henry Bradbury. There is a strong possibility that others will be called for military service before June, since several have already enlisted in the Navy. The eleven remaining boys have banded together in self protection against the overwhelming feminine membership. The results of the all-important class election were as follows: President, Robert Eske; vice president, John Bogle; secretary, Betty Bettis; treasurer, Richard Laskey; Sgt. at arms, Timothy Dun-ley: attorney-at-law, Peter Eilosa. Later in the year when the Student Council was organized William Liberty and Ruth Sanders were chosen as Senior members in addition to the Class President, Robert Eske, and home room representative, John Bogle. Our class started the social season with an innovation a reception lor the Faculty and Freshmen Class. After a musical program, the Freshmen and new members of the faculty were initiated into the sacred halls of H.H.S. Our class sponsors were Mr. Freitas and Miss Erie. With great success, the Senior Class presented a great comedy, That Crazy Smith Family,” in November. This [day was a great financial and dramatic success. Our last few weeks at H. H. S. were occupied with preparation of the year book, and with the many attendant details of graduation. The faculty on the whole agrees that there will never be another class like the class of ‘45. Come what may, time w ill bring out the courage, generosity, and knowlec Ige of the mighty class of ‘45. And as the night must follow the day, so will each of the under classes take its turn at being mighty seniors. But we all know- that their thoughts will probably be: Will we ever reach the standards of the class of ‘45? Can we ever make such an impression on the student body and faculty as did the class of ‘45? Have we the ambition, spirit, or intellectual standing of the class of ‘45? We, the class of ‘45 wish you all the patience and understanding you’ll need to reach this goal. Here is a theme we leave to all the graduating classes to remember us by: “Blow wind! come, wrack! At least we’ll die with harness on our back. —William Shakespeare Raymond Hall William Liberty 16

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However, they said Raymond would have nothing to do with it and proceeded to tell the quite amazing story of Raymond and Bill. Raymond had become a professor of mathematics, and, while trying to explain the Fourth Dimension to Bill had got himself so mixed up that he was taken to a sanitorium. Bill tried to persuade The officials there that Raymond was sane but al nost got himself enrolled as a patient! Betty came down the steps to greet us welcome shining all over her face. “Come on in nearly everyone is here now. There’s so much noise in the house you can hardly hear yourself think! Everybody has so much to talk about! Oh, I’m so glad you could all come.” We went into the tiny hall and then were part of the crowd, shaking hands, laughing, trying to remember names, asking questions all at once. My, how some of them have changed! Others have retained their exact mannerisms of school days. Quite an impressive assortment of people they are, too, all with something different to tell. The twins and Eunice went to Florida shortly after graduation to work in a tourists’ camp. A few years later they bought the place and it looked as though they were making a small fortune for themselves. Then they lost all when the whole establishment was destroyed by fire. Things were pretty dark until a “dashing young Romeo,” who had been staving there at the time of the disaster, came to their rescue. He revealed himself as the bored, adventureseeking son of a millionaire, temporarily disinherited until he should find a practical investment for part of his money. So—just like a fairy tale- he decided to help them out. It wasn’t long before his interest was more than financial but, not being able to decide which of the three was best suited for him he left. This was no worry to the girls; they are well started in their new business. A sad, strange melody came drifting over from the piano and demanded our attention there. John Bogle was seated at the piano, wearing an expression to match the mood of his music. “What in the world made him grow old so fast?” I asked. Elizabeth St. John (herself married, and managing her household competently) offered to tell the facts. She said she’d just learned them from Rita Stone, who was John’s housekeeper, and, incidently, about the only person he would still sj eak to. While John was in college he tried to sell some of his songs and eventually had found a publisher for one of them. But it didn’t sell until the public heard it as sung by Betty Bettis and played by “Rose and his Riveters” (Winston Rose to you). When this happened, folks thought John was getting started on a career, but he was disgusted to think that it took an orchestra and a singer to make his music sell. Jealousy got the better of him and he refused to write anymore music that could be played or sung by any one other than himself. “Midge” Trottier joined us then and gave a few more facts on the case. She knew- more details, as she works for the publishing company that gave John’s song its first public appearance. Betty Emerton, someone said, was a medical secretary in a Boston hospital; and she, herself, confirmed this report a few minutes later. “Yes, I like my work; and it certainly is work!” she told us. “Peggy Chittenden comes in to see me occasionally and I’ve been out to spend a few 18