Claymont High School - Clay Tablet Yearbook (Claymont, DE)

Page 20 text:

FUTILITY Betty Garvin, 1938 HE soft square of blue velvet formed a striking contrast to the splintered oak drawer of the antique trunk. The tiny pearl bitton on one end fascinated me, and after a short hesitation I pushed it. With a little je' 1 the lid sprang up, displaying a beautifully fragile locket on a pillow of ivory satin, its gli chain coiled around like yards and yards of snake ready to spring. Even though the pale blue sparks of the medium sized diamond in the back told me that I was an outsider, I pried open the locket. There in the ashes of a dead rose was a dream. A large stone house is well hidden among stately oaks. As one approaches the massive doorway one can see the stables where race horses are given the most meticulous care. In the impressive living room a young man and girl have a stolen interview. After pleading earnestly for a few minutes the man paces the floor dejectedly, pausing now and then to settle a point with the girl, weeping silently into a lace handkerchief. But jesse, I can't forsake my family and marry you. They need me. We have been threatened twice, once by the Confederates and once by the Yankees. Each believes us to be aiding the other side. We may even lose our home. Jesse James, the notorious outlaw! This was during the Civil Xlilar, long before the days of plundering. Long before, bitter by persecution, the james' boys had banded together into a sort of Robin Hood conspiracy. You have given me your answer. I must leave. I can't hope any longer. Good bye. With not another word he is gone-never to return. The girl does not move. Dully, she listens to his footsteps echoing along the hall, listening, it seems, to the years of her life gliding by. Life has put her upon a pinnacle, and suddenly she isn't there. Slowly she walks out to the kitchen. Her forehead is wrinkled with contemplation. She stops at the door to the pantry where the household supplies are kept, she gropes about in the semi-darkness until she comes to a bottle. She throws back her head, opens her mouth and tilts the bottle so that its contents catapult down her throat. She swallows convulsively and then chokes. Somewhere there is a thud as something falls. There is a gentle, steadying pressure on her shoulder, like a hand and then the gray light from the doorway goes black and the floor under her slides off the edge of the world into space. The dream faded and I was left holding only a tiny locket-the last remembrance of my great aunt, Burtie Sanders. HOW FATHER CAME FROM IRELAND WITH TWO POUNDS AND AN ADDRESS Patricia Crerand, 1 9 38 NOW fell on the little town of Mountain Tully with relentless persistence. Already it was boot-top high and still the white flakes curtained theiiiir. Fitting weatherf' Patrick thought, to be leaving home. Maybe he would never seertiie quiet town again dressed in its white finery. In his pocket were two pounds and an address-lvlr. Thomas A. Dougherty, Xlllest Eighteenth Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, United States of America. What could he do with two pounds? It wouldn't pay his passage to America, besides he needed the money in order to enter the United States. Perhaps he could work his way over. Yes, that was it-maybe they would let him enter the galley of the ship. Pushing steadily along, he stared at the road ahead of him. Only once did he turn his eyes from the road and look back-but no, he couldn't turn back now. He wasn't a coward. He had started, and he would keep on. Now he was passing the old smithy where he had often worked after school with his father. It was hard to leave. But he must. His father was dead-killed in the Boer Nllfat. His body was there in the little church cemetery that shone through the trees. The chalky tombstones were scarcely discernible against the snow.

Page 19 text:

then in Greek. Finally they were freed for the day-but not Henry. Even outside the schoolroom Henry was not happy. lf two triangles have two sides of the one equal to two sides of the other, each to each, but the angle contained by the two sides . . . oh, why must he learn it? It did not make sense. Then the vision would appear. Euclid, with a rectangular mouth full of pointed teeth, and fierce red eyes, holding in bony fingers two triangleshawful things-almost ghostlike. And Euclid was flaunting them before poor Henry's eyes. The vision haunted him always. The next morning the proposition was no clearer. Before long it was routine that Henry be called numskull. Each day the officer asked Henry if he knew the proposition, and each day poor, scared, little Henry said, No. One day an air of excitement reigned in the schoolroom. The master began his routine. But the tolerance of his young pupils was worn thin. At the first sarcastic remark, bedlam broke loose. The older boys, each armed with a short rope, leaped out of their seats. They rushed to the front of the room. They whipped the teacher. Frightened little Henry ran to the back of the room and hid in a huge coil of hemp. Every few minutes he peeped over the edge of the coil. The fight was almost a riot. The noise was deafening. Henry ducked down again. A shadow crossed the threshold. The Skipper. Avast there, me heartiesl What's up? he boomed. Before many minutes elapsed, order was restored. Henry peeped over the edge of the coil of rope. Calm! He eased out of it. He breathed a sigh of relief. No Euclid today, at least! But his respite was brief. The school was reorganized. The older boys were let out and each was meted out some task by the Skipper. But the younger boys had to return to the tutelage of the Army officer. Henry, alas, was a younger boy. The routine of calling Henry a numskull was resumed, and for long weeks Euclid again haunted Henry day and night. The Bible has something to say about pride going before a fall, and a haughty spirit before destruction. One day the school master decided to disobey the command that no one except the crew was to climb to the crow's nest. He was part way up when the sailors cut the ropes and left him dangling in mid-air. After several hours of hanging to the remaining ladder, the skipper sent aid to the now penitent Army officer. After this incident the schoolmaster lost caste. Everyone looked down upon him. But-the school continued. The days passed with the same old story until Henry, while racing around on the deck, fell and hurt his finger. lt was just a scratch, but it became infected. By this time, Henry's parents were aware of his horror of school. After his finger became infected, they agreed to his skipping the education for the rest of the journey. His finger did not bother him after the ship's doctor lanced it. Henry was a favorite among the grown-ups. All the kind ladies aboard the ship, gave him raisins from their private supplies. Nothing more was said to Henry about school, but whenever the schoolmaster passed by, the vision returned to Henry. Euclid, with the rectangular mouth full of pointed teeth, and fierce red eyes,-holding in bony fingers two triangles, awful things, almost ghostlike. And Euclid was flaunting them before poor Henry's eyes. Then came the morning when the lookout sang out, Land Ho! People scurried around taking care of last minute errands and tasks. Southampton was dead ahead! After the boat docked, Henry and Charles were permitted to go for a walk up and down the quay. As they walked toward the city, a tall man loomed in front of them. Henry and Charles humbly doffed their caps and said Good day, sir. Their greeting to their former schoolmaster was answered with a forbidding look. The boys turned and went toward the Lord Warren . After Henry climbed nimbly over the rail, he looked toward the city. The schoolmaster was gone-Euclid was dead.

