North Lima High School - Echo Yearbook (North Lima, OH)

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CLASS PROPHECY For over ten years I had been struggling along as a reporter on a growing newspaper in an Eastern-seaboard city. I had arrived at the point where the old routine of chasing fire and police sirens was montonous, when my editor called me to his desk and said, janet, here's your big chance. There's some fellow-name slipped my mind-touring towns, campaigning for the candidacy for President, Catch the first train and follow him around awhile-make a story out of it. I clutched the ticket he gave me and whizzed off on the first train. Much to my surprise. I found I was bound for my old home town of North Lima. This rather worried me because I couldn't recall any passenger train ever stopping in North Lima. Fortunately, this one did. For a minute when I gol off the train I felt lost: surely this booming little city was not thc same quiet country townl had left fifteen years ago! Bringing to mind the fact that I was llol being paid for reminiscing, I began seeking for a glimpse of this man with Presidential aspirations. I directed tny footsteps towards what I supposed to be the square-only it wasn't the square anymore-it was a busy intersection. As I strolled clown the avenue, I noticed a crew of men and a fleet of bulldozers grovelling arotlnd in what was once Miley Road. Apparently a new modern highway was under construct- ion, Standing near by was an ilnpressive looking man holding a huge blueprint. This I took to be the civil engineer. However, as he was gazing steadfastly at the blue horizon, immediately I recognized jack Miller, still checking the weather report, as had been his habit in school. Further down the street, off to one side in a pleasant green, I saw a crowd of people gathered around a flag-draped platform. For a minute I could not see the speaker, but it was not necessary, only one person had such a voice, it was none other than Bill Collins. As I edged my way through the crowd I discerned another familiar face in the background. Who else but Roderick Huebert, Bill's campaign manager. I was so stunned I forgot to take notes on his speech. Like Alice in Wonderland, I meandered down Main Street, gazing curiously about. A sign on a small, neat office building proclaimed to my widening eyes, that within resided Miss Beverly Barger, Commercial Artist, Across the street I saw a cozy looking diner called the Chuck-Wagon , and decided to get something to eat. Seated in a booth, who should I see, in a white uniform, stirring a kettle of steaming soup, but Chuck janosik. Remembering that cooking had always been his hobby in school, I was eager to taste his culinary achievements. The waitress turned out to be a trim, blond miss, whom I immediately recognized as Eileen Riley. Talking over old-times , she informed me that Doris Clingerman was Superintendent of Nurses at South Side Hospital. Afterwards I went to Brown's Hotel, owned and managed by Thayer Brown, and registered for a room. The entire building was a buzz of activity. It wasn't every day North Lima had a future Presidential Candidate in her midst. That evening there was special entertainment in honor of the guest, Sitting near me was a pleasant young lady, the hotel nurse, better known to us as Ruth Yoder. Nancy Crump, renowned vocalist, rendered a classical selection, accompanied by the widely- known concert pianist, joan Shank. An interesting speech on Wildlife was given by that famed hunter, known to many as The Frank Buck of Canada, Dangerous Dan Groom. His assistant, Walter Kellner, showed some movies on the modern methods of catching gophers. There was an intermission and I decided to look the hotel over. Peeking in various office rooms, I saw a figure vigorously applying ink, ink remover, and blotter, alternately to a large ledger. Hello, I said, Long time no see, She was so aggravated by her mistakes, she didn't glance up, but muttered, Now, I have to add that whole coltunn again! I was positive, then, that the bookkeeper was Bettie Mauch. Smiling to myself, I entered a small office where Mr. Brown's private secretary sat wor-king late, For a second I watched her silently: tap, tap, went the typewriter keys, then a soft groan, rip-out came the paper and into the waste basket. Laura Spencer. I said, you haven't changed a bit! I wandered into the spacious lobby and recognized the night desk clerk to be Marjorie Spires. When I spoke to her she was in the midst of trying to decipher a name she had hastily scrawled in the register. Seated near Marjorie. at the switchboard, and asking, Number please? was Carole Roller. She had realized her ambition. In a small business-like room sat a lone figure squinting into a microscope. As I came closer, it was apparent that she was studying some very minute bacteria. Not wishing to disturb her, I tiptoed back to Marjorie and asked who she was, Don't you remember her? 'I'hat's the eminent bacteriologist, Dorothy Good, our old classmate. lConcIuded on Page Sixtyl PAGE TWENTY-ONE

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