Hauser Junior Senior High School - Jetstream Yearbook (Hope, IN)

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v cx fyyi f 4 P . . PATSY GUTHRIE Booster Club Dear Seniors, 'Twplmi We hereby dedicate to you, your prophecy; your future is in our hands. Year--1971. Place--Alcatraz. Occupation- rockbusters. To celebrate our tenth anniversary in our wonderful home, we decided to take a little vacation, (under cover, of course). After shooting prison guard, Edwin Stone, and bidding a fond farewell to Barbara Harris, prison warden, we ran into Jack Franklin and Dave Cobble, who “insisted” on leaving with us. We gave our consent under the pressure of knowing that Melvin Blackburn and his bloodhounds would soon be on our trail. While running across the countryside, we ran into Jim Meier, who wanted to know if this was the crosscountry course. He had been trying to find it for ten years. We informed him it was “thataway”, so off he ran, with A. C. Reeves close on his heels. They’ll finish yet. As we hit the highway, we saw our old classmates, Betty Herron and Betty Turner, drag-racing. Hot on their tail was policewoman, Janet Miller, on her Mooresmobile, designed by Bob and Dale Moore. After the smoke cleared away, we gazed across the road and saw John Ray behind a plow, being pulled by Donald Norris. We decided to stop and chat a moment. After much difficulty, we finally got them to stop. John apologized by stating that once Donnie got started, there was no stopping him. He then told us his neighbor was Jimmy Simmons, who, with his wife, Sandra Hadley, very successfully raises Kentucky Bluegrass, in Indiana. He also informed us that their community population was steadily growing, even though Tom Beeker and Carol

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JEAN SNEED Library Club Booster Club Student Council DONNY NORRIS Basketball Booster Club F.F.A. Art THOMAS L. BEEKER Jetstream Staff F.F.A. Booster Club Beatniks School Scoop Staff Band Chorus

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Ponder were the only doctors for miles. Tom was married finally to Lynn Ray, now deceased. (She took some of husband, Tom’s, medicine.) Carol spends very little time in her office. She’s too busy trying to find a man. We left suddenly because of howling dogs in the distance. (Drat that Blackburn.) In our rapid retreat, we noticed a sign stating that we were now traveling on an Ever-road , designed by a former Hauser graduate, Gloria Everroad. We soon reached the outskirts of a bustling metropolis, Calhoun City, named after its distinguished mayor and local hero, Alfred E. Calhoun, II. We decided to stay awhile and pay Alfred a visit. Upon entering his glamorous office, we were greeted by his secretary, Dorothy Hollman. She informed us that Mayor Calhoun had won the election by a landslide, over Buddy Rich, and that Buddy is now drinking his life away in disappointment. As we sat talking, we noticed a familiar figure washing the windows, and upon inquiry, we found that it was Margaret Ferguson, an old classmate. Then, because of that old familiar ring of barking dogs, we made a hasty departure down the fire escape. As we reached the bottom, we quickly, hailed a taxi and discovered the driver was none other than Mary McIntyre. While she hurriedly drove us to the bus station, she told us that she bought all of her gas at the “Pay More, Get Less’’ gas station, owned by Janet Lucas and Joyce Titus, both of whom are married to Mike Stafford, now in hiding. As we passed the local park, we saw some one spraying the bushes. We discovered that it was none other than the bush of all bushes, Eugene Bush. Having no time to stop and chat, (because of guess-who), on we flew to the station. Upon reaching it, we hopped out, and after borrowing bus fare fromour former classmate, Kenneth Mote, who is now an internationally-known musician, we quickly purchased our tickets from Dorothy Dykes. We asked Dorothy how long she had been selling tickets and she said, “Oh, I’m not really a ticket saleswoman, actually I’m personal barber to the now-famous actor, Otis Webb. I’m only selling tickets because Otis is letting his hair and beard grow long for his portrayal of “Big Otis”, on the OK commercials.’’ As we bid farewell to Dorothy, we jumped on our bus and then jumped off again, when we discovered the bus driver was Gary Robertson. However, we had no choice, but to get back on, as we again were hearing the dreaded bellow of Blackburn’s Bloodhounds. We shakily took our seats, and found that our neighbor was Barbara Owens, now happily married to a prosperous Bartholomew County farmer. (Guess who?) She informed us that this bus line was owned by a former classmate, Richard Sons, that being the reason for the unusual name on the bus, Richard Sons Sons. She also mentioned that Helen Spicer is no ordinary spicer; she spices all of the President’s food with a smile. That just proves that what this world needs is more nicer spicers like Helen. As Gary turned to agree with her, a large tree appeared before us. Crrasshhh!!!! The next thing we knew, we found ourselves lying in the hospital, with the smiling faces of Judy and Julia Diewert beaming down upon us. They asked us if we were going to pay our bill in cash, or through our insurance company. When we stated we had neither, their smiles dissolved and so did the bed. We suddenly found ourselves lying in the gutter. We still might be lying there, had it not been for the assistance of a staggering gentleman, who helped us to our feet. We, in turn, had to help him to his feet. As we all stumbled to our feet, we discovered the weaving gentleman was none other than Mike Duling, the city’s leading alcoholic. We managed to gather some hiccough- invaded information from Mike, after a few hours of patient coaching. He finally mumbled the reason for his condition was the constant nagging of his wife, the former Roberta Herron. He also mumbled that he spent most of his time at Nad-o’s Bar, co-owned by two Hauser graduates, Morris and Delores Nading. He then suddenly staggered away mumbling something about it being time for the Alcoholics Anonymous Meeting. As we turned around to continue our journey, we saw a familiar figure in the distance, so we abruptly changed our course and fled the scene. Our new course took us through Grenwich Village, and being quite a ways ahead of Melvin, we decided to stop and chat with a few of the “beat” ones. We saw a sign pointing the way to “Sneedys’ Hideaway’’, and figuring this would be the easiest way to meet some of the inhabitants, we cautiously made our way down the smoke-filled stairway. As we made our entrance.