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

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life of the most beautiful girl in the world, who turns out to be a millionaires daughter? You marry the girl, of course, and you show her father what a marvelous financier his son-in-law is by saving him from bankruptcy, and inci- dentally, by making a million yourself on the stock-market. Yes, you would be the happiest man on earth if it were not only a day-dream. The reveries of parents are less egotistical. I guess Mother's from the expressions in her eyes and her casual commentsg no longer do they concern herself but her children. She dreams that her son will become famous in an honorable profession, the happiest of bridegrooms, and the best of fathers. Sometimes she grows confidential and tells me of her desires. This usually happens when either is ill, or when we sit in the glow of the grate fire before the lamps are lighted. Father's day-dreams have less sentiment, he hopes to be able to boast to other fathers about the material success of his son. I know very little of what occupies a poet's mind, for I am not a poet, nor have I ever met one face to face. But from what some poets write, I am sure that their day-dreams are much more rarelied and abstract than are those of the average person. I believe that to Milton, in day-dreaming of the sweetness of heaven. distant spheres were more real than thelearth itself. Yet, since the mind of a lover owns some characteristics with that of a poet, perhaps I, too, may sometime experience day-dreams in rarefied atmosphere. I needs must if Mothers are to be realized. And then? Then the cycle begins anew. INIARIO MELARAGNO. Seekers of Freedom Through the open window comes a chill evening breeze. Involuntarily, I shudder. A vague uneasiness assumes delinite form as visions of bleak Russia, the land of my fathers, crowd upon me. Vilkiui is a small village in Russia just outside of the great commercial city of Kovno. VVhen my family lived there, many of its inhabitants were Jewish peasants. Although between them and the Gentiles much friction existed, no serious outbreak had occurred for many years. Then one day late in fall the village was thrown into terror by the sudden cry of the Cossacks, the Cos- sacksf' Into the town dashed the brilliantly coated darlings of the Russian army, mounted on the finest horse-Hesh in the whole country. They ransacked the pitifully meager stores of the villagers, they pillaged the winter's supply of grain and potatoes. Then ensued a frightful pogrom. Throughout Vilkiui arose a mighty wail of anguish. The cruel scenes were sickening. As a Jewish mother begged for the silken tallas of her son, a huge coarse bearded fellow held it tauntingly just beyond her reach. When, goaded by despair, she leaped to seize it, he felled her with one blow fof his hairy fist. Mamma, Mamma, gasped her terror-stricken child, trying to raise her. But she was dead. A gray-bearded rabbi was brutally flayed because he refused to eat the pig which a scarlet- coated rutfian had set before him. Panic-stricken at such brutalities, the jews who could do so gathered their families and fied the village. With escape their only thought, the refugees cluttered the roads like sheepg they forgot that only those with passports might cross into the safety of Germany. Such was the exodus from Egypt thousands of years ago. Driven from place to place in their search for peace and freedom, braving new terrors to escape the ' Fifteen

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than it was possible to bury them, their bodies were thrown into the heat of the blazing sun for the vultures to feast upon. Driven by desperation, he managed at last to escape to New Orleans, but here an epidemic of the same pestilence was raging. Stricken with the malady his skin turned a Chinese yellow. Ex- citing were his experiences as a soldier in the Spanish-American War. During the last fifteen years he had lived alone in a little shack in this forest, earning a pittance by laboring in a coal mine. Then he talked of wood-craft and of his wild creature neighbors. He knew, too, where the arbutus trailed and where the wild grape vined. Tutored not in books but in nature, he sat there a part of the forest, and I hung on his words as did Paul on those of Gamaliel. When thickening shadows warned of the approach of evening, slowly we arose and returned down the soggy trail. Again we picked berries, this time close to the river. When his pail became full, he helped me with mine. Then both buckets brimming, he led the way to the surveyors' line-a big, broad trail cleared of underbrush, which passed straight as an arrow from the very bank of the river up the steep mountain side to the overgrown railroad. Up we went. It was like climbing a gigantic staircase, the immense rocks forming the steps. Leaving the abandoned railroad, we plunged into the silent pine forest, where he, in turn, followed me. In the blue mist of evening where the pine wood meets the young maple growth, the berry picker passed from my life as abruptly as he entered. But as I trudged on alone, I knew he had helped me glean something other than berries. ALBERT MARSHALL. . . Day-Dreams Varied are the day-dreams that stray in and out of the mind. Youth and age build their castles in the air from diverse designs. Day-dreaming is amusing and simplest in a child's life, but grows in complexity with maturity. Most irregular and abstract is that of the poet. About the only time that a child lets his mind slip off into deep thought is during school hours, because after school he puts his day-dreams into motion. With my head bent toward my book, I have often seen myself winning fifty, seventy-live or even a hundred marbles from the boy who habitually won my live or six, or beating him I detested most in a light with the whole school cheer- ing me. Many a time, after seeing a movie, I have pictured myself in the hero's place on a fleet horse capturing six bandits single-handed or in a long low car winning a big race. Often I imagine myself in Babe Ruth's shoes at bat with a home run needed to win the final world series game, in Colonel Lindbergh's, about to fly from New York to Parisg or in Bill Tilden's, with a championship match at hand. I thrill with the ecstasy of accomplishment and applause, and I am very famous as long as my day-dream lasts. But how many of most thrill- ing dreams have ended abruptly by unexpected questions from teachers--sworn enemies of day-dreams. ' As I grew into young manhood, my reveries became less concerned with pysical prowess and skill. In the visions of eighteen, pretty women and large sums of money play major parts. Have you ever dreamed of becoming an heir to some unknown relative's fortune? Have you ever fancied yourself saving the Fourteen

