Brooklyn Technical High School - Blueprint Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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BLIND MAN By RICHARD THORPE, A61, Scribe j:lll Q:-A OHN MARKWYN was . greatly annoyed. Worse, anger. But he restrained Q himself, so that the boys, Bill and Kipper, wouldn't notice it. They were really trying to cheer him up, by talking so much. his mood bordered upon .. r' ii? He had been cooped up in this dingy hotel for five weeks, now, and it had soured him. But that wasn't what bothered him most. What did bother him was his eyes. He couldn't see. Kipper was talking. It won't be long now, Mark. Soon as you can see again, we'll get back at 'em and do it proper. Do it proper, he thought. just be- cause he hadn't shot the guard right away, he had muffed a neat bank robbery. The guard had shot him, though, just nicked him properly across the head to make him blind. A door opened in the room. He jumped, startled. But Doc's voice re- assured him. How are you, Mark? He didn't an- swer and Doc went on. I know just how you feel. It's nine P. M. now, you haven't got much longer to wait. just take it easy. He cursed himself, silently. He was the most feared gunman and thief in the country, but he had missed a couple of thousand dollars, because he hadn't both- ered to shoot a man. He had shot him afterwards though, so the boys told him, but he hadn't known it at the time. The boys had seen that he was shot, that time at the bank, and they had taken him away before the cops came. He nearly went crazy when he found he was blind, but the boys had brought him here, where the cops wouldn't find him so easily. Then they brought Doc for him. Doc could be trustedg he was no squealer. Doc had said that he wasn't blinded for good. He could operate on him, and fix his eyes. So Doc had done it-for a price, of course. The boys had told him that the cops were combing the city for him. He'd been hunted before, but this was different. If they found him before he could see again, he would have to depend upon the boys, and Doc. But just in case, he was ready. His pistols were in their holsters at his shoul- ders. He kept them with him all the time: he never took them off. He heard Bill's voice, Wait till we go at it the next time, Mark. We'll kill everybody first. That wasn't intended as a joke. Bill meant what he said. But it angered him, just the same, to hear them talk,-and not see them. Bill's remark shattered his restraint. Shut up! he snapped at them viciously. Shut up! All of you! Get out! Take it easy, Mark, Doc warned in an alarmed voice. Get out! Okay, Mark. Okay. Bill spoke sooth- ingly. He heard them all go out, to the next room, and close the door behind them. To and fro-the length of the room- he strode nervously. He was tense. The room was quiet, now. Slowly, he drew a cigarette, put it to his lips, drew a match 17

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What's that, Sam? I forgot to put my tool bit in? Thanks. What's that you say? My automatic feed lever is in reverse? Whaddya mean? Watch, I'll show-. I guess you were right. Maybe I'd better get a new center. That one's no good any- more. ' At last! There it goes-not a bad cut, either, even if I do say so myself. How're you making out, Pete? What, you're fin- ished already? Here, let me measure it. Say, you're six thousandths off! Whaddya mean? My mike's just as good as yours. I paid sixty cents for it, it oughta be good. just take that job up to the teacher, and see what he says. Oh, he has marked MEMOIRS OF A LATHE it already. What did-Oh, 95? Pretty good job. I expect to get only about 90. There! The cut's finished. Now to stop the automatic feed. Hey! It doesn't stop! Cmere, Pete, quick! How do you shut it off? Say, you're turning the wrong knob! Oh. It stopped. Maybe you were right. Mr. Blenderman, will you work this, please? Yes, I know it's a little long, you see, I-What? Six thousandths undersize? But it's just right according to my micrometer! Look-! Er, did you say 65? Oh, you did. What, Sam? No, 65. Oh, well, we all can't get good marks, I guess. But I still think his micrometer is wrong! By HARRY BROWN, D51 MACHINE shop on the second floor of the Brook- Q A c lyn Technical High School X was my home for nine long H ' H I years. I belonged to a fam- - ily of twelve engine lathes. There I stood looking out over Fort Greene Park while class after class went by, each heaping abuses on me. At first I was happy. All this was new to me. The clamoring, the excitement, the rush and hubbub fascinated me. But after a few years the clamoring irritated me, the excitement unnerved me, and the tumult and chaos tired me so that I was exhausted when night came. During the day some of the definitely not-mechanically-inclined boys cursed me, flooded