Plainfield High School - Milestone Yearbook (Plainfield, NJ)

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-2 THE ORACLE not because he believed that there was any possibility of finding his “Dream Voice,” as he called it to himself, but because he dared not let a single chance go by. The failure to procure an unusual soprano would spell failure to his life’s work, a musical allegory, upon the suc- cess of which he had staked his reputation and fortune. He had come because Martin Carther had told him that it was worth while, and he respected Martin Carther’s opinion. Carther had spent the summer convalescing among the Kentucky mountains after a severe fever, and he had just returned to New York, wild with enthusiasm over Jess Ranson’s voice. He had made an attempt to pave the way for a flying visit from Stanas, and had done his best to make the world of beauty, fashion, and culture, the brilliant life of the northern cities, real and vivid to the ignorant mountain girl. But, somehow, he confessed to Perran, she had not seemed as much impressed with it all as one would naturally expect. In fact, he was not sure that she really understood exactly what he was talking about, but, at least, he had done his share, and his friend could be relied upon to do the rest. That was why Perran Stanas had come to Kentucky. But at the first sound of the girl’s voice, every doubt was swept away, and his imagination carried him on, through a year of careful training for her under his own direction, a tour of the Continent, and then the longed-for production of his masterpiece, “The Dawning,” and the whole world at his feet. Truly, the Fates were with him, for he had found the one thing needful to complete his dreams,—his “Dream Voice.” The music ceased. It was only a simple air, but the master mu- sician was enraptured. With an effort he brought himself back to the present. It was a late October afternoon in the mountains. The warm cnbeams slanted through the dark woods upon the cabin clearing and upon the face of the girl. Stanas felt the shock of disappointment as he looked at her. She stood dumbly before him, her face a blank, her figure lagging against the woodpile. Deep-chested she was, with brown hair and dull eyes, eveiy fibre of her deadened by hard toil, neither young nor old, neither sad nor gay,—a mountaineer, without imagination, without beauty. The man was amazed. Where did the voice come from? Was it possible for a woman to sing like that and still not know enough to live, to think, to realize the splendor of what she could do? Surely,

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6 he ORACEE Good Bye, P. H. S. The class of 1912 has finished its four years in Plainfield High School, and we, its members, must now take our places in the ranks of the Alumni. We have had a happy time here, and now as we are leaving, we realize why we have been so happy. It is because we have been busy, so busy that we have had no time to brood over petty griev- ances, no time to criticize those about us. (There have been lessons to learn, and besides, we had no idea of omitting any of the custom- ary sports. It is not necessary to say that our class has been fond of dramatics. And we have entered into the various phases of school activities wholeheartedly. If we have done fairly well in most of the things we have attempted, and exceptionally well in one or two, then we are glad. In the years to come, we shall count it a privilege to feel a per- sonal interest in P. H. S., and we can only wish for the students of the future, that the life here will mean as much to them as it has to 1912. The Wisdom of the Simple Winner of the Babcock Prize Stanas leaned against the door of the cabin and listened to the voice of the girl. He, Perran Stanas, the wonder of the musical world, greatest critic of his time, composer of the most exquisite song of the last five decades, and the busiest manager in London, Berlin, and New York, had left everything and travelled swiftly into the heart of a wilder- ness to hear a Kentucky mountain girl sing a song. And why? Be- cause he needed a voice,—not merely a true voice, not merely a splen- did voice, but a thrilling, natural, living one. When a man has lived fifty years in this world of disillusionment, and especially when every hour of his time is crowded with work, he does not run off on wild goose chases for hundreds of miles, unless the need is urgent, and during the long, tedious journey Stanas’ mind was ill at ease and he doubted the wisdom of his action. For he had come,

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5 THE ORACLE underneath this blank exterior she had a woman’s heart, a woman’s impulses. “Ah reckin Ah’ll goah, ef yeh doan’t keer,” she drawled, ‘‘Pap’s awaitin’ fer me.” “Wait a moment, please.” Stanas was charming when he spoke to women. “I want to talk with you about the bird-notes in your throat.” And he smiled reassuringly. ‘Are you in too much of a hurry2” Jess Ranson started at him dully, and leaned further against the woodpile. ‘Ah kin set a spell,”’ she said. Perran Stanas was a clever talker, and he stood in the warm sun- shine and talked from his very heart, in simple words, to this strange wood-creature. Carther had described to Jess the splendor of life in the North,— the jewels of the women, the brilliancy of the lights, the many luxuries, and Stanas smiled to himself as he thought how the promise of all these tnings would appeal to the girl. It seemed a little odd that she did not question him as he went on, or grow excited over the wonders in store for her, but he reassured himself with the thought that she was shy and awkward. Really, it would be charming to watch her develop into a woman of the world, poised and purposeful. Strangely enough, he never doubted that the miracle would happen. An hour went by. The rays of the sun slanted more and more, the girl sagged lifelessly against the pile of wood, occasionally shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other, but otherwise not moving. Stanas was carried away by his theme. His quietly modulated voice went on and on, glowing with expression. At last he paused for a moment, then walked swiftly to her side. “And so you see,” he said seriously, “‘you are going to be famous, you are going to be the most adored singer of the age. Your voice has decreed it. The necessary study will only be play to you. You will be very rich. And you may start now, if you will. Please say yes.”’ She turned her face slowly to the darkening forest, and for a long time there was no sound. Stanas controlled his impatience. Then she spoke, in her fascinating monotone. ‘Ah ’low Ar’ll stay hyar. Ah doan’ keer abaout the Nawth. Ah reckin Ah won’t goah.”’ The man stared at her. “Girl, you're mad,” he exclaimed. “You don’t know what you are saying, why—”’