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

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two weeks ago Branigan had been a guest there, but had been forced to leave when he refused to part with a few of his harmless pet skunks. A hot tip given us by George McCoy raised our hopes. According to him Tommy was a doctor of some sort employed at the City Hospital. The next morning found us at that institution. We were met at the door by twin nurses, Pat and Virginia Ballou, who had achieved world fame by suc- cessfully bringing up a family of sextuplets. As they escorted us down the broad corridor, we noticed two signs. One of these read: ‘“‘Dietitians— Mabel Lowe, Georgia Milson’”; the other: “Laboratory Technicians—Helen Wondergem, Edwina MacDonald.” Our attention was suddenly diverted as a door burst open and out stamped one of the patients, followed by Dr. Dorothy Cruser. Dr. Cruser was vain- ly trying to explain that it wasn’t her fault that John Colella, the hospital chemist, had made the mistake of putting sulphur into her sugar pills. No wonder the patient was burning up! Farther down the corridor we met Dr. Warren Griffin and his secretary, Rachel Swett. Although Warren was on his way to perform an operation, he stopped long enough to answer our in- quiry about Tom. So far as he knew, there was no Dr. Branigan connected with that hospital, or any other in the city. Reluctantly we bade Pat and Virginia good-bye and returned to our hotel. Hardly had we settled down for a little rest, when we were interrupted by the receipt of a telegram, which read: “Important. Proceed to South America immediately. Branigan believed run- ning animal farm.” In less than forty minutes we had reached the Municipal Airport and were on our way. We had a very comfort- able trip, thanks to the kindly attention of the hostess, Blanche Manson, and to the fact that Stuart Sweet, who had designed the plane, had incorporated into the arrangements everything from a bathtub to a hot-dog stand. Our minds were at ease concerning the worthiness of the ship when we learned 29 that the engine had been designed by that inventive genius Robert St. John. In the course of our conversation Blanche informed us that Wilfred Cardin was pilot of the Alaska Clipper, and that Rita Thibault was hostess on the same ship. A request from a thirsty passenger sent Blanche hurrying away. After a few moments of silence I leaned over to see what article in the paper he was reading could be of such absorbing interest to my companion. With a blush he pointed to the column “Advice to the Lovelorn,’ by Marie Collamer, generally known as Miss June Morning. “Thought perhaps we might find a clue about Tom,” said Goddard, as he quickly turned the page in an effort to hide his confusion. The name Richard Steele caught my eye. Chuckling with delight, I read his famous comic strip ‘““Men of Iron.” Although styles were of no interest to us, we couldn’t help noticing the chic costumes designed by Alice Piasecki and Philo Palladino. In the section devoted to music we read that Kenneth Morse would play his ‘Concerto A La Hotcha” at Swing- um Hall, that evening. “That should be good for the patients next door,’ said Goddard. “Music hath power to soothe the troubled mind,’ you know. He referred to the rest home which Harriett Phillips, Alice Conrad, and Irene Durkee had established for persons suffering from nervous breakdown. On the opposite page I read the fol- lowing: ‘Attention, Men! Ladies like you well groomed. Be fitted at Louis Syat and William Capek’s tailor shop.” Just then the plane swooped down- ward and I threw my paper aside. “Tighten your belts, please,’ sang out Blanche just before the plane made a nerfect three-point landing. We said farewell to our classmate and set out to renew our search. For three weeks we visited animal farms but without success. The one bright spot in all that time was our visit with Ruth King, Virginia Dustin, and Ethel Macomber, whom we found in a little mission school, twenty miles from no-

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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

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where. On our way back to civilization we came upon Hugo Wondergem, the current Frank Buck, as he boldly strode out of the woods with his trusty but ter- fly net slung over his shoulder. Behind him was the never-tiring explorer and camera fiend, Frederick Brutcher. We were overjoyed at the sight of our friends, who guided us back to the air- port, where we boarded a plane for New York. A few hours later we reached our destination, weary and discouraged. In perfect agreement, we declared a two-day respite from our work and de- cided to take in some of the sights of the city. The next day, as we strolled down Broadway, we met Elinor Cross and Barbara Greany, who tried vainly for twenty minutes to sell us a new 1950 Kingsley, so economical that it would run fifty miles on the juice of one lemon. Accompanied by these girls, we visited the Empire State Building. Here we found Saunders Geddes, who was now in a position in which he was destined to rise. We rose with him to the top floor. As we gazed over the city, a strange sight met our eyes. Suspended from a plane was a long, peculiar-looking object. “Tt’s a banner,’ I suggested. “No, it is a balloon,” asserted God- dard. “Tt’s neither,’ said Geddes, who was familiar with the sight. “It is Albert Sita’s new advertising stunt, displaying ) 30 his streamlined sausage, designed for people like Stuart Sweet.” When we returned to our hotel that night, we were not at all surprised to find a sharp note from Bob Sherman. “Government Bureau! Bah!’ it read. ‘Perhaps I should have called out the Boy Scouts.” “Whew!” sighed Goddard, as he dropped the note and settled back in his chair. “Results, or no results,” I cried, “we are going to the Bronx tomorrow morn- ing, as we planned.” Go we did. As we were strolling leisurely through the park, I was startled by a cry from Goddard. “Took!” he shouted. Then we broke into uncontrollable laughter at the strange sight which met our eyes. There, in a large cage, sat Branigan, doing his best to amuse a half dozen monkeys. When he first saw us, he seemed quite upset, but he soon overcame his embarrassment and joined us in our laughter. Fearful that we might mistake the nature of his position, Tom, serious for once, hastened to explain in a very dignified manner that he was not an attendant to the monkeys, but a special veterinary to the most rare and valuable chimpanzees in captivity. George and I swallowed this with a grain of salt, but we both gave a sigh of relief. We had traced the “Mighty Atom”’ to its lair, and, what was more, the Class of 1940 was accounted for to the last member.