Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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And thus my father came to America, was met at the dock by the Con- sul, and taken to his cousins' home. As he did not want to return to Vienna, he lived on with them as their son, for they had no children of their own. Tutored until he was sixteen, he was then ready for college. But Edward did not care to go, and when he found out that he was expected to, he decided to run away. Early in the summer of 1897, if yoir had been loitering near his cousins' home, you would have seen a boy quietly open the door, look to right and left, and scurry quickly down the street. And although he cor- responded with his cousins, he never saw them again. He now set out to do what he had always wanted to--travel. He worked at odd jobs for a year or so all over the United States. While in the South, he received a letter one day from his elder brother whose wife had a sister in New York. In the letter was a picture of the young lady, with whom Edward at once fell in love. Immediately he journeyed to New York, met my mother, and two years later they were married. CHAPTER III FRIENDS ALONG THE WAY I-School-mates. Hattie was her name. She sat in the same double seat with me, and she had braids. Small affairs, but tied with ribbons behind each earg and her little head was correctly bisected by the parting from nape to crown. After sitting with me one whole day, Hattie took me aside and whispered: Who's your most 'nintimate friend? I had no idea what kind of friend that was. Haven't you got one? queried Hattie. I shook my head. Let's us be 'nintimate friends! suggested Hattie, and I, though small in knowledge was large in faith, and willing to be anintimate friends of hers This meant we were to walk about the school yard at recess with arms tightly clasped, and to be everlasting confidantes and examples to each other. II-Old John the Coachman A slight figure, a furrowed face, kindly brown eyes twinkling, that was old John the Coachmanf, He drove the little children to and from Sunday School in a wagon drawn by two brown horses. Td some whom he fancied, he gave the privilege of sitting on top with him, all the way home. He liked my sister and me, and often let us ride there when the weather permitted. Sometimes he allowed us to hold the reins, fwhen almost all the other children had reached their respective doorsj. For even though he passed and repassed our home a dozen times, he always kept us till the very last. More often than not, old John had some small surprise for us,-a bar of chocolate, a book, a little box of candy. One Sunday it was some balloons, and at the end of the trip, longer than usual because of heavy at- Page Seventy-eight

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THIS BIOGRAPHIC AGE Or Life as It Might Have Been A model biography such as any girl might write fwith the and of a, dozen class-mates collaborating, each with her respective pet anecdote, joyous or sad, long or short, but all authentwcj CHAPTER I UP FROM THE CRADLE N November 25, 1914, a great misfortune occurred in the Berger family. It was Thanksgiving Day and there was no turkey. Indignant and outraged, my brothers demanded the why and wherefore. From a reliable source they learned that in lieu of the gobbler a little sister had arrived. How disappointed they must have been at the substitution! It was, however, the only sister they had, hence their supreme sacrifice of the dayg to do without turkey. Only two things differentiated my infant days from those of a thousand others. One was Mrs. Flynn, an old Irish-woman hired to perambulate me every afternoon. Alone, she talked a great deal of baby talk to meg with the result that my baby speech was decidely Irish in flavor. The other phenomenon was an adventure in learning to walk. When I was eighteen months old, Mrs. F. one day brought me in from a promenade and absent-mindedly set me down while she removed her hat. On my feet indeed, I gave a joyful shout and proceeded to display a hitherto-unsuspected ability. I ran straight from one end of the room to the other, with a sur- prised and laughing family at my heels. Viola! And so avoiding the crawl- ing, tumbling age, I learned to walk. CHAPTER II BACK TO FATHER-fthere usually is onej A distraught father rushed into the American Consul in Vienna. He was destined to be my grandfather. It was not this however which accounted for his frenzy. My son! He has been kidnapped! Stolen! Oh, you must find him! When sufficiently quieted, he told the Consul he was Herzig of Vienna, at which they all looked upon him with more respect. His younger son had been kidnapped by his tutor and taken to America. An alarm was immediately sent out, and a letter dispatched to the Consul in New York, with instructions to search for a black-bearded man, five feet seven inches tall, and a boy of ten, Edward Herzig, brown-haired, four feet tall, and wearing a black velvet suit and a sailor hat. Another letter went to some cousins in New York, who were to take care of the boy, should be be found there. Page Seventy-:com

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tendance that day, a hurried exclamation: Sorry, kiddies, but you'll have to walk from the stable, I have a funeral on at one o'clock, and it's now half-past twelve. Plainly we said that we didn't care for walking home, whereupon John agreed to take us home in a funeral coach. When mother, anxious because we had not yet arrived, looked out of the window, she beheld her two children proudly stepping out of a funeral coach, each with a balloon in one hand and a candy box in the other. Old John no longer drives the children, a large motor bus takes them to and from Sunday School. And what has become of the old friendly coachman, no one knows. CHAPTER IV SPORTS AND THIS AND THAT The rain was pouring down in sheets, splashing as it struck the ground. Two children, engulfed in heavy black raincoats, rubber boots and rain hats trudged slowly up Murray Hill, Flushing. Their short arms were filled with bundles, dripping wet where they were exposed to the rain. Half way up the hill, one of the paper bags in the younger child's arms went rolling into the mud, spilling a dozen breakfast rolls into all available puddles. Nevertheless, the children bent over, picked up the rolls, stuffed them into pockets, and proceeded slowly homeward. I was that younger child, aged four, and learning that minute what a disgusted expression on my brother's face could convey as to the uselessness of a girl- I also remember with great distinctness the day when brother decided to make a tennis court. Yards and yards of string he collected, and instead of white paint, used this to plan out the court. We tried it out. All went well until, chasing the ball, I tripped over the string and pulled the whole court apart. Then, from brother, a long and wordy speech about girls. But to get on to the sport of sports, horseback-riding. When a very small child, I was given my first merry-go-round trip on a gaily prancing horse. From that day I loved horses, until years later I was allowed to throw a leg over the saddle of a real horse. In that first riding-lesson went my aunt's shining black boots and jockey cap, my brother's shirt and tie, my sister's gloves, my own treasured breeches, and the help of all the family combined. I knew all about the correct way to mount, and was prepared to surprise all with this superior knowledge of horsemanship. Unfortunately, as the animal was very tall, I had to submit to standing on the kitchen chair while mother held the stirrup and my aunt the bridle. From this undignified perch I awkardly threw a leg over the restless, dancing horse. No sooner was I nicely settled than I discovered myself on backwards. The horse and I went for a ride in op- posite directions. As this would never do, and one of us would eventually give in, I wasted no time in argument, but quickly slid down to the kitchen chair. The next attempt was more successful, except that the horse, becom- ing bored, walked off and left me posed precariously with one leg in the air. Page S eventy-nine