Charlotte High School - Witan Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

Page 27 text:

T H E where he lived. All day and far into the night she thought about him and early the next morning she hovered near her geraniums, glancing up and down the street. She was finally re- warded by the appearance of‘ Mr. Winks around the corner, and she busied herself pushing the earth closer to the stems of the plants, which was not at all necessary. When he paused in the street as before, she glanced up and smiled, while he tipped his hat. This went on each morning for some time and finally Marie decided she would sweep her tiny porch about 9:00 o’clock. When Mr. Winks arrived, instead of seeing her in (he window, there she was right on the porch. Holding his hat in his hand, he ven- tured: A fine, cold mornin’, isn't it?” Marie agreed by vigorously nodding her head, and said. W I T A N “It certainly is; 1 guess this cold snap is about over.” Mr. Winks then began nodding his white thatch of hair, and again ventured, “Quite fond of flowers, eh ?” “Yes, indeed! You are too, aren t you?” Um Hm, ’specially geraniums. How do you get yours to grow so nice?” “Just by loving ’em, I guess. Wouldn't you like to come in and see ’em? It's warm inside, too.” Marie had really longed for companionship without knowing it. They went in together and as they chatted merrily over the tea Marie brewed a few minutes later, the ger- aniums looked on and smiled com- placently. Illinor Raymond, 32. AN EXPERIENCE DURING MY BASEBALL CAREER It was on the third of April that Joe McCarthy sent me my contract for $85,000 a year. Seeing that Joe was the highest bidder, I thus be- longed to him. I was one of the greatest hitters of the league by breaking Babe Ruth’s home run record. As for my fielding ability, 1 was not credited with an error in my whole career. Every team in the league was seeking me, but only in vain, because the Yankees outbid them. During the season 1 stole more than Ty Cobb, hit more home runs than Babe Ruth, fielded better than Frankie Frisch, and was looked at as the one-man, super-human baseball team. Our team had not lost a game and was twenty games ahead of the team holding the second position. All the papers were decorated with my pic- tures, and movie contracts were con- stantly coming in; even a multi-mil- lionaire wished to adopt me as his son. It was on a dark night, while going on a stroll, that I finally became con- scious of seeing three men following me. They reminded me of gangsters, probably hired to bump me off; so I started on a faster pace, only to find them pursuing me also at a faster pace. Not wanting to start an argu- ment, I started to run, only to tiip over some darn thing, and fall. Not able to get up right away, they all pounced on me. Seeing the first bruiser coming towards me, 1 threw out a left hook aril crossed over with a crashing right hand that fairly knocked him senseless. Before I had a chance to defend my- self against another bully, I was the victim of a black-jack, and only saw black. It must have been about four days or so (I don’t remember plainly; I am not expected to know) that 1 found myself in what appeared to me to be an old abandoned shack. 1 tried to get up and stretch my weary limbs, only to find myself bound, hand and

Page 26 text:

T H K W T T A N USEFUL Marie hummed softly to herself as she bustled around her kitchen. Two stops wore required between the stove and the table and two more between the table and the wall cupboard in the corner, and, although this might seem cluttered to some people, Marie was perfectly satisfied. She had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life, so she never bothered her tiny, white head about anything con- cerning financial difficulties. She was so quiet and reserved that no one was aware of her existence, so only her geraniums knew how loving she was. A whole window-sill covered with pots of pink and white geraniums graced the front window. They peeped engagingly from behind the soft, tie-back curtains, out into the snowy street, upon which the sun cast a sparkle. Passers-by sometimes noticed the beautiful geraniums, but they never thought of the care that had been put into them. Marie cried pitifully when one tiny plant wilted and died, but when a new hud appeared she did a fancy waltz about the room, stopping occasionally to kiss the baby blossom. Never was a person so devoted to any small child as Marie was to these geraniums. Mr. Winks stood clapping his hands together to keep them warm and, as a lady passed who had bought a lunch BEAUTY from him once before, he courteously tipped his fur bonnet, showing his snowy locks. He was short of sta- ture, red and roughened of face from winter exposure, with plenty of wrinkles around his eyes and a smile hovering near his bearded lips. Every morning at 9:00 o'clock, Mr. Winks walked briskly down Row Street, pausing only when he came to the white cottage with the geraniums in the window. After living in a dingy apartment house with no visible vegetation, his soul feasted on their beauty. This morning, as he paused, Marie appeared in (he window with a water- ing pot and proceeded to quench the everlasting thirst of the plants. Be- ing unaware of a watcher, she unself- consciously chattered to the flowers, stooping to touch tenderly a small bud here or there. Mr. Winks was fascinated by the beauty of Marie bending over the flowers, for she was delicate and pink and white, as were the flowers. As he openly admired, something caused Marie to glance up. Strangely, she was not at all startled, but, as he gallantly tipped his hat, she smiled. Mr. Winks immediately was on his way with an animated feeling of warmth around his heart, Marie was so excited that her white hair fairly crackled. She wondered who the fine old gentleman was and 24

