Newtown High School - Bugle Yearbook (Newtown, CT)

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Class Prophecy These four thousand chickens of mine were a great problem until I sud- denly discovered a revolutionary chicken feed that doubled my egg production and enabled me to make my fortune. With all my millions, I decided to go on tour to look up all my old school chums. Scouting about, I heard that a few of my former classmates lived in Bridgeport, so I made this my first stop. While talking to my old friend f'Pecky, who was by then chief sales girl in the lingerie department at D. M, Read's, Inc., who should come strutting in but Marge johnson, that famous New York model-you know, one of the Powers girls. After renewing these two acquaintances, I set out again only to meet Ethel King, soaring up and down in her elevator, carrying passengers from fioor to floor. She left me out on the ground iioor, and I was off again to carry on my tour. Arriving at La Guardia field, from whence I was to take an airplane cross- country, I approached an important looking fellow, resplendent in his uniform, and was astonished to find that it was Harold R. Berglund, chief pilot of the transcontinental fiagship. We always knew 'fBergie had high ideas. While enroute to Washington, I met my fellow travelers and to my great surprise, found those two noted economists, Goldberg and Nezvesky, among them, returning to their offices in the treasury department. And our stewardess was none other than Alma Pallini! They do say that truth is stranger than fiction. In Washington my first stop was at the White House, where I was cordially greeted by Ernest Ehle fnow presidentl, surrounded by throngs of little red- headed children. QMary Hill did have red hair, didn't she?j. I attended the presidential luncheon and met among other Senators, Bill Johnston, campaign- ing for an anti-strike law. Leaving Washington, and flying westward over the vast farmlands of Indiana, my gaze was drawn to a large farm, where, through my powerful binoculars, I could distinguish Hawkins and Wilkes, still arguing, but still together. Flying still farther, we swooped down over the Grand Canyon, where I could perceive that brilliant Army engineer, Henry Krohn, damming up the other end of that great river, to provide a new mail route from east to west. Alighting at Hollywood, I looked up my old friend, Phil Davy, and after finding that Santa Anita was closed for the season, easily located him at the best nite club in town.