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

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PROPIREGY Crystal ball gazing is but definitely out of my ken. If I were a seer or a prophet of yore, it would have been easy for me to foretell the shrouded future. However, since I am neither, I wracked my brain in vain for ideas. At last, when Mrs, Newman asked about the prophecy, my peace of mind was completely shattered. Prophesy I must, and prophesy I would. Down I sat, fully equipped with pad, pencil, and a dish of dill pickles—they would keep me awake at least. One fire burned my spirit; one resolve was imprinted an my mind. One hour, one pad of paper, and five pickles later I had accom- plished nothing. My pad was covered with curious doodlings—a contribution to modern art perhaps, but not to modern literature! Already I was drowsy, and I was getting nowhere fast. I might as well go to bed, I thought, ripping the pages from the pad. One drawing however, attracted my attention. It was curious, but vaguely familiar. Later in bed that design stuck in my mind. Suddenly I saw a cloud of vapor arising from the floor, and from this vapor appeared a genie of vaguely familiar appearance. Then I realized why he seemed familiar, he strangely resembled the curious design of my doodling. Bowing low, he spoke in the stilted phraseology of a forgotten day. “If my lady be pleased to eccompany her unworthy servant, he will open for her the door which is now closed.” Practically overcome by all this, I agreed as if in a trance. Suddenly, I felt myself engulfed in a cloud of a vapor. When the vapor cleared, I found myself before a hotel in New York City. Silently I followed the genie up the marble steps leadinz; to the entrance of the Hotel. Suddenly I stopped as before my eyes appeared two of my classmates, clad in uniforms. Yes, Connie Hancock and Helen Atwood had realized the ambi- tion of their high school days—they were full fledged members of the Waves. As we entered the lobby I read these amazing words over an office door, Jean Belton, Public Stenographer. As I peeped in the office J saw my old friends Peggy Conrad and Herman Shamel.. Imagine my surprise when I heard Jean refer to them as Duke’s new head basketball coach and his wife. They were in New York for Duke’s big game at Madison Square Garden. I wanted to talk, but the genie reminded me that we wee invisible. We left the hotel and proceeded to Radio City, still caled that although radio had been completely replaced by tele- vision. From listening to the guide’s explanation I learned that the Metropolitan Opera Company’s famous soprano, Georgie Swink, accompanied by the renowned pianist, Mary Jane Hines, was about to sing for a weekly program which was now in prozress in Studio A. In Studio B those well known actors Richard Fox and Mary Lou Blevins were rehearsing for their performance of “The Barretts of Wimpole Street.” In another Studio the star of the New York Knickerbockers was makin3 a guest appearance on a sports program. Who should this prove to be but my handsome classmate, Eugene Snyder. Stopping before a billboard I read that at CBS, America’s favorite comedian, Richard Hauser, had replaced the Jack Benny show with his own program. Well, Richard was our class wit. The genie nodded, and I found myself in a huge building filled with the clatter of typewriters. There the New York Times’ newly appointed sports editor, Hunter Lee James, was interviewing the Green Bay Packers’ star right-end, Charles Fearrington. Across the hall in the editor’s office Joan Wood was busily writing editorials. Then I found myself in the business district of New York, in front of Sears and Roebuck and Company. A large sign proclaimed that A. G. Logan was president. Well, A. G. always was good at business. Across the street I saw Imogene Jennings rearranging the show windows of her large establishment. It had become the smart thing to have your house decorated by Imogene, widely acclaimed interior decorator. In her pent house apartment I found Anna Hudgins entertaining at a very ritzy party. Anna was celebrating the recent announcement of her being chosen one of the best dressed women of the world. From one glance at her ensemble I could understand why. Again the genie and I were swept away. This time to the Copacabana night club. Who should appear but Bob Cars- well clad in a tuxedo. Bob looked so dignified that for a minute I thought he was the head waiter instead of the owner. Seated at one of the tables were Frances Sharp, Joan Long, Dorothy Norman, and Jean Seagraves. They were on vacation from their office jobs back in Winston-Salem. Out in front Peggy Longbottom was checking hats. I remember that she received her experience at the Forsyth Theatre back home. I was beginning to wonder if the whole Old Town class of 1950 had moved to New York when suddenly I felt myself sped to Toledo to the brilliantly lighted ball park. Who should be on the field but K. W. Pfaff, shortstop, and C. T. Long, catcher, and to top it all their club was winning. As swiftly as we had come we were whizzed away. We landed in Reno, Nevada. No, none of my classmates were get- ting divorces, but one of them, Bill McDaniels was operatiny his own casino. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time and Bill, the best of all. As I marveled at the complexity of it all I was swept away to Texas where the Governor was entertaining the senior Senator. The host was Buddy Belton, his guest, Ben Shore. Who would have thought they would have come to this. In Miami in front of a large building I saw a small sign, quiet and elegant. It read: Porter Allen and Thurmond Lakey, Morticians. Then I found myself on Miami Beach where I saw a handsome man accompanying an attractive young woman, yes. Rover Vogler and his wife! The world’s champion billiard plaver had made his fortune and retired to Florida. I was drawn from my amazement by a terrific roar overhead. I looked up and saw Bill Flynt waving from the window of his jet plane. Well, I guess from school bus number 33 to jet planes wasn’t such a step for Bill after all, judging by the way he used to Crive.

