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

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22 THE M JUNE, 1925 was on even terms with the speeding Indian. Seventy yards from the tape they came, three men abreast and each struggling vainly for the lead. Phillips would draw ahead with a hard spurt only to find Shalk and Lorna clinging beside him as if life hung in the balance. With forty yards to go and in grim desperation, Phillips bowed his head and be- gan a phenomenal spurt which drew him away from his opponents. Shalk and Lorna did not lose hope: they challenged his spurt and how desperately they tried to bridge that gap which Phillips was slowly increasing. Their efforts were futile, as were the gallant efforts of Watters and Sharp, the nearest to the three runners in the lead. Phillips came on like a dashing whippet. He finished cool and unwearied. Two-fifths of a second behind were Shalk and the In- dian, tied for second. Then came Watters with Sharp vainly trying to overtake him in a heart breaking finish: both men fell un- conscious over the finish line, so awful was the pace set by Lorna. The ovation accorded Phillips was simply tremendous, as he trotted from the dusty Held and disappeared beneath the stadium. Reaper Phillips had won his letter and in addition, had won for Dartmouth her first National Intercollegiate contest. To a Tree Cut Down By MAR1oN RoE O tree whose wide and ample branches oft Have clasped me in thy strong yet tender hold Wilt thou no more with thygreat strength enfold Me tired? In weariness thy shade so soft Was like the dew upon the heat of day To mind and body both a fresh'ning joy. Who dared with ruthless hand thee to destroy To steal thy life and make thee die? But stay Swift thought returns this answer plainly wrought I am not dead. My life still firm doth stand. Behind each work of God is an ideal. In trees perhaps 'twas our Creator's thought To give us strength, cool shade, and beauty grand This thought still lives. That only is the real. Pals By MARY Louise ORR You have missed one of the dearest com- panions of your life if you have missed the Motors have their they will never take horse, Does a motor you slide under the friendship of a horse. places, it is true, but the place of a pal, the know instinctively as wheel, in just what mood you are? Can you talk to a motor and receive any sort of satis- faction? Does the automobile give the real service, companionship, and joy that a horse can give? It matters not whether he is an expensive horse or an old hack, if you love him, he will return your love and more- he will be one of your truest friends. He will respond to every mood. If you feel tired and discouraged, take a slow ride out through the fields. He will adjust himself and walk or canter as you wish. You need not carry on any conversa- tion with him: instead, you may relax, and the long ride will rest you. If you feel as though you must have some one to talk to, go out for a ride. Tell your horse everything. He may not understand it, but he will listen sympathetically. He never gives a secret away, no matter how important. You can feel safe in telling him. But if some day, you crave excitement, don't forget the ever-ready pal who is wait- ing for you. He can also furnish the most wholesome kind of mental and physical stim- ulus. Get out your mallet and ride down the polo field driving the ball ahead. Your horse knows by the slightest change of your weight, just where the ball is. He will do all within his power to follow it for you. Is anything more stimulating than making a goal after a hard drive? The horse has naturally an affectionate nature. Encourage this, and you will find him the most faithful, courageous, and lov- ing companion.

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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

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