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

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THE MY FIRST PARTY By ELAINE DosEN We're going to have a party, And surely hope you'll come, For if you don't, the rest of us, XVon't have a bit of fun. Friday, October 28, at 7 o'clock. This invitation had come a week before, printed on a Halloween pumpkin. As I sat in the classroom the afternoon of the party, my mind was every- where but on the reader I held before me: for I was going to my first party with my first beau and there were really serious questions to decide. My thoughts were racing along. 'AI-Iow would it be to sit near the lamp reading a book when he comes, then he won't even suspect that I am waiting for him and I would look sort of dignified. If only I could wear glasses because they certainly would add an air of intelligencef No, maybe it would be better to sit at the piano playing 'Robin's I,ullaby': then he would think I'm a musician and that would be something. My mother could answer the door and he would hear the sweet strains of my playing: but then, I don't know the second page of that piece so very well and it would be just my luck to have him arrive as I was stumbling through to the end of the piece and then I wouldn't make an impression on him. That night at dinner, I wasn't hungry and my mother didn't insist that I drink my milk. I had finally come to the conclusion that I would not be ready when Harold called for me: I thought that by not being ready, I would make quite an impression on him. Just as we finished dinner, the doorbell rang. I ran to answer it and to my surprise, there stood Harold, exactly forty-five minutes early: I gasped and stared at him: then I remembered my old dress and uncombed hair.- Come in and sit down, I managed to say, and then I dashed madly up the stairs, skipping two or three at a time for-Harold had come! I dressed hurriedly, and just as I started out of my room, I noticed my earrings on my doll trunk. They had been given to me to wear when we played house. I put them on: they would add the final touch for they were long and dangly and set with brilliant stones!-perhaps I-Iarold would think them diamonds. As I came down the steps into the living room, my mother eyed me suspiciously and then said, You can't wear those earrings tonight, Elaine: they're not really appropriate. Before she said more, I pulled off the priceless jewels and hurried for the door, feeling properly squelched. Anyway we arrived at the party at 6:40 by no means the first guests. We had a lovely time, and the evening passed much too quickly. We stayed until the kind hostess thoughtfully brought our coats down to the living room: and only then did we decide it was time to go home. I wish I could ever have another thrill as wonderful as my first party gave me. Dilemma my CARYL BOTHE I would be free of loving hands That bind me home: I would be free of loving words 'AYou must not roam. I would be free of loving ties, Free as the wild dove, But I should perish if I were Ever free of love. Page Sixteen

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UWM HIS MAN By ELMER BAEKER, '31 The hard, bitter Alaskan wind howled desolately as it drifted the falling snow into huge white billows and fantastic figures. The monstrous breakers tried vainly to smash the granite shores of Bristol Bay. The colossal towers of rock were transformed into pinnacles of ice in the intense cold. All life had retreated before the frigid fury of the great North. Even the inanimate objects seemed to have hidden away until only the naked trees, crackling and tossing under the power of the gale, and the expansive stretches of wind-blown snow, appeared in the stretches of the landscape. In. the lee of a cliff, where the tempest was least severe, a column of smoke rose doubtfully to a certain height until the current of the storm caught it and hurled it away. Smoke was the symbol of human life, the factor that betrayed the presence of man in this God-forsaken, tempestuous land. Inside a cabin were two men. One lay on a rude bunk, his eyes listlessly fixed on the ceiling. The fire blazing through the cracks in the sheet-iron stove flickered on his face, giving a saffron hue to his haggard countenance. Though languid and dying. he was undoubtedly a man of the North, lean, hard. and bronzed. The other sat taking deep lungfuls of a black British cigar and gazing with troubled thought into the clouds of smoke. A single tallow candle cast its very uncertain light, adding an air of grotesque simplicity. Finally, the silence was broken. Why did you ever come to this God-forsaken country? The man on the bunk raised his head. His eyes became hard as he met the stranger's gaze: then he again relaxed. I love this country, he said. Nature is my God, the wildnerness is my temple. The winter Winds' howl comforts me. The raging elements make me feel the littleness of humanity. The great polar stars help me to forget, Forget what? queried the stranger. Forget what! he cried. Forget what I can never forget. I killed him, the rat, and I wish he were alive so that I could kill him again! With that his madness passed and he fell back, exhausted, on his pillow. Finally, he spoke again. I was young and happy. I was barely a man when my father died. Then he came. He was a drunkard, a fool. He beat my mother. He broke up the family. He let us starve while he saturated himself with liquor. He sent my mother to the grave and he buried her in a plank box. He made my little brother a cripple. I killed him. I broke his skull with an ax. They sent me to jail. They made me a murderer for killing a dog. They sentenced me to the gallows. They were going to hang me! he screamed. Hang me! Damn them! But I got away. I killed two of them. I lay in hiding for a week, crawling through the meshes of the human drag-net they laid' for the boy mur- derer. They called me a fiend, a maniac, a menace to society. Finally I came here to live, or rather to suffer. I cursed humanity. I fought nature without tools and with an arm that the king's lead had rendered useless. I'm dying now. If you ever see brother Joe, let him know. Fare- well, stranger. He died. The stranger relit his cigarvand puffed furiously for a while: then he slowly took out a report blank of the Northwest Mounted Police. Page Fifteen