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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.

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In one of those lush night clubs that border the beach I found Mary Dull selling cigarettes. The genie nodded again and we were whisked in a cloud of vapor to the Pacific Coast where I saw Joan Beroth drowsing in the sun. Her lunch room business must have been successful! In a nearby gym crowded with wide-eyed pupils I saw Barbara Doub giving swimming lessons. Who wouldn’t be eager to receive instructions from the Olympic Champion? Jn the same gym I saw All-Americans Wilma Deal and Ruby Jean Shore on the basketball court, passing the ball as smoothly as they used to at Old Town. We left California and were swiftly sped to the nation’s capital, ritht in the middle of the White House. There was Nancy Petree, the first woman president, busily vetoing bills sent in by Congress. I was growing tired and no spot I had seen seemed so beautiful or desirable to me as the green hills of home to which the genie and I were returning. Swiftly I sped past identical white cottages overlooking a rolling farm, I knew at a glance that was Betty Lou Cline and India Penland hanging out clothes on identical lines in identical back yards! And there close by stood the small white church where Jane Fulk and her preacher husband served a devoted congre- gation. I saw Jane standing on the church steps looking younver znd prettier than ever. Her husband stood in the arched doorway, but unfortunately his back was turned and I could not see his face. How I wish I could have iden- tified him! A loud bang returned me suddenly to earth and reality. Could I have been dreaming? Wow, what a supercharged, atomic dill pickle that was I ate last night! “FRIZ” LAWSON, Prophet. MOON MAGIC She rambled on in friendly wise, “We're having lovely weather, And if you look beneath that tree You'll find a red bird’s feather.” When everything was dark and still I slipped outside last night To see how sweet my flowers bloomed By the new moon’s light. I thought I heard, as I turned away, A pleasant-sounding chuckle, And there a cricket sat and laughed Upon the honeysuckle. Beside the brook there nestled sweet, A wee, pink lady-slipper And down upon it spilled the dew From Heaven’s lovely Dipper. Since moonlight and magic are fickle and fleeting, And stardust and perfume are rare, I gathered everything I saw, Yet left it growing there. A marigold then called to me And whispered in my ear, “Be very careful where you tread, A baby bird sleeps near.” Jean Belton. FAITH Palely Shine the stars Through the springtime gloaming, But bright and clear they pierce the winter’s Darkness. Hunter Lee James: SUNSET The sun, A dying ember On Heaven’s majestic hearth, Burns the day, slowly and sadly, To ashes. Buddy Belton.