Wilson Memorial High School - Hornets Nest Yearbook (Fishersville, VA)

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Class Prophecy ’D OFTEN heard that old poem, “Hitch your wagon to a star, etc.” I wondered what would happen if I did. So I got out my little wagon, hitched it to a faraway star, and off I went! Before long I found that I had arrived in a very strange country. My eyes opened wide when a queer-looking little man rushed up to me. He bowed to the ground with a sweeping gesture, saying as he did so, “And now, Madame, ye have arrived in the Land of Wishes, and anything that ye desire ye shall have it, but let me warn ye first, that ye can have only one wish.” I thought quickly, and then I turned to the little man and said, “I’d like to see the Senior Class of 1933 ten years from now.” The first person I saw was a man dressed in a gorgeous uniform swaggering along the streets of New York. I looked closer and saw that it was—yes, it was Harold Aldhizer. “Goodness!” I re- marked to myself, “Harold must have made good. I see he’s a general now.” My guide spoke up, “Yes, General Nuisance.” Next I found myself in court. A beautiful woman was sitting in the witness chair. The judge called out, ‘Dorothea Frye Taliaferro Patterson, accused of polyandry.” I always knew that Dot would get into trouble with her numerous boy friends, but I certainly didn’t think she would have more than one husband at the same time! My guide then led me into a little valley snuggled down among the mountains. We came across a charming little cottage covered with roses and with chubby little children playing in the yard. We heard a woman’s voice reciting softy, “And next I think I’d like to have Gay windows all about-— Roses peeping in you know, And babies peeping out.” She suddenly stoped and called, “Charlie!” I stopped short. I knew who inhabited that house. It was Marguerite Childress. And then—a manly voice was heard singing in the-distance, “Just an echo—Yoo hoo! In the valley below, but it brings back sweet memories of you.’ Charlie was coming home. Next I entered a noted sanitorium. I saw a fragile, white-faced woman pleading fretfully with her nurse. I drew closer and saw that it was Ruth McCarty. “Well,” I said to myself, ‘This is a surprise! Wonder what happened to Ruth?” ‘She had a nervous breakdown,” my guide told me, “She was so rushed by the men of Waynesboro that she broke down completely.” Poor girl! I sympathized with her, for she was just another one of those girls who had had a hectic time managing her many admirers! The next thing I knew I was in a large theatre in New York. A dainty, light-haired girl flitted gracefully across the stage. Going closer to the stage, I perceived that it was—Lois Pleasants! She had been voted the person most likely to succeed in the Senior Class of ’33, and her success was verified by the roof-raising applause that followed her exit from the stage. On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined! Lois had “arrived!” I went from here to the White House where I saw a stately-looking gentleman descending the stairs. “He is the President of the United States,” my guide told me. As he came closer, I recognized Marion Coiner. So “Horsey”? was at last seated in the presidential chair! Just then a lovely woman joined her husband and the two went into dinner. The woman was Elizabeth Henkel! I was back in the streets of Waynesboro. Two men and a woman, dressed in Salvation Army costumes, were standing in the rain singing. One could see that they were trying to be good influences. And then I recognized them—the woman was Katherine McCrary, and the men were Robert Kline and Charles Phipps. Suddenly I was in a large hotel which was overflowing with people. I watched the lovely manager as she took down from the wall a copy of the rules of the hotel, saying as she did so, “I guess I’ll have to make a new set of rules, and maybe some of these people will go away.” I recognized that voice—it was Lucile Marion, and the placard that she had taken down from the wall read, “This hotel has only two rules: Guests are expected to bury their own dead, and no one is allowed to use cocaine in the ele- vator.” No wonder so many people were coming there! I walked into a ramshackle studio in New York. I beheld two persons busily painting. It was Eloise Henkel and the man was Jack Lough. As they had been voted the most talented persons in the Senior Class of 733, I thought I would take a peep at their paintings and see if they had developed their talent. I did so and was bewildered. Their paintings looked like explosions in a dye factory! Indeed, it was not for me to say whether they had developed their talents or not! Only a master of art could decide that! I wandered into a very queer place. I was in the deaf-and-dumb school at Staunton. I saw a red- headed woman pacing the floor of a little room, crying pitifully. My guide told me that she had lost her power of speech a few months before. As I came closer, I recognized that beautiful red hair—it was “Polly” Dunlap. My heart bled for her but I couldn’t help saying to myself, “I told you so! I never did believe in perpetual motion!” Then I saw a man standing on a box in a large park in New York. I was astonished when J recognized him. It was Joe Terry. I wondered what on earth he was trying to convince the people of that took so much energy. And then my guide told me that he was expounding the theory that the world was neither round nor flat, but that it was crooked! No wonder the people would not believe him! Then I was taken to a large theatre again. This time the stage was presided over by a tall, dignified-looking woman. It was Josephine Barnett, and she opened the program with a piano solo. Perhaps Paderewski or Josef Hofmann could have done as well, but Josephine would never have admitted it! Next I was in an old-fashioned school house in the country. I beheld the benign-looking teacher peering nearsightedly over his spectacles and drawling softly, “Waal, children, if you will just do as I say, Pll let you out of this hot school house and you can go swimming for the rest of the day.’? By the ap- plause and crys of cheer that followed this statement, I could see that he was a beloved teacher. Going closer, I saw that it was—of all creatures—Curtis Bowman! I always knew that he was fond of Mr. Ritchie, but I didn’t think he would try to copy him to that extent!

