Sharon High School - Marsengold Yearbook (Sharon, MA)

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wiki-lm 1 164 ZZ? 532 158 n Marsengold P '4 if PROPHECY The last diploma had been passed from hand to hand, the last handshake had been given, and the last tear had been shed, as the Class of 1950 gathered out- side their Alma Mater. Over the roar of blowouts, backfires and other me- chanical disorders, the procession of hot- rods was on its way at the amazing clip of twenty-five miles per hour-destina- tion, the land of awe and mystery, Nan- tasket. Ten traffic tickets and fourteen fiat tires later we renamed ourselves the Order of the Crimson Light due to the numerous stop lights we so blithely ig- nored. On arrival we trooped down the boardwalk, resembling a group of con- victs on their first parole as we cased the joint. Swami Zinglehoffer caught our attention as we observed her removing her teeth and swishing them in pink lemonade. Deciding she would prove in- teresting, to say the least, we entered her exotic retreat which reminded us of the north door at Sharon High. Pat Allen and Marilyn Jerauld were the first to breeze boldly through the curtains of the Swami's den. Bending over the crystal ball Pat yelled, Why, that's just an up- side down coffee percolator with the grounds still in it! The Swami, gently boxing her ears, said, It's merely a figment of your imag- ination, and proceeded to prophesy their future. I see you, Marilyn, bending over a hot stove holding a Clay pot, and Patty absent-mindedly shoving her four chil- dren away from her apron strings. Don't be so Willy-nilly. Next, please. Naturally Bev and Jean were dying to see in which direction they were headed. so they barged through the door, beaming from ear to ear, and said, What do you prophesy for us, Swami? Jean, she answered, I see you wheel- ing a four-year-old private patient into the operating room and into the very cap- able hands of Beverly Stewart, surgical nurse. Do I have any more customers? With a roar of squeaks and squeals the students gently pushed the red-faced Robert Murray and Eddie Baldwin through the door. Rising with a face full of pink lemonade, Robert stammered, Will you please tell us our futures? Just a minute, Swami said, I have to locate you. I see Africa, the land of dark- ness, and-wait! There, ambng the tropi- cal swamps, I see you both stealthily creeping through the brush in search of a crocodile. Oh, no, it can't be, they screamed, and fainted dead away! As they dragged these poor children away, Carolyn Bodwell and John Stres- senger, the latter limping, came in, hand in hand, looking very contented. I see your future in your eyes, - related the Swami, and now send your next friends in. Elaine Golden finally succeeded in breaking the door down and ran up to the crystal ball, with Davy dragging on the floor behind her, screaming, Hurry, I can hardly wait. Just a minute, young lady, your future isn't exactly clear. Here-wait a minute. Now I can see you hurrying through a newspaper office in an effort to get your column in before the deadline, with this young man still behind you. What de- layed you-as if I didn't know! Warren Cole gracefully stumbled in, carrying a typewriter, and asked hope- fully, What's gonna happen to me, Swami? Quoth the Swami blithely, I see for you a brilliant future as secretary to a beautiful business woman. Have fun! Mary and Roberta breezed through the curtain, followed by Carole and Shirley, and, rushing up to the Swami, were in- formed that their Maison de Guillet and de la Pratt on the Rue de la Paix, was thriving and leading the fashion world. Of course this success was due to their modele charmante, Carole Sacks, and the helpful designing of Mademoiselle Shir- ley Ritter. . With a screech of brakes, Donald King hauled up and elbowed his way through the curtains. The Swami prophesied that his taxi company would serve the cus- tomers of the afore-mentioned style shop successfully. Crawling out of the taxi's trunk, Skip- py Smith slid through the curtains whis- pering to his confederates, I got that ride free after all. As Skippy approached the crystal ball, Jimmy Gregory bounded in behind him yelling loudly- We ain't got no future, Swami. After a glance in the crystal ball, color drained out of the Swami's face and she sadly confirmed the statement. A shower of rice was thrown as Phil Bonz and Gwen Peters, the class love- birds, waltzed in. Suddenly a white cot- tage, equipped with picket fence and ivy, materialized in the crystal ball. Does 22 .

