Marathon High School - Shoreline Yearbook (Marathon, FL)

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SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY It was July 1989. I had just finished covering a murder over on the east side as I returned to my office at the Daily Super Sonic Sun. Ever since I had start- ed working at the Sun , the boss had me working overtime on murders, rob- beries, and other such thriving subjects. Today's murder was complete with one of those new radiation guns that kills its receiver instantly. After the au- topsy, I returned to the office. While I was out, the boss had left me a note telling me to go over and cover the space ship story at the base. It seems that today an entire population of a city would be moved from Earth to the planet Mars to start life in another com- munity. Of course, this is not unusual, for everyday, entire populations are moved en masse to different planets to start communities and human life there. It's all a part of a program to widen the universe and a progressive idea of thining out the population to start others. I reached the base in about two minutes in my jet convertible. Traffic was heavy today and the usual seventy-five mile, one-minute drive was not possible, much to my disgust. At the base, after receiving information concerning my entrance, I made my way toward the space ship that was to leave for Mars that evening. I entered the ship and my first acquaintance was Charles Tittle, captain of the ship. I asked him several questions about the ship itself, then made several inquiries of the captain about his life. Captain Tittle explained that he had received his space training at the University of Florida, where in his Senior year they had advanced the entire school into a space minded progressive school, training minds in only the future. Captain Tittle confided that he had received his ad- ministrative powers while he attended Marathon High School and was Senior Class President. The captain then offered to lead me through the ship and introduce me to the different people going to Mars as future citizens. First, I met Miss Linda Bar- ley, who was stewardess of the flight. She also had studied at the Florida School of Space Travel. As I traveled through the hull of the ship we came up- on the galley, or kitchen to you atmospheric lovers. There I was introduced to Chef Shuey who was at the moment preparing a salad of such a proportion I could hardly imagine. The vegetables were of the new ocean type seaweed and urchin peppers. How delicious. Further on we met Martha Beck of the Atmospheric Condition Lab. Miss Beck intended to find the conditions satisfactory for a thriving community. Miss Ruth Belanger, RSSN, (Registered Super Sonic Nurse) had just completed her check-ups of the crew and was ready for blast off. Behind the transparent cur- tain was Miss Peggy Florimont who was just completing a new outfit in space suits. It seems that she was of Italian decent and wanted the old style of Gina Lollabridgida space suits - you know, low cut-high hem. Well, they were cute and everyone seemed pleased. Further on, Miss Ina Hanson was busily check- ing off the crew members and equipment. It seems that Miss Hanson received her training in the Marathon High School, D. S. T. (Directing Space Travel). Making small bundles of sewing equipment, soaps, sheets, dishes, brooms, etc., were Miss Betty Holley, and Miss Rosell Ruark, as they prepared for the making of space type homes. As I opened a door slightly, I saw and heard a strange thing. I heard, up 1, 2, 3; down 1, 2, 3; kick, sit up, push up, stop . I had opened the door of the physical education department. It was Miss Caro- lyn Rackley training herself for a class in outer space. I quickly shut the door and ventured to another; a sign on the door read Silver-Tongued Space Travel Politics . As I opened the door, I saw standing on a super-sonic box of soap, a short fellow with dumbo ears, preaching, and talking as hard as he could. I 19

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ELEANOR WILUAMS Willie FHA 4; Chorus 4; Dramatics 4; Plays: Trail of the Lonesome Pine . Way to go Daddy-O. SENIORS PETER MICHAEL PHIUP WILLCOX Pete Senior Class Sergeant at Arms 4; Varsity Club 4; Football 4; Baseball 4; Basketball 4; Chorus 4; Theatre Craft 4; National Thespians, Secretary 4. I must live with myself, so I want to be fit for myself to know. DOUGLAS GRANT WINNER Playboy National Thespians 4; Plays: Lute Song 4. The world is a stage, I am a player. May God grant me the courage to play my part. 7 i 18

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quickly glanced back at the sign which read, Jet Germain , A little further down a ladder, I saw a fellow putting small eye droppers of liquid into plants situated in capsules. I believe the name given was Otto Collins Greenthumb Parisho. Soon I found myself in a living room type place with easy chairs all around. As I watched, I saw a man come in - stand beside a chair, and as he stood, a machine slid him delicately into a chair, lit a cigarette for him, stuffed sever- al pillows behind him, handed him a magazine, slid slippers on his feet, and scratched his back - all at the same time. After I picked my false teeth off the floor and gathered myself, I left the room. On the way out I asked the Cap tain who that man was and he replied, Mr. Peter Willcox. He has come as a spectator for the entire mission, a sort of tester for the planet. In the next compartment were two men busily working over a few floor plans They were two business men who would start business on Mars. They were Mr. Jim Hart who would start the Jet Age Gazette and Mr. Dick Smith who would start the Super Soda Dynamic Drug Store. On the other side of this room sat Mr. Doug Winner working with pieces of fine machinery and lines. I inquired as to what he was doing and he explained that there jus wouldn1 be anie Mars without fishin1, even if 1 tis jet propelled workings . Further down the hall a red sign blinked, reading Quiet . After a dumb look at the captain, I followed him into a small room that smelled strongly of alcohol, ether, and medicine. As I adjusted my eyes to the light I saw a man leaning over a body stretched out on a table. The Doctor was pressing buttons on a dial and as he did so, metal hands came up and worked with speed on the body. In a few moments the doctor came over and introduced himself as Doc- tor Winsor Graves. He explained that the man on the table was perfectly all right. He was just giving him a heart operation and that he and the man would be out for a cup of expresso coffee in a minute. Out in the hall again I met two secretaries on their way to a typing class on the base. Miss Linda Shepard and Miss Eleanor Williams could type on their new machines over 500 words per second. The instructor was a robot and the girls couldn't wait to get to the class because of his interesting conversations. The Captain now invited me to the engine and flight rooms. There I met Mr. Brent Freeman, the navigator, who in his youth had sailed around the world in his pram sail boat. Engineer of the ship was Charles Moore who worked in an easy chair because it seems in his early days, he worked at Food Fair and worked so hard he just must sit now. The mechanic, Charles Russell, insis- ted on Gulfojet fuel for the flight, so everyone was sure of a safer flight. Weatherman, Art Stir rat, had informed me and the captain that the ship would pass through 10 tornadoes, 8 hurricanes, 6 snow storms, and a slight drizzle. (By the way, since everything on the earth was speeded up, Mr. Stir- rat was glad to go back to a place where there was just two kinds of weather in one day). Silently sitting at the wheel was flight control pilot, Bucker Moore, of the speed school also. Mr. Moore was preparing for the flight as he checked all of the equipment for accuracy. His secretary, Miss Charlotte Weese, helped as she efficiently took down all the information and recorded it in her conden- sed filing system held in a match type holder. Miss Virginia Tabor, also of the few women in the flight room, held the job of assistant to the pilot. Many times in space travel I found, women are used because they are more easily trained for the job. I talked with the pilot a while longer and then dropped myself slowly to the ground. As I reached my convertible, I noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the windshield flap. I opened it and it was a ticket for parking on a private lot that was reserved for visiting Marsmen. The ticket read, Reporter Green- man, report to police headquarters in 1989 or pay fine. Quite disgusted, I jumped in and floated away on air wings, just for spite!