Page 21 text:

Pat averted his face and looked toward the flickering beam from the lighthouse-Mhis guiding light. None of this mattered now-he was going to the promised land, America! Now he was walking on the shore road where the black weather beaten rocks shone wet in the light. He heard the deep, throaty roars as the waves met and retreated from the shore. He must walk faster faster even thou wh his feet were tired and blistered. There was the pier! The keeper of the lighthouse turned the beam on the 'LAmerican. The news spread, and soon people were gathering around the pier. Men, women, and children waited patiently for their loved ones. As the ship drew nearer, sailors called to their families and threw their hats in the air. As the ropes were made fast, Patrick jumped on to the boat. Running over the weather worn boards, he burst into the galley of the second deck. Before the chief cook had a chance to speak, he blurted out, Any chance of my getting a job to work my way to America? Even a mess job will do. Please mister, say you will. The jolly chef looked him over, just in time, son, I was going to give one of the sailors i . fs the job, but you're a fine lad. You're hired. Patrick's heart jumped. He would see America soon! It was late in the afternoon when the American swept away from the little dock. The rolling waves leaped upon the snowy shore. People were waving goodbye. Patrick leaned against the rail, gazing at the beautiful country he was leaving. He could still see his mother standing at the gate. He had told her that he was going to make his fortune and that she wouldn't have to worry any longer. Patrick worked faithfully in the galley, patiently waiting for the new land. Cne night as he was getting ready for bed, he looked out the port hole. Could he be dreaming? But, no. There it wasiAmerica, the strange land where 'Leveryone was a millionaire. He scarcely waited for the ship to dock before he ran down the gang plank. As he looked about, he saw tall buildings. It would take him a hundred years to examine their splendor and magnificence. He felt like a speck against these monarchs. He was pushed along by the quickly moving people. When Patrick found himself, he was in the outskirts of the city and it was getting dark. He must find some shelter for the night. In the morning he would start for Philadelphia. Seeing a quaint old inn, which reminded him of his home in Ireland, he decided to go in. The couple who owned the inn insisted on giving him their large wooden bed. In the morn- ing the old lady made a kind of Irish stew consisting of dough, boiled with potatoes, and a little salt pork. Patrick relished this as he hadn't had a square meal since he had left the Americana. He inquired of the old lady when the carriage would be leaving for Phila- delphia. The woman said that if he hurried, he could get a ride. Pk Ik lk is After long hours of bumping, joggling, and slow moving, he finally reached Philadelphia. Patrick, expecting to see a mQh smaller city than New York, found one almost as large. He left the driver and weri inside a little store for shelter. Once inside, he searched his pocket for the letter that he had received three weeks before. He glanced at the address and hurried out of the store. Eighteenth Street, and this was Sixteenth. It wasn't very far, but he was so tired. The walk seemed like two hours to his aching feet. And there f in front of him he saw a black- smith shop. This must be the place Mr. Dougherty had described in his letter. At last he was there. He knocked on the door. It was opened by an old man who cried, Patrickl Patrick! my boy, you have come. Come in. You're tired. my lad. f'Oh! Mr. Dougherty, I am so glad to find someone I know. It seems so much like old Ireland. Come Patrick. you need some sleep. In the kitchen I have some porridge waiting for you. Later we can talk, but now you will rest my boy. 'Tis a long hard trip you've taken, but your journey's done. It's America you'll be loving now, my boy.