Vergennes Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Vergennes, VT)

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BLUE AND WHITE 13 to carry on and successfully turn out some singers and some musicians and complete three musicals. And it does take patience! To Mr. Zickler, for the ability to make each problem into some useful application. Also for his ability to see a joke and make one. To Mr. Gile. As a teacher of Psy-cology and Socialogy, two subjects which not only explain the actions of human beings, but also aids the student in adjusting himself to differnt types of people and situations. To the Clergymen: Rev. Davis, Father Ripper, Rev. Evans, Father Couture, for their voluntary and most appreciated work in the religion classes that are held each Thursday in the week. Having written this article, I hope you will remember your favorite subjects and let them help you choose a job. tb rb f HAVE FAITH IN GOD Eleanor E. Ringer, ’44 Two years have passed since Bud was home. “He has been missed very much’’ thought his mother. She held one of Bud’s latest letters and his picture in her hand. “ . . . am in good heath.” Bud always said that. She looked more closely at his picture. He was grinning. Always grinning. She smiled. She used to call him her fa- vorite son, even though she did have another son who she thought was just as special. Bud’s youngest sister came into the room. “Hi mom, have you got a etter from Bud?” “Yes, Bobbie I have. He sent his love to you.” Jackie, Bud’s brother, came into the room. “Did you tell Bud I’m going in the navy next year?” “Yes. He said he thought that that was a fine idea.” Barbara giggled. “You, in the navy!” she said. “They want men ... !” “Jack—Barbara! Be good children,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Ah, I was only teasing,” Bobbie said. Jackie grinned. Mrs. Wilson looked at her sixteen year old son and sighed. Having Bud gone was bad enough but with Jackie gone—it would be worse than ever. Well, she still had Bobbie left and Gertrude, her married daughter. When Mr. Wiison came in, they all sat down to supper. Home—peaceful home—Dad, Mom and the kids—foremost in sailor Bud’s mind. Several weeks later, while the Wilson family was sitting around the fireplace the doorbell rang. Msr. Wilson answered it and took the telegram from the messenger boy with great fear in her heart. “We regret to inform you that your son, David Lee Wilson, has been seriously wounded in the Southwest Pacific area . . .” She stopped with tear-filled eyes. Her Bud—her favorite son—her oldest and most beloved son—seriously wounded— maybe dying. For days there was an uneasy, uncomfortable hush over the Wilson househod and every night one could sense the silent crying of Bud’s niother and sister. No more telegrams came to tell them whether he was better or worse—and Mrs. Wilson who almost lost faith— imagined Bud dead. Then one night the doorbell rang again. Everyone looked up exepectantly, but this time no messenger boy’s grim face appeared—no, instead it was her favor- i.e son—Bud on a crutch—grinning just as he always did.

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12 VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL for a place where the peg will fit with few changes? I mean by that, find a position in society and at some occupation where you will fit in, with only minor changes made in you. Look back over your schoolwork, we’ve all done a little griping, that’s true, but weren't there certain things you liked to do just the same? How about English? Yes we know you never liked the grammar, but wasn’t it necessary? You probably liked poetry and story writing, well isn’t the form of your writing important if you are ever to become an author? How about engineering, drafting or any job dealing with mechanics? A lot of you fellows are interested, what could be better if you like construction seeing your work that you’ve planned every inch of, being put up where people will see it long after you are gone? Should you go into the army or the forces anywhere, there is all the more chance for specialized training. The girls that so successfully prepared meals for the Rotary, yes all the Home Economics class, they’ll never have to worry about wasting. Many because they can’t cook, they won’t be helpless, if they want a dress styled smart and different they won’t have to shop all over some city and pay more than they can afford to obtain it. they’ll make it.. Those of the girls who don’t wish to marry and settle down, you must admit you’ve all had the chance to be trained a career woman, you have your typing, your shorthand, you can take Business Arithmetic, you have had a choice of several languages so you can converse with those of different nationalities wishing to do business. Well, you have all had these subjects now the ones you like best, choose a corresponding job so that you will be happy for that is the secret of success. If you choose a job you enjoy, you wi’.l be cheerful, which is a contagious sickness and will soon spread to those about you. Now, I say, we all owe a debt of gratitude to the faculty for the many things they have done for us. I’ve been to exactly six different schools and never have I seen a spirit of friendliness and cooperation such as exists here between students and between students and faculty. Whether or not this spirit is carried out of the school also, I do now know, but it is certainly present in the school. I say we owe a vote of thanks to Mr. Berry, who realizes that the physical side of a student if kept healthy, through organized sports, will keep the mental side up to par. To Mr. Templeton who was ever ready to take on the burden of extra work and cooperate when the students wanted a play or when they needed extra help, or when they wanted their stories and poems checked over. To Mr. Patterson, who was willing to drop in and illustrate a point or to give an easy trick problem out of the vast store of experiences he has collected from practically all parts of the world. It make Geography assume real incidents. To Mrs. Saulters who could and would take over the managing of suppers for a Rotary meeting or the supervising of curtains and make up for any plav or musical. She could do this as well as teach Biology and other subjects. To Mrs. Patterson for passing on her knowledge of French, Commercial Geography and European History to the High School, besides extra work such as teaching Sociel Studies to grade seven. To Mrs. Nelson, for her part in teaching Latin, English and General Science, three subjects which will be a large contribution to the future of many students. To Mrs. Berry for her help in teaching Spanish, Short Hand, Typing and Business Practice to those who wish to become stenographers, secretaries and clerks. To Mrs. Favor for the patience and fortitude which she found somewhere

