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

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April 18, Wednesday Dear Diary: Today as I was crossing the Sunset Avenue, a frail woman asked me to aid her to the Home for the Aged and Old Maids. While I walked with the woman I was curious why the two institutes were combined. The refined lady told me that the headmistress thought the old maids might find a prospective aged man to brighten their life at the home. We approached the home and entered the office where I found the slender female principal to be Priscilla Drown. After a conversation I left Miss Drown so that she might take care of the elderly lady who was Mrs. Mary Wilson. April 19, Thursday Dear Diary: Tonight I attended the concert. The orchestra played beautiful pieces while a ballet dancer performed. The conductor’s head and whole body were swaying in time with the music. A great sight it was when a fast number came up. The ballet dancer was the most grace- ful dancer I had ever seen. They called her Betty, the Butterfly, but I knew her as Mrs. Elizabeth Gibson. How she could leap and glide with that divine music under the guidance of the outstanding musician, Mrs. Edgar Spear! April 20, Friday Dear Diary: I ran into a tall man with glasses thicker than a magnifying glass today. He introduced himself as Professor McPhetres. He was telling me how he discovered and invented materials which have helped this country to survive. He is working on a new bomb to beat the H-bomb. It seems as though he was so busy in experiments that he just found out he has been a father of twins for three days. Congratulations. —CONNIE MAYHEW --WRHS--- WILL OF THE CLASS OF 1953 We, the class of one thousand nine hundred and fifty-three of Wells River High School in the Village of Wells River, in the town — Twenty-seven —-

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April 14, Saturday Dear Diary: Today I went to the hot rod race. A very thrilling experience it was. There was only one man who could turn the corners of the race track on all two wheels. My, did he ever speed through the fences and tents! All in all the performer gave us thrills especially when he ran off the track, up the stairs, and over the announcer. The winner stepped out and identified himself as Bud Marden with his winning hot rod Pat.” April 15, Sunday Dear Diary: Today I was reading the Sunday paper and was most interested in an article concerning the president of the Reach Heaven Pills” cor- poration. The president gave her story that she was so tall that she couldn't find a husband with a greater height than hers so she invented and produced the growing pill. The unfortunate manufacturer signed her name as Irene Chamberlain. April 16, Monday Dear Diary: I attended a court trial today. It seems as though a lawyer had been cheating the government out of money and had bribed many car dealers to sell only Hudson automobiles. The judge was very much amused with the trial. Since the judge, Mary Egner, had such a deep hatred for crime, she gave the criminal, Schuyler E. Cornthwaite, the verdict herself of serving three years as principal of WRHS. April 17, Tuesday Dear Diary: Tonight I walked down by the pier to see if life there was as cruel as claimed. The fog was very thick and the smell of liquor and dead fish was in the air. Suddenly I was startled when I heard a shrill whistle. I ran toward the sound and witnessed a great brawl. The participants were under the influence of liquor except for the police- man who was trying his best to civilize these brutes. After the cop had caught the leader and the other followers had escaped, he approach- ed me swinging his night stick. After he was under the streetlight I noticed I was mistaken. This cop was a she” and also to my surprise it was Caroline Boyce. She told me she had taken wrestling. Since she had won The World’s Championship she thought she would bene- fit the country by being a policewoman. She always did have a good muscle on the bell rope in those good old school days. — Twenty-six —

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of Newbury, in the county of Orange and in the sovereign Republic of Vermont, being of sound body and having complete control of our senses and impulses do hereby revoke all former wills made by us and declare that this, our last will, is according to our own wishes and affections. We will Mr. Cornthwaite Duke Ellington’s latest. You’ve been a swell sport, and we feel that the Johnny Ray joke has gone too far. We will Mrs. Gibson a personality like Mickey Spillane’s. Next year you’ll have complete control in your English classes. We will Mrs. Spear an automatic attendance taker. From now on you can be late and still mark Brock tardy. We will Mr. McPhetres our deepest sympathy. How will you ever stand it here without this brilliant class? We will Mrs. Wilson a pair of contact lenses. Freeman won’t be able to hide them from you now. We will Mr. Morey a motor boat. Next year there will be no excuse for you not making it to Newbury when high water comes. We will Mrs. Rowe a new piano. Without our gifted voices you’ll need something to keep the glee club on pitch. We will Sam Stanley the oncoming seniors. Maybe they won’t get the bell rope stuck as often as we did. We will to all the undergraduates our years of experience as actors and actresses. We’ve noticed that the sophomores have already caught on to the know-how. Keep up the good work. We will the Juniors our mighty tower room. You may paste up all the pictures of your favorite movie stars, except Marilyn Monroe. We found out that her curves are too much for the teachers to see hanging on the wall while trying to conduct classes. We will the Sophomores our amazing athletic abilities. If Boom can’t .do it Wilson can. We will the Freshmen a few more males. Maybe this will stop the trend toward Woodsville. We will the Junior High all of our water pistols. Perhaps you’d better not use them till after school, though — you’ll have them longer. I, David Bidwell, will to anyone who wants it, my ability to drive more teachers mad than any other pupil to pass through these halls. I, Connie Mayhew, will to my sister, Beverly, my ability to get up early in the morning with only a few hours sleep. Love sure is grand, isn’t it, Bev? — T wenty-eight —