Paxton High School - Reflector Yearbook (Paxton, IL)

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Prophecy ss After fifteen years, my research on Mars was completed, so 1 hopped into my rocket ship, set the dial for the Earth, and arrived in a half hour. Imagine my surprise to find I had landed in an open field and not in the New York Rocket Port. Fortunately, I was near a large farmhouse, so I went toward it. A Welcome sign over the gateway relieved me of any guilty conscience I might have in asking for help. I saw two men approaching—one pushing the other in a wheel-chair. Who should it he but Cecil Plackett and Art Smith of my class of 1944. To my surprise, Art got out of the wheel-chair, shook my hand, and then retired to the chair again. He was not an invalid, as 1 had supposed, but was “just resting.” Upon inquiry, I learned that he and Cecil were proprietors of this farm, a rest home. Together they had bombed the vanished city of Tokyo and had been resting ever since. They invited me over to the swimming pool where Ruth Harrington was the swimming instructress. Attending a very unruly patient was Virginia Hartman, a capable nurse. I had just sat down in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, when a young lady stopped to visit. It was Louise Bost, whom I remembered well. But soon her husband came, and the two went away together. Virgil Teter, who was manager of the resort, supervised the refueling and checking of my ship. He said I need not worry, because Sidney Booth was the chief mechanic, and rocket ships were his specialty. I learned that Fred Cellar and Bob Johnson had just landed from a transcontinental trip in their new heliocopter. The chief purpose of this trip was to contact Bob’s real “paper doll.” I was hungry, so I entered the large dining room for a good meal. I opened the fancy menu, which was printed and engraved by the Orvin Roisland Engrav-ing Company, the largest in the United States. At the top of the menu were the names of the dietitians, Betty Worley Hunter and Marilyn Vinson, wife of a prominent linguist. Art sat with me as I ate, and gave me news of my former classmates. Lester Carlson owned his own airline in New York, and Dwain Parker and Fred Whitcomb were associated with it as the only pilots to have flown around the world five times in one month, using the Carlson crafts. Down the road from the resort were the Hendershott Farming Research Laboratories, owned by George. Charles Swanson was the director of the searching and researching. Across the road were the “Trot and Gallop Riding Stables,” owned by Ellen Mabry and Eleanor Smelser. My craft was ready to go again. Art had informed me of more of my friends whom I inteneded to locate in New York City. They included Harold Robert Turner (Bud to most of us), who was a prominent stockholder in the United Gas Company, and living a happy life with his Chinese wife; also Florence Lantz and

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I, Orvin Roisland, will my Buick to Irene McGauley. I, Eleanor Smelser, will my seat on the bus to Carroll Elliott. I, Art Smith, will my bashful manner to Warren Gustafson. I, Bill Smith, will my one woman complex to Donald Froyd. I, Eloise Stirewalt, will my unobtrusive manner to Jane Merrimac. I, Charles Swanson, will my carefree manner to Barbara Burton. 1, Virgil Teter, will my school spirit to Ruth Wooldridge. I, Barbara Thilmony, will my heritage, “brief romances,” to Barbara Given. I, Bob Trager, will my fickleness to Elizabeth Ann Stanford. I, Bud Turner, will my many ambitions to Maurice Adams. I, Evelyn Vest, will my giggle to Patti Hamm. I, Marilyn Vinson, will my interest in Chanute Field to Catherine Warner. I, Ruby Watson, will my blonde hair to another blonde, Caryl Erickson. I, Fred Whitcomb, will my ability to catch things, including women, to James Rotramel. I, Betty Worley, will my home-making ability to Kay Carson. We hereby nominate and appoint Mr. John J. Swinney executor without bond of this, our Last Will and Testament. In Witness thereof, we set our hand and affix our seal at Paxton, Illinois, this seventeenth day of May in the year of our Lord, One Thousand Nine Hundred and Forty-Four. Signed: Class of 1944 In the presence of 1. Miss Irene Bear Witnesses 2. Mrs. Evelyn Burton

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the former Mildred Gee, who were heads of the International Secretarial Association. Among their assistants were Evelyn Hustedt, Eloise Stirewalt, and Marilyn Frette. Upon arrival in New York, I registered at the Park Plaza, where Mary Elizabeth Eagan was chief receptionist, with Marjorie Gregerson and Agnes Graham as her assistants. Charlotte Fields was hair stylist in the hotel and had as her clientele many Broadway stars. Charlotte told me that three of her patrons were Mary Frump, Dorothy Houston, and Evelyn Vest, who composed a dancing team called “The Three Thrilling Thumpers.” They received so many telegrams of praise that it kept the Piper Telegraph Company busy. Lois Piper was the president of this company, with Ruby Watson as her able assistant. Later, 1 visited with these people and learned of others I knew. At the City Library, I found Betty Engdahl, chief librarian. She directed me to a lecture room where Dorothy Anderson and Audrey Lind had just completed a lecture on post war adjustments in Europe. Leland Fancher, Professor of Psychology at New York University, was congratulating them. He said that he was on his way to a Big-10 game between Coach Vincent Purn’s team. The Winning Wolves, and Coach Wilbur Ogle’s team, The Scrapping Skullbreakers. I wanted to go with him, but I had yet to see John Lateer, chief designer for a large automobile company. When I visited him, he told me that James Nuss was his new partner, and the two got along beautifully, for their ideas on cars were very similar. Barbara Thilmony, their ready and able secretary, was also in charge of all the company’s foreign offices. Back on the avenue, I spied a familiar pair of fifteen years ago. They were Joan Archer, the journalist, and her husband, the Admiral. They were hurrying to keep an appointment with one of New York’s leading playboys. Said playboy was none other than Bob Trager. He had once been a radio-man at Radio City until he went abroad in 1945. Robert Kenner was his publicity agent, and quite a good one at that. Everett Robertson had taken Bob’s place in Radio City and was Assistant Manager of all television stations. He had done away with musical tone beats sounding every half hour; he gave a firm and professional beat on his drum, instead. Bill Smith, a United States Senator, was vacationing in New York with his wife and family. They directed me to the heliocopter terminal, which I wanted to see. As I reached it, I saw two young ladies rushing to the ticket window. They looked like Phyllis Peterson and Joanne Anderson—but they weren’t—anymore! They were rushing back to their Illinois farms and husbands. And that reminded me—I must hurry too, for if I was going to be in Illinois in five minutes, and in time for dinner, I would have to get started. In the twenty-four hours I had been on Earth, I had been pleasantly stimulated by renewals of many friendships . . . possessions which are and always will be of value in your life, and mine.