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14 VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL GETTING TO THE POINT By Frances Casey Michel looked every inch the slightly old maidish and well to do widower walking quickly through the hall. And behind him, the rich portieres fell behind his retreating figure; the gloom he left behind him harbored a defiant son. There he stood, in the square carpeted hallway, with one hand on the door watching in turn, the portieres on the left, the door before him and lastly. he switched his gaze to the stairs which wound dimly toward the upper rooms of the great house. His frown deepened. At length he glanced out the door behind him. where it seemed to be raining harder than when he came in. His momentary indecision vanished at the sound of footsteps behind the heavy portieres, for only one person stepped like that. Michel's son ran lightly up the stairs. “Why is it that he should make such a fuss over a little matter like that?” “The kid is making fuss for two reasons. First because it isn’t a little matter to him. Second, because he doesn't understand it” “Really, John, he shouldn’t be expected to understand such a thing at his age. He shouldn’t even think about such a thing as a philosophy.” “All my sons understood it when they were much younger than your precious William.” “Hum. Even you get roused, John. Why must a man your age snap me up at the mere mention of the subject?” “Well, Michel, you are excited yourself or you wouldn’t bring the matter up tonight.” “Sir! I will not have my son come home from school and ask me my philosophy. We ever imagined such a thing?” Michel’s guest did not answer but went on buttoning his coat. “It’s all poppycock! If he would learn the third grade number chart, it would be more profitable than to waste —completely waste—his time arguing Michel’s son rushed through the velvet portieres in an obviously pugnacious mood. In reply to Michel’s good-natured, “How much money did it take to get you through life today?” he growled, “It’s changed over from money matters to success.” “Now really.” “Why did they pop it so suddenly? I over his philosophy. “I suppose so. Good night.” He was gone then, and the portieres were falling back at Michel’s feet. Michel enjoyed his walk this morning more than usual. The mud he had stepped in didn’t seem to matter. He forgot that he objected to girls running on the street and actually hoped the one in red would reach the corner first because she was the smallest. He even caught himself laughing at the strains of “Pistol Packin’ Mama” which bel-ligerantly followed him down the street. Mittens, his hairy cocker-spaniel, was altogether too frisky for a sedate animal eight years old and misnamed “Mittens” by a bouncing dowager who loved all animals at a distance of ten feet. Michel had always disliked the name, mostly because he disliked the former owner. Yet when he looked at the fuzzy paws pattering pell-mell over the pavement, he decided the bouncing dowagr hadn’t been so far off after all. He really liked that dog. He remembered how bad he had felt the day a professional dog breeder said Mittens resembled a bow-legged bush. Later on, yesterdays rain came calling again in great, splashing drops. To be caught in the downpour worried Michel for Mittens always hated to get wet. Something must be done. Animals did catch pneumonia. So, much as he hated crowded busses. Michel waited at the stop determined to get home as soon as possible. But the bus was late and (when it did come) far too full to suit the fastidious Michel. That is how it happened that Mittens and Michel walked solemnly home in the rain.