Page 28 text:

T H E W IT A N foot. How can 1 get out of here? Is it too late to play in the World Ser- ies? What will Joe think of me? How far from the Yankee Stadium am I ? All these questions rushed to my head at once. All of a sudden my thoughts were interrupted by the entering of one of my captors. By chance he was the one that I had felled by my blows. Probably he came to get revenge. He came toward me and gave me a brutal kick, which would have jolted an ox. Why, the yellow dog; if I had only been free. I would have batted his brains out! “You're lucky I’m not burning you. you rat!” he said in a revengful tone, “we’re keeping you for a hundred thousand dollars ransom.” Before 1 was able to ask him a question con corning the Yankees, he went out. 1 was wondering how the Yanks were coming. 1 wondered what the news- papers were printing. I wondered these and a million other things be- fore I was interrupted by shooting from outside. All of a sudden, to my surprise, three bluecoats unbound me and carried me to their patrol wagon. “How did you ever find me, and where are you taking me?” I asked one of the bluecoats. He responded, “A bunch of gang- sters, headed by their famous gang- leader, Windy Wilson, held you for a large sum of money, which they al- most received.” Then after an eighty-mile ride, we came in sight of the stadium. There was a crowd of a hundred thousand, and they were all in an uproar when I ran to Joe McCarthy in civilian clothes. “Where have you been?” asked Joe very quickly. “I have no time to explain; wait till after the game.” The score was three and nothing in favor of the Chicago Gangsters when Joe put me in as pinch hitter. Three men on, two out. The crowd was yelling my name when I came to hat. The opposing pitcher was the cleverest pitcher in the game. 1 saw him wind up in bis graceful style, and saw the old apple coming towards me. I closed my eyes and swung for all I was worth. The result was the solid crash of ash against leather. The ball went soaring over the center-field barrier. The game was won. The following day all the newspa- pers were adorned with my pictures ard the accounts of the previous day. I received my cut from the series and also other donations from mil- lionaires. The winter I used as my vacation in Florida, waiting for the next season. Dominic Arioli, 11-2 HOMECOMING Miss Martha Cutts sat placidly knitting on her front porch. She was a small, wrinkled old maid of sixty- four and, dressed in her out-of-dab brown merino dress with the libbons at her neck and the cat at her feet, she looked the very picture of con- tented placidity. But she was not. There were, in- deed, some misguided souls in Deer- wood who thought that her vague and absent-minded smile was merely a trap to lure passers-by onto her porch, there to pour forth her tale of woe. It is certain that she was always suffering from the inconsideration of someone, or something. Her cat, her garden, her butcher, the weather; even but Miss Cutts never said thisi God seemed to have some strange grudge against Martha Cutts. The sun had set, and it was begin- ning to get colder. Martha was on the point of going in to fetch her shawl, when she saw a smart roadster, far smarter than those usually seen in Dcerwood, draw up to the curb. A young man and a well-dressed, grey-haired woman stepped out. The woman stopped before the house next door. Like it, granny?” The young man’s voice was teasing. “George, it hasn’t changed at all!” Her voice was rich and full, with a youthfulness that surprised Martha Cutts. Then, by the voice she recog- nized the lady. It was Lavandar Walsh, the famous soprano, who had been born in Deer- 20