Commerce High School - Ledger Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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THE LEDGER [Fifle MIKE CASALENO Vkrda Jappert The old proverb, Happiness must be earned, rings true in the case of every contented and happy person. People will endure the hardest sort of physical toil and at the end be happy; so in the case of Mike Casaleno. When he was a little boy about eight years old, he was brought before a judge on the charge of stealing a saw from a hardware store. It wasn ' t an expensive one, just an ordinary common wood- chuck. What is your name? began the judge. Mike Casaleno. Where do you live? In the slums at 210. Do you live with your parents? I haven ' t got any. Whom do you stay with? My Uncle. Do you go to school? No! Wh • did vou steal that saw; was it for vour Uncle? No! I wanted the saw. You wanted the saw, and what for? I liked it. It was so shiny and nice, I thought it would be lots of fun sawing wood with it. Don ' t you know that it is wrong to steal? The boy was silent. The judge, being impressed with the fact that the boy didn ' t know the difference between right and wrong, delivered a long lecture about stealing. When he had finished, he announced that Mike was to go to school, and that the saw would be given back to the hardware man. Mike began to crv. I suppose the advantage of free education doesn ' t appeal to you, the judge flung at the little, ragged, dirty- faced boy. Oh! Sir! It ' s not that, but that I should lose the only plaything I ever had. The sobbing had grown into a loud cry. Well, Mike, the judge finally said, you can keep the saw, and I ' ll pay the hardware man for it, on the condition that you promise never to steal anything else. I promise. At that the judge reached over his desk and shook hands with the little boy. Mike Casaleno was sent to school and after go- ing there for two months, he decided that he didn ' t mind school so much after all. At the end of a year he loved to go to school and studv. Of course he had not forgotten the saw. Everv night after school he would saw the wood for the next day ' s use. One night after he had sawed enough wi)od to fill the wood bo.x, he laid the saw in his lap. As he handled it and bended it, he observed that by hitting it with a stick there was a whoor sound. His in- terest increased. He finally learned how to hold the saw correctly in order to be able to bend it skillfully and give different sounds. He would sit on a chair, place the handle of the saw between his knees, and with his left hand would hold and bend the saw, placing his thumb on top and the other four fingers at the end. With his right hand he would tap the saw with a little wooden hammer he had made. After he had learned the scales and had become acquainted with the technique of music in school, he learned to pick out the notes on the saw. His hand would get sore at times from holding his queer instrument too long, but he didn ' t notice it, so keen was his interest. After many days of practice he was able to run up and down the scale as fast as a pianist can do on the piano. When he graduated from grammar school, he was able to play a number of selections. People liked to hear him. It was something new — remark- able. He was asked to play for churches and en- tertainments. He became popular. Money poured into his hands — for A hat won ' t people pa ' to hear or see something new! Mike became inspired. He went to high school, playing on his saw. He went to college and when he reached twenty-one he was featured on the great Keith vaudeville circuit at a fabulous salary. Mike, the boy of the slums, who had toiled to perfect his saw playing, had attained happiness.

