Hanover High School - Hanoverian Yearbook (Hanover, MA)

Page 17 text:

THE HANOVERIAN 15 fly. Jake paid little attention to the bird until suddenly the words recurred in his mind: I shall not live in vain. Rescuing a bird is a trivial thing, but Jake hadn't performed a kind or gentle deed as long as he could remember. This first humane act of his was an unpremedi- tated one: he stepped off the curb into the street and stooped to grasp the bird from the path of an oncoming motorist who wouldn't have seen the fluttering bit of life lying in the snow. Neither did the motorist see Jake. In a moment it had happened. The crumpled body of the old man lay in a pitiful heap in the street, in one hand was clutched the living bird. Spectators, all strangers, stood with reverence and awe as old Jake feebly whispered, I shall not live in vain ! LEONA OTT '37 ,lust An Old Black Wallet Old Mr. Goppy had trudged back and forth along Main Street every day, every week, every month for the last fifteen yearsg yet nothing exciting had ever hap- pened to him. He was an old man of seventy-two, whom everybody called Gramp. He was employed by the Sing Toy's Laundry Shoppe as a sandwich man. Th-e boards which he carried were large and read thus: Match Your Coats and Pants at Sing Toy's Laundry Shoppe 13 Main Street, Parksville, Hansburgf' The boards swung back and forth like the pendulum of a clock in perfect time to Gramp's slow, monotonous rhythm. It was a rainy, wet day and Gramp was very tired. His feet and legs were cramped, and his old shoes were so thin that he had to stop in the drug-store every two hours and put new cardboard in them. If I only could get some extra money I'd buy a million pairs of shoes! said Gramp as he approached Mike, the street- cleaner. Good-day, greeted Mike. It's pretty wet weather for you to be outdoors. Don't you know you've got to watch out for your- self ? Oh, I'm feelin' fine, said Gramp. How are the wife and . . . Say, is that a wallet? It sure looks like one to me, replied Mike picking it up from the gutter. He looked carefully through it and finding nothing, handed it to Gramp saying, You can keep your handkerchief in it anyway. Much discouraged Gramp walked to the laundry, left his signs, and wandered home toward the hot supper which Ma had prob- ably already prepared for him. After walking six blocks he turned and saw a small, old cottage with Ma standing in the doorway all ready to hurry Gramp into the warm cozy house. He said very little, and Ma knew it was best not to say anything while Gramp was in this mood. Silence reigned throughout supper and then after Gramp was all seated in his old armchair he said, Found somethin' today, but wasn't worth anythin'. Here it is. He handed the wallet to Ma. She looked at it from every angle and finally said, I guess you're right, Pa. There isn't a thing in it. But wait, what's this small lump underneath this leather flap ? She grabbed her sewing basket and cut the leather with her little gold scissors. Something fell from the wallet to the floor. What could it be? Was it money or was it a stone which had become caught under the Hap? Something dropped out, Pa, but where did it go? Gramp said, What's that under the table? You'll have to bend over 'cause my back's hurtin' me somethin' terrible to- day. Ma stooped and rose with a look of sur- prise on her face. She said, It's somethin' all done up in paper. Well, unwrap it. What are you waiting for ? shouted Gramp. Each one with nervous, shaky fingers

Page 16 text:

14 THE HANOVERIAN Warm shelter, for he was rapidly becoming insensible from the biting cold, as the wind seemed to whip his breath from him, he stumbled with dragging steps toward a great door. A reluctantly grateful sigh then escaped as the spent man dropped unobserved into an inconspicuous pew to enjoy the warmth and comfort of the spacious room. Suddenly his dull brain became alert as a strong, kindly voice recited the words of John Oxenham: To every man there openeth a way, and ways, and a way, The high soul climbs the high way, And the low soul gropes the low. In between on the misty flats The rest drift to and fro. . . . and every man decideth the way his soul shall go. Only then did Jake understand that he had entered a service of worship: he, an uneducated, homeless unscrupulous fellow who had been raised in the slums, associ- ated with the lowest of companions, shared in their often criminal spoils. Once he had scoffed at one of his cronies for speaking of church, now he himself was actually in one, but, of course, only to warm his frozen self. Yet those words Every man decideth the Way his soul shall go, had fixed themselves in Jakeis mind. 'What way is my soul going ? he asked inwardly and then quickly answered, Straight down. Why, I've been cheating ever since I was a kid - stealing my food, my clothing, money or a bed. But I couldn't help it, I had to live. Thinking over his past existence and present strug- gle, Jake knew he had led a wicked life. He and his pals had been taught by neces- sity to steal what they wanted, cruelty, hatred and selfishness ruled in his world because of its hardships. Quite naturally the old man was filled with contempt for the people who always had the things they desired: money, food, clothing, education, a bed and shelter. Yes, they could sit snugly in church and listen to raving like that he had just heard: Every man decideth the way his soul shall go -pure bunk! His way was decided long before he had anything to say about it. He didn't ask to be born in the slums. Anger began to swell rapidly within him. The sermon had by this time progressed to another phase of making one's life worthwhile. As the minister quoted from Emily Dickinson, Jake could stand it no longer. Rising from the pew he heard the words: If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. The enraged man hastened to leave the church. If I can ease one life the aching Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Into his nest again, I shall not live in vain! Jake heard the final line ringing through the silent church and, as he stepped out into the snow, it reechoed in his whirling mind.-- I shall not live in vain. Directly opposite the church stood a wooden bench. Toward this Jake made his way and in spite of the terrible cold, he sat down to think. Gradually his anger subsided and he meditated more calmly upon the service. Every man decideth the way his should shall go. With decis- ive movements the old man retraced his steps to the church, reentered, and dropped two pieces of silver into a box. It was all the money he possessed and that which he had taken from a man's pocket that very day. He had intended to buy a night's lodging with it but now it was gleaming at him from the depths of the mission box. Half angry at his own weak- ness but with no sign of regret Jake again left the warm church. While he walked slowly down the street he noticed a little bird, blinded by the snow, flying toward the building. With a swift impact against the wall the tiny creature fell to the street and weakly fiut- tered its wings in a desperate attempt to

Page 18 text:

16 THE HANOVERIAN fumbled to open it. Finally they both shouted at once, A diamond! Ma exclaimed, Where in the world did it come from, Pa ? How should I know. But, look there's somethin' written on the paper that it was wrapped in. It says, 'To the person who finds this: may good luck always be with himf Well, I'll be horn-swaggledf' Ma was so excited that she fainted dead away, but Gramp just sat down in his chair like a flabbergasted, old fool. PRISCILLA RHODES '38 O11 Wi'iti11g An Essay Your assignment for Monday is to write an informal essay. The age-old words ring coldly out over the class-room of blank faces. Well, I think to myself cheerfully, I'll have all the week-end to think up some subject to write on, and with that I dismiss the subject for Friday. On Saturday ,the thought passes vaguely through my mind that I have an essay due on Monday, but I am enjoying the game of ping-pong so much that, I have plenty of time to think about that. My brain will fire later, I say to myself and dismiss the subject for Saturday. On Sunday morning the sun shines brightly in at my open window. In fact it shines squarely into my eyes and rouses me from sleep sufliciently ,to make me nestle down comfortably under the bed covers, out of the aim of its bright beams and half-think, in that detached, drowsy way, of my English essay. It is very sat- isfying to think of the essay in this way, and I only wish I could continue to think of it in this light, but as the morning wears on and consciousness and wakeful- ness come to my brain, the essay, like a haunting shadow also creeps into my cranium. Well, I have to write it today I suppose, my mind says. I take my time about getting up and finally about eleven o'clock in the morning I am ready to start my studying. I'll leave the essay till last, I encourage myself, genius will be ready to burn then. I finish all my other studies about half an hour before dinner time. Oh, I'll eat first and then write the essay, food and a little rest will be good for my brain, I argue with myself. At half-past two I sit down again in front of my blank paper, and I start chewing my pencil anew. I chew until half past three with only the result that my pencil is much the worse for wear. I take another pencil. I can't sit here all afternoon, I decide. The result of this brilliant thought is my ask- ing the family for suggestions of topics to write on. Everyone has a suggestion but none of them seem to strike a spark in my dull gray-matter. I turn next to the help- ful guidance of books. All the yearbooks in the house are pulled from their obscure resting places and the protecting blanket of dust which covers them is blown off onto the innocent desk. From half-past three to half-past four I spend a delight- half-past four this source of amusement is exhausted, and then some of the members of my family have decided to take a ride, so I leave the numerous year books strewn over the desk and get my coat on. The fresh air will fan the flame of genius, I judiciously decide. But suddenly I change my mind, No, I believe I won't go for a ride, I think I'll stay at home and try to git that essay written so that I can enjoy myself this evening with a free mind, I ful hour looking at my sistersfand broth- ers' old class-mates and having the merits of each explained carefully to me. But by announce to my astonished family. The car goes out of the yard and I throw my- self into a chair with paper and pencil in my hand, determined to write something, anything as long as I write words and sen- tences. My sister has a few more sug- gestions which set the wheels of my brain rolling down the right track. The engine back-fires at last, I have it ! I shout tri- umphantly, I'll write an essay on the tor- ments of writing an essayf' 'And this is the result. My mind is relieved. BETTY HALL '37