Madras High School - Hi Sage Yearbook (Madras, OR)

Page 27 text:

After my reluctant departure from the hospitable Delaneys, I made ray way to the air-port where I was going to take the plane for Cleveland. I an a social worker and my Job takes me to all points of the United States. On the plane I picked up a newspaper apparently left there by a former occupant. When I began to read it, I was really surprised. There on the second page, third column down was a picture of Kicky Horton. Wayne Horton, respected professor of Mathematics at the University of Haekinsack, will begin his country wide tour on a series of lectures. He will first speak at Detroit . Tee, it was the Micky Horton that I knew who spent his High School days in Cheyenne High, Ogden High, Carlsbad High, Bend High, and Madras High. Well, no doubt about that not being the one that I knew. Professor of Mathematics, I just couldn't believe it. Maybe I would run into him in one of the cities that I was scheduled to hit in the next two months. I might even enjoy listening to one of his lectures. What a lovely place to spend the week-end 1 As soon as I had finished my work at the Maxtel Building, I was planning to go out to an old friend's for dinner. That I neglected to do. It was like this; as I sauntered out of the elevator,I took a quick double and bounced into Julie Kalleport, the manager of a big department store in Cleveland. We chatted 4 while over the trivialities of a working girl in the big city and then made for the local coke bar. Julie was telling me about the perfectly darling man she had working for her when I choked, coughed, sputtered and asked her to repeat the name. Nol Not Merlin Rodman. I was really hitting the Jack-pot. Everywhere I had gone in the last two months I was running into old friends and foes. I nearly died when I found out that Merlin, Rod , was a buyer for women's lingerie in Julie's store. This I had to see for myself. Julie and I grabbed our hats and took off for the store. We wound around what seemed to be millions of counters and finally found our way to the stock room. We found Rod standing in the middle of a carpeted room completely surrounded by flimsy what-nots and lacy negligees. My greeting was met by a modest blush of surprise and pleasure. Rod said he had been working there for about three years. I hadn't seen him since the old high days so didn't know much of what had happened to him. He had gone to Oregon State and then transferred to Texas University where he had become an All American Fullback. After his graduation from Texas, he went into Pro-football and then took his present job. I left him to his work and trailed back out among the counters and etc. I was a very bewildered and fogged-up individual. Maybe I would see Rod again. The reporter tor Charm Magazine was to meet me for luncheon and cocktails at 1:15 and so I made a wild change of attire and skidded into Pierre's at 1:11. I was to know who the reporter was by a red hat and beige suit. At a far table, I saw a very attractive young woman sitting with two very pretty legs crossed wearing the appointed clothes. By the time I was two or three feet away, I broke into a run. What a break, it was MariJane Thompson. I knew she was a Journalist student but I didn't know she was a reporter for Charm. She looked pretty good to me and we had a long talk about fashions and home. I told her about seeing Rod and she wouldn't believe it so we decided to go see him the next day. That interview was more fun that any I have ever had. Marijane was doing pretty well and not only in her career either, I learned. She was married to the well known author, Rex Rickall. Since we both would be here for the next two days, we decided to do the town together. Poor Cleveland; arijane had acquired some added energy in the days since high school and we really had a lot of fun. We went to all the fashion shows and new premieres. With much regret I waved good-bye to Cleveland and all the fun I had while I was there. Maybe I would run into some more of my old friende on my new trip. The plane reservations were all taken and I had to r.eet a deadline so I took the train to Cincinnati. In the middle of the sunmer when the heat begins to descend on the country like an avenging warrier killing all vegetation and making the whole country heave and steam, that is the time not to take the train. I was feeling very sticky and sorry for myself when a familiar voice asked me where I was going. It was Bill Meeker, our 19L8 studen, body president and valiant left-and on our football team. He was well dressed and apparently not suffering from the heat as much as I was. I asked him what he was doing and he