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

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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

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 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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There is no reason for her to lose her temper. We all make mistakes—I hope. A never ending stream of faces passes before me, old and young, ugly and pretty, meek and bold. Oranges, apples, bread, and cake sold. Mistakes are balanced with good sales. Six o’clock! The door closes—is locked. A still- ness steals over the store. I walk out to the street happy and contented, and proud—an authorized clerk at the National Store. My first day is over. —Ilene Darling TUNING IN A STATION Just as you get settled in your comfortable chair, sur- rounded by such enlightening books as Dante’s Divine Comedy”, or Milton’s Paradise Lost,” and of course your True Love magazine, and begin your diligent studying, fellow student, you are suddenly jolted by two thoughts: first, you remember that you have forgotten to tune in to one of your favorite radio programs; second, you are shaken by the realization that you have just remembered some- thing. At least the teacher won’t be able to say, Can’t you remember anything?” Oh well, you can celebrate that later. Right now let’s see if you can’t get the tail end of that radio program. Hmm, what station was that on? Oh, here it is! Yup, here’s your favorite announcer. If your hands are red or chapped, if your complex- ion is rough, if little Billy’s hands are always dirty, your family is probably using the wrong soap! Try Willy - Lilly-Billy soap, the soap that the whole family enjoys. Its fragrant odor, dainty enough for Momma Lilly, and yet masculine enough for Poppa Willy, along with its 10