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CLAI FIVDYA NT PREDICTS FUTURE X, . 15, 74 ' v N, - 'ff X 5 211

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'123'-33' Marsengold 2224 ' 'f 22? g that satisfy you, my children? Swami asked, replacing her teeth. As Stanley Parrish and Jeff Chamber- lain glided sophisticatedly through the door, pennies were thrown at the two class entertainers in hopes that they would do a toe dance for the audience. Your prophecy is in your faces, intoned the Swami as she turned away. Elizabeth Hurley dove through the cur- tains and gasped excitedly, Where does my future lie? In the Norwood Arena, the Swami said, as the first woman winner of the three-day endurance stock-car race, with Edmund Raeder setting the pace on his trusty bicycle. I do believe that's John Pruett sitting in the timer's box. No wonder Sharon won. Eleanor Maria, with Eleanor Niethold tagging behind her, blithely jumped over the barrels of pinl-l lemonade, and screamed, Do we have a future, Swami? I see stacks of silver piled in front of Eleanor Maria's cashier desk which were profits gained from the mouth-watering food served by Eleanor Niethold. Pushing timidly forward, Anne Graham blushingly asked the Swami what the fu- ture held for her. Swami gazed in and de- scribed the view which she beheld. A spectacular ice ballet with you as its star, she exclaimed. I hope the ice is thick enough! As Anne made her way out, Tommy Markt leaped into the den. The crystal quickly focused. I see you driving your father's oil truck with a sign saying 'No Riders'. Who's the passenger, Tommy? Trying to overcome the onrush of his classmates, Kenny Ornell quietly entered the room to have his future prophesied. The Swami related, You 'are pictured dressed in the military uniform of a chap- lain, proceeding through your chapel. Have I foreseen your hopes of the future correctly, Kenny? The group was pushed apart as Tommy Cleveland's and Jimmy Hagan's broad shoulders were seen boldly edging their way in. The Swami, without hesitation, exclaimed, 'We1l, if it isn't the stars of the Scintillating Celtics, champion bas- ketball team of the world-Have you en- tered the Brockton Tournament yet, boys? Along with you fellows, I see your crack cheerleaders, Amber Ehrisman and Beverly Fakkel, the best cheerleaders for the best team ever. Then the Swami took a quick peek in the crystal ball andusaw the two univer- sally famous scientists, John Deltano and Bruce Harding, diligently working on a formula for the oxygen bomb. In the same laboratory, Guy Littlefield and Robert Rodman were mixing a witch's brew in a giant coke glass, courtesy of Moulton's. Thank you. Their ever-ready secretaries, Margaret and Marie Minerva, could be seen typing laboriously in the offices of the atomic heater company, now and then dipping their hands into the cold freezer next to their desks. As the Swami lifted her head, in came Robert Feist and Charlie Goodwin with their elevator shoes. Speak not, said the Swami, for I see you marching down South Main Street, carrying signs adver- tising the Empire State Building. Arnold Mitchell and Ronald Hull, with Pat White between them, were the next in line. The Swami exclaimed, Well, if it isn't Pat and Ronny, stars of the Arnold Mitchell production, Sally, Slave Girl of the Siberian Salt Mines? Bill Jeffords swaggered in, adjusting his bell-bottom trousers. Ah-hah, said the Swami, I see you drawing lots to de- cide which port to head for next. Why don't you give the cold girls in Chile a break, Bill? Pushing the button that pushes the but- tons, in other words their husbands, Jean- ette McDonald and Joan Steinmetz were next pictured in the crystal ball, as they applied corn plasters to their housemaid's knees. Green rolling hills and red barns were next seen in the upside down coffee per- colator as the Swami pantingly wiped her brow Qwhat there was of ith. Why that's farmer Robert Lowden, she cried. And who is that nurse with him? Why, its Evelyn Shankman, injecting his animals with small pox serum. I have prophesied my last future, I hope, sighed the Swami. No, you forgot us, screamed Hank, Itchy, and Frank as they crowded her back to her magic globe. So I have, so I have, she said unen- thusiastically. I see you boys as teachers in your former Alma Mater. You, Rich- ard Butler, teaching English, you, Henry Hodgdon, as a gym teacher, and you, Frank Davidson, as mechanical drawing instructorf' As the Class of 1950 made their way gratefully into the clean, cool night air, they waved goodbye to the Swami, who certainly wasn't much to look at but just radiated personality! JEAN MCDONALD ELAINE GOLDEN MARY PRATT ROBERTA GUILLET BEVERLY FAKKEL ANNE GRAHAM 23 .