Old Town High School - Ye Olde Towne Crier Yearbook (Winston Salem, NC)

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LASIO WILE AND: TES TAMENG We, the 1950 Senior Class of Old Town High School, being—despite opinion to the contrary—of sound mind, do here- with will and bequeath our most characteristic and prized possessions to such underclassmen and other persons as we deem most able to profit by our bequests. ARTICLE 1. SECTION 1. We leave Mr. McNew and to the faculty our deep gratitude, our sincere admiration, and our lasting affection. These gifts which we bestow from those sections of our hearts and minds which are never touched by the levity that appears to govern all our ways. SECTION 2. To the juniors we leave that dark and musty robe called “Senior Dignity.’ We have seldom worn it, so a good brushing should make it immediately unable. To the sophomores we leave our extra book reports. To the freshmen we leave the fun we have had in growing up, as well as the attendant miseries called “growing pains.” ARTIGEE 2: SEcTION 1. Individual bequests: 1. Porter Allen wills his tactful way with the women to Guy Carswell. 2. Jean Belton and Helen Atwood leave their sore throats and stiff joints to Betty Pfaff and Faye Wolff. (Of course, Betty and Faye, you'll have some of your own if you go out for cheerleading next year!) To Jane Chadwick, Betty Lou Cline wills her slightly used plans for a bungalow over Lewisville way. Peggy Conrad wishes to leave her interest in the basketball team to Barbara Blakely. (Carry on, Barbara!) Charles Fearrington wills his winning smile to Betty Robertson. (Itll take you places, Betty.) “Shakey” Fox leaves his acting ability to Gene Doub. Broadway is really going to be crowded in later years. To Dicie Jones, Jane Fulk leaves her ability to keep the situation well in hand when the Marines arrive. Connie Hancock and Ruby Jean Shore will their tricky defense—you know, the new one they haven’t used yet—— to the girls’ basketball teams’of the future. 9. Richard Hauser wills his wit to Kyle Fulk. (Jus: say anything, Kyle, theyll laugh everytime.) 10. Mary Jane Hines leaves the rain checks of all her opera tickets to Peggy Sue Riddle. 11. Anna Hudgins wishes to leave her well groomed looks to Eleanor Butner. 12. Mary Lou Blevins leaves her startling, blue eyes to Phyllis Hemrick. (Just roll them with care, Phyllis.) 13. C. T. Long wills his innocent appearance and his wolf whistle to Reggie Luper. 14. Jean Seagraves leaves her willowy figure to Jean Jefferson. 15. Wilma Deal wills her knee guards to Dotty Phillips. (They should serve to make Dotty a complete succes on the team next year.) 16. Hunter James leaves his red hair to Carolyn Yow. (The price of peroxide should fall!) 17. Nancy Petree wills her executive ability to Ryland Vaughan. 18. Thurmond Lakey wills to Bobby Young, the ah’s and uh’s that were so useful when Thurmond couldn’t remember all his poetry. 19. Ben Shore leaves a stack of all his extra book reports to Max Butner in memory of the day Ben was going to make a book’ report on one of Zane Gray’s books and found Mrs. Newman of a different mind. 20. “Friz” Lawson leaves her curls to Jerry Livengood. (That should save you a lot of time, Jerry.) 21. Georgie Swink leaves her lovely voice to the mocking bird which has become a permanent fixture just outside the office window. 22. Jean Jennings wills Ned Conrad to Billie Russell. 23. Buddy Belton leaves his cure-all vitamin pills to the future seniors. (If those pills effect other grades the way they did Buddy’s, I recommend strychnine instead.) We, the Seniors of Old Town High School, in the year of our Lord 1950, do declare the articles as given above to be our last will and testament, and hereunto affix our our sign and seal, this twenty-second day of May, nineteen hundred and fifty. JOAN WOOD, Testator. Witnesses: The Wild Goose znd the Chattanoga Shoe Shine Boy.

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SONNET TO THE CLOCK Oh, Clock, that stands upon the mantel shelf, How many souls have sought eternity, While you sat ticking softly to yourself, Concerned no whit about their destiny! You’ve sat unmoved throughout unnumbered years : And nothing felt but the endlessness of time. The laughter of men, their sorrows, and need- less fears Have never delayed the striking of one chime. The years recorded by your time-aged face Have held full measure of happiness and pain; But you remain a stoic, without a trace Of any memories you might retain. If only you to speech, I might compel, Oh, what a wondrous story you could tell! Nancy Petree

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ISLE OF DREAMS As night and sleep posses my world, I dritt in dreams to a fairy isle, A land of make-believe. There fairies dance by night and day, Immortals, they, born just for joy. And there a lake lies blue and’ bright With pink-tipped lilies growing. They dance and sway with every breeze, And now and then they bend To kiss the imaged face that lies Upon the limpid lake serene. Then, as the sun climbs up the sky, I leave the golden isle, And with reluctant feet that fain would stray I tread the homeward path That leads me back again To where reality waits, Stark and grim. Jean Belton. NIGHT After the flaming sun has gone to rest, After grey dusk has claimed the tired earth, Gentle night comes softly. Like a mother who wraps her little one against the chill wind, She spreads her dark cloak, Her spangled, black velvet cloak, Then pushes the new moon— The little, silver, crescent moon—from be hind a lazy cloud To wake the stars, that shine three times— First in the sky, Then in my heart, And again in the river’s darkness. India Penland. NIGHT WIND At night, the wind, a swift bird flies Across the blackened sky, And shrilly as wild geese in flight He screams a mournful cry. He hurries up the smooth, dark sky Where white cloud-children play, And flings their castles of turrets and towers Far up on the Milky Way. He whistles a bar from the “Emperor‘s Waltz,” And the leaves, deceived by the sound, Desert their safe place for his fickle embrace, And he drops them to die on the ground. Then, tiring of play, he wearily wails About the grave stones white, And shares the vigil they keep above The Dead and the dead of night. Then, on over earth, mist-shrouded and dreaming, The wind-bird, wraith-like, flies, To waken the dawn by the East imprisoned, Ere weary and spent, he dies. Nancy Petree.