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

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Say, wait a minute! exclaimed jack, You mean my plan about having you held up? i Sure. Boy, did I sock that fellow you sent to rob me! Let's see that fellow you socked, said Jack rather slowly. L'He's in the car. Come on out and I'll introduce you. When they reached the car, Jack took a look at the bound figure there, cleared his throat, and said somewhat fearfully, Brace yourself, Curly, this is going to be a shock. What's the matter, Jack? queried Curly. That isn't the fellow I sent to rob you. I forgot to tell you, but my burglar was arrested for speeding this afternoon. Well, then, who is this? asked Curly, growing very excited. This, said jack, is Pretty Boy Anderson. He's an escaped convict who is wanted for murder in four states. Say, Curly, continued jack after a moment's meditation, capturing Anderson singlehanded makes you a real hero. -CHARLES MUELLER, '37, Unsung l-leroes HE people we usually consider as heroes are those few men or women who have been especially prominent in some one field of endeavor--scientific, political, social or economic, or those still fewer men, women, or children who have displayed great personal courage and fortitude. Probably it has never occurred to us that the seed of heroism lies dormant in every man, and that his reactions to his daily tasks may or may not label him as a hero. The reason an ordinary person is never, or almost never, considered as a hero, is that his heroism, in itself, is unobtrusive, and that the course of his daily life tends to keep it hidden still more effectively. A person is publicly accepted as a hero only if he has done something spectacular. The spectacular, you know, has a strong fascination for an ordinary person, principally because it gives him a chance to Hglamourize' an ordinary life. But these persons who give a grand display are, more or less, creatures of circumstance. An opportune moment, a favorable situation, a chance meeting may be the contributing factors to such fleeting prominence. This type of heroism lingers in the memory only for a short time. If we consider an ordinary person's heroism in comparison with the spectacular type, we find a sharp, clear contrast. His heroism lies in persistent and consistent effort toward some unassuming goal, the effort continued over a long period of time, perhaps a lifetime. His heroism may not become publicly known, but those who know of it remember it as the attainment of an end, taking as its toll longfcontinued self-sacrifice, selffcontrol, and struggle over adverse conditions and circumstances. Many a father has given up a promising career in some new field of venture, simply because he knew his duty lay in providing steady care for his family. Older brothers and sisters have sacrificed chances of education, freedom, and success to perhaps lessfdeserving younger brothers and sisters. They utter no words of censure if the sacrifice has been in vain. Invalids who, day after day rise to greet a new morning with the knowledge that this may be the last one, give no sign of agitation, but calmly submit to the inevitable as it stealthily creeps upon them. In this world of ours, songs have been sung, books have been written, and legends have been told extolling some noble deed. But how many of these have ever given praise to the many who, under the leadership of a few, make possible everything fine in this world? -AGNES HANZELY, '38, Twentymine

