Mansfield High School - Hornet / Green Years Yearbook (Mansfield, MA)

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Prophecy By WILLIAM BAXTER The telephone gave a loud ring. Again I picked up the receiver. “Ts this the government bureau for locating missing persons?” inquired a shrill feminine voice. Eager to be of help, I replied that this was the office of the newly organ- ized service of Uncle Sam. “Will you please try to find my dar- ling Rudolph? He’s such a sweet little dog!” For the tenth time that day I ex- plained that we were interested in find- ing people only and settled down to re- sume my nap. No sooner had I closed my eyes than an abrupt, once-familiar little cough caused me to look up. “Will!” “Bob!” I cried, as I looked in amaze- ment at the face of my old classmate Robert Sherman. At the same moment my secretary, glancing up from her work, gave a startled scream and collapsed. Bob, always equal to the occasion, rushed to her aid and began to shake her vigor- ously. “Why, it’s Dorothy Wellman,” he exclaimed, as she opened her eyes and stared at him blankly. “Tt can’t be Bob Sherman. It can’t be,” she mumbled. Before any explanations could be made, the door opened and in stamped our chief, Cleo Griswold, followed by my assistant, George Goddard. “What’s the cause of all the—why, if it isn’t Bob Sherman!” Cleo gasped. “We never expected to see you again,’ said Dorothy, not yet fully re- covered from her shock. ‘Why just two weeks ago, we read that Robert Sherman and James Armfield of the United States Marines, had lost their lives in a brave attempt to save a fellow marine from drowning.” “Well, you know you mustn’t believe all you read,” admonished Bob laugh- 27 ingly, as he gave each of us one of his old-time, bone-crushing handshakes. “Do tell us what really happened,” pleaded Goddard, impatient as ever to get to the heart of any mystery. “Tt is all very simple,” said Bob; “just a case of mistaken identity. Ac- tually James and I were three thousand miles from the scene of the accident.” “Well, that Gee Gee Bo Bo never does get anything straight,’ remarked Dorothy disgustedly. “I told Yolanda DiMonte and Rose Santucci six months ago that they ought to get a new editor, some one like Lila Thurber.” “Oh, by the way, what’s Lila doing now?” queried Bob. “She’s teaching journalism at Har- vard,” Dot replied. “Let me write that down,” said Bob, drawing a notebook from his pocket. Then he explained the purpose of his visit to my office. It seems that Bob was planning a reunion of the Class of 1940. Having difficulty in rounding up some of the members, he had finally de- cided to appeal to the government for help. Bob’s suggestion that he reveal to us the information that he had al- ready gathered met with hearty ap- proval. “Donald McKillop,” he began, “a prominent millionaire, is treasurer of the First National Bank in Mansfield. “Francis DeVine is a famous artist. I traced him through one of his great paintings which was on exhibition in a gallery, Rogues’ Gallery, to be exact. “Betty Dean, after successfully using her old high school tactics on Carl Gross, the producer, is completing a picture in Hollywood. “Viola Fornaciari is now a member of the teaching staff of the Mansfield High School, under the well-beloved principal, Anna Tretakoff. “Margaret Jones and Gladys Wil- liams are both instructors in Foxboro High School. Margaret teaches domestic

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Rolling in dough “Baby Take a Bow” Hitting the trail All trial and no balance Brief interlude “She never rode in a rumble seat in her life.” “Eat, drink and be merry.” If pleasure interferes with business, give up business. “Angle-ing” for an A The Tatler will get you if you don’t watch out. 26

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science; Gladys, aesthetic dancing and archery. “Mary Abreu and Annie DeSarro have won the acclaim of thousands of students by organizing a movement to abolish Shakespeare from the high school curriculum. “Lois Van Hoesen and Catherine Chandler are now co-managers of Boston’s largest department store. “Philo Ragno, whose high school edu- cation carried her a long way, was traced to Central Africa, where she is teaching Pigmies Hog Latin. “Two of our most modest girls, Dena Amici and Carmella Signoriello, were found in the Chicago underworld, where they were leading a crusade against bad English. “For quite some time now I have been hunting for Audrey La Har and Dorothy Andrews but have been unable to find either.” “Why, I know where Audrey is,” exclaimed Dorothy; “she’s a torch singer. [hey say Eleanor Wright, her publicity manager, is partly responsible for her rapid rise to fame.” “As for Dorothy Andrews,” blurted out Cleo, “I feel sorry for her, poor girl. According to Edith Robinson, our WBZ reporter, she will soon be tied down by the bonds of matrimony.” “Have you heard anything in regard to Orlando Souza?” I asked Bob. “Yes, he’s an authority on etiquette. I’ve just finished reading his latest work. It’s rapidly supplanting Emily Post’s well-known book on that subject. “Tt is Tommy Branigan, who is my chief worry,” stated Bob with a frown. “T’m handing the job of finding the elusive Tom to your bureau.” “Fine,” said Cleo. “Baxter and God- dard will do it.” The party broke up and George and I hurried away to get some sleep before tackling the difficult task ahead. The only clue we had to work on was an unconfirmed report by Ruthe Sheehan, the feminine Walter Winchell, stating that Tom was last seen in New York. Working on this tip, we set off early the next morning to catch the Flying Eagle, a train designed, built, and driven by Edrick Smith. It made me 28 think back ‘to the time when he tried so hard to repair our experimental steam locomotive at school. He certainly put the finishing touches on that. We had no sooner boarded the train than we heard a familiar voice behind us. Looking up we could see Alfred DiGiampietro, as he came proudly stalking down the aisle in a conductor’s uniform. He was so glad to see us that he almost forgot his work. With great pride he displayed the autographs of two well known figures of the sporting world—Chester Haskeli, slugger for the Cincinnati Reds, and John Robertson, now famous football coach at Wheaton College. When we pulled into the Grand Central Station, a commotion taking place on the next platform attracted our attention. As McGinn’s National Band struck up ‘‘All Hail, Miss America,” off the train stepped lovely Jean LaRoe, accompanied by her able manager, William Maurer. The famed reporter Edmund Hooger- zeil could be seen fighting frantically through the crowd in the hope of ob- taining the first interview. Behind him was Pearl Gordon, her press card tight- ly clasped in her hand, late as usual. Although Goddard once had crashed the Barnstable eleven, he did not feel equal to attacking this mob of enthusiastic ad- mirers. As bench-warming had been more in my line than tackling, we postponed the pleasure of meeting our classmates. It was only after a fierce struggle that we finally reached the street. “The Plaza,” I said, as a taxi, driven by Ray Engler, pulled up to the curb with a flourish. Despite Ray’s propen- sity for reckless driving, we reached the hotel safely. The tall, handsome door- man who greeted us proved to be George McCoy. At the desk we found Clara Boynton giving orders to Philip Slayton, one of the bell-boys. That evening we met Mildred Greene, who was in charge of the personnel. From her we learned that two other classmates were employed at the Plaza—Lillian Chace, as housekeeper, and Dena DeSantis as hostess. We were informed by Clara that only