me with oil, threw my gears in while I was in motion, and strained my every bolt by forcing me to do impossible tasks. After a few years of this, I was worn out. I wished then that I could have been left to rest in the ground next to that little piece of copper. My gears were 16 half-stripped for the third time and I moved with a clank and a groan in every part of me, but there was no relief. Class after class came and went, each mistreat- ing me more than the last and still I looked over Fort Greene Park and longed for that bit of red-headed copper. Finally my plight was realized. I was taken out and sold for junk. Here I am now waiting my turn to be reborn. I had heard of this place from some of the older lathes in the room. They had told me that a great future awaited me here, that I would thrill to new experiences just as I had when I first arrived at Tech. What my future will be, I have no idea. Perhaps I shall be part of a battleship for the Navy, or a part of a bridge, or an automobile, or a dozen other different things. All I know is that it will be thrill- ing to find out. Here comes the crane,- I am up in the air-now over the fur- nace-the jaw is opening-down, down, down-the fire is rushing up towards me -I Wonder if I will ever see that piece of copper again-Goodbye.

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to light it. His hands weren't trembling. There was just an inward tremor, as if the blood was jerking rapidly back and forth so that he could feel it. He wasn't scared either. Well, at least not cowardly scared. After all, this was the first time he had undergone such an experience. He sat down. He continued smoking, blowing forth volumes of smoke after each puff. He smoked without holding the cigarette with his hands. It dangled, wedged in, from his lips. The upper part of his head was swathed in bandages. They covered all his hair, his ears, and his eyes. He really wasn't scared though. Not he. Doc, outside, would remove his ban- dages tomorrow, and he would see again. Doc had said so. just now he had to have patience. just a little patience. He'd have to wait only a little while longer. He had become used to being without his eyes during the past five weeks, since the raid. Anyway, the guy that almost blinked him didn't have his eyes nor his ears. He didn't have anything. He was dead. He went over to the cot. He knew where it was, he knew where everything in the room was. He knew every detail. That's how used he had become to having his eyes covered. He lay down on the cot and tried to go to sleep. After a while he rolled over on his stomach, partly on the left side. The gun in the shoulder holster there hurt him, so he took it out and held it in his right hand. He crushed out his ciga- rette and fell asleep. He awoke with much the same feeling of tension and inward excitement. The room was as silent as before. The boys in the next room must have taken him fully at his word when he'd told them to shut up. They were good boys, Bill and Kipper. They were loyal. Doc toog he was all right. Sure. 18 It seemed to him he must have been sleeping a long time. He must have been sleeping for at least twelve hours. Why, today was the day Doc would remove the bandages. His tenseness increased. He sat up, and drew another cigarette, lighted it. The room was as quiet as ever. The tremors in his hands went up his arms, soon per- vaded his entire body. It sort of sickened him. It was like-like-as though it was eating him up. He started to sit down again, but felt that his queer feelings could be better contained standing. He drew heavily upon his cigarette, the burning smoke in his lungs giving him strange strength. The quiet became fierce, he felt it pounding steadily in his head. It became almost an actual thing. It added to his tension. If only he could see! That would chase it all away. He stood motionless in the room feel- ing alternately drunk and powerful as he sucked in and blew out the smoke. Then he walked across the room to where he knew the chair was. Before he reached it, the cigarette burned his lips furiously. He smacked it away with his hand, attempt- ing to spit it out at the same time. He smacked his lips so hard that they bruised against his teeth. He cursed. The tremors returned to his hands, in their most violent form. His hands shook. In an effort to keep them still they wan- dered to his head, to the bandages over his eyes. He couldn't help it. Tentatively, he felt the bandages. He knew just how they were put on. He knew where the last piece of adhesive tape was. And he pondered, he con- sidered pulling it off. After all, Doc would take it off today. So why wait? Why should he have Doc take off the bandages in front of the boys, who'd be staring at him as if he were a ghost? His mind was made up.