George E Westinghouse High School - Sketch Book Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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LITERARY The Dolomite Alps I. The Dolomite Alps of Austria symbolize beauty and peace. XYars have waged around them, yet for centuries they have remained immutable. ln their secluded recesses nestle tiny villages, and into the souls of their unsophisticated inhabitants has poured the ennobling influence of exquisite natural scenery. The region about Molina is especially majestic in its tranquillity. Out from this village a dirt road runs for a short distance parallel to a snow-fed stream, then abruptly makes a right turn, and crosses it by an antiquated wooden bridge. Cn reaching the opposite shore, the way clings to the mountain- side and ascends to a park-like clearing. Here in summer. brilliantly colored wild flowers and rusty brown umbrella-shaped mushrooms break the monotony of the deep green grass. Continuing with a gentler incline, the dusty highway winds beneath white and yellow pines, which almost hide it from the rays of the sun. From high above, drifts the sing-song of lumber-men punctuated by the crash of falling trees. Among the boughs of the near-by eyergreens chirp golden mountain canaries. The rushing and gurgling of an irresponsible rill harmonize with the soft notes of a playful breeze. Rambling upward, the road passes a decrepit, but picturesque water-driven lumber-mill from which issues the buzz of saws cutting through bark-covered logs. The way becomes more precipitous and degenerates into a mere path as it climbs above the forest region and wriggles through scraggy underbrush to a grassy plateau. The bells of the many cattle grazing this lofty range peal forth pastoral notes of contentment. Higher up, hidden from the casual observer. lies one of the rare jewels of the mountainsw-a deep green lake, austere and cold, a tear of the gods, Above it, rugged peaks, seemingly immune from the ravages of time, point their fingers toward an azure sky. A cold brilliant sun transforms the perpetual snow on their summits into myriads of dazzling crystals. Such is the picture of the Eleven

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FEAR Fear is one of the strings of God's marionette show with which He controls the vital movements of His carthly puppets. It fondles success, it dominates life. It is the religion of the bushman, the battlecry of civilization, the shadow of the timid, and the strength of the brave. Like a clever sleuth it hides its reality in dis- may, horror, panic, dread, and reverence. N o one is aware of its presence as it lurks somewhere on our path until it seizes us for a moment. Then we ask our- selves, VVhy were we afraid P VV e were afraid not because we wanted to be but because we were unable to help ourselves. Perhaps it was because we had not been able to conquer our child- hood fears. For what small. child has not been frightened into obedience by a threat about that ill-famed bugaboo. Thus fear may have had an hereditary base, for parents unconciously pass down to their children many of their traits. This grip of childhood or hereditary fear can only be conquered by a strong will. Child- ren whose will has overcome these obstacles become our greatest leaders in science, medicine, and law while those children whose minds are not sufficiently strong to overcome these early fears prove to be an ideal resting place for the further devel- opment of fear. The successful succeed because they know and fear that if their goal is not reached and maintained they will become one of the struggling masses. The fail- ures fail because they are afraid that they do not have the caliber to stand competi- tion and come out ahead. The brave are brave because they fear that if they are not brave they will suffer from the pangs of fear. The timid are afraid to have any of these outlooks and only pray that their weakness will not be noticed. The successful and the brave have will and have subdued fear. The failures and timid have not the will to overcome fear. All men have fear, for the law of the universe is fear of God. If we follow this rule, then all other outgrowths of fear will take shape in direct proportion. Fear can always be tolerated except in cowards. Fear is mental, but when it be- comes physical it is a fatal disease. Will power is the most powerful enemy of fear. Each of us fights this battle in his own mind. lf will is victorious then fear is only a shadow, and if fear proves the superior then will is all but broken. In the hands of God the final de- cision rests. Fear Him and will will conquer. If will is the victor, then His string of fear becomes a cord of reverence, and His puppets receive renewed life. Ten

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Dolomite Alps as I like to remember them. For centuries the lake has been a favorite spot with the villagers, up this path has passed generation after generation, as stolid and placid as the mountains themselves. II. The World VVar threw the region about the Dolomite Alps into turmoil. Every C apo di C ouzmzme received orders to mobilize his men' within twenty-four hours. Molina seethed. People ran hither and thither in a daze as if unable to realize the full import of the news. Messengers were dispatched to summon the men from the lumber camps. In rapid succession came packing, last minute recommendations to grief-stricken wives and sweethearts, tears, embraces, good- byes. A continual tramp-tramp-tramp and the complaining of transport motors gave reality to what at first appeared a bad dream to the women and children left behind. For fifteen nights and days an unbroken column of men, horses, trucks, supplies, and ammunition passed through the village on their way to the frontier. Then a brief intermission. More troops. Another breathing spell. Several years passed. The Fighting drew nearer to this section. Cannons roared around it, sometimes during the day, sometimes in the middle of the night. Disabled soldiers returned to tell of the bitterness of war. The town was torn by dissension. Half favored the Germansg the other half the Italians, under whose rule it had once been. Gradually the Allies closed in on the slowly retreating German forces. Starv- ing Austria laid down her arms. The war was over. But it left in its wake devastation, sorrow. and death. III. It is true, the same road runs out from Molina and still makes a right turn where it crosses the murmuring stream over an antiquated wooden bridge, there to cling to the mountain-side and climb upward. But it no longer seems the same path that for centuries capriciously followed its own peculiar whims: now hiding from the sun under great trees, now appearing as a silvery ribbon among the green, now descending, now climbing. It has grown unkempt under the strain of sorrow and death and devastation. As it laboriously struggles upward, it passes great white gaps on the once tree-covered mountain-sides. The rill that has ever been its travelling companion hurries on as before, but some of the joy has departed from its message.. Even the canaries chirp a less care-free melody to the deep-rutted highway. Piles of debris and smoke-blackened boards strew the grass-worn plateau. Concrete cannon-bases and ammunition-tunnels deface the humbled peaks. Only the little lake, amid peat bogs, trenches, and barbed-wire barriers. because of its celestial birth, remains the same and defies the hand of war. Time will return beauty to the Dolomite Alps and heal the wounds of the villagers. But the scars will remain on both. The mountains have changed, and the people have changed. Their former tranquillity has departed forever. What price war! DAVID DE MARCHI. Twelve