West Hyde High School - Quarterian Yearbook (Swan Quarter, NC)

Page 23 text:

ClfiStt PtOfAlECY I look Into this crystal sphere, which holds all of the past and future, it can reveal the hidden and make known the secret. It can tell you whatever your soul desires to know. I have been asked to search in its magic depths until I discover the future that awaits the members of our class, so soon to take their separate ways and perhaps never to be reunited. As I look into the crystal the mist begins to clear. A village scene appears. I see a church. It is Sunday morning. The people are coming to service. I see the minister, and by his side walks his wife. Her face is turned away, but I can see it is someone we know. Now she turns; I see her face. It Is Joan Emory. She looks very happy and appears to be an ideal minister ' s wife. The scene changes to a large auditorium, and seated at the organ is Bobbie Jean Credle, who is organist in a city church and commercial teacher at Morrie High School. She plays beautifully, and looks not a day older than when she played in the Senior play. In this same auditorium I see a woman who is sketching people as they come in and doing it very well. Of course you know who that is. Yes, it is Hilda Smithwick. She is now quite famous as an illustrator of magazine stories and newspaper articles. Remember she was the art editor of our school annual. The ladies in the front seats of this auditorium are all stylishly and becomingly dressed. The beautiful garments that they are wearing came from the very select, not to say expensive shop of Georgia Ann Cahoon, who designs gowns for the best-dressed women in the country. She is here herself and looks the glass of fashion and the mold of form. The scene shifts again to the display room of a large gown estab¬ lishment. A fashion show is in progress. I watch the manikins strut about the platform. One of them is exceptionally graceful and wears her evening gown well. It is Norma Earle Swindell, the chief manikin or model of the establishment. The scene changes to entertainment. I hear gay music, like circus music. On a darkened stage in the spotlight appears a dainty figure, kissing her hand to the audience as an attendant arranges a wire across the stage. My goodness l It is Alethia Blake. She is the most clever wire dancer In the world. What a salary she must get ' . The mists blot out the scene, and when they clear away, the ground is covered with ice and snow. A figure rides toward me. He wears a stunning uniform. He stops his horse, and reads a sign offering a re¬ ward for the capture of a murderer at large in the Canadian forests. He is one of those romantic heroes, a Northwest mounted policeman. As he rides nearer, I recognize him. It is Edward Cahoon. I see a strange place. It is Hawaii, a paradise for secretaries. A figure approaches under a huge white parasol. It is a young woman. She seats herself under a palm tree and closes her eyes. A parrot calls loudly from the tree top. She looks up—I see her face and I recognize Sherma Lee Smith. In her hand is a tourist ' s guide book, and in her bag is a ticket for a world cruise. The scene becomes noisy. Buzzing and ringings fill the ear. I see a long room around the sides of which are seated many girls. It is a telephone office, and the head operator is Mary Lou Raburn. I knew her as soon as she said, line ' s busy. How strange 1 I see a room in great disorder and a man down on all fours looking at the rug through a magnifying glass. In one pocket is labeled clues. In the other pocket is a pair of handcuffs. He acts peculiarly. Now he rises, he turns toward me, and I recognize Dallas Berry. Influenced by mystery stories he was always reading in school, he has become a detective. The sun is setting and the light is fading gradually. A purple haze covers the crystal clouds, and I can see no more. —Sherma Lee Smith, Prophetess