Euclid High School - Euclidian Yearbook (Euclid, OH)

Page 18 text:

THE BUZZER 1926 BLUE SEA ALBERTA LYoNs '26 When we first came to Blue-Sea, I was a little tyke, unusually impressionable after a spell of diphtheria, from which, they say, it takes a good year's time to recover. We settled in the midst of prominent Bohemians with such outrageous names as Sappho, Cappuch, Kryzanowski, and Schlenk. They all raised pickles. It seems to me that the sight of a pickle will always bring back the memory of long, low fields of that hardy, unlovely vegetable. The land. very mucky and dry, was fit only for the producing of pickles. just above the meadow, east of our great rambling house, lay the immense forest. There I used to wander by the hour, eating huckleberries, the largest I have ever seen. Father's busiest season came at that time, and because I was too weak to pick the cukes , as the darkies called them, I often sat in the swing playing the guitar for them. After a time I grew to be quite clever at twanging the strings and, according to the boys, we used to have some great old-fashioned melodies. The biggest of the colored men had an unusually sweet tenor voice. We never were tired of hearing him sing 'fSwing Low. Sweet Chariot. Now that I look back on those days, I realize how ludicrous it must have been for the chance-passer-by to see me-an ugly, tow-headed youngster-strumming on that old guitar, while Ulysses blended his quick, high notes with Brown's rough, deep ones. And one day, we had an addition to the pickle-farm in the shape of a tall, lanky darky named Jenkins. He was the most refined negro we had, very light in color. Mother always said there was something peculiar about his yellow-brown eyesga queer in- scrutable look in them. He constantly looked behind him. and was always ready to run at the slightest alarm. Great was our joy when we found that jenkins had a voice better than the average. A clear. melodious tone that used to melt into Down in Honolulu, where the drifting waters play, In Honolulu. We didn't care anything about jenkins' eyes, but Mother always worried about him. Every evening after supper we would gather on the porch, and make the darkies sing for us. Sometimes those days were insufferably hot, the dry, mucky earth fairly cracked with the intense heat. But oh-the evening! Cool sweet breezes would come wafting in like tall white ships from blue, blue waters. On the tenth of August about midnight, I lay in my little white bed, wondering how anyone could sleep on a night like that. Even the sky looked warm and sultry, while the moon sought refuge behind a cloud. I knew it would rain before morning. Slipping into my bathrobe, I crept softly down the stairs out into the open. A slight breeze had risen, and its gentle touch cooled my head wonderfully. It was then that I saw the Shadow, out by the cooling house. A long grotesque Hgure, flopping aimlessly in the breeze. Something told me who it was, but it seemed an hour before I could move toward it. Nearer and nearer I stole, my hands trembling violently, my whole body overcome with a feeling of nausea. I felt as if some weight were on my head, wearing my very soul down. There, staring at me, his black face swelled to twice its normal size, his lips purple and thick, hung the dead body of jenkins, swinging lightly in the windalike a rag doll. Dead: dead as a rock, as a stone-yet seeming so fearfully alive! Creeping back-if only I could overcome that dreadful feeling of nausea, that weight on my soul, the crushing shadows over me-Acreeping until that merciful darkness enveloped me, and I was conscious only of a great, glad splash of water on my cheek. Only the rain, coming in swift, clean torrents, could clear my mind of that vision. In my ignorant fancy I imagined the rain washing away the sight of that. As the days went by, I became stronger, normal again. The crushing experience had left me spent, wearyg and it seemed to me, old. Yet the time came when I could run again, laugh again. It is all like an unpleasant dream, now. But I have never played a guitar since that night nor even heard one, without hearing, also, a clear melodious voice softly singing, Underneath Hawaiian Skies, In Honolulu. I16l