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THE DOORS By ELEANoR MANTEUPPEL Whenever I hear the word 'Adoor, three different pictures immediately take shape in my mind. One is that of an open door, one, of' a closed door, and one, of a door swinging to and fro. If a door is opened, I know that the contents of the space behind it are not to be barred from me. I know that I am entitled to enter it, and to indulge in its opportunities. If a door is closed, I have two impulses: one is to hurry past because what is behind it is not intended for my eyes. I shudder, too, because the mystery of the unknown is gruesome. The other feeling is one of curiosity. I would like to peek into the keyhole. I would like to know and see what is on the other side. Then there is the swinging door. This is the door that wants attention. It is for me to close or for me to open. I am the one that can do the deciding. If I grow tired of seeing what it is holding, I can shut it, or if I want to see what it holds, it is my privilege to open. There is nothing to hinder me from doing either. Life is a swinging door. THE IDEAL PLACE TO REST By JoHN SONNEN Mention iwater' to some people and they'll think of glasses of cool sparkling liquid that more than once has made them feel like a million dollars. Mention it to some one else and he'll see a dish pan full in which dirty dishes must become clean, Turn around and mention iwater' to another person and to him it is rain-warm rain that helps so much towards the growing of crops and the welfare of the country. But mention 'water' to me and I'll be looking out over a pine-encircled lake fanned by a soft South breeze. Resting is one of the best things I like to do. Some say it is the best thing I do: maybe they're right. All I know is I like to rest and when I rest I like to rest in a hammock,-not a hammock swinging on a porch of a house in front of which pours a continual stream of traffic, but a hammock that swings between two pine trees overlooking a cool, sparkling lake filled with water such as people dream about when they're dying of thirst. These two pine trees should not be alone in overlooking the lake but should be accompanied by others, others that stretch as high as they do. The variety of the trees should be White Pine or Norway. Balsam and Spruce aren't stately enough, while Jack pines are too shabby and straggly. There should be a soft South breeze blowing in from the lake, just enough to keep the mosquitoes back in the timber. The hammock tends to irritate the back if it is of canvas, therefore I would select one of softer material. Perhaps I could do without the hammock just so I am satisfied in my other desires. Squirrels should keep away. I know just how long my dog and I would listen to their infernal chatter before we would start chasing them through the woods. He doesn't like them nor do I and we especially dislike them when they intrude upon the leisure of a sleeping dog and a drowsy boy. What?-s the Use? By GoRDoN MENTEN, '31 What's the use? You strive and hope to win And never take a chance: Then someone steps right in Your troubles to enhance. What's the use? Page Seventeen l.?J