Lawrence High School - Lawrencian Yearbook (Cedarhurst, NY)

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THE LAWRENCIAN 7 A CASE OF FACTS by S. A. PEYSER It all happened in a German coal mining town in Pennsylvania during a strike. Alvin Blennerman, ring leader, had been murdered. Hermann Schmidt, owner of the mine, had been at the scene of the murder when it happened. Because Schmidt had been ruined by the strike, it was understood he had a plausible motive for the murder. The clerk droned the record of the case: “Alvin Blennerman murdered, March 2, 1922. Hermann Schmidt held. Sole witness, Leo Trachman.” The district attorney announced loudly, “Hermann Schmidt take the stand.' Schmidt was sworn in, and immediately the questioning began. “What is your name?” began the district attorney. “Hermann Schmidt.” “Are you married?” “Yes,” he said in a broken voice. He seemed to reflect. His happy family without a breadwinner. What would happen when he was taken away to prison or—to death. “Where were you at the time of the murder?” “I vass in der court house seeking an inchunction to stop der strike.” “I suppose you realize that the scene of murder was the court.” “Yes.” “You knew Blennerman?” “Certainly, he vass my foreman.” “You liked him?” “After der beginning of der strike I hated him.” “Did you—kill him?” There was a hush. The poor fellow! His world had crashed. He looked miserable. Still, there was only one witness against him, and he still had a little hope. The defense attorney almost protested against the nature of the question. As his assistant I wondered why he did not protest. I nudged him. He did not answer. He seemed to have a flick up his sleeve. At last Schmidt answered the question. He replied, with an effort, “No.” “You may step down. Leo Trachman take the stand.” This was the sole witness. He was a short, stout man with a solemn air of knowing all the facts, which was increased by the old German institution known as the “soup-strainer,” a huge walrus mustache. The clerk swore him in and he took the stand. The spectators in the little court began to whistle and cat-call because they knew and disliked the miner. He became livid. The judge rapped for order, and the court became quiet. The attorney for the defense began cross-examination. “What is your name?”

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6 ;THE LAWREN CIAN Crash! The next thing he knew he was in the icy cold water, vainly endeavoring to keep his head above the tumultous sea. His boat was no longer visible. Spying a large object, floating twenty or thirty yards away, he struck out for it, fighting every inch of the way. Finally he reached it, and found that he was clinging to a large crate. A sort of packing case. The type that furniture is shipped in...........The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. Good God! Could this be the case that .......Frantically he sought the side on which the address should be painted. With a superhuman heave, he managed to turn the case on its side. There, barely discernable, was the printed legion—Mr. O. Joriig, . . . .Pitea. . . .Sweden. With a loud cry, unheard above the roar of the sea, he flung himself across the crate. His hand found a gaping hole, caused no doubt, by his boat’s crashing into it. Hooking his arm through it he essayed to hold on till aid should arrive. With every succeeding wave, the case sank lower and lower. Furiously he tried to remove his arm before it was too late. He couldn’t budge it! It was caught on the edge of the jagged hole. This was the end. He knew it. After all his planning, he was being dragged down by the very two people he had risked everything to rid himself of. The laugh that escaped from his blue lips was mirthless. He might have known that they’d come back some day to wreak full vengeance on him. What a fool he had been. The case gave a final lurch and sank beneath the waves. For several moments Peterson struggled madly. He had heard that drowning persons were wont to see important episodes of their lives pass before their very eyes. At the time, he had been inclined to sneer at such tales. Now he was having the grim proof unwillingly thurst on him. Sweden. . .home. . . the village priest giving him Communion. . . .his first boyhood sweetheart . . . America. . .Elsa. . .his unhappy marriage. . .and. . .and. . . .those faces. Elsa’s look of terrified surprise, and Greta’s mocking laugh. Well, he’d shown them. A strange picture flashed on the retna of his mind. A large three masted schooner going down to its watery grave. A courageous figure paced the flooded bridge. It took the last plunge. All that remained to show where a ship had once been, were numerous large packing cases, bobbing up and down in the swell. One in particular seemed to have a definite object in view. It was coming toward him. Look out! Too late. Far off in the distance it seemed that Elsa was calling in her grating voice. “Sven, cut some wood. Sven, fetch a bucket of water.............Yes, he’d cut the wood and fetch the water, but he was so tired. He’d lie down on this grassy slope and take a short nap, then tend to Elsa’s wants. He was so tired. . .So. . .ti. . .r. . .ed. . . When the gale had subsided. Father Osborne gathered the villagers, and went down to the shore. There he pronounced requiem mass for those lost in the storm. The name of Sven Peterson led the list. As a final tribute, flowers were tossed into the sea. The friendly, treacherous sea. The sea that took justice into its own hands. The sea that never told any tales.

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8 •THE LAWRENCIAN “Leo Trachman. “Are you married?0 “No.” “Were you a striker? “Yes, I vass.” “Did you know the murdered man? “Yes. “Was he a friend of yours? “Yes, he vass. “Where were you when the murder was committed? “A block avay. Talking to a friend. “Why is it the friend did not see the crime? “His back was turned. “What did you see. A thrill of expectation ran through the courtroom. “I saw Schmidt come oudt of der courthouse. He saw