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Class History N SEPTEMBER, nineteen hundred twenty-nine, we entered the Woodrow Wilson | High School—eighty-six rowdy and vigorous Freshmen. Of course we were delight- ed with our new school life. The old restraint of the grammar grades was gone and in its place we found more freedom and independence. The future gleamed before us as a beautiful vision, filled with success and triumph. However, this rosy picture did not last very long. We were soon put in our place by the upper classmen and forced to settle down to the routine of high school life. Under the direction of Mrs. Davies, we presented the play, “Mrs. Briggs of the Poultry Yard,” the proceeds of which were used to purchase new literature and equipment for the Science department. The next year was a more serious one for us. We were then the high and mighty Sophomores, who found delight in ridiculing the poor Freshmen. Mr. Kimler had to con- tend with most of us, but a few were sent to Mr. Fentress. Mrs. Davies was patient enough to help us again with our class play, “Pollyanna.” Then we became Juniors. When we moved upstairs we were compelled to act with more dignity in order to keep pace with the Seniors, our next door neighbors. Again our class was divided and some were sent to Mrs. Pace’s room while others were put on Miss Dickerson’s roll. The most important event of this year was the play, “Only Sally Ann,” also directed by Mrs. Davies. All of us appreciated the kind help of Mrs. Davies in presenting our class plays. In September, nineteen hundred thirty-two, our dream was beginning to be realized. It was then that we started on our adventure as Seniors. A group of thirteen girls remained in Mrs. Pace’s room, while the other Seniors were sent to Mr. Ritchie, the new teacher of the Senior Class. Early in April, plans were made for the Senior plays. This year, instead of having one long play, the faculty decided that it would be better to have three short one-act plays, in order that more members of our class might be used successfully. The three plays chosen were, a comedy, “In the Spring a Young Man’s Fancy”; a biblical play, “The Prodigal Comes Home”; and a tragedy, ““Half-Way Jimmy.” The commencement finals were also changed this year. Instead of having the old type of program with a speaker, a salutatorian, and a valedictorian, our class has had entire charge and has presented a program centered around the theme, “Our School,” in which we have tried to show what our school has been doing for the past ten years, the cost of educating us, and what we should represent, morally, mentally, and socially, now that we have completed our courses. We have had a glorious time during our school life. While we were Freshmen, high school was a vision; now that we are graduating, it will soon be a memory. —H. C. anp L. P.

