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Page 30 text:
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St. Pete looked at her and raised an eyebrow questioning].)-. Name please? Thomson, Anne , she replied. Registered nurse. You look like the athletic type Annie, said Peter, and certainly we haven ' t even a squash court in all of Heaven. I have heard that they have some pretty hot teams down below though. . . . A surge of color reddened Tommy ' s face. Peter couldn ' t quite decide whether it was caused by disappointment or temper. The question was quickly settled. Confound it. she cried. Where Verna goest, so goest i ' And she vaulted over the gate and disap- peared in the heavenly mist. Peter blinked and shook his head resignedly. Oh well, he muttered, Who ' s next. rie Rueger, hands on hips, faced St. Peter with a look of defiance. I ' m next , she said, and if that Scott can get into Heaven, you ' d better roll out the red plush carpet for yours truly, Merrie .Marie ' The Flying Dutchman ' . Peter sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and finally said, Name please . . . . A blissful expression lighted Marie ' s face as she replied, Marie Rueger, Medical Technician. And what have you done to deserve a place in Heaven? Well, I ' m kind to children, she returned brightly. Besides, I can cook ' St. Peter thought for a moment. Can you make Hasenpfeffer ? he whispered. You bet. Why I can whip up the neatest dish of that stuff you ' ve ever tasted ' Sold, cried Peter, rushing her though the gate without another thought. The next in line stepped forward. Name ' s Frank Bachetti , Sheffield, Mass., Phone 24-34. Employer: myself. References: myself. Qualifications: Cloud driver or me- chanic . That was short and to the point, at any rate , murmured Peter. Well, I always did admire clear clean-cut honesty, and your records show that you were an excellent mechanic down on earth. O. K. that way in. Next? I ' m Nancy Gilligan, and I ' ve been living in Alaska for the last 5 years with my hus- band, bless his soul, and my twelve children. I took care of all twelve of them myself. Got my AIRS, degree while at Smith College, you know, and have lived happily ever alter. ' Never mind any more data, my woman, with twelve kids on your hands you deserve the peaceful rest of Heaven ' laughed Peter. Come-on, come-on, who ' s next now? I am, said a voice calmly. And don ' t get impatient with me. My name is Ann kham, and I ' m in the NUAIBER PLEASE racket. Married too, and I have four of the best kids this side of Heaven. Very good , said Peter. But what can you do up here? Well, I s pose you might as well give me my old job. . . I ' ll be switchboard operator for all the little angels. But no Cloud-calls longer than 3 minutes, or I ' ll charge Mill overtime.. . Good enough. Who ' s next , replied Peter unbolting the Pearly lock. S pose its me, was the gruff reply. George Bagnaschi ' s the name. I was an en- gineer down below. . . .on earth, I mean. In fact, I was the one in complete charge of lighting up Boulder Dam. I have my job all picked out for up here though-always had a knack for carpentry too, I ' d sort of like to be in charge of the ' Cloud-mending depart- ment, with an office all my own. Can do, ' said St. Pete with surprise. UM HM , always did need an official for that duty. Go on in! Looking down, Peter saw a rather small figure standing before him. I ' m Rona Sande, and I ' m a dancer, said this person. 26
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Page 29 text:
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Class Prophecy TIME: The year 2102. PLACE: Just outside the Pearly Gates of Heaven. The trumpets blew, shattering the blissful peace o Heaven. A host of little angels stood at attention--erect and tense. They were anxious and excited because such trum- peting could mean but one thing--some poor soul was having difficulty unlatching the Pearly Gates) Suddenly a little cloud drew up to the curb, and St. Peter, with a pile of record books under each arm, stepped forth. A deep frown creased his brow. He knew the trouble, and expected it. He peered without the Pearly Gates, and there, low and behold, was the Sheffield High School Graduating Class of 1952 huddled in a group. Look, Pete, it ' s cold out here. What ' s chances of a little hospitality? For safety ' s sake, old Pete reached into his bed-shirted sports jacket and pulled out another lock which he quickly snapped into position. No double talk now) No one, but no one, gets past these wrought Pearly Gates until they prove to my satisfaction that they ' re worthy of this exclusive abode. Instantly a natural angelic expression replaced the normal faces of each of the Sheffield cherubs. But of course we ' re. . . .If you ' re looking for first class characters, look no further. We re the real McCoy. Satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded. Peter glanced at them sidewise, and said, No comments please. Let ' s handle this in a businesslike fashion. The line forms to the right, and one at a time step up here and give me your name, address, phone