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THE BUZZER 1926 SCHOOL ROSTER John Korencic - Easter Sanger - Laura Swartz - Florence Lindeman JUNIORS SponsoreeMiss Leamon Alberta Laufer Virgil Camm Hester Ensminger Margaret Fancourt Catherine M. Hall Ethel F. Harris Slava G. Kubic Henry Powers - Lee Pinney - Pauline Johns - Clara Hawk Edward E. LeBreton Doris E. Linman Catherine J. Moeller Thurlow A. Phypers Esther M. Pittman Margaret Ranellucci SOPHOMORES Sponsor-Miss Meyer Virginia Bargar Gertrude Beck Maurice H. Berg Jack Chapman Paul E. Clasen Ruth E. Davis Justin E. Foldessy Armand E. Foldessy Catherine Glassford Richard G. Gent Helen A. Gibbs Kenneth Spuhler Helen Lake - Virginia Fisher Carl J. Albrecht Victor C. CieChanski Arline Cline Archie H. Daniels Helen D. Delaney Robert DeTchon Gertrude Dubovicky Clair C. Eminger Stanley Fisher Virginia Fisher Stanley O. Fisher Harry L. Giles William F. Hall Louise Beck Willard C. Billheimer Thomas Caito Vincent Caito Edward D. Coltrin Robert H. Cook Naomi Green Joseph J. Grilc Russell N. Hanslik Henry Koll Helen Kracker Dawson Lung Emil Maulis Clarence M. Moeller Evelyn M. Owen Molly Recher FRESHMEN-A Sponsor4Mr. Bay Dorothy L. Hattendorf Elizabeth C. Heiss Margaret H. Helberg Dorothy L. Jaquays Clifton N. Kimball Spence O. Kline Katherine A. Kluever Richard Koss Julius O. Krihwan Gwendolyn LaFollette Lyle J. LaFollette Anna J. Maier William F. Martens FRESHMEN-B Lennart H. Erickson William Gorman Kenneth Green Wilfred Jaffray Charles Kulwinskas Brannie Kulwinskas Harold E. Musser l15l - President Vice-PreS1'd0r11 Secretary - Treasurer William E. Rogers Marvin F. Saefkow Bernard T. Telling Annette E. Walter Carl R. Wedler Orin L. Wadsworth - President VfL'L'-PfUSl'dFI7f - Secretary Treasurer Lucille C. ShaFfer Hilda S. Scheuring Neil R. Schroeder Arthur Simonelli Annabelle Stephan Edward G. Steinbrenner Mary Stirner Rocco Vinciquerra Jack F. Wedler Margaret M. Zelinske Bernard X. Sadosky President Vice-President tary- Treasurer Grace Oetjen Gust Pontoni Wm. E. Pennington Louis Petti Lenard X. Sodosky Roy G. Simmons Lilian Somnitz Elmer E. Springer Joe Sintic Rudolph Tecancic Steve Trebec Charles Wanstall John F. Widmer Pauline M. Peskar William M. Ranellucci Ruth Rinzler Doris Simmons Rose Soika Myrtle M. Yahrus

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THE BUZZER 1926 THE STRUGGLE ON THE TUNDRA ROBERT SMITH '26 Three men toiled through the powdery snow of a windswept tundra, a thousand miles north of Fort Dupre. The men in the rear stumbled along, falling often. Across their eyes lay a blood red film, which to men of the snow-country spells snow blindness. Encircling the waist of the leader was a rope to which the others clung. The faces of all three were grotesque in the black masks which their frozen breath had formed. No sound except the labored breathing of the men disturbed the intense quiet of the arctic night. Occasionally the sharp crack of a tree, split asunder by the terrific cold, broke the silence from the dark line of trees that marked the edge of the tundra. Trapping had been good that fall and the men had lingered at their lines until imminent failure of their provisions had forced them to pack and leave for the little post two hundred miles south. Their departure had been delayed too long, for about noon of the second day the mercury began to fall rapidly. By evening they were overtaken by a raging blizzard. The storm had lasted three days, during which time traveling was impossible. In their more or less snug shelter of a clump of scrub pine the men had watched with growing concern the rapid diminish- ing of their foodstuff. Toward the evening of the third day the storm had abated, accompanied by a further drop in temperature. The next morning had dawned clear and intensely cold. Then had followed a struggle across the tundra toward the line of timber just visible across the dazzling open. When night came, they were almost within the shelter of the timber. But the damage had been done. Two of the number were stone blind from the glare that had beaten itself on their unprotected eyes all day. As the three trappers sat huddled around the fire in the edge of the timber, two stared sightlessly into the leaping flames while the face of the third showed signs of an intense inward struggle. He looked from his comrades to the meager stack of supplies. Little more than half the distance to the post had been covered, the provisions were almost gone, his comrades were helpless. Without them he could easily reach the post and home. Where did his duty lie? With his family or his helpless friends? Then he thought of Marie, her raven hair, her rosy cheeks. I-le remembered how she had looked when he had last seen her, standing in the doorway of the cabin holding little Pierre up so he could see daddy before a bend in the trail hid him from view. A determined look settled on the trapper's face. Rising quietly, he moved rapidly over to the supplies and began to pack them into a small bundle, Then an ugly thought entered his mind. Would Nlarie welcome him under the circum- stances? He remembered how she had admired his fair play in rough and ready bouts with fellow trappers. Slowly, with bowed head, he resumed his seat. Three days later the factor at the post saw three gaunt, starved-looking men stumble down the trail. In the eyes of two of the men he saw the ravages of snow- blindness. In the eyes of the third he discerned a light that he was at a loss to understand. l17l