Central YMCA High School - Centralite Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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on J sf. Q T 'Hfnge ate mgfnlctlide 'J Literary ANTONIO CORELLI, REBEL The blood red disk of the setting sun was casting its lengthening shadow fingers over the neat checker board of truck farms, lying just northwest of Chicago. A vegetable truck, returning from the city, rumbled from the white ribbon of concrete into the little barnyard of Corelli Bros. Frank Corelli skilfully maneuvered his vehicle into the narrow garage and snapped off the switch. Tony Corelli sat within the house, staring unseeingly through his own bitter thoughts at the departing glory of the day. The grating sound of the closing garage door and his uncle's heavy step on the porch, failed to arouse him. The last bronze rays of light filtering through a pillar of onion trays in the yard cast a latticed reflection over Tony's face, which seemed struggling to suppress some inner conflict. Not until his mother lit the evening lamp, dis- pelling the purpling outer twilight into utter blackness, did Tony awaken from his reverie. Tony's Uncle Frank stood in the doorway and paused, in the act of filling his pipe. l-le very seldom directly addressed his nephew, for the boy spoke no ltalian-and English was a decided effort for Frank Corelli. Whazza matta dat you queet da job so early, hey? T'ink you got so moocha time come seet een da house? All the pent-up resentment which Tony had been harboring since his father's death, welled to the surface as the boy faced his uncle. lf you think the short four hours that l spend in the Community High School must be offset by ten hours of back-breaking labor in the fields, you are mistaken, he retorted. l've stood just about as much as l can stand, so we might just as well settle the whole matter now. The expression of the elder Corelli's face did not change, and as the silence grew longer, the hot flame of anger burned higher in Tony's breast. At length, the uncle turned on his heel and left the room, with an admixture of annoyance and bewilderment on his previously impassive countenance. Tony, The sound of his mother's voice stopped the boy as he was about to ascend to his room. Why don't you let me talk to him, Tony? his mother said. He comes from Corsica, son, and to him, education means training one's hands. He just doesn't understand. But Tony would not harken to the voice of reason. lmbued with a desire for the finer things in life, Tony all his days had had to contend with the un- progressive attitude of the Old World peasantry, which made up his little home and the community about him. The one bright spot had been his mother's sympathy, and her own willing- ness to learn. But tonight Tony did not think of this, nor did he think of his uncle's good qualities, and the excellent progress which he himself was mak- ing in school. Instead, he allowed the revulsion, which had only been strengthened by his father's death, to seize him once more. At the end of two hours of brooding in the solitude of his room, he arrived at a decision. Packing a few articles of clothing and leaving a note for his mother, Tony quietly left the house and struck out for the nearby interurban junction. lPage 661 m,,,.m,,,m 7 7,,,,m,,,,f,,g,,.,,,,,,,.,,.,.,,, . ....m.W.nwwnquwnnn-w.wM.-.-.nwwmmnumm-.umtauw-.W-W.-m..,.',. .......-......,..........m....--n..- W.-um! - in E L, .- L. , - ,AQ,,,,-,-,.,u,1i,,,,,,,4,rU., M., A .

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Q fzxivv TIN' r- f, V 1. I 1. k. I . 1. v 9 I 1 I P . f F E F I l l 's A. D. E E .. V f 't I ir l l v. . 1 4 w '. l. 'n l. D la Q +:xwuw.,......m....,, W.. vu.-1.-W -I fmmmmwmm-mmmuwnmmmm-w-W. -namwmm......mf,,,. . ...nm In I.. .. .. .-.-.........., The lille rgqil ir all fi Ile ei, . li Literary His mind was still dazed by the sudden manner of his own departure, and he had formulated no definite plan of procedure. Gradually, however, the hard roadbed and midnight air forced an idea into the boy's head. He would reach the junction before the first morning vegetable train for Chicago would pull through. Therefore Chicago must be his destination. What he should do upon reaching the city was still subject for conjecture: but he would at least be free from this hampering environment. Several days later, a much chastened and foot-sore Tony Corelli obtained a job with a paving company which had contracted to re-surface one of the great bridges spanning the dirty waters of the Chicago River. But the tearing out of old paving blocks with a pick-axe was labor such as young Tony could not relish. He had been used to rough toil on the farm, but the un- accustomed pick soon raised large blisters on his palms, while by noon, the evident ignorance of his fellow-laborers had likewise blistered his soul. Sick at heart, Tony seated himself in solitary dejection on the door sill which led into one of the bridge towers. Not even the morning's strenuous exertion had been able to rouse any relish for the sandwich held listlessly in his hand. It began to seem as though Environment spelled an utterly unscalable barrier in his path. For a young fellow your spirits seem to be rather low, my lad. With a start, Tony turned to see the genial figure of a seamed and weather-beaten man of about sixty years, standing at his elbow. Why, replied Tony, l was just thinking-thinking what a clod a pick-axe can make of a man. The man in the doorway raised his eyebrows slightly, and regarded Tony more closely. Lad, he said, it isn't what you are doing, but the mental attitude with which you go about it that makes or unmakes you. If that pick represents hardship to you, it would be a simple matter to let go your grasp on trouble and never seize it again. Now with me, ever since the Great Lakes have seen fit to give me a disability pension, l've been raising and lowering this old bridge. But there is a satisfaction even in that to me. Often l'll sit up there with a good book in my lap, and muse over the human tide beneath me. That's getting a grandstand view of life, he ended whimsically. But suppose that the people around you were dull, commonplace and ignorant? queried Tony. Boy, rejoined the bridge tender, no person or people need hinder your best work, if you will to do what is right. Before Tony returned to work, he had promised his newly found friend to return to the bridge tower that evening and continue this discussion which had become so interesting to both of them. A week later, Tony Corelli sat looking out over the slowly flowing waters of the river, as his friend discoursed to him of true success and unselfishness. The sun was sinking to rest in just such a way as it had on that other evening which had marked the close of T0ny's last day on the little farm that had been home to him. Each little sun-Hecked ripple seemed to sparkle like the frothy tiny brook which danced gaily through the fields he knew so well. fPage 67 I 5:.. ...i ,.'-' ..' --.- .-g..-.L4.a......- ' ---.u-..':s'.4.4:-. -'1 ' - ' '-'-'Y 1... - -2- f Y'-4-2. . L --.un .-1 .. -.-.-.-....-.-.-.-... .-.-..-.-.,.-.-.-....-.- - -.-.Z .mhmliuquar -if