Taunton High School - Journal Yearbook (Taunton, MA)

Page 61 text:

THE JOURNAL that,-for the eerie strains of a violin Hit through the hall. It is Constance VVitherell and her famous ODE TO A R'ASBERRY. But now the hall fades before our eyes, and in the glow appears a small town depot. An excited crowd of people are apparently awaiting with great eagerness an incoming train, which Bears aloft mid streamers and rice, A banner with this strange device. Welcome J. Turner! As we are wondering at the meaning of this expectant gathering and glancing around for an explanation, our attention is drawn to a billboard on which is emblazoned TO-NITE Hear j. TURNER HOOD Lecture on THE BENEFITS OF A THERMOS BOTTLE HOUSE at the CLEOPATRA GRANGE By the side of this dashing script is the picture of a man whose thought- ful countenance is so smothered in the waves of a flowing beard that we scarcely recognize our old class adviser. Right this way, ladies and gentlemen! just out! The Lockhart- Stark Graham crackers. The marvel of the ages! Excellent teether for young children-is also an unsurpassed dog food. Step right up! Only ten cents!! The attention of the crowd is drawn in an instant to the lusty vender, none other than George Boardman, and to his aide-de- camp, Victor Bobet, who is selling the noteworthy crackers right and left. On a nearby hayrick, a wisp of straw dangling from his open mouth, sits Hubert Hawkins devouring this phenomenon with tense interest. Bang! Crash! In the grand rush Eleanor Foster, dignified Doctor of Zinco- graphy, has fallen into the cracker tub. At the other end of the town where peace and tranquillity usually reign, a hubbub arises. Helen Babbitt,president of the Deaf and Dumb Society , stalks down the street followed by her crew. In her hand she brandishes a Boston American, on the front of which is a picture of Dot Adams, arrested for feeding gun powder to the pigeons on Boston Common 59

Page 60 text:

CLASS PROPHECY ETHEL NELSON at cARoi.vN WASHBURN, mf. CLel'S gofl EAN tapering hngers hovering over a crystal globe-a hunched flgure in loose robes-clashing reds, greens, yellows,-and above it all the dusky face of W. See-the-present-before-your-eyes Grant. What appears in this magic crystal? In breathless wonder we peer into its depths, hoping to catch a glimpse of old friends and acquaintances. First a scene in New York City's heaviest traffic. In the midst of rumb- ling trucks and clanging street cars rises the majestic figure of a blue- coated traffic cop. It is Lloyd Macadam gallantly escorting Thelma Rogers and her youngest through the teeming thoroughfare. Quickening his stride to comply with the jazzy protest of a squawking horn, he re- turns to direct Elizabeth Swan who sails triumphantly by in a gorgeous, fawn-colored flivver. Lo! as a splash of peacock blue and silver catches our eye, we notice a footman perched in full regalia on the running board, and recognize an old companion in misery, Abraham Berkover. This essence of finery hesitates before a theater where thousands are mobbing the entrance, for within there is about to be a concert. The Honorary George Schwartz, president of the musical society, CHORDS AND DISCORDS, is making a preliminary speech. His eye roves from time to time with admiration to a box where Harriet Warner, known the world over as Miss United States, sits enthroned in a mass of roses. The first on the program is an entrancing little ditty entitled jack was Every Inch a Sailor , sung by Miss Ernestine Mitchell. As she courtesies to the enthralled populace, the leader of the orchestra, Monsieur Charlie Hem- ingway, as much of a lion with the ladies as ever, comes forward with a huge bouquet made up of hfty-seven varieties of sunllowers, with the compliments of Mr. Heinz. There follows a soul-satisfying piano selec- tion, LES BELLES DAMES, rendered by Harry Silverman, who brings down the house. In the midst of the excitement we see Myrtle Chase and Crawford Glen marching hand in hand down the aisle selling HEY EDDIES and OH HENRYS to the clamoring mob. But enough of 58

Page 62 text:

THE JOURNAL As she stops before The Greasy Spoon , to muster her forces with the aid of an onion sandwich, Elinor Sampson appears, clad in purple velvet overalls and chewing a wad of gum. With a dripping paint brush in her hand and a strip of futurist wall paper slung over her shoulder, she stubs an anxious toe in her haste to join the discussion. Out of a window above the Inn leans Myrtle De Long, the one and only female dentist in the country. By her side is a patient, Doris Erwin, with the pincers still hanging in her mouth. Zip! Bang! Through a cloud of clearing smoke gleam the lights of Paris. It is the Fourth of july, and the heavens glare with bursting sky-rockets. Within one of the cabarets, the merriment waxes eloquent. Two exponents of the Russian Ballet, Eula Hall and Richard Buckley, are going through staggering gyrations. As Roy Wilbur, a pompous waiter, with casual intent, tips a glass of water down the back of Louise Hern, a blase Bohemian, a massive figure intervenes. Calvin Staples. renowned prize fighter, comes to her rescue. But the attention of the diners turns to a lithe and airy dancer. Fannie Manning totters to the forefront. VVoe follows in her footsteps. A soaring rocket, swerving out of its course, carries her skyward, and she is seen no more. Across the crystal floats drifting sand. We are in Egypt. A pyramid looms before our eyes. At its base is Patrick Walsh furiously digging for the brother-in-law of King Tut-ankh-a-men. On the peak Mutt Beaman is comfortably balanced, thoughtfully squinting through a tele- scope at Edythe Newton pirouetting through the air in a balloon. In the distance a group of laborers are busily at work on the stupendous task of irrigating the Sahara Desert. Mary Houston is foreman of the gang, but at present she is industriously flirting with Gordon Parker who sits astride a swaying camel. A sudden paleness bleaches his countenance and in haste he begins to make his adieu, the camel staggers along almost tripping over a man crawling on hands and knees in the sand. We recognize with difficulty Bill Grigor, crouched over a dangling microscope, searching for specimens of the new Egyptian Cootie. But what is that strange object on the landscape? There in the midst of the desert's dreary waste stands a modern scenic railway. A car stops, and out of it step Eloise Morse and Reva Haskins, sole owners and passengers. They look supremely happy as they issue orders to the ticket agent, Doris Durgin, and step back to whirl off again. A party of tourists arrives riding ostriches. On the first bird is Sir Thomas Sylvander, monocle in eye, along with Lady Slipper, nee Edna Hogan, and her travelling companion, Avis Hathaway. As the party alights, Carl Weiler comes up sweeping the dirt off the desert. They all glance around to see a train of cars shooting up out of a hole in the ground. Carl Brady, with a pigtail down his back, has just arrived by his short 60