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And now familiar scenes again greeted my visual senses and I found myself back on the streets of Waynesboro. I saw coming toward me a large crowd of women—but no, there was one man among them. I asked the reason for this man’s popularity, and was told that he was a rare specimen of that age—he was a goodlooking, wealthy, unattached male! I immediately wanted to know who that re- markable person was, so I went closer to the crowd and saw Hampton Baylor struggling frantically to rid himself of the caressing arms of the men-eating women around him. But I was not surprised. [ al- ways knew that “Bony” would remain a bachelor even if he were on the South Sea Islands. I suddenly found myself in Washington, D. C. I heard a blare of loud, triumphant music and saw coming down Pennsylvania Avenue a large parade. At first I thought it was a presidential parade, but my guide told me that it was a celebration of the appointment of the first woman body-guard of the President of the United States. As the parade drew closer, I saw a drunken man lurch toward this guard and chuck her sweetly under the chin. Without getting out of step with the music, she quickly shifted her gun to her left arm; gave the man a blow that landed him with a loud thump on the other side of the street; calmly dusted her hands, and went cn as if nothing had happened. My eyes opened in astonishment. What-a-woman! But when I saw that woman, I was not surprised. It was Marie Kibler. Around me I heard laughter and shrill voices, at the county fair in Staunton. I heard a man calling out, “Ladies and Gentlemen, come and see the Eighth Wonder of the world! A woman who can gigle continually, chew chewing gum at the rate of a mile a minute, and ask all manner of silly questions at the same time;—come and see her—” his voice dwindled into silence as I bought a ticket and entered the tent. There, sitting on a platform, dressed in a gaudy dress of red, was Mary Hughes. Another person to whom I felt like saying, “I told you so!” I saw being enacted, before me a scene of violent energy. I saw a man with a mask on and with a gun in his hand being chased by two other men, who soon left them far behind. Finally they dropped down by the wayside, and when one man had recovered his breath he asked crossly, “Why didn’t you catch that man? Why, you couldn’t catch the smallpox if there was an epidemic of it and you hadn't been vaccinated!” I wondered who the sheriff was that was so lazy and inefficient, and going closer, I saw that it was Woodrow Hewitt and the person who was reproving him so sternly was his beloved twin, Wilson Hewitt! My guide led me into a speakeasy with modernistic decorations. The owner of the speakeasy an- nounced that the next number on the program that night would be a dance by the famous “My Dancing Team.” The unusual title attracted my attention. What on earth did the My stand for? Then—a beautiful woman and a handsome, dapper man glided out on the platform in front of the room. As they came in the light, I knew what that My stood for. It stood for Myers-Yancey Dancing Team. The dancers were Toots Myers and John Yancey. I was back in Waynesboro. I saw all over town advertisements telling of a certain picture that was now showing at the Wayne Theatre. “Come and see this picture and get a thrill that you've never before experienced!” read the advertisements. When I entered the theatre I saw being shown on the screen a close-up of the main character of the picture, with the following words written below, “Local Boy Makes Good!” David Coiner, the best-looking boy in the Senior Class of 733, is now a second Clark Gable!” The huge mass of people seated in the theatre arose in a body to pay fitting tribute to the beloved hero who was once a local boy. I arose with them. I had experienced my thrill! Suddenly I found myself on a small ship. I saw a healthy-looking sailor standing on the deck, stretching his arms joyously and singing in a bass voice, “My bonny lies over the ocean; my bonny lies over the sea—.” When he said this he looked up toward the sky and stretched his arms as if he thought he would recover his lost bonny, as he came closer, I saw that it was Bob Oas! I always knew Bob would use his strength to a good advantage. Then I saw a little house in the Blue Ridge Mountains. A woman came out in the bright sun- shine with a little boy in her arms. She had a brush in her hand, and she started brushing the little boy’s hair. “Your hair is just like Bill’s,” she told the baby. “It has the biggest cowlick in the back that just won’t come out!” Yes, it was Nellie Brown Coyner, and the baby was unmistakably a little Culton. I was in a missionary’s home in Africa. The missionary came in through the door with one white child and three little Africans tagging along behind her. The little white child giggled. “Stop your silly giggling, Mary, and do as I say!” the missionary commanded. The little child was hurt. “But Mother,” she said, “you used to giggle like that too.” “I know, but I’ve changed lately. Please do as I say!” The four children left the room. When she was alone, the woman giggled hysterically and exclaimed, “Oh, to think that I’d ever end up by being a missionary!” When I recognized her, I thought the same thing. It was Odelle Jones. It was a great kingdom I next encountered. I saw huge crowds of people laughing merrily. No one seemed to be working. Then I saw coming toward me the King. Soon after he joined a certain group of merrymakers, I noticed that he was the happiest and most joyous person in the group. As I drew closer to the group I recognized the King—it was Clemmer Coyner! As Clemmer was the laziest boy in the Senior Class of ’33, I didn’t think he had enough energy to gain the position of King! But my guide told me that he had had no trouble in getting this kingship—that it just suited him. He was the King of Misrule! My guide and I next entered a little village church. I saw seated in the chair a very beautiful young maiden who blushingly returned the bold winks of the village sheiks, sitting in the back of the church. One could see that she was the established belle of the village. Then—she arose, her mouth opened and music soared into the air. As she closed with a triumphant shriek and sat down I saw that it was Mary Sue Booker. I always knew tha “Sooky” had several remarkable talents! The scene changed and I was in a little one-room country school. I saw the efficient young teacher point to the blackboard with her ruler saying as she did so, “Now children, as you should know by this time, one and one make two, and two and two make four.” Just then the door opened and the hand- some county superintendent walked in. When the teacher had finished her somewhat breathless ex- planation of why two and two made four, she looked at the superintendent to see if he approved of her teaching methods. From the pleased look on his face she gathered that he did and so she announced that it was time for recess. When the children had straggled out, the young man started giving her a