Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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20 THE M H JUNE, 1925 I was now in a state of perplexity and wondered if my roommate had had some trouble with the faculty or student body. I carefully examined the photograph he had so intently studied. Dean Lawton was the only person in it that I recognized. Since it was such a plausible reason and I could think of no other, I attributed Phil- lips' unusual actions to his being in love. I remembered he had sent Laurette Vale, daughter of the history professor, chocolates, flowers, books, and other little knick-knacks lovers indulge in and I remembered that he had frequently been seen in her company. With this thought, I dismissed Phillips from my mind and once again plunged into trig- onometry. It was twelve o'clock I believe, though I am not positive, for I was half asleep, when Phillips returned softly whistling a gay tune under his breath and apparently in the best of spirits. Late in the evening three days afterwards, I met Reaper as I ascended the steps to my room. Evidently he was in great haste for he curtly greeted me and shifted a large brown package to a place upon his person not so conspicious to my gaze and disap- peared across the campus. '4She certainly has captured that lad, I murmured to my- self. Many hours later I heard the tired click-clack of some one's heels as he mounted the steps. The sound was becoming more audibleg finally it stopped before my door- Phillips entered. I-Iellol said he address- ing me gaily, 'Ait's certainly hot out: isn't it? 'AOh, not so very, l retorted freezingly, still smarting from the remembrance of his attitude towards me in the early part of the evening. But Phillips continued to talk, not heeding my anger. Well, old friend continued he, drop- ping in a chair in the most fatigued man- ner, I am certainly one tired happy man. When you met me on the steps this evening, I-I. Suddenly he checked himself as if he was fearful of disclosing a secret. Oh, it's no use explaining, said he: A' you would only make light of it and probably laugh at me. The next evening long after twilight, as I was returning from a lecture. I observed Reaper leave the dormitory and in his at- tempt to get away quickly, he dropped a package which he immediately retrieved, and peering in all directions he sped off in the darkness towards the stadium. Naturally, since I was unobserved and my curiosity was already aroused in my friend, I thought I would shadow him. Across the campus, I pursued Phillips. Not once did he change his pace or stop: occasionally he would look behind, but to my good fortune I was not seen. When we had arrived at the athletic stadium, it must have been an hour or more before I, from a comfortable position on the stadium wall, unobserved, saw Phillips dis- robe by the faint rays of the rising moon, then dress in his track attire. Ten minutes had not passed before I saw the figure of a person cross the stadium and address Reaper in an amiable tone. The identity of this character was disclosed to me, when his face became illuminated by the flickering light of a match which he used to light his cigar. I gasped: it was Dean Lawton, an intimiate friend of Reaper's and one of the alumni who had come to Dartmouth apparently for commencement day. But why had he come so early? The solution came to me like a flash. On the night of Phillips' unusual actions he had got in touch with Lawton and probably urged him to come to Dart- mouth as soon as possible to coach him. Lawton or as he was known on the campus, Speedy Dean, had been one of the greatest runners in college during his youth. Now he was a retired coach of a Western college. An animated conversation soon began be- tween Phillips and Dean. Suddenly I saw Reaper begin to pace back and forth, while Lawton was evidently making comment on his A'form. It was fully an hour before I saw Reaper like some specter travel the dis- tance of the track three times at a rather fast pace. I was certainly amazed. Did my friend intend to compete in the National Intercol- legiate Meet against the pick of Americas best athletes? For many a night, did I, with a certain keen delight, watch my friend, a runner sil- houetted against the inkiness of night, rac- ing against time, For many a night did I follow Phillips like some treading panther across the campus, through by streets, over fences, into the old stadium. l believe it was the sixth night of Phil- lips' secret training, that I brought my stop

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JUNE, 1925 TH E M 19 The Coveted Letter By DAVID HAYNES It was during my senior year at Dart- mouth College that I became associated in a mutual bond of friendship with a rather unusual character, by name of Reaper Phil- lips. This young fellowihe was a youth of nineteen-aspired to earn a letter in some branch of sport. It was his most treasured ambition. He had, for two years, striven with an indomitable courage to attain the coveted but had failed. It seemed to be always his fortune never to quite make anything in the college athletic world. He had tried out for bootball and basketball, but was never able to make the team, he had even been a promising second on the varsity crew, but that was as far as he ever got. Now it must not be inferred that Phil- lips was without ability or courage, for be- sides being editor of the college's leading newspaper, he was president of the senior class and of his fraternity, and as for cour- age, daring, and tenacity, not only had he shown what he possessed on the football field in the annual Varsity-Scrub's game, but he had shone in student affairs. Reaper would end his college career by graduation in June: it was now February and he simply had to have a letter. In the two preceding years, Phillips had been looked upon as a fair candidate for track: although he was never promoted from the third team, nevertheless, he thought that he would have a better chance in that line of athletics than in either baseball or on the crew, so with the first track candidates in the spring we find Reaper. There were some fifty-five or sixty candidates. Of these, Phillips' squad, the half-milers, consisted of fifteen. I think that I need not tell you that Reaper was by no means looked upon as a very likely man. After the first general reduction of the team, he was a bit astounded to fmd his name among the still-eligible: this was a stimulant to him--there was still hope. With the advent of April came the annual inter-class meet. Phillips was entered in the 880 and finished sixth apparently without exhaustion. It was in evidence that he was improving. In the Hve dual and triangular meets of the year, Reaper was never able to place. Though he strove with all his might, some- thing was lacking. On the termination of these meets, there was one remaining, the National Intercollegiate Track Meet, which represented the finest athletes on the cinder path and in the field of America's tracksmen. It happened the night of May first, a night I shall always retain in memory, that the mysterious actions of Phillips began. He had come home that night in the most down- cast mood and without greeting me stood for some time leaning against the closed door of the room. When he had absent-mindedly returned my greetings, I inquired concern- ing the cause of his actions and voluntarily offered to help him: he thanked me warmly and said I could be of no assistance. Know- ing from the character of my friend that further questioning would be futile, I re- turned to my f'trig which I was intently studying previous to his entrance, and now and then cast a worried glance in his direc- tion. A profound silence now followed dur- ing which Reaper heaved a deep sigh and dropped himself into one of the arm chairs of the room. A few moments later he arose, went to the hall door and opened it, appar- netly with the intention of leaving, but sud- denly he changed his mind and began a rest- less pacing of the room, finally stopping in front of a window facing the campus and gazing wearily into the black night. On turning from this position his eye was caught by a picture on the wall opposite him. Reaper stood before this photograph of a Dartmouth track team of many years ago some five or six minutes in silent contempla- tion, then as if caught by an idea, he snapped his fingers, rushed towards the desk where I was studying, wrote rapidly for a few min- utes, and without procuring his cap rushed from the room.

