Poquoson High School - Islander / York Chronicle Yearbook (Poquoson, VA)

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In September 1931 we left our homes for Poquoson High feeling of pride because we had at last reached the beginning The York Chronicle N s y % y y y y y s y y y SENIOR CLASS HISTORY $ y % y y y y % v % y y y y X y s k W School with a of the desired goal for which we had been striving; we were Freshmen in high school. There were twenty-eight of us, who represented many varieties of appearances, dis- position, abilities, and talents, and we knew that we had a very steep ladder to climb, but we have marched together to a steady rhythm of perseverance and contentment along the way that has led to fulfillment of purpose. When we returned to school in 1932, we had our new building which we appreciated very much. The pupils from the other districts in the county en- tered our school and our association with them has been very pleasant. There were forty -seven of us enrolled as Sophomores. We had many more advantages this year than the preceding one and in our new school home our work was a pleasure. September 1933 saw us back at school as Juniors. There were forty-five of us now and we worked with a greater determination than ever before because we realized that the top of the ladder was in sight. We had been very anxious to become Juniors because of the social events which were always enjoyed. We entertained the Seniors at Buckroe Beach and had a very enjoyable time. In September 1934 we were back in our familiar places as Seniors. Be- tween the moving from classroom to classroom and the joyful meeting of friends, was the thought that only the last stretch of the home run to the goal of gradua- tion lay ahead of us. Miss Sanford, our sponsor, realized more than we the im- portance of our work and our duty to our school. She has worked diligently and patiently and with her guidance and leadership our senior year has been a great success. In our graduating class there are thirty-seven boys and girls of today, but men and women of tomorrow. The addition of the Commercial Department, with Miss Sasher as teacher, has been a great asset to our school. Our greatest achievement was the publica- tion of our school annual. On behalf of the Senior Class I want to thank our principal, Mr. Thomas, and the members of the faculty for the kindness shown and the help given us in the past year. We shall dearly hold in memory their teachings which have guided us. May we follow in their footsteps, living worthily of the seal put upon us by our Alma Mater. As we separate, we shall carry with us the memory of some sweet com- panionship, of Heaven’s truest, dearest gift — a friend. May we who gaze expectant toward the future From nature learn some truths sublime, To help us in the spending of our lives, Some mark to leave upon the sands of time. B. W. WHITE ’35. 1935 y X y y y s y X S y y y y y y y y y s y y y y y y y y y y y y y s PAGE 25

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y y y •• The York Chronicle s N N N s s s S 935 ASHTON SINCLAIR WATKINS “Toots” “What wondeis his eyes behold, Sometimes mischievous, Sometimes bold, Sometimes good, Sometimes bad, Often dreamy, seldom sad.” Football ’32, Athletic Association ’35, Glee Club ’34. POST GRADUATES MARGARET WESTON ELLA MAE HALL PAGE 24 V v WV A

