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

Page 18 text:

14. I, RUTH SIMMONS, will my ability to carry six full cups of coffee, to my sister Rachel — don’t spill ’em, sis. 15. I, EVELYN PROVENCHER, will my filing ability to Barbara Bailey — so you can keep files on all your beaus, Barb. 16. I, PRISCILLA DAVIDSON, will my ability to refrain from improper language while driving, to Herbie Chamberlain — need I tell why, Herbie? 17. I, BARBARA SAWYER, will my ability to remember things to Frances Bailey, — now you’re really in for it, Tootie! 18. I, PRISCILLA PUDVAH, will my alarm clock to Ann De- merritt — so in the future you can get home early Saturday nights, Ann. 19. I, NANCY MAYS, will my knowledge of French to David Egner — hear it comes in handy in typing class Dave! 20. I, PATRICIA DUGUAY, will my typewriter to David Gonyer — now you can tear it apart all you want to, Dave and I won’t get mad. MOREOVER WE WILL: 21. The faculty a large box of Kleenex to dry the tears they shed at our graduation. 22. The senior boys who don’t graduate this year to the girls of WRHS to fight over. 23. Our formula for getting the bell stuck to anyone who likes to see Herbie climb that ladder. 24. Our information on the male sex to the Gallup Polls.” So ends the will of the class of nineteen-fifty. Witnesses there of by Ellen Bailey, Barbara Sawyer, Cilia Pudvah and Pat Duguay. PATRICIA DUGUAY, '50 ----WRHS------ PROPHECY OF THE CLASS OF 1950 While touring Vermont last week, I was riding through a small village when all at once — BOOM — my tire blew. I jumped out of my car and looked around. As I was so occupied with my thoughts, you — Sixteen —

Page 17 text:

CLASS WILL We, the class of 1950 of Wells River H. S., city of Wells River, in the county of Orange and the state of Vermont, being at this time in full possession of our mental brains, both active and spare, do here- by publish and declare this to be our last will and testament, which shall be executed according to the following points: 1. MR. CORNTHWAITE: a vocational guidance department complete with staff so that you’ll not have to worry about the future of future graduates. 2. MR. STONE: the Senior's Chemistry books, almost new and hardly used. 3. MRS. GIBSON: a stoic countenance to be used only at basket- ball games. 4. MRS. SPEAR: the remainder of the school's typing paper — yes, all three sheets. 5. MRS. ROWELL: a home economic class that can make fudge better than we Seniors. 6. MRS. ROWE: this box containing nine angelic voices to re- place those you'll lose when we graduate. 7. SAM STANLEY: a new happy-look” so that future students will not be deprived of what we considered part of the school. 8. THE INCOMING FRESHMEN: four successful years of school, each day having a little laughter in it. 9. THE SOPHOMORES: the feeling that makes two more years of school seem like two centuries. 10. THE JUNIORS: the privilege of heckling the seniors. 11. THE SENIORS: our unspotted, unsurpassed record to live up to. INDIVIDUALLY WE WILL: 12. I, ELLEN BAILEY, will my argumentary power to Reynold Boyce — maybe now, Mrs. Gibson, he’ll talk a little. 13. I, MARION CHAMBERLAIN, will my ability to get up early to Hoddy Symes — you might run out of excuses, Hod. — Fifteen —

Page 19 text:

can imagine my surprise to find that I was right in the middle of Wells River, my home town. I immediately looked for Cromwell and Veayo's garage and, wonder of wonders, the name had been changed to Hinkelbaum's Service Center. However, I entered and found the attendant prostrate under a car with only his legs visible. He came from under the car and OH, how greasy and dirty he was! Did I say he? Well, Nancy Mays, what were you doing under that car?” Nancy was as much surprised to see me as I her, and after a warm greeting she explained that her name was now Nancy Hinkelbaum, and she quite often helped her husband in the garage while her six children were playing or attending school. While Nancy wiped off the grease and made arrangements for my tire to be fixed, I inquired for the rest of my classmates. Where’s Ruth Simmons?,” I asked. Why, didn’t you hear! exclaimed Nancy. Last year she was working in the Happy Hour Cafe, when in walked a great big Indian Chief looking for his reservation. Anyway, Ruth offered to help him find it and she is now Mrs. Rain-in-the-face.” Just then a taxi cab drove up and honked for gas. OH,” said Nancy, that Priscilla is so impatient.” I looked out the door and there behind the wheel of the Bounce- em-up Cab Company car was Priscilla Davidson. Why,” said Priscilla, I’ve been at it for years and no accidents yet. We had chatted a few minutes, when I noticed Priscilla was carrying a passenger who was sound asleep in the back seat. My that blond hair looked familiar. Could it be? Yes, it was Priscilla Pudvah. I woke her up and we were very glad to see each other. I told her I was surprised to see she was still in town; when we left high school she had planned to be a test pilot. Priscilla said that when jet planes came in it was just too fast for her, so she had accepted a position as dancing instructor at the North Haverhill dance hall. She also received a bonus for calling square dances on Saturday night. Both Priscillas drove off and I decided to walk around town. Pass- ing Bud Smith’s Barber Shop, I noticed a lady sitting at a table. Could that be Marion Chamberlain,” I wondered? — Seventeen —