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

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 Miss Stearns, who is the main character in the well known book, 'Oliver Twist’ by Charles Dickens?” I had heard of him, but I didn’t have the slightest idea as to the answer, I walked away with bowed head and a carton of tooth paste, leaving the $20,000 behind! Then I remembered — Mrs. Gibson, my English teacher, had told me to read that book when I was in high school last year! That’s why I should read ! PATRICIA STEARNS, ’49 ---WRHS-- THE BIG THREE OR THE M. L. S. I wonder what will become of us. Bet we’ll be old maids. Oh, it couldn’t be as bad as that. But the men don’t need to start bragging. After all, not many of them are fortunate enough to beguile a woman as brilliant and praise-worthy as one of us. As for looks, why we’ve got beauty-plus! Just look at those lovely soft curls and those ruby red lips. And nothing goes better with golden brown hair than flashing blue eyes. Our husbands wouldn’t have to go to the movies to see a beauty parade; just put us on a pedestal and there they have it. Speak- ing of personality, why we’ve got that too — high-octane in value. We never get cross or angry at anything. Go ahead men; date another woman if you like. We don’t get irritated! We just light up an Old Gold. We’re so kind and generous; there’s nothing we won’t do for a person if we possibly can do it. We’d give Mrs. Cartwheel the clothes off our backs if it would help her any. If we dropped a dime we wouldn't be like the Scotchman who dug the Grand Canyon look- ing for a lost dime. And we mustn’t forget to mention our ability. Not only can we cook, sew, launder, and dust with care to the nth degree, but we can drive a car with unequalled skill. Of course, I’ll admit that we occasionally miss a few fe’nceposts, but what of it? That lessens the number for somebody else to run into. I’ll bet we could even pilot a plane if the men would only let us try. We can run rivit machines, too. So you see, there’s just no end to the things we can do. Well, if that’s true, why must we expect to become old maids? That’s an easy ques- — Seventeen —

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MY RIDE FOR LIFE Breathlessly I prayed that time and fate would not run out on us. Very cautiously I breathed a reassuring word to the blonde who was riding next to me. In low tones I told her to take the reins of my bounding steed while I turned in my saddle to get a better shot at the two pursuing men. POW! POW! BANG! POP! ZING! They had been chasing us for nearly five minutes. BANG! BANG! I strained my eyes to get a better look at them. Very faintly I could make out one red and one dark headed man dressed in bright red uniforms with brass buttons. BANG! BANG! Frantically I fired at the pursuers, only to miss every valuable shot. Every now and then we passed some brilliant lights and then plunged into total darkness. We now had only a few more minutes ride. 1 he two men had kept up the chase for nearly ten minutes, firing shots that sizzled and whistled by our ears. They never seemed to gain on us or we never seemed to pull away from them. The horses were tired, I knew, for they were very small, but they kept up their bounding pace. The blonde was also suf- fering from loss of sleep, but she was too frightened to do anything but keep riding. Our destiny was very close now. Just around the corner I could see the gate which we had been praying to reach and pass through. Only a few feet to go. GOOD HEAVENS! I he horses slowed down. They stopped suddenly and I banged my head on the brass pole of the Merry-Go-Round. GEORGE MARTIN, ’49 ---WRHS— WHY I SHOULD READ They finally called my name! I walked up to the microphone with shakey knees and hopes of winning the $20,000 jackpot! The an- nouncer cleared his throat. I heard him speak, but what was he saying.-' After shaking my head several times, I detected the sound at last. Miss Stearns, who.........” Yes, it all happened on a radio program which I attended while visiting friends in California. I knew that my folks and towns-people were listening to the broadcast so I had to make good. Here’s the story — — Sixteen —

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tion to answer. It’s simply because we’re so all-around perfect that nobody wants us! Do you believe it ? ♦(Author’s Note:— M.L.S. stands for Miserable Ladies’ Society) NANCY GOULD, ’49 ---WRHS----- WAYS OF COMMITTING SUICIDE There are many ways of committing suicide. Some people just pick up a .3K automatic and blow their brains out. (If they have any.) Almost anyone can kill himself, as it doesn't take an enormous amount of brains. An overdose of sleeping pills is the favorite way of the Broadway and Hollywood stars to end it all. With great courage they sit down and write a farewell letter to the world. I just can’t bear to go on living now that John has asked for a divorce.’ 1 hey swallow about ten sleeping bills, take a long drink of Scotch, smoke their last Marijuana”, climb gallantly into bed and die. That’s just about the best way I know of. Of course there’s the energetic type who goes to all the work of tying a rope around a rafter. Then he stands in a chair, ties the rope around his neck and jumps off. Next there is the extrava- gant type who spends a buck and a quarter to go to the top of the Empire State building to jump off. There are some who walk to the highest bridge and jump off. That is a little too cold a way to suit me. I can’t forget the ones that take poison. To me that is one of the worst ways to end one’s life. Half of the time someone finds you, takes you to a hospital where they proceed to fill your stomach full of junk to make you decide to have the poison leave your body. So leave it, it does. There is one case about a man who was very determined to commit suicide. It seems that this man was driving along in his car when he decided that he was sick of living. He picked out one of the numerous elms along the highway and proceeded to wrap his car around it. When this failed to kill him, he grabbed some glass from the shattered wind- shield and slashed his throat. When this also failed his intent, he ran to the nearby river, jumped in and was drowned. So you see my fellow classmates, committing suicide sometimes takes a lot of work, so don’t try it. It won’t do any good anyway. KEITH BIDWELL, ’49 — Eighteen —