Wells River High School - Chatterbox Yearbook (Wells River, VT)

Page 10 text:

ESSAY ON WOMEN’S CLOTHING Have you ever walked down the street and looked at women’s clothes—their shoes, hats and dresses? Awful, isn’t it? You walk along minding your own business when all of a sudden, a woman, or at least you think that’s what it is, steps out of the store in front of you. You look at her head and gasp at the sight of it”. But you manage to stagger along in back of it”. You look at it”. Could that possibly be a hat on her head? Oh, no. A bird perched upon (what you think is) a plant pot. Ugh! What a sight! Are those shoes on her feet? You look again to make sure. Why it looks just as if she were walking on stilts. And those stockings! They’re making women’s hose out of fish nets now. What next? What a rainbow between her feet and head. You are dazed at the sight. An orange, green, blue and violet striped dress with red buttons and a yellow collar. Oh! You rub your eyes and look away in a hurry. It can’t be so! Slowly your eyes go back to the object. It really is a dress. What a nightmare! Dazed you look upon the peaceful sky, or perhaps sneak into a dark hallway to let the woman get out of sight. Slowly you find your way out to the street again and walk along, head bent, with eyes on the pavement. You then resolve to buy a pair of col- ored glasses before going on the street again. —RoseLee Hooker ’44 WITHOUT FREEDOM We woke up and started a typical day—school, work, play, whichever was to be our lot. Then it happened. A voice on the radio stated tersely that the Nazis had taken over the government. Stunned, we continued on our daily routine, not knowing what else to do. 8

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I thought, They must think Frank Sinatra is in town and I know where he is.” My stockings had caught and ripped as I left my of- fice, my hat was back on the baby carriage, and my left shoe had sped through the open window of a passing car as I sprang for the curb. My skirt I held a little way above my knees so I could run faster and my hair was streaming straight out behind. I held my purse so tightly to my side that I must have looked like Tom Harmon run- ning for a touchdown. But here I was at last. I knew the sign over the door would have read The Grey Shop” if I could have stopped to read it. Instead I raced in the door and up the stairs, then down the aisle and up another flight of stairs. I had been steaming the last few laps, and now I was about dead. It was only momentum that kept me going. I stumbled down two more aisles, making the last few yards on my hands and knees. I grabbed the counter, dragged myself up on my feet, and stood gasping like a steam engine. The disinterested clerk looked at me coldly. Is there something you would like?” he asked sar- castically. A pair of nylons,” I gasped weakly. You’re in luck, madam. We have one pair left out of a shipment just received from San Francisco.” Yes, I know, Joe told me,” I said, clutching at the stockings I had just purchased. Then I heard the crowd of Frank Sinatra girls stampede up the isle. I remember clutching at my nylons just as they hit me—then darkness. It is pleasant here in the hospital. The room is sunny and filled with flowers sent by the office force. The nurses are cheerful and I get good attention. As I lie here I am a happy woman, for on the table at the bedside is my pair of nylons. I am dreaming of the day, about six weeks from now, when the cast will be taken from my broken leg and I will be able to put them on. Boy, was I lucky! —Virginia Hamel ’44 7

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At school the children found the same teachers, but teachers with new ideas. They did not believe in the things they had taught—good literature, good education, or even the American way. The election the student body were going to have to decide whom they wanted for their next president was postponed indefinitely. Virginia Hamel, a girl who believed in saying what she thought, called a meeting of the student body, which, immediately upon gathering, was dispersed, and all attending were told that such things as meetings where one could state one’s opinions were not part of the new program. A strange woman came one day and told the students that those with low marks would be sent to work in factories, on farms, or in some branch of service to help their country. She also prescribed subjects for the remaining students—math- ematics, science and home economics. These were the only important subjects, she said. The usual gang met at Jimmy’s Drug Store that eve- ning, and Henry Rowden with upraised fist stated his opin- ion of the new government. It’s against the Bill of Rights,” he shouted, but before he could say anything else he was taken awav by some uniformed men. The others were sent to their homes and told to stay there. Wells River became a different town. There were new people with strange uniforms, and everywhere one looked someone had an arm band proclaiming him a member of this club or that club—all approved by the government. At school bovs concentrated on gunnery and war- fare, while the girls studied home arts and nursing. Education was promoted, of course, but as the gov- ernment wanted it, not what the people wanted; assemblies were called, but the people didn’t conduct them; there were speakers who talked on special approved subjects”. Even at home things were different and unpleasant. Rationing was better than being told what to eat. The house, without a radio, was strangely quiet, although the family was so busy running to approved meetings” super- vised by approved people” that they wouldn’t have had time to listen anyway. 9