Lincoln High School - Quill Yearbook (Jersey City, NJ)

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He stood there for a second and then, blocking my high right swing to his head, side-stepped to deliver a right hook to my jaw. I staggered against the ropes, stumbled, and fell. Recovering at the count of seven, I smashed in a right to his solar plexus. King's knees buckled, my right slammed him to the canvas. He was counted out three seconds from the end of the thirteenth. Dad, I said a few weeks later, I sent a challenge to Bert Douglas. Dad grunted, You're not fighting Douglas. Dad . . . No! he thundered. If you interfere with me you'll get hurt, I roared. Dad rose slowly. Come down to the gym, son, was his soft answer. Down at the gym we changed into our trunks. Well, I was hit plenty in the Hrst round. Over in the opposite corner I could hear Scotty, my trainer, 'asking Dad to take it easy. That made me lose my head. I cut loose with everything I had. Dad was forced against the ropes. He came slashing back. Bert - er - Larry, don't! Scotty's voice came dimly through the haze that obscured my vision. A left to my heart and a right to my jaw smashed me to the canvas. I tried to rise . . . I came to under the gentle massage of old Scotty. Gee! I exclaimed, and I wanted to fight Douglas. Scotty turned his head away for an instant, when he looked at me again his eyes twinkled. Mike, he said, you did pretty good for a young pro. Hell, I exploded, 'Tm through with fighting--nor more for me. My record is spotless-King is the only one who knocked me down. But . . . Iris no use, Scotty, I said, I'll never fight again. In the dressing room a tired man, stooping to retrieve a letter which had fallen from his coat, smiled at my promise to the old trainer. I-Ie held the letter in his hand--a red letter-addressed to Bert Douglas! lack R. Aiken CXSDQI5 Editorialism The editor's job is to erase Superfluous words, or else to write Some extra notes to Hll up space, And so his task's begun, O. Deep furrows 'cross his forehead traceg His mind is tenseg then comes the light. Eight lines are needed for this place. And lo, his task is done, O! 102

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Red Letter Day Last week I dropped into Mike's place, only to find it empty. Mike was polishing some glasses in front of a large mirror.+ As I entered, he looked up and grinned. Howdy,', he said softly, the boys are over at the Garden watching Baer and Schmeling mix it up. I returned his greeting and lounged against the bar. Mike filled the glasses and we drank a toast to Baer. The old bartender's eyes softened as we did. Now I knew the real Mike. In his eyes I could read his love for a strong body and his admiration for the husky Californian. He edged closer to me. Kid, he said, did I ever tell you of the time I was almost world champion? No, Mike, I replied, let's hear it.', After bracing himself wich another drink, Mike began: Well, all I know about boxing was taught to me by my father. You see, I never knew then what he did for a living. He told me that he worked in the Pennsylvania mines. Dad was a burly brute of a man, standing six feet three inches and tipping the scales at two hundred and thirteen pounds. Every month or so he come home with a battered face. He explained that the men under him were trying to form a union and that riots were breaking out. I was very much interested in the ring and persuaded Dad to train me. My record was pretty good, showing several bouts by knockouts and no losses. Upon Dad's suggestion, I adopted the use of red stationery for writing my challenges to other prominent fighters. Among the boxers I had hopes of meeting Bert Douglas. No one knew much about him as he always entered the ring masked. Douglas was the leading contender for the heavyweight title, then held by Dempsey. However, he dropped out of active combat and the two never met. Dad trained me carefully for the ight with King, who had been knocked out by Douglas two months before. King was a husky fellow without an undeveloped muscle in his body. I was in the pink of condition and every mucles rippled under my bronze skin. Dad couldn't attend the match and' I sure missed his company and advice. The first five rounds went along smoothly as each of us was trying to see what the other had. The next five rounds were spent in bursts of speed. The fans shouted themselves hoarse. My body slowly grew red under the constant mauling. Only the sight of my opponent's bruised and puffed out face kept me going through the eleventh and twelfth. When the bell rang, King sprang from his corner almost over into mine. I had just regained my balance when he slashed a left jab into my face. Expertly shoving his left lead aside, I sent in a right hand cross counter to his head. We cautiously backed away and sparred for a few moments. King slammed over a left hand jolt to my body and received a right to his chin. 101

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Our Rendezvous With Life We shall not leave you! We have a rendezous with life. To vou we throw the torch, but we shall help you hold it high. When long shadows of evening close around you and you are sleep-ily going over textbooks, our spirits will hover about you, turn pages for you, and light the text with new and hidden meanings. In class, when you are called on to recite we shall whisper words of cheer and light. Perhaps we shall rattle the window panes to distract the teacher's attention. As you sit and dream of things to come, we'll live over again our youthful hopes, and share with you a promise. We shall become the Voice of Experience. No, we shall never leave you. Even in the names in textbooks, in note-books, yes, and in old themes or experiments, wherever you struggle you will see signs of us and that will help you. When triumphs come your way, we shall be joyous and know the happiness of your accomplishment. We shall exult with you, grieve with you. We shall always sing the Alma Mater with you, and if we leave today we shall return tomorrow, Spirit Friends in all you do and in all your life to come. Gladys Crotbers. CSSQIU The Empire State Building Standing alone Disdaining the companionship of the lesser giants, Who a short distance away Crouch huddled, As if for protection against a common foe. She is Strength- Who has no need of mutual defence. She is Vanity- With her jeweled crown rending The black velvet of the night. And she is Solitude- Who lifts her head For the benediction of the wild free winds, And gazes upon the vastness of the sea. Marjorie H arris. 103