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'Twentyfeight A l22dl l-l2I'O EE, don't I get the breaks, commented a downcast young man as he sat on the steps of the Jackson Heights High School. The reason for Curly Wallace's downheartedness was just getting into a car parked down the street. Her name was Betty Warren, and the fellow escorting her was Oliver Dreason, the school's football star. Well, interrupted a friendly voice that belonged to jack Wilson, who had strolled up, apparently unnoticed, If it isn't Old Man Gloom himself. What's eating you? Oh, hello Jack. That's what's eating me, said Curly, pointing as he spoke, to the car which was just driving away. Betty, eh! Well, you'll never win her affection by sitting here. You'll have to show some spunk if you expect to beat Dreason's time. Yeah, wiseguy, and what do you suggest, replied Curly, somewhat sarcastically. Well, said Jack, assuming the pose of an indulgent philosopher, To secure the adoring glances of a girl, you have to be a hero. Most girls have that hero' worship complex, and I can see that Betty has it very badly. The only reason for her recent fascination for Dreason is that he's a star halfback. Now, all you have to do is to become a hero. I suppose you have devised a plan whereby I might become a hero. Sure have, returned jack. First, you date her for a moonlight ride to an appointed place. When you get there, I'll have someone hold you up. I'll also have it arranged so that you may hit the fellow. When you hit the badman pretender, you'll automatically become a hero in Betty's eyes. Simple, isn't it? Say, Jack, that's a great idea, said Curly, enthusiastically. I might try that. Some nights later an antiquated flivver was joggling over a lonely country road. Suddenly it came to a stop in a beautiful moonlight setting. The car contained a young girl and boy, obviously the same age. For a few minutes they did not speak. Finally, the boy spoke. Beautiful night, isn't it? he said. Yes, isn't it, returned the girl. You know, Betty, said Curly, This is the first time I've had you for a ride such as this for a month. That's right, replied Betty. Okay, youse lovefbirds, interrupted a loud, coarse voice, Put up your dukes. This is a stickfupf' Oh, gee, murmured Betty, badly frightened. W Curly thought, Good old Jack, but said, Look here, my man, you can't do this. Oh, no? shouted the ruflian. Well, we'll see about that. Let's have your wallet. Curly fumbled about as if he were getting his valuables. Suddenly his fist shot out. It caught the robber on the chin, and sowly he dropped to th: ground, unconf scious. Curly then proceeded to bind the bandit, and, while placing him in the rumble seat, he whispered softly in the unconscious one's ear, You're some actor. Later, after taking Betty, who was loud in her praise of his bravery, back to her home, Curly went to Jack's home. The uncouth character was still in the rumble seat when Curly rapped on Jackfs door. It was some minutes before jack answered. When he did, he showed signs of being aroused from a deep sleep. Oh, it's you, is it? said jack drowsily, Well, what do you want? I just came over to thank you for helping me tonight. Your idea worked like a charm.

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Thirty The Last Ride fBased upon a true incident related to the author by a member of her family.J T WAS during the days when the pioneers were just settling in Minnesota. At this time the Indians were very hostile and the people were always endanf gered. Men carried their guns into the fields with themg women left at home kept theirs at their sides. The people were always fearful of Indians and were never exempt from the feeling that a sneaking savage watched their every move. Babies were often kidnapped, as.the government paid bounties for babies brought to them unharmed. It was not out of the ordinary, therefore, to see an Indian passing with a baby tied to his saddle, nor was it unusual for a housewife to look out and see a savage boldly watching her cabin. By all this you can very well see how hard it was for those pioneers to cul- tivate their land and build homes. My story is of a tragic Indian raid that happened in these same times. Linda and Erma lived with their father on the farthest homestead west of the settlement, and there was an Indian village about five miles west of them. One evening their dog, Sport, came home a little later than usual, acting very peculiar. Sport had a keen dislike for Indians and if they were anywhere near, he would growl low and pace up and down with his ears stuck straight up. What's the matter, Sport, old boy? said Linda. ' For an answer Sport growled more loudly and looked into the distance. Linda knew what this meant and so did Erma, but what could they do? Dad is still in the fields, so we'll have to send Sport after him and then leave right now to warn the settlement. The girls knew that the Indians intended to raid the settlement and knew it meant death for all, unless they could get there and warn them without being seen. They got away quickly, both on horseback, riding as fast as they could, but did not escape the eyes of the savages. Ride, Linda! Ride! If we make the river, settlement. The Indians came closer and closer, and the nearly exhausted. Erma, look! The river at last! Now if we settlement. But we can-'t. Erma, dear, what's the matter? Then she saw. An arrow had found its mark. Erma, dear, try to stand it. We can make But Erma did not hear, for she was already no traveler returns. Come on, Ned, we'll just have to make it we'Il have a chance to make the girls rode until their horses were can only get across and make the it now. Do you hear? on that long journey from which alone. Gradually Linda had pulled further away from the Indians and was now in sight of the settlement. Hurry, Ned, hurry! The horse seemed to understand, and he put his last ounce of strength into that final stretch between them and the village. Linda rode exhausted into the town and told the first person she saw. Immef diately the word was spread. Indians! Indians! To the mill, quick!