Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

Page 21 text:

THE PILGRIM 17 Class Prophecy EWG decades have passed since the memorable graduation day of the Class of '37, ventured John Ryan, the president of the Consolidated Can Com- pany, to three of his business associates as they sat enjoying a quiet evening at the Old Colony Club. By Jove, you're right, it is 1957! You make a rather opportune observa- tion, my dear Mr. Ryan, mused LeBaron Briggs, dean of Harvard, emerging from behind the Boston Herald Cnot Miss Brown'sJ. Then to show how his fine intellect had absorbed the news of the day, he continued, Have you seen the headlines this even- ing? Stanley Adfdyman has invented a new mechanism called the Futurescope. I suggest we run over and spend the re- mainder of the evening with him. What do you say to that, Mr. Brewer ? Mr. Brewer is now a financial wizard, rather closeflsted, but a shrewd business man. Good idea, Baron. Possibly I could transact a little business deal profitable to all of us. Does this idea appeal to you, Mr. Sampson ? Immensely, replied Sampson. Rob- ert, a retired midlshipman, fwho has never seen actual servicel is now acting as Harbor Master for the town of Plymouth. Realizing that we were persons of little soc-ial standing, for we consisted of one loquacious senator, one impoverished broker, and a Swing Band Orchestra leader, we had nothing to say. But cur- iosity prompted us to follow. Our desti- nation being at some diistance, we climbed into a Rudolph-Diesel-powered coupe and followed Ryan's Super- charged Fabri Deluxe Special. Shortly after starting, we observed a disheveled characted frantically rending his hair and exerting brute force upon a defense- less lamp pole. We stopped only to find Alan Hey, architect, on the verge of dis- traction. Barbara Armstrong, noted aviatrix, had given him definite orders to build a round house on a square foun- dation. Continuing on our mission, we were forced to slow down to allow a person to cross the road. It was Gordon Gorey, the famous phrenologist, who was slowly going mad trying to interpret a new bump which had appeared upon his craniulm. Further on, we passed the pre- tentious mansionof Harold Morelli, the surrealist. Our most opportune arrival permitted us to see Harold dodging ia vase of the Ming Dynasty, thrown by the pretty hands of Madeline Cavicchi, former Edgar Lee'.s Follies girl. Made- line had unleashed her violent Latin temper. We dashed drown a side street and passed the pawn shop owned and oper- ated by none other than Howard Ander- son. Our Rudlolph-Diesell-powered car now took us to an exclusive cafe, Gae- tano Brigida, Proprietor, where only the best of sea-flood was served. We stop- ped to sample the specialties of the house, prepared as only chef Roy Cleve- land Cwith the Voice you love to hearj could prepare them. Over in one corner there arose a commotioln. Voices grew louder, arms flew faster--and we recog- nized four of our old classmates. Sam Dickson, the head of the United Sewer Diggers, was arguing with Robert Emond, head of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, about the age-old problem of the best place to park chewing gum. Edmund Heath, liisping cowboy of High Street Creek, attempted mainly to put in a lisp edgewise with the aid of Ben Hall, the neurotic cigar manufacturer. The discussion became so heated that Guy was forced to call the riot squad, and soon those intrepid arms of the law, Captain Roger Fabri, Lieutenant Ray Mullaney, and Fl-atf7oot Fran Shea, entered to quell the disturbance. We were ofl again towards our desti- nation, and in our haste we nearly ran down Roy Webber, billiard champion, who was having hysterlics because the cue ball and the eight ball had jumped from the table and refused to be con- trolled. , But now our trip was ended, and we found ourselves outside the Addyman Laboratories. The doorman was a huge fellow, Fred Barbieri by name. The big brute refusedus adfmittance, but per- mitted those whom we followed to enter. Undaunted by this rough 'rebuke, we stealthily sped to the rear of the build- ing to climb the fire escape, barely es- caping deteotion by the night watchman, Francis Fabri. Traversing the roof, we were fortunate enough to ind a skylight directly over the main laboratory. There below us we could see Adldyman gesticu- lating wildly, as any true scientist should, and as he always had. ,He had just wel- comed his four visitors. It was impos- sible to overhear any of the conversa- tion, but the center of interest was a huge machine. We gathered that Addy

Page 20 text:

16 ARRIGO TASSANARI When things don't go his way, He utters sounds most weird: If he would copy U. S. Grant, He could mutter in his beard. AUGUSTA TAVERNELLI Gussie made a handsome lad When she danced the minuet, But, no real masculine quality Have we found in her-yet. EDWARD TONG Ding! Dong! here comes Tong With an explanation: He tells us just what he be- lieves Without affectation. MARJORIE TRACY She's something of a paradox, If you know what we mean: She's not a shrinking violet, Yet at blushing she's su- preme. BEATRICE VINCENT Calm your fears, young lady, We don't deal in dirt: You know full well What we say here Isn't meant to hurt. ROY WEBBER Cue Ball isn't heard from much In his High School classes, Put in sports we're fairly sure With A's he always passes. MARY WEILD When in a quandry, Hamlet said, To be or'not to be , When tormented, Mary wailed, You can't hyperbole mel GEORGE WVHITE One may smile And be a villain - To prove Hamlet right George White is willin'. 'FRANCES WIRZBURGER Girls like Fran are rare, She's ladylike and sweety The girls of modern times With her cannot compete. ALICE WOOD We must propound a question, Because it baflies all- She looks demure and harm- less, but- Wat's she got on the ball? VINCENT YANNI Someone stole his heart away: What's the lady's name, you say? No mere mortal made a hit, 'Twas Parts of Speech that did the trick. ANITA ZACCHELLI We'll call you Zacchy, not Kelly, For it's easier to explain: That there's little Irish in you Is obvious from your name.

