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

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minutes of hard work, finally Reynold has found the answers. Mr. Stone wants to separate us. We know the room is too small for that. After a few more equations and another experiment in which Frankie breaks the alcohol burner to mix that odor with the others, the bell rings and class is dismissed. Again, we must climb the stairs. This time it isn't so bad because it's home for dinner. Who feels like eating after lab??? So ends the morn of two lab periods. BARBARA SAWYER, '50 WRHS— OUR LUCY -------Rttekusvjlk Goodhope City July 15, 1949 Deer Maw I hain’t lied time to rite you afore this time cause i jist heint hed time. The city shore is defrent from the farm, We hed so much heet that ive bin afeered of a good crakin thunder shower but they seem to stay deer of here. Why do they all weare shoes here? Up thar thay dont in sumer. I hevent bin wearing mine. You should heer the song thay sing they dont sing enny other song its put your shoes on Lucy dont you know youre in the city. I guess they haint got any- thin else to sing. I guess ill start nother pargraf cause the school marm up thar said we should pargraf our letters. Hows Paw and Sue i spose the rist of youre ok. Hes Jilly hed her calf yit? The kids here dont beleeve that im 17, they say i 11. Magjine! Yuh know when i came here to work this sumer the folks here thought that i was terrible cause i couldnt tak thet city talk. And now they wunt let me be round whin they hive company. Majine. If you notice the heading i started to rite the home town adres in stead of this city. You know then new pupies thet Skip hed well i told the Glanderfuilts it took me a week to learn to spell thet name well them pupies i was speaking about i told them and they didn t want any couse they dint have any good blood in em — Twenty-four —

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has passed and still no subject and I am getting wearier and wearier. Later, still without a subject, I am almost asleep in the chair so I go to bed. The next morning I get started again, but I have only forty min- utes before English class and the dead line. It's strange but right away I have a subject and am writing. I finish the last line as the teacher rings the bell. I pass it in hoping for the best!! REYNOLD BOYCE, '51 ----WRHS------ CHEMISTRY LAB Fourth period and once again we anticipate with joy our chemistry lab. Off we go through the halls, down the stairs in a great hurry, but, alas, not to get to lab. We first, must stop for a sandwich in the hot lunch department and of course we all need a drink of water. Eventually, we saunter through the door of Chem. lab. Ugh!! Yes, it’s the same old lab. We’re greeted by the blast of all the horrible smells that go with the weird concoctions found in such a place. Oh, Oh! . Now the trouble begins. Mr. Stone walks in. The class begins to prepare for an experiment. Pudvah weighs a test tube and oops — there it goes — crash — !!! Ann’s sense of humor seems greatly tickled but Mr. Stone seems very bothered by the whole affair. Ann can no longer work with Cilia. Above all the odors, one seems to dominate. Ellen has an idea who it is but she is wrong, as it is one of Barb’s mixtures. It is now filling the lab and we must get some air. Open the windows, David, Oh, it’s breezy and the girls must have their jackets. After the climb to get them we need another sandwich. This one seems to have a peculiar taste of sulphur or such. Once more it’s back to the lab only to hear Mr. Stone say, What took you so long? Silly question! Well, we had to go way up stairs.” The warning bell, and one period is over. Only forty minutes more. Why must he be continually talking to us? Spoils all the fun. He now has the bright idea of balancing equations used. After ten — Twenty-three —

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and they might contamnate the kids. Thats what they said. I felt like aquiting them and thar. Well ill have to dose now couse i dont want to be fired. Love Lucy P.S. Please send me some milk i cant git used to this city kind. Its terrible. P.S. P.S. I tried not to tell yuh but i will be glad when i git home. FRANCES BAILEY, ’51 --WRHS— A LETTER June 9, 1950 Dear Mom, As you can tell by the date, it is the night of my graduation. These past years have all been spent under your guidance and care. Now comes the time when I will go out on my own and make my own decisions. But the purpose of this letter isn’t to discuss my future but to tell you something of my past. Lately, I have been lying awake at night thinking of a lot of whys. Such as: Why was I born?” Why am I not some one else?” Above all Why did God give you to me?” That last phrase may seem strange to you. But I mean it, 'Why did God give you to me?” Maybe He realized what an unmanagable daughter I was going to be. He had to find some one who was good and kind and yet one who could be firm. You see she had to be able to manage almost the devil himself. His eyes finally rested upon a young woman with blonde hair, blue eyes and rather small features. She was beautiful, not in the sense that most people think, but because her kindness as well as her happiness and goodness shone in her eyes. Because of these qualities it made her sweet to look upon. That was you, Mom. So life began for me. From the very start it was hard. Did I ever do any thing right? I can’t remember. How you ever put up with me is more than I know. But I guess that was you. Remember how I always was going to be someone else instead of myself? I guess I never was satisfied with what I was. — Twenty-five —