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Fourteen THE LED G E R That night as Lon waited for the outgoing log train he sat on the office steps and watched the lightning zigzag across the inky sky; the ominous, threatening rumhle of thunder echoed hollowlv as it rolled about in the vast heavens. The door swung open behind him and he heard O ' Keef, the wireless operator, telling the Old Man that a cloudburst had caused a flood at Flinton about ten miles away, and that a log jam had occurred at the town bridge. Water rose fiftv feet before the jam could be blown out ! finished O ' Keef. The Old Man considered the information for a minute and then grabbed his raincoat and hurried to the door. Come on! he ordered to Lon. That blamed flood isn ' t going to do us any good with that wrecked casement gone, believe me! Just twenty minutes later the wall of water hit the bridge a staggering blow, and with a yell Lon announced the fact that the big hook had come off as the whole structure was heaved up a few inches. It swung idly a few feet to one side of the heavy key beam. Even as the men stood, struck dumb with this new calamity, a slight crackle could be hear d. There she goes! ' shouted a worker. Silence! the Old Man rapped out. Who will go out there and replace that hook? It means no more work for you if you lose the bridge! No one moved and finally a man voiced the feel- ings of all. Me life is worth more to me than your blamed work or bridge either, he said deliber- ately. You ain ' t got much respect for what little brains we has got! Besides there ain ' t nobody holdin ' ya back ; do it yourss ' f. The Old Man bit his lip and, even as the sound of breaking cement and timber grew louder, he turned and started for the structure alone. Lon beat him. Like a cat he scrambled up the frame of steel and swiftly leaped from one cross girder to another. An instant later he stood on the key beam, looking doubtfully at the distant hook a;, il swung in th; blurred uncertain gloom, five or six feet away, and attempting to see just how he was go- ing to manage to get that hook under the key beam before the rapidly crumbling foundations would al- low the bridge to sink too far down. A single slip — his mind invo untarily shuddered — to think of drop- ping swiftly through the night — dropping — tailing, to strike chilled water that would close over his head. Resolutely he shook the fear from him. Sud- denly he leaped out and for a sickening second he thought he had missed his mark, but his clutching fingers finally clojed spasmodically over the heavy chain. The force of his drop made the chain start to swing like a huge pendulum ; the same force nearly tore Lon ' s hands loose. Blood fairly spurted from the broken finger tips. One thumb throbbed quecrly. Despite his crucifying pain he concentrated all his efforts on what he was doing, and presently the momentum of the chain became great enough for him to gain a hold on the master trestle-tree. As he struggled to turn the huge hook around, the sliding crackle became a roar, and the bridge lur ' bed for ihe final p ' unge — a plunge that would result in a hopeless tangle of twisted steel and blasted dreams. With strength born of sheer des- peration he strained, and with a ' ast titanic effort which wrenched a torn sob from him, the obstinate hook turned and slipped home with just a fraction of a second to spare. The Old Man ' s voice rumbled and shook the night air with its deep vibration. Son, where are you? Lon ' s broken pant from his tortured lungs, the result of his superhuman exertion, was his only answer. But the Old IVLan heard, and as f on glided into unconsciousness he felt a strong, pro- tecting arm grip his shoulders. One morning a month later Lon found himself in the Old Man ' s office. What have you got to say for yourself, young man? questioned the gray- haired engineer, peering at him from under heavy, bushy eyebrows. Lon smiled. What would ' ou say were you in my place? he countered shrewdly. The Old Man hedged. What are your plans for building bridges, eh? What about the ones you are going to build? he asked quickly. Lon told him. Humph! he reflected gruffly. Maybe I can help you. 1 have a few thousand dollars in — No! I don ' t want that kind of help. I don ' t want to take money, interrupted Lon. I didn ' t do what I did for the sake of any reward. True and well spoken ! warmly praised the Old Man. But I believe, if you will let me finish what I - vant to say, 1 can lend vou sufficient funds for your course, and you can pay me back when you complete it. Then come to work for me. 1 need a man to take my place. I ' m getting rather along in years and I don ' t enjoy m - work as I used to. Well — considered Lon. A stray bolt of lightning flashed suddenly over- head, illuminating the room for an instant. That instant revealed an old man Axith a noble head, and a imiiing youth ; their right hands were clasped. A curious light reflected in the eyes of both. It was the light of mutual understanding.

