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

Page 8 text:

THE SENIORS The mighty Seniors number ten And are the subject of my pen. Our Senior Class of ’45 In basketball is quite alive. Sports are not for Evelyn Guay From basketball she stays away. Beverly Brizzee’s the quieter type But in basketball she’s quite all right. Barbara Bidwell has red hair Call her spitfire, she doesn’t care. Gloria Gibson, a South Ryegate girl, Is never left out of the social whirl. Florence McKinley, dark and gay— On the topic of men she too has her say. Everett Dargie, dark and tall, I’ve heard his car is free for all. Clifton Stearns, our athletic pride, We’re glad we have him on our side. Jean Garvin has lots of vim And has a wide, good natured grin. Doris Sawyer has lots of dreams, Is that where she gets her English themes? Bobby Normand works in a store, Spends his money and then earns more. Although we grumble, I sadly fear, We’ll miss them all in school next year. —A Freshman 6

Page 7 text:

[LOV eT(R, AfR Y THOUGHTS I knelt by my window night before last Watching a midnight black cloud glide past The moon. It cast a shadow upon the river, The shape of which made me gasp and shiver. For a moment, a second, it flashed through my mind, It’s an enemy bomber with tail-gun behind. Fast as it came, the thought then vanished, But the feeling it left could not be banished. It made me think of people like me, Yet living in agony over the sea, Who couldn’t know the relief I’d known, So accustomed to dread and fear thev’ve grown; Or of still others who for duty or right Had gone to the aid of those in the fight For their all. Men and boys who had gone again, Knowing full well that they might remain. It made me think of one thing more— It must be God’s will that this war In other lands is now being fought And see for the life of me I cannot Whv t’was us he picked to save, For in return we little gave. —Barbara Bid well ’45

Page 9 text:

HAPPY FAMILY The Fullers are a lively family, of which Jean is the most lively member. She is ten years old, has curly blond hair and a look of innocence about her that captures ev- eryone’s heart. Gramp is a stubborn old gent who goes around in old overalls. He has a short, white beard and a tiny bit of white hair on his bald head. He never wears a hat when he goes out. His winter is a succession of one cold after another. Mrs. Fuller once, very foolishly, remarked in front of the family that she was going to glue the mop on his head for a wig. This remark would not have been foolish if Jean had not been present. We really can’t blame Jean—- she’s such a lively little girl. One fateful day at two o’clock Gramp sat down in the living room chair for his usual afternoon nap despite the pleas of his daughter to go to his bedroom. In a half hour he was snoring peacefully in deep slum- ber. The time to act had come. A small figure crept around the back of the chair. A bottle labeled Iron Glue” rose from behind and a little hand with a brush fol- lowed. Then came a period of intense activity in which the glue was spread thickly over the head and the mop clamped on. Now a spectacular disappearin' act took place, and the scene of the crime was again at peace. Ring, Ring! The telephone clamored in the quiet recess of the hall. Mrs. Fuller answered. A ten-minute conversation followed in which Mr. Fuller informed his wife—we shall skip her part of the conversation!—that he was bringing his boss home to dinner, that his boss was a wealthy man, accustomed to dining by candlelight and in evening dress, that she would have to collect the kids and lock them in the attic, and, above all, that she should get Gramp dressed up. As you have orobably guessed, Mr. Fuller was doing his best to influence his em- plover in the art of making the position of an accountant more lucrative. 7