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h V wWW ie York Chronicle 1935 ■ CLASS PROPHESY OF ’35 A A, It was the Senior Class of ’35 meeting for the last time A profound silence hung over the entire class. Though no one was in the mood for a party. I proposed one. Yes! a party that was to take place in ten years. I even went so far as to promise to remind them lest they forget. Ten years ago today! Why it seemed only yesterday. Yet when I thought of everything that had happened between then and now, it might easily have been a century. As I slowly descended the stairs, the clock was tolling the last stroke of nine, and, as yet, no one had arrived. Ah! the door bell was ringing. Who would it be? I couldn’t imagine for I had hardly seen any of my famous friends in all these years. With immeasurable excitement I flew to open the door, but with equally as much disap- pointment I again closed it. It was only a telegram. Hurriedly I tore it open and read its contents. It was from the most famous air pilot of the day, B. W. White, Jr., and Rose Richardson, the hostess of his plane. They sent their regrets. They had been sent on special duty to Manchuria to take a squad of trained nurses. Among the nurses were Evelyn Smith, Ethel Eure, Elizabeth Hopkins, and Hilda Mills. They were sent, I gathered, to join Rev. Archie Topping, Margaret Cooper, and Pauline Presson who were striving to stamp out an epidemic of a strange fever. Rev. Topping had sent first for the successful nurses, Margaret and Pauline, and then the famous Dr. Stanley White and his staff of nurses — all, it seemed, of our class of ’35. “Oh dear!” I exclaimed, not thinking once of their danger of going into the horrible disease, “I suppose that tiny scrap of paper just about wrecks our party.” With this I picked up the afternoon paper to pass away the time until my guests began to arrive. “Robert Crutchfield, prominent business man, exploring in Africa, captures only black panther ever seen,” stared me in the face. Another member of the class party absent! Why, what was this? A bridge cave-in, Berkley Crockett, the great electrical engineer, already arrived to make new plans for a safe and modern structure. Mr. John Moore was oil his way from the far east to furnish the capital.” He could well afford to, for he owned half the stock on Wall Street. “Well, just look at this! Famous typists to meet here tonight, inclubing the president ' s private s:iretary, Helen Mills, and several governors’ secretaries including Catherine Showalter, Carrie Johnson, Lucille Moore, and Marguerite Phillips. Before I could utter a word, the phone rang. Marie ran to answer it, but I waved her aside. More regrets from a member of the Senior Class of ’35, I knew. “Dinner is getting cold, and the ices are no longer fresh-looking, Madmoiselle,’ ’ lamented Marie. “Send them around to the orphanage, Marie. There will be no party,’’ I managed to say. The party calling long distance was Emma Lee Green, a model in Carolyn Firth’s dress shop in Paris. It seemed that some American tourist there desired immediately a fashion show of the latest creations. Of course she had to stay. Music! That’s what I needed to heighten my spirits ... A soft voice was singing an old familiar song of ten years ago. Why, it was surely Pearle Moore, Song Bird of the South, with Charles Horns- by’s Orchestra. Pearle was saying “Beatty, I hope your party is a tremendous success. Sorry Charles and I can’t be there, but you understand our Public.” The soft music had lulled me somewhat when I heard another familiar voice, that of Hugh Hopkins, state farming instructor giving special informa- tion to Eugene Hoge, the largest southern planter, on how to rotate crops successfully. This talK ended — to be followed by a scene from a court trial of immense interest. No wonder, for Lester Gaines was acting as lawyer for the defendant. They were sure of winning the case! This was followed by a pro- gram of little or no interest, so I again began to turn the dial slowly. Now, there was a familiar voice. It was none other than that of Mary Morse. Mary was lecturing on how to become a model wife. Her speech was interrupted by the door bell. It was Missouri Hopkins, my most efficient reporter. “Mis- souri, I thought you were in Washington getting a report on the president’s address.” “I sent someone in my place. I didn’t want you to be alone tonight — paper or no paper,” she replied. “I brought you this,” she said after much thought. It was another telegram, this time from back east in Virginia. It was from two of my absent guests, Ruth Moore, teacher of French, at William and Mary, and Levenia Joyner, Dean of Women. They, too, sent their regrets. Every one seemed to be busy with work. After receiving so many regrets, Missouri and I planned to spend a quiet evening. But this was not to be, for we were called upon by the president and vice- president, of the firm of Lawson Page. They stayed only long enough to carry out some important advertising transactions. Then John H. and Glenn were on their way to a quiet vacation in the Alps. After John H. and Glenn left, Missouri said quite casually, ‘ ‘It seems we have heard from all the Graduating Class of ’35, with the exception of Ruby Berry. Before she could finish, I interrupted, “Oh! Ruby is here in California operatnig one of her beauty parlors.” “Of course, and Katherine Crockett and Annie Crockett are with her, are they not?” Before I could reply, the house was shaken by a terrific explosion outside. We were terrified. “It’s nothing,” informed a policeman,” only that inventor, Leslie Dawson, trying to invent a gas powerful enough to push him and his rocket ship to the moon. Guess he’s gone, poor man!” We left him still talking. In ten minutes Missouri and I had the complete story from the smiling and unshaken Leslie and a nearby taxi driver, Ashton Watkins. — Beatrice Ballard ’35. X s X s X S X a a PAGE 26