Page 22 text:

13 THE PILGRIM was explaining some intricate mechan- ism. He finally pulled a switch, adjusted a coil, and turned a dial. Light flashed upon the screen and meaningless blurs resolved into faint outlines. We were pleased to observe that the mechanism was a definite improvement over tele- vision. Imagine, if you will, the surprise we experienced when before our very eyes we saw on the screen Thelma Bentley teaching English in the Plymouth High School. Entering Miss Bentley's room as a visitor was Audrey Dutton, now eighth vice-president of the Chinapig Bank. Miss Dutton had evidently heard a new joke and was relating it to Miss Bentley with much gusto. The figure on the screen changed. We ascertained that Ruth Bartlett was sit- ting in a New York studio watching Joe Correa, Swing King, give last-minute directions to a character billed as the inebriat-ed piano player, because he wandered all over the keyboard. It was non-e other than Clarence Delano, who stood joking with Jeannette Pirani and Margy Tracy, The Harmony Sisters, and Ellen Shaw and Enis Pizotti, fea- tur-ed artists on the Maecaferri and Me- deiros Music Hour. George White, in- ternationally kn-own radio announcer, was reading a fan letter from Allen Cappella, cattle dealer. The scene shifted again, and now there was revealed to us the Anne Hanelt Deluxe Night Club. Among the glamorous entertainers in the floor show, we recognized June Seaver, Arlene Neal, Beatrice Bernier, and Rita DeCoste. Seated at the tables was a group of fashionable ladies evidently having a reunion of some kind. Among them we recognized Mary Bodell, noted novelist, Mary Brigida, efficiency ex- pert, Mary Curtin, graduate of Consim- middle College, Cwho is still trying to get rid of a license purchased at Sears Roebuckjg and Ruth Flairg, the war- den's secretary at Sing Sing. Sitting alone, Phyllis Johnson, dressed in a Hart Schaffner and Marx suit, was absorbed in Esquire, ,, Now there was revealed to us the in- terior of the great science building at Radio City. A group of serious-minded scientists was gathered in the center of the laboratory enjoying a game of dom- inoes, galloping. We recogn-ized among them Edwin Chadwich, Jr., Authority on Fleasg Arthur Lamb, Distilling Ex- pert, Vincent Yanni, Contamination Investigatorg and Louis Lima, the lead- ing authority on Portuguese Sausages. All four each eminent in his peculiar field, were enjoying a few moments of recreation before they attempted to solve the great problem--which came first, the chicken or the egg? The re- search work has been going on for more than twenty years. - Another flash and we gazed upon the college classroom of Prof. Kellen, A. B.g N. U. T.g B. V. D., professor of Latin at Boner's College. The Futurescope again shifted, and we scrutinized the All-American foot- ball team. Captain Telio Giammarco was drilling some green boys who looked suspiciously like Nick Carbone of B. C., Arrigo Tassinari, H. C.g Tony Jumbo Govoni, L. S. C., CLothrop Street Col- l-egej g and Edward Tong of Colgate. The captain was apparently having a difficult time, for the boys still clung to their high school technique. Now we observed Sidney Sink Jr., whose hobby was going around painting original mustaches on sign boards. Vin- cent Stefani, private detective for the Scribblit Advertising Agency, was fol- lowing him about, waiting to secure a new species of handl-ebar mustache to complete his evidence for convicting Sink. Almost at the same moment the screen showed us Alfred Swift, Chief of Police of Cedarville, making his one and only arrest in twenty years of duty. The prisoner was Two bits Magee, who had parked a bicycle overtime. , Ah! Milton Petit! great shortstop for the Boston Bees. With the aid of Petit, the Bees have a fine prospect of winning the pennant. Fiora Capp-ella, president of the Kum-on-up-sum-time Agate Com- pany, is an enthusiastic supporter of The Bees. Suddenly the locality changed to a scene quite different from anything we had viewed as yet. A huge dreadnaught plowed the seas. Inside the elaborate admiral's quarters we saw a dignified gentleman hiding behind a flowing mustache. Shades of Neptune! Why, see who it is! It's George Lemoine. The last we heard from him, he was working on a plan to eliminate holes from Swiss cheese. We still can't trust our eyes. On d-eck were three gobs. Believe it or not, they were Abel Carvalho, Richard Harlow, and Joe Caton. Caton was try- ing to extract a bicuspid from a plug of tobacco, while Carvalho was admiring a mustache to- which he had been devoted