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JUNE, 1925 T H E M 21 watch determined to see if he was improv- ing. It seemed an age before Phillips could become sufficiently warmed up to run his first time trial under the direction of his new coach. At last I heard Dean say, 'fTake your marks, Phil. Then at the sharp cry, Go, Reaper leapt from his marks with a flying sprint and sped into the black night. And how he took that Hrst quarter milel What a mad pace, I muttered to myself: he'll never stick it out. But stick it out my friend did, and when he began that last quarter-mile and sprinted on the back stretch, I arose to my feet and could scarcely restrain myself from yelling. As he broke the cord across the finish line, I glanced into my hand to read my stop watch and found it had fallen to the stadium wall where it lay broken. I had dropped it in my excite- ment. The next morning when I saw my room- mate I am certain he saw a strange light in my eyes when I greeted him. At last came the final day-the day of Phillips' last race in college. I had pre- viously prevailed upon the track coach, using all the eloquence which only editors can con- jure when well warmed upon a subject, to enter Reaper in the National Intercollegiate Meet and with much reluctance he agreed to do so. The coach was permitted to enter two men in each event, but being a firm be- liever in dark horses and since he had no one in particular besides his star half-miler to enter, he took a chance upon Phillips. The 880 was scheduled to begin at 3:15, but because of miscalculation it was placed the last event of the day. Never was a race more eagerly waited forg never was a crowd more excited, for had it not been announced that the winner of this race would decide the collegiate champions of the United States? The excitement of the spectators became greater when the announcer loudly called, L-a-s-t C-a-l-l for the Eight-eighty. The world had never seen a greater array of half-milers than answered that call. The event was certainly going to be a battle of kings for their alma maters. Let us look down the line of sixteen men of grim de- termination, with nerves tense, and waiting for the sound of the starter's pistol. In the first line stood Buck Shalk of California, 'firon man of the track, two times national half mile, two and five mile champion, and setter of the world's record for the first event, confidently digging his holes. Next came Phillips, nerves strained almost to the break- ing point, scarce able to dig his holes, so ner- vous was he. Beside him was Jake Watters of Yale, A. A. U. Champion. Farther down the line besides Ray Sharp, champion half miler and miler of Dartmouth, was the lithe figure of 'AChief Lorna, the so-called red streak of the world's record for 5, 10, and 26 mile events, who had come within I-5 of a second of equaling the world's record for the 880: he was a product of Illinois. What chance had Phillips against such an array? Would he place? If he did, his let- ter was won. The optimistic old Dartmouth coach, after a short talk with A'Ray, came down the bat- tle line and addressed Phillips in a tense voice, Run, lad, run: I don't know how to tell you to run, but run in your own way! Being sharply ordered from the track by the starter, his admonition ended. After the usual preliminaries the gray old starter, in a high pitched voice, called, Take your marks. Get set. Then at the crack of the pistol, sixteen human forms leapt into the air, led by Shalk and Lorna, neck and neck, at an unbelievable pace: close be- hind them was Phillips with Sharp and Wat- ters his nearest men in the rear. At the quar- ter mile the Indian was leading, his lithe body fairly flew along the cinder path at a tremendous pace: not a break was percept- ible in his stride. His time at this point was 50 3-5 seconds. Shalk was a close sec- ond: but third came Phillips slowly closing the gap between himself and the leaders in grim relentless fashion. His form was almost flawless and he was running with an ease which brought all his muscles into coordina- tion. He was a veritable machine. The spectators were amazed. Behind Phillips were Watters and Sharp. Thirty yards be- hind these runners were the rest of the Held. Phillips was pretty well locked in with two runners in front and two behind. Only by strategy was he able to free himself from third and pass Shalk, who was in the second lane, with a terrific burst of speed. At the entrance to the last curve, Phillips began a tremendous spurt for the lead. But Shalk was not to be outdone by a novice, and ihe made a desperate attempt to pass Reaper who