Central High School - Red and Black Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

Page 31 text:

. . -'an ' -EEA 6. .... 14: mt As my I lllllll ulillllnuuw in ml HH' lln mnvh lllllli lllllllillllllill Q 163 5 . lhlill llltllwli lnlllllll' l 'lil lI'llllllll'll' lll illlllllllll IllIl1llllll llllllllllll1Wlll .A ...j r ,'... art inf ' A W ui, 34 21, Ai.. ,Z by X' . ' ,,'. l ' 'T .,A ' 'T 3' , ' a:.-. . W , Tue .v fix.: in '1 urn: .uumu :ii ,,,, llllllll'-1 '. ' 'I 'Pav +.. l wni1n..g '. .1n111wulnn1lu.::a:w' .1 .iw . There, another guard has taken the sec- ond one's place. lt's a hot day, but they are covering him with blankets to try to keep his cooling body warm. When the guard releases his pressure, the boy's body shivers a little, but it is not his own move- ment. Guards are rubbing his hands and patting his feet to restore circulation. With each downward pressure of the guard's hands, a little water spurts from the boy's mouth. This continues for half an hour, and then, instead of water, blood begins to come from him. The purple tint is slowly stealing down his neck and to his shoulders. He is bare to the waist, and his skin is very white-far too white, for few living people are that color. We stand for what seems hours, chang- ing our positions now and then, causing a rustle that can be heard distinctly. l never saw so large a crowd so quiet. The guards seem indefatigable. They continue their steady down pressure, and release. The boy's face is not nice to look at. A woman on the other side of the circle faints. Gee, if they can't stand to see these things, why do they come? She is taken away. Even the guards are losing hope. One of them lights a cigarette and sits calmly watching. lt will soon be his turn to work on the boy. To the observer they seem hard and callous, but they get used to this very soon. A doctor is here and he examines the boy, while the guards keep on pumping. He shakes his head. We hear a low hum go through the crowd. Comments are many. Poor boy, and he is so young! See, he is dark almost to the waist. ul told you he didn't have a chance, says a middle-aged man in tones of satis- faction at having been right. The guards have stopped, for the re- quired two hours are up. They wrap the boy in a blanket and one of the guards lifts him. He is taken to a car and driven to the undertaking parlor which is near here. That place does a good business. The crowd slowly disperses and we go back to our play and fun. Another tragedy of the river is over. TROPICAL STORM By Emil S. Brock. '34 lifourtesy, St. Louis Timesd Beyond the palm-tree waving free. Rolls the gray, relentless sea, The white-caps on the foaming waves Dash themselves in rock-bound caves. A ship is struggling with the sea: Now it races to the lea To anchor safely in the bay. Where only zephyrs lightly play. The storm is o'er and calmness reigns supreme: The sudden outbreaks like a fearful dream: And bird-songs in the leafy palms Still my heart like healing balms. Twenty-seven

Page 30 text:

-SLB f w .59 3 'H 5-C 2 1-x up X ,.v- Q i IIIWWIIIllllllllllmlnnll...ii um! llll ll wmflllllllulll lltlllll mnllll Mun Illlllcllllllllllll 'lllllllllh IInlliIl1llllIl' Mlllllllllllllllllllllll 'Illl llhl lllllll' I ulllillllllll f.. '!llllllllli !lIllIlIl!!lllU!!l TRAGEDY AT LINCOLN BEACH By Jane Foote. '33 U AY, Earl, look at the crowd up there on the north side of the beach by the clock. I wonder what's going on? Perhaps the bums are putting on a show. No, that can't be it. Look at that crowd of men in the water there! See, they're diving. Maybe some- one is drowning! Come on, let's swim across. Bet I'll beat you. Gee! I never was as good as you when it comes to distances. Come on, let's run! Here we are! What's up? A man gone down, you say? Say, Earl, look at those men treading water out there. Don't they look as if they were standing in shallow water? There goes another guard down! Will he get him? No, here he is up again ancl alone. How long has he been down? Five minutes, you say? Thanks. Look, there are four guards going down together. Say, they can't be div- ing for a man. They would have brought him up by now. It must just be a sunken boat they're trying to raise. See, two of the men out there are laughing. You'd think they would get tired treading water. Here come those four guards up again. lr is a man! Look Earl, see his limp, white feet! They must have him upside down. Hear them! They're shouting for a rope. Look out, Earl, or this crowd will push you in the water. Hey! stop pushing! You can see him. They've got him all out of the water now. His face is a funny dark blue. Here Truenly-six they come, bringing him up on shore. I wish these people would stop pushing! They act as if they had never seen an unconscious man before. They are laying him on some blan- kets, face down, and downhill. The first guard takes his place to administer arti- ficial respiration. These people are mak- ing it hard for them. See how they try to crowd around! Here, you, get back there! Give the boy a chance, folks! He will be all right. Come on, get back. Get away from the river shore! Can't you see that's where the wind is coming from? Come on, folks, give the boy a chance for his life! We hear various comments as we stand watching, fascinated by the sight, yet re- pelled. Why don't they give him air? Get back you! That's how my little boy died. The crowd wouIdn't let him have any air. This is said by a fat middle-aged woman. A portly business man says, They ought to have a pulmotor here! It's an outrage! They can't do anything with that artificial respiration stuff! We have to grin a little at this last re- mark. They said that last Sunday when another fellow didn't come out of it. How long was this boy down, Earl? Have you heard anyone say? Twenty minutes? He hasn't got a chance.

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1' em Fw ini mfg fmt n M l mln Xi W 1 mm Immmmmmmuunmmm... mm W. m mmlmmmmn ,mmm mmm mm Illlllllllllllllll' mmm. 'mmm mmm mmllnmmllmmmmm 'ml mmmlmlmmm 'mir mmlllillm Emmwmmwmmmwm w A x,...- ,355 T Q. F' .gif ml H Q Zf' -A1 ' th A X .,.4. ,L 1 m ,, A 5- A WP. THE LIFT OF PAN By Larry lVez'r, '34 AN, god ofthe meadows and woods, tant. That is why he sat there brooding sat on a stone in front of one of his and meditating. When Pan was sad, or sanctuaries among the mountains of gloriously happy, he played on his pipes. Arcadia. For once, he was tired of dancing with the moun- tain Nymphs and making love to Echo. He sat de- jected, fingering listlessly the Hute that hung by his side. All about him the sky was a deep azure blue. The clouds came in herds like sheep slowly browsing across their pasture, now and then one straying from the flock. ln the distance loomed aged mountain peaks, looking like hoary vener- ables with their snowy tops. Ma- jestic trees tow- ered above him, seemingly stretching their lofty boughs higher and higher, try- ing to get a glimpse of the world beyond the mountain ranges. Yet Pan was not contentg something vital was missing, something very impor- Ttvvnly -vighi So, unconscious- ly, from long habit, he brought his pipe to his lips and played. The loving whis- per of the south wind, the babble of the brook, the murmur of the leaves, were all within his song. And yet there was s o m u c h more than these quiet repetitions of the same mo- notonous sounds --there was, be- sides, a lilting melody, to be heard from noth- ing in nature it- self, but only from those pipes of Pan. He play- ed softly, slowly caressing each note as if loath to part with it before it floated downward into the valley. Then, like the bursting of a bud into the sudden glory of a flower, there came to him the reason for his depression. Except for his own, there was no music: the world