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Sixte THE LEDGER DEVIL ' S PIE Laurette Wheeler Patricia Murphy was often referred to as Bid ' s onery rascal or the devil ' s own partner. Her brilliant red hair was braided in two wiry braids which stuck out on both sides of her head. Her eyes were as green as cat ' s — but no one dared to tell her so. Her face was sprinkled with a mass of large healthy brown freckles. Her kid brother Bud explained their origin to her by saying the cow spit bran in her face when she was feeding her. Well — he just had to retreat to some place of secrecy to avoid the violence of her genuine Irish temper. She was tall and strong. It was a pleasure to see her walking down the street, for her long strides and her boyish figure always attracted attention. She could put any boy in the shade in hookin ' mel- lons, playing mibs, and fist-fighting. Any one that stirred her to anger would usually have to go around the next few days — or months as it might be — with a nose flattened to look like the mug of a bull dog, or else he was wearing a shiner that gave one side of his face a black and bluish tint. The only time she ever played house with the girls was when she could be the robber, villain, or detective. They, liking the novelty of the idea at first, would consent to this, but she had them so uneasy all the time she played that they would re- treat to some hidden corner to play in peace. She was swinging listlessly down the street whistling the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel, when her attention was drawn to a group of ladies who were talking excitedly. They were grouped around widow Mary Shannon, trying to comfort her over the loss of her chickens which had been mysteriously stolen the night before. With her head buried in her apron, she sobbed, Thoey were my loif, my hope, my only support till I ' d join moie ole man Mike in the other woirld he ' s in. Whether the ol ' divils got him or whether he ' s a wearin ' a haloe an ' a wearin ' green petticoats tucked up in a yaller girdle an ' sittin ' by ol ' Saint Patrick, I ' ll follow him. Oh! my chickens, curse the luck of this ol ' widow. Pat slipped unnoticed to Mary Shannon ' s chicken yard. Her keen eyes scrutinized the muddy, dirty pen. She gave an exclamation under her breath as she noticed a footprint near the gate. It was not made by the widow ' s shoe because the print was of a man ' s shoe. Upon examining the print more closely she observed that on the heel of the shoe was a cross made of shod nails. Silas Jackson, she breathed. There wasn ' t a person in the little town who didn ' t know that print. It belonged to an old superstitious negro that lived on the outskirts of the town. He always wore a cross on his heel, because it would render his footprints invisible to the devil; consequently the demon could not follow him. This certain coon had a peculiar yet common talent, which was raising chickens. No one ever had the success he had. To explain my statement further, I mean raising chickens from other people ' s yards. Patricia stole noiselessly down the street, out of hearing distance. Producing a willow whistle from her pocket, she blew it shrilly. In the course of a few seconds there were boys coming from every direction. When they were grouped around her, she announced, Gentlemen of the G. O. of D. D. of H. V. we will proceed to navigate to our place of meeting, in short, our rendezvous, to discuss an im- portant question. A few minutes later she was laying before them her plan of action, and also giving orders right and left. Pete, you bring your last winter ' s suit of red flannel underwear. Aw! Quit making excuses. Your old grandma won ' t care. Say, if you don ' t cut it out you ' ll be kicked out of this club. Say, Dan, I ' ll give you a dime and you go the store and get some red calico. Hmm! Let ' s see. Your sis is a pretty good girl ; you have her make a cap with stuffed horns. Be sure to make her keep mum, now ! Mike, you go get Kate O ' Leary ' s jump rope and you can whittle a good dart. I think that will make a good tail. Now — I guess we have every- thing but the paints. I ' ll furnish those. That evening all the things were all in shape. Pat took them and crept quietlv to her room. She soon arrayed herself in her devil costume. Then with several artistic touches with her paint brush, she made her face a fiery red, and with her black arched eyebrows, mustache, and goatee, she made a fine likeness of Satan himself. As night crept uoon the earth, the bovs stole up to old Silas ' house. They hid in ambush while our young devil neared the house. Sniff! Sniff! Chicken pie. ' Her nostrils quivered ; her mouth watered for the fine baked chicken between two layers of rich flaky pie crust. She pushed the door open and entered. Old colored Silas was sitting bv the stove. He jumped when he heard her step. His eyes grew wild; cold beads of perspiration covered his shaggy brow; he fell to his knees, sobbing out a jumble of prayers, crys for help, and entreaties. The devil looked fiercely at him and spoke in an authoritative tone, I, the king of Hades, I, the ruling hand of the damned, I, the prince of dark- ness, I, the devil of hell, have come to claim your (Continued on Page 52)