Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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?CI)t Jfaboritc ecc “Play it again, Philip.” The speaker was a short, stout middle aged Russian woman with a round face, clear cut features and dark hair. ‘It was your father’s favorite piece, and will always remind me of him. It is a sad reminder, too, of his disgraceful death --” She choked with emotion at these words, and could speak on more. The whole scene of her husband’s arrest and accusation flashed vividly across her mind. The visit of the gendarmes, the hurried accusation, her husband’s vain plea of innocence. These passed only to give place to the still more terrorizing remembrances of his execution. Their last parting, the halter around his neck and then the body hanging lifeless in the air. That terrible feeling of hopeless despair again overcame her. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly. “But father is not dead!” interrupted the stricken boy, clasping his mother’s arm in terror and alarm, as he slowly grasped the tragic fact. The boy recalled his father as he had so often seen him during the hour devoted to his music lesson. He again heard his father rebuking him kindly. “You do not put your whole spirit into your playing, Philip. Technique is not the only thing, inspiration and soul make the artist.” Philip suddenly realized how good his father had been to him, for when it is too late a person fully realizes the true value of his parents. “Yes,” she answered, in a sad voice, “he is dead. Hung for a crime which I know he would not and could not have committed. But they did not give him a chance to clear himself. They followed the usual custom in the Russian courts, a custom which has cost many an innocent person his life, and has allowed the escape of the real criminal. This custom is naturally practiced more vigorously at the present time, when the Czar is afraid to take a little exercise in the open air and each official confines himself to a safe refuge, so as to be as far away as possible from any treacherous bomb that might dare to toy with his sacred life.” “I do not see how they could have convicted him, as they had no evidence to show that he had murdered the Honorable Ivan Schershevsky, Chief of Police,” declared Philip Petrowsky, for that was the boy’s full name. “I know,” was the answer. “It was only on the testimony of that despicable man, Peter, who had been trying to injure your father for the last five or six years, because--- But you must not know that unhappy story, and she bit her lips in an agony of repression. “What will we do now, mother?” “I cannot do any work here, because the people are afraid of being suspected of conspiring with me if they should employ me, for are wc not a family of bold anarchists,” she answered ironically and again began to weep bitterly. 102

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that he did not go outside of his house for a week. It was fully six months before the boys summoned courage enough to pay Andy a visit. But as time wore on Andy came to look at the affair in a more cheerful light. But ever after, if the matter was mentioned, Andy would say, “Luck comes to a man’s door only once in his life, and that omathaun (an Irish expression for a foolish, simple fellow”) referring to Tip, “has spoiled his own luck for the rest of his days. Begorrah, but for his foolish actions he would be a rich man today.” THOMAS V. MURPHY, 1912. 9 Hast 3Hori IS it a spell which settles upon us in the last few months of our schooldays? Is it a charm working its magic and bringing to us thoughts which never intruded themselves before? The time is fast approaching when we must leave the building which we have learned to love, the schoolmates whom we respect and cherish, and last but not least, the teachers who have always been our true friends. All these we leave—the sweet companionships are severed and our faces are turned toward the cold, uncompromising world which has received scarce any notice from us heretofore. How many of us feel regret at parting? When we, at last, leave this building which seems a sort of guardian over us, we will remember that our happiest days are behind us, never to be recalled. We will remember the helpful words of the teachers, which fell on unheeding ears when they were spoken. We will hear the laughter ringing through the halls, and remember that it came from happy, carefree boys and girls. We will, perhaps, remember the neglected tasks with regret and wish we had spent just a little more time on certain ones, and we will be glad to think of the well-learned lessons. The world will demand a great deal of us and we must be ready to fill our place. Neglected lessons in school lead to neglected instructions and orders in the business world, so, Seniors, to you who have worked faithfully in the school-room, continue to do so in the office, or wherever you find yourself in after-life, and to you who have not put your best into everything take a fresh start and make good” in the world’s work. May we, as Seniors of the Class of 1911, leave the High School of Commerce with respect and esteem for the teachers and Principal, with kind thoughts for our schoolmates; and with broad minds and determined hearts, make our way in the busy world, ever keeping a place in our memories for reminiscences of the happy, happy schooldays. FLORA PUTNAM, 1911. 101

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 Well, the only thing we can do is to leave Russia,” she continued, after a pause. “Shall we leave Russia? Where shall we go?” cried the astonished Philip, almost with incredulity. “Where everybody goes; to America, the home of freeodm and liberty. » The night was dark and chilly. Neither moon nor stars were shining. The ominous silence was disturbed by the regular tramp, tramp of the sentinel, as he marched to and fro, and later, mingling with it was heard a low murmuring sound coming from afar off. The sounds gradually grew louder and louder, until the low shuffle of many feet became apparent, as in the distance an approaching mass loomed up into view. The mass gradually drew nearer and nearer, until it took on the form of a number of men, women and children, carrying large packs and bundles. They were of the poor Russian type of people, as their dress plainly showed. They were emigrants from Russia who were being smuggled across the boundary into Germany by an agency which makes a regular practice of smuggling people across for a stipulated sum, while to insure success, the agency takes care of the persons all the time until they reach their destination. The people have to be smuggled across, because the Government of Russia does not allow any persons to emigrate from the country unless they have passports. These passports are rarely given, they are often times refused for the slightest reason. The people are, therefore, compelled to sneak across the lines or starve in Russia. This crossing the border is very dangerous as there are many streams, ditches and various other obstructions, and, moreover, they usually steal across at night, as there are soldiers patroling the frontier. A man on horseback stealthily emerged from among these emigrants and, approaching the sentinel, addressed him in Russian. “You have attended to all?” “Yes. If all goes well, and, above all, no noise is made, you can be able to pass easily, was the answer. “That is well,” and the man pushed a bill into the soldier’s hand, the denomination of which it was impossible to discern, but the satisfied smile of the soldier gave warrant of a good sized bill.' When thus fully assured of the outcome of the undertaking, the man returned to the emigrants with a smile almost of glee. As he came within hearing distance of the dark mass, a well-known voice, but very low, asked, “How far are we from the German border?” “This is the last sentinel,” was the answer, “and if all goes well, we shall probably be able to get across in half an hour.” They walked along silently, springing over any ditches or other obstacles that happened to be in their way, sometimes stumbling, sometimes falling, conscious of their danger, yet unconscious of their immediate fate. 103