Honaker High School - Torch Yearbook (Honaker, VA)

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Class Phophecy Here it is 1961 — just ten years sinee I walked out of Honaker High School with my diploma under my arm, a happy Senioi- — eager to take my rightful place in the world! But now I find myself far above the world in a space plane with a note book in my hand waiting for the newest Hydrogen Bomb to explode. I see a world below waiting for the news of tliat bomb’s reaction. At my right is the most intricate television set perfected by Macel Holliday. By the slightest movement of the control I ;im able to single out the remotest corner of the earth and observe the natives as they busy- themselves at their daily work. This being the anniversary of my high school graduation, I can think of no better way to relieve the monotony of waiting than by looking in on my former classmates. Imagine my surprise when I have before me a panoramic view of the little town of Cleveland. The Mayor, Perry Boyd, has called the town council together to hear James Blankenship, instructor of agriculture read his thesis on synthetic T-bone Steak. Sylvia Ann Bartee is in the front row applauding each sentence of the speech while Edna Brown, the foremost typist of her time is pounding away on a new-fangled machine. .James Clark, the fat politician, is grinning broadly as he thinks of that T-bone steak and enough money left to win the election ! I turn the dial slightly and see Thurman Deel’s house. I see him and Peggy Dy e loading chickens, and that means he’s still in the produce business. In the Tazewell High School, looms before me Professor Bill Dve. at least seven feet tall, if he’s an inch, propounding American History- to a group of Seniors; while his efficient little secretary-, Billie Sue I)y-e, is recording his lecture for the Governor of Virginia, Ethel Fletcher. Near a window I see Mildred Fogleman, the girls basketball coach talking to Jeanetta Fuller, the librarian. She is showing one of Carl Henry- Fuller’s latest editions, THE WAY TO WRITE A PERFECT BOOK REPORT. In Washington D. C., I see James Hall, the All American Baseball Star. He is seated in the living room of Neva Hubbard with whom he boards. He is preparing a broadcast on “What Spinach Did For Me.” Carol Honaker a guest of Neva and her son, Lawrence Michael, is all smiles as he admires the ball plaver. As I turn my thoughts still farther, I see a familiar looking place. Why — it’s Knox Field — and soldiers, with Harry- Horton as their coimnander-in-chief , are drilling. In the company- I recognize J. B. Hylton and Arnold Hess looking- very perplexed as they take orders from Harry. My eye caught a view of a very beautiful lawn party- with the distinguished Hazel Lowe, wife of commander-in-chief officiating. Two of the guests, Mrs. Bobbie MeAmis and Delphia McNulty are chatting gaily- at the tea table. Boarding a train for Reno are Sally Miller and Peggy Musick, wbo, I have heard, are getting rid of their fourth husbands. Suddenly I get a glimpse of Hollywood and Donald Newberry, the world’s — 15 —

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Class History Now that our days in hlonaker High Scdiool are nearly over I can look back to September of 1917 when one hundred and twenty-nine hoj’s and girls from Pine Creek, f’inney, Swords Creek, Big A. Mountain. Drill, and Honaker Elementary Schools walked shyly, and half-afraid into the freshman classes. What a step we had made! What a eliange we were ex|)eriencing as we gave uj) reading, writing, and arithmetic for such holy terrors as mathematics, literature, and social science. How formidable those teachers ap})eared as they looked down their noses at us quaking freshmen 1 Everything was hard and strange until the end of school when we went to the freshman picnic and learned after all that the teachers were human and that they were as eager for a little fun as we. Then in the Sophomore year, we were no longer afraid. My how we looked down upon those poor dumb freshmen ! The teachers c;dled us “cock}’” and “smart” but what a blessed relief to he able to find our way around and to no longer fear biology, French, algebra and things which had seemed so foreign the year before! We could really relax and believe that we were a vital ])art of the school. The Junior year was the high light of our life in Honaker High. ETom Sunny Tennessee came our Junior Si:)onsor, Mr. Norman Shipley. He was young and unattached. My how the girls’ hearts skipped a beat as he discussed dancing in the dark at the Junior-Senior prom! El very picnic, every party showed how joyfully we had enjoyed ourselves, and with what implicit obedience we followed the command of that stern voice of Mrs. Miller. And now, having endeavored to picture the Class of 51 during those happy school days which must, to the future student of educational skill, lace our class among the best classes of Honaker High School, I shall not invite attention further to us as E’reshmen, to us as Sophomores, to us as Juniors, but to a greater class, to us as Seniors ! As glorious as were these school days, it is on the last act of the drama — our graduation from Honaker High School, and the future that will follow this gradu- ation — that we must look to see the Class of 51 at its best. A year or more after our graduation, our class will say, “We are conscious that we haven ' t humbly tried to do our duty.” The bright faces which Iiave shone in the morning, but have become obscured by hard studies in the afternoon, sometimes break forth, and after our greatest events throughout High School, the publication of the annual and senior plays, our faces shone with a greater si)lendor than ever known before. So here graduating in the field is the remnant of a class that had once been the most redoubtable body of working classmen of Honaker High School, the greatest leaders, the noblest gentlemen and the fairest ladies, of our time, expecting to slip into the uncertainity of the future, now suddenly stepping forth from the gloom of weary school days into the S})lendor of making a living ! The only sorrow on our horizon is the dec}) concern that we feel for those who dropped by the way side. What would have been the fame of old Honaker if 129 seniors would have remained with us until this eventful day! — Billy Ed Sample — 14 —

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Class Prophecy (continued) most famous screen director, is helping Willis Nash and Willie Dee Palmer as they pause in the hit of the season, “M}’ Foolish Heart ”, written by none other than our own Donald Ruble. .lust across the hall in the composing room is no other than .limmie Preas, the crooner who has taken the place of the late Bing Crosby. 1 switch the di.al to Ni ' w Fork City — to the swanky shoj)s on Fifth Avenue. Who are those beautiful models. As tbc screen clears, I recognize them ;is imey Perkins and Ellen Rose. Standing near the Trans-eontineiital Bus Station is executive .Jack Smith issuing carrots to his long list of night drivers. I see a be.autiful crystal clear train jjulling into Union Station. I immediately recognize the jolly, fat engineer with that radiant hair as .James Gregory, a senior of ’.51. Could th.at pert little, stewardess he I’atsy Wilson? I turn the dial com 2 letely .and bring Anartiea into full view. There is Billy Edd Sample who is engaged in the mining of platinum talking to Clay G. Shelton, his radio intercepter. What is that building in this cold land? Why it is a school and the teachers, Helen Smith and Anna Ruth Stump in white bear skin skee suits are giving exercise to the children who look like little wdiite cubs. This scene makes me so cold th.at I keep turning the dial until I come to a land of sunshine. This must be Florida. Here I see the winter quarters of Buddy Taylor ' s ten ring circus. His lion tamer, Marie Vance, is having a jolly good time at the expense of that clown, the greatest joker in the world — Gene White ! By this time Fm really homesick and I try to loc.ate Swords Creek on the dial. Ah, here it is, hut what do those eon signs say — “Now Showing James Wilson, Ralph Vance and Charles Wysor with All the W’ild Animals They Captured in Africa.’’ Who is the be.autiful lady entering the door? W’hy its Joyce Wilson who has recently developed a solution for a three minute permanent wave. Bang! Thud! What was th.at? H.as the bomb exploded? I awake suddenly to find that Jr. h.as fallen out of bed. My husband calls sleepily, “Put on the coffee })ot, Louise, it’s time to get up and milk the cow. I want to get to the office early. The Brown VS Carter, hreacli of promise case, is next on docket.’’ — Louise Taylor — 16 —