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

Page 11 text:

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

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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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At the end of a week came a radio announcement that a required broadcast was to be given Saturday eve- ning at nine o’clock. Tersely, America waited. Fellow Americans”, said the President’s voice, this week has been an experiment to show the people of the United States what life without liberty and justice for all would be like. The experiment is over. Once more you are free to enjoy freedom in our democracy. As we thank God for our own freedom and think with pain in our hearts of those who are in bondage, let us sing together softly the last verse of our national hymn, America”. Our fathers’ God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom’s holy light; Protect us by thy might, Great God our King.” —Barbara Bid well ’45 THE CRUISE ON PICKWICK PUDDLE Once upon a time there lived a race of little people about three inches tall. They lived in a little village by the edge of Pickwick Puddle. To us Pickwick Puddle would be only a little mud hole, but to the little folk it was a mighty sea. One afternoon the mayor of the small people called a meeting of the citizens and declared that a boat should be built and acruise taken on Pickwick Puddle. Everyone contributed to making the boat. Someone gave material for the sails, someone gave lumber, and some- one gave a wind-up motor, in case the wind died down and the sails would not make the ship go. In a week the ship was finished. The galley was full of food, and the indoor swimming pool filled with water. All the tickets were soid and the cruisers started early one morning. They sailed all day, but when they 10