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old, onward travelled the heart-sick band of peasants, led by Ivan, a dispossessed land owner. Day was the only time for rest, for darkness was their cover. One gloomy night the tired little legs of Luba, youngest child of Ivan, refused to carry her further. Lagging behind, she stumbled and would have fallen had not the low hanging branches of a tree caught her dress. Fearful of being left behind, she called to her mother, but the latter did not hear her cry. Only the gray wolves of the steppe answered her wail with their long-drawn howls. Terror-stricken, shivering and exhausted, she sank to the ground, where merciful sleep shut out her desolate surroundings. Soon would have ended the trials of Luba had not God willed otherwise. Hirshke, her brother, discovered her absence and returned to seek her while the refugees huddled about a scant fire. Nearly falling over his small sister as she lay in the path, I-Iirshke wakened her and together they joined their apprehensive parents. Dawn was sending her first shafts of light into the darkness of night when Ivan and his band resumed their weary march. Past sleeping villages, nestled beneath the cold, silver moon, they trod. At Srerbernick they halted to snatch a bite and secure two hours of rest. After this brief respite, onward they plodded again. Exhausted from want of sleep and exposure, they staggered into the Welcome haven of Yurburg, a border town, only to find each small hut filled beyond capacity by the fleeing peasants. Finally, only the stable of a sympathetic Gentile remained. Creeping through the door, they found it, too, filled to overflowing. Revolting was the stench of human bodies mingled with the filthy odors of the stable. Wave after wave of foul air nauseated the Weary travellers as they struggled for berths among the disturbed, cursing peasants. When quiet again settled over the reeking stable, sleep soothed the soul-sick seekers of peace. The Hrst stars of night dimly lighted the foreboding sky as Ivan staggered forth to secure the services of Leo, who knew so well how to smuggle Russian peasants into Germany without passports. Arriving at Leols hovel, he offered him a portion of his precious hoard for the security of safe conduct into Germany. So had many others given their life's savings into the grasping, clutching talons of this vampire. Trafficker in lives though he was, yet he alone held the keys to freedom and a new life. Leo promised to aid Ivan and within the hour guided the little group toward the border. A suggestive tinkling as of rubles passed from Leo to the sentry on guard. joyful anticipation of freedom surged in the souls of the driven peasants. Then suddenly across the horizon moved the dark shadow of the patrol inspecting the posts. The leader discovered the fleeing peasants and sent volley after volley of shot in pursuit. Frantically Ivan collected his separated brood and returned to the proffered protection of Leols hay loft. Into this dank, miserable hole they climbed to await a more propitious moment. Again stealing forth on the following night under Leo's guidance, they safely passed the newly posted sentry, but not before Ivan had parted with more of his fast diminishing savings. After enduring hardships indescribable, they reached Hamburg, Germany, from which city they embarked for America, there at last to find the long sought peace and freedom. Shaking myself free from these disturbing reminiscences of Russia, I arise and close the window. shutting out the chill wind that aroused them. Then I burrow deeper into the cushions of my couch to dwell upon the pleasant reflec- tion of the opportunities America has given Ivan, my father. PEARL LEVITIN. Si.rIr'f1z f L., - -.., .n-f,,,................ mv,--, ....,..... .