number, two business references, and one reason why you think you belong here, and believe me, the reason better be a lu-lu The little figure that had acted as spokesman for the group took her place at the head of the line. She came forward now, demure and a little frightened, but looked St. Peter squarely in the eye. My name is Verna West. I live at, I mean I had been living at 331 Park Ave. in New York City--Telephone CI 6-3359. I ' ve been nursing old men for the past 20 years St. Peter, and that ' s exactly why I should be allowed inside. I can cure anything. You name it, I ' ll fix it. Foot-ache, ear-ache, stomach-ache, wing trouble and I have my trusty teammate right here with me. St. Peter, this is Tommy .... .1 mean Miss Thomson. Tommy, let me introduce my old friend Pete. Uh-huh, uh-huh, harrumphed Peter, old friend eh But Miss West, we aren ' t discussing Miss Thomson now. It ' s YOU we ' re not interested in. But don ' t you see. . . .Tommy ' s blameless history on earth is just the same as mine. I was only trying to save you extra work. We attended Hartford Nursing School together, and then both of us entered the profession as Registered Nurses. Tommy majored in child care, and I was one of the floor supervisors of Hartford Hospital before I moved to the big city to be with my husband. Hold on, hold on, shouted the guardian of the gate. Granted, that ' s a pretty good record, but there is no Pain here in Heaven, so you may just as well skip along if that ' s all you have to offer. But St. Pete, you can ' t do this to me I know, I ' ll play the organ for you. You must have an organ floating around here somewhere. Just anyone who is anyone has an organ, and , said Verna. Mmmmmmm, a heavenly organ player, mused Peter. Could do worse I s ' pose. All right, all right, go on in. Next!!!! Tommy had been left standing while St. Peter opened the gate for Verna, and as he started to close it, she ran forward in an attempt to squeeze through. What about me, she cried! 25
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Page 31 text:
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Dancer? questioned Peter. Guess that ' s a good enough profession, but I ' m sorry, we have no room for you up here. Step aside please. But No buts about it. Move to the left please. There is just no job for you up here. Next? Barbara Woodbeck squealed a voice. Private secretary to Howard Hennigar of Sheffield High School. Can take dictation at 299 words a minute, and can type a letter in ' two shakes of your white beard. But if I employed you up here in our Golden Book, you wouldn ' t be able to write in shorthand after all, I have to be able to read it. I can always type it. . . .after all, 299 words a minute is nothing to sneeze at, was the answer! In then, said Pete, But don ' t forget, I don ' t want a lap-sitting kind of secretary. I ' m a little old for that. No, not old Pete, just tired, said a voice, and I ' m just the man you ' ve been looking for. Name is Roger Charbonneau, and I am an airplane pilot. Fly a jet so fast that the breeze it leaves behind would bounce you down to earth and back up again before you even knew it. UH-HUH, I ' m your man. I ' ll keep all the clouds in formation and still have time to chauffeur you around in your private convertible XB-849. St. Peter, I ' m Rona Sande, interrupted a voice and Scram, said St. Peter. Go ahead past, them, Roger, hurried Pete, before I change my mind. I ' m Rona Sande, and SCRAM, said Pete. Next, shouted a tall man now at the head of the line, I ' m Henri Polastri, a car- penter. Willing to do most anything just as long as I still have time for a little sleep and food. ' There is no place for laziness up here Henri, said Peter sternly. Oh, I ' m not lazy replied Henri, just believe that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy . No sir, I ' m always full of energy. In fact, if you ' ll just open that gate a bit further and let me in, I ' ll fix it for you fight now ' Fix it ' but it ' s not broken, returned Peter. Oh no, turn around and look ' As the old man turned, Henry swept by, through the gate and out into the atmosphere. Guess. I ' m just getting old, if I can be fooled by that, ' Look behind ya trick ' , he murmured. Well, let ' s get on with it. Who ' s next? I ' m Rona Sande Go away, said Peter. I ' m Rona Sande and No) I said, so go away from here you. Next? Ann Nott. I was a typist in the air force after finishing high school, and in my forty-fourth year of service, I was personal secretary to General Nightencoop , proud- ly, said Ann. Not bad, not bad, mused Pete. Well you can be Private Secretary to my private secretary. Stop everything ' . It ' s me, shouted a manly voice. St. Peter, now that I ' m here, you ' re troubles are over. I was a farmer in my younger days, and still have all the gumption that I had right after I finished my course at the Stockbridge School of Ag- riculture at the University of Massachusetts, Yup, your troubles are solved now. Every- one must eat, and I can cultivate the best Manna in all of Heaven. 27
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