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

Page 10 text:

 D. D. T. HEAVEN” I was born in a small town in eastern Vermont in the spring of 1945. First I was an egg. This part of my life I don’t remember very well. Then I grew into a bug. This part I remember clearly because I ate so much that I nearly popped. My adult stage came next. It wasn’t long before I started going to night clubs and dances. At one of these I met a tricky little number by the name of Sally. She was a queen bee. I will always remember those glorious nights we spent together during our courtship. Finally we were married and it wasn’t long before we had a cute little house and 500 romping babies. After this I started drinking and gambling. Who wouldn’t? Then came my new profession of piracy. I would swoop down upon a fly or spider like a dive bomber, let go with both stingers open, open up at full throttle, and climb steadily away. One day I did this to one of those characters called men, but this time it was a different story. He whipped out a weapon that I had never seen before and smacked me one that sent me spinning to the ground. Soon afterward I recovered, but my starboard wing, was out of joint and my stinger was smashed to bits. After this I had to go back to peace time flying. One day when I was out looking for grub I smelled that delic- ious food called sugar, which was like a turkey dinner to me. Soon I spotted it, pulled into a steep dive and zoomed over the plate of sugar. I landed and devoured as much as I could hold. I took off and headed for home. About half way home my port engine failed and my left wing froze, dead. Then my starboard engine whizzed, and coughed, and stopped. I knew then that I had been pois- ioned by D.D.T. 8

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It was now one-thirty in the morning. At one- thirty a year ago John had brought Ann home from a Christmas dance. His leave was over. He said goodby and asked her to write to him. SILENT NIGHT! HOLY NIGHT! SHEPHERDS QUAKE AT THE SIGHT!” John had been so much fun on his leave. He was never serious, always happy, and he did not say that it was his last leave before going overseas. GLORIES STREAM FROM HEAVEN AFAR, HEAVENLY HOST SING ALLELUIA.” A year had passed. Ann had written to John every day. Six weeks had passed with no word from him. CHRIST, THE SAVIOR, IS BORN, CHRIST, THE SAVIOR, IS BORN.” Ann, who worked as a secretary, began to go to the U.S.O. in town to help entertain the boys. Last night she had met a friend of John’s who had last seen him two months ago. He told Ann that John had gone on a dan- gerous mission. He himself, had been shipped home be- fore he could find out if John had come through. SILENT NIGHT! HOLY NIGHT! SON OF GOD, LOVE’S PURE LIGHT. RADIANT BEAMS FROM THY HOLY FACE.” Earlier in the evening- Ann returned home from a Christmas service to finish wrapping presents. On her way home she met a group of carolers singing Silent Night”. Ann joined in and sang the last verse. Somehow Ann knew then that John would come home safely. WITH THE DAWN OF REDEEMEN GRACE TESUS, LORD, AT THY BIRTH, JESUS LORD AT THY BIRTH”. Ann was softly singing Silent Night” when the door bell rang. She went to the door and there, smiling at her and humming Silent Night,” stood John. —Catherine Mays 7

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Gliding into my house I fell dead on the floor. Now I’m in heaven and have sprouted the wings of an angel. I am doing a little story writing in my spare time. —Eugene Winchester MY FIRST DAY After studying earnestly all afternoon, I suddenly look at the clock and to my dismay it is 3:15. Where has the time gone? I have only fifteen minutes to gather my wits and take my new job in the National Store. I stay at school as long as possible, but the time races steadily for- ward leaving me far behind, racking my brain for an ex- cuse to escape my doom. Trembling, I walk down the street. The store looms up before me. The door slides open. It can’t be I pushing it. I haven’t the strength. By some inner power driving me along, I slip through the door and take my place behind the counter. Suddenly a horrible face swims before me, and a deep voice bellows in my ear, A pound of cucumbers.” I weigh every cucumber in the bin, but none weigh one pound. I am panting wildly now. I look for an escape from this terrorfying place but the door is shut tightly. I grab one of the cucumbers, push it toward the customer, and whisper hoarsely, Fifteen cents, please.” He ac- cepts the price and stalks out. I am stunned for a minute, but come down to earth with a thud when I hear, Sweet wine?” Oh yes, let me see, sweet wine. That’s right here. No, it’s on the other shelf. At last with great skill I produce it. That will be eighty-three cents, please. What? Sour? But the label says—oh, sour!” 9