Erskine Academy - Pinnacle Yearbook (South China, ME)

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, an THE PINNACLE 9 and cough and remark that I would have to read it as he had left his glasses to home. I opened it an' saw that it was writ in the smoothest girlish handwritin' I've ever been forced to look on. It ran something like this: Dearest Phonnie! fsuch a dear namej, I received your epistle three days ago but instead of writing a note to let you know that I got it all right I decided to make this letter do for both the note and the ac- ceptance of your proposal. Oh Darling, I can hardly wait for the time when our arms shall steal around each other and our lips Will meet in our first kiss. You have no idea how I have longed for you in spite of the fact that I have not seen you. There I must stop this nonsense and bid you good- night. Your loving Marjorie White. P. S.-I forgot to state that a friend is writing this for me as I can't write my- self, but we don't care do we, dear? HM. W!! At the close of this letter Phonnie near went wild with joy. He patted me on the back and even offered me a pipeful of to- backer which of course I didn't accept. It took us three days to rig Phonnie up and to answer the letters what Marjorie writ. But in the end it was worth the three dollars and twelve cents we spent. It was on the night of the third day that the bride-to-be was goin' to arrive and it was arranged so they would meet at the church and I was disappointed 'cause it was so dark that I couldn't tell whether she was tall or short, small or big, but that didn't hinder Phonnie any, he walked right up to the carriage, helped her out, kissed her and even paid her fare. VVhen she alit, iive others tumbled out after her and when Phonnie sez in a caressin' voice: And who are these dear? she sez in a voice soft and low, an' musical, Oh, these are the children, this is John, this is Rastus, this is Jimmie, this is Mary, and this is Lily. Phonnie was some taken back, but he stood up under the blow like a man, and lied, Pm glad to know you and welcome you as my children, I hope you like to work? Well, at last Phonnie suggested that they go in and have it over with. As they neared the church Marjorie acted scairt and Phonnie put his arm around her and growl- ed endearments and said that if she didn't like to look at the people and have them stare at her, she could put her heavy black veil on. I knew he was hittin' on me' cause I seemed to be the only one present, but as it was dark, I groaned an' let the insult go over my head. Marjorie put on her veil an' we entered the church. The parson looked solemn an' wise, an' wore glasses. He said to each, Do you take this man to be your wedded wife? and each replied emphatically, I do. They started to leave an' I nudged Phonnie an' asked him if he wouldn't like to kiss the bride. He said that he thought she would be scairt so I said that all the audience would turn back to, that body bein' me. I turned 'round and presently my private thoughts was broken into by a scream from the lady, an' a cuss word-yes actually a cuss word from Phonnie. Then before I could turn facing them the lady hollered A white man, and poor white trash at that, and Phonnie echoed feebly but manfully, A nigger, a real nigger. By the time I got so that I could look at them, I saw that the lady was in hysterics and that Phonnie had fainted. I put in a emergency call for the insane asylum and one for a ambulance to take Phonnie home With. That night after I had fed Phonnie his supper, which consisted of a teaspoonful of milk and a little fatherly advice, I hap- pened to glance at the title of the paper where Phonnie had got acquainted with his bride. It ran something like this: The Colored Sentinel. For the colored populace. VERNON BOYNTON, EX-'21. MY DREAM. I had a dream the other night, A horrid frightful dream! I shudder to recall the sight, So awful did it seem. I thought I was in the schoolroom,

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, 1. 3 , THE PINNACLE CAMOUFLAGE. Alphonse Rosignal-or in plain United States, Phonnie-had been actin' queer all day. Because I was his feller worker and pal and also because I had been doin' most of his work that day I decided, when twilight had settled o'er the earth and when we had et and lighted up, to ask him whatinel ailed 'im. He sighed a sigh what was a groan, spouted a dark brown spray through a couple o' teeth that made theirselves conspiceous by their absenceg and hustled out: Jacky, I'm in love. Just like that. He didn't even give any prelim- inaries. I looked over his heady started to whistle, and noticed, in a shiny piece o' tin that we used for a mirror or looking glass when we needed one, that my eyes was bulgin' out, my nose a twitchin', and even my ears was tryin' their best to warble their disbelief, under a season's growth of highly tempered hair, which is a kind what looks like dead ground hemlock and is very tough and is very-ah-auburn. Seein' that I was doing my best not to phone for the police or the asylum, which is a place for the rich and crazy, Phonnie ventured a further explanation. Yes, you see that I was a readin' a pa- per this morning? I nodded, bein' all that I could do under the circumstances. Well, he said, I saw where a lady, who had only been married twice, wished to get hitched up. He stopped here to git his breath and I sez, D'you think that any woman in her right mind would marry a bullet headed, leather skinned, bewhisker- ed, ole snake like you? Beauty only runs skin deep, he replied as cool as a steak in a hot skillet, And 'sides any woman what gits married ain't in her right mind. After he had unlimbered himself of this philosopherical statement he says as though he was Andrew Vanderbilt order- ing a nickle's worth o' licorice candy, Now Jacky, I'm goin' to write to Marjorie VVhite, this bein' the lady's given name, by return mail, and, as I can't write and think at the same time, I'll talk an' you'1l write what I say. We arguefied pro and con, me takin' the stand that when he married I would have to go out and face the cold, cruel world alone an' he settin' down and sayin' that I could stay and be the servant or hired man or something like that. At last I give up, Phonnie always was setter on his ways 'n a balky mule. So we com- menced. He started talkin' an' I started writin': Sweetheart:-Bein more of orator 'n a writer I am doin' the talkin' an' Jackey, my pal, is doin' the stenographerini I am 42 years old. I wear whiskers what kin be shaved off, if need be. My health is ex- cellent an' I have 13 teeth. I hope you don't think 13 a unlucky number 'cause in my case it ain't. I smoke a clay pipe and chew B. L. cut plug an' gum when I take a notion, which is quite frequent. Now Deer, as you know all my past history and know that I am what I am and will be changed to nothin' else, will you let me git down on my knees to ye and say in a voice trembly with fear and emotion: 'Will you become Mrs. Alphonse Rosignal or in com- mon every day talk, Mrs. Phonnie?' I am your devoted admirer and sweet- heart, Alphonse Rosignal, otherwise Phon- nie. P, S.-If you don't git this letter within three days please write so that I can write another for I am waitin' in suspense. Alphonse alias Phonnie. Now writin' this here love letter was not so easy as it seems to you for We had to express it in our best English, and at the same time convey to her what we meantg but takin' it all in all it wa'nt so bad, bein' our first. For four days after this Phonnie was a regular bunch o' nerves. He went to the P. O. four times a day and stayed there 'most all night as the P. O. was also the General Store. On the P. M. of the fifth day he came steamin' up to me at the rate of about 30 miles per hour and at the same time, wavein' his hands an' singin' It's come, it's come, it's cbme, it's come, to the tune that a wood saw makes when it goes through birch wood. Well he finely calmed down enough to give me the letter

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10 THE PINNACLE But the scholars all had fled, While many murdered lessons, Rose up as from the dead. First came poor dog-eared'Latin, I wept as it passed by, Then up rose stale old Algebra, Those black letters caught my eye. Then troops of themes and Roman kings Dashed in with one frightful cry, I woke to find those books on my desk, Staring me- right in the eye. THELMA COOPER, '25. THE FIGHTING SPIRIT. It was in the winter of 1776. Wash- ton's army had received defeat after defeat and was now camped at Valley Forge. The soldiers were half clothed and half starved and many were leaving for home. Around a little campfire, a dozen of these patriots were seated, one cold day, when a tall, gaunt, young man rose and threw more of the old boards on the fire, then facing the gathering, said, with fire in his eyes, Boys, we will fight it out and show this tyrannous king what the patriots are made of. And so they did, with Elijah Randall doing his part. Our next scene is the third of the battle of Gettysburg, before the wonderful charge of Pickett with his confederates. In these lines was a young man who resembled his father, Elijah Randall, Sr., very much and who was fighting for what he thought to be right, the same as his father did before himg but he was fighting in a hopeless cause. George Randall, the fourth generation from the beginning of this story, travelled all the way to the little town of Shawmut and enrolled in Hilltop Academy, the old high school where all the Randalls for the last three generations had attended. Hill- top Academy had a gymnasium and sup- ported a fair basketball team, winning a little more than half of its games the year before. Young Randall had little diiiiculty in making a back position on the team his first year, since he stood six feet and weigh- ed around one hundred and sixty. They won about half of the scheduled games as usual, but did no starring. The next year Randall played center for Hilltop and his coach saw a great future for this young man and also for Hilltop. He developed speed and had a great eye for the basket, scoring more than two-thirds of the team's points for the Whole year. Dur- ing the entire season they lost only three games. But the marvelous thing about Randall that most people could not under- stand was that he could play better and fight harder for his team when defeat seemed certain than in an easily won game. This was the old fighting spirit of his grandfather and great-grandfather, that had counted so much among their fellow- men at Valley Forge and Pickett's charge. A great season was looked forward to in Randall's senior year and perhaps a cham- pionship for Hilltop. Randall went out for center as he had for the last two years and easily made his place, but after win- ning several games from some of their best teams, he seemed to lose his great ability andfighting spirit, and when two large able bodied, young basketball players came from the city, he slowly lost his place to one of them, by the name of Hilton, and took the place of sub-center. The team won all of its games and was to play against a city school, by the name of the Brownell Institute, for the state champion- ship. The date 'came and the boys journeyed to the city with Randall along as sub-center. The Hilltop boys had confidence, but were not used to the large fioor and were over- whelmed in the first half by a score of 22 to 8. Hilton did not seem to be doing his best for some reason, and when the second half was three minutes old, Hilltop's coach turned to look over his substitutes, and as he turned he met Randall just coming tow- ard him with a look in his eyes he had never seen before. With a pleading voice Randall said, Coach, put me in, I will do my best. The coach eyed him for a mo- ment and then remembering Randall the previous year said, All right, go in. Ran- dall pulled his sweater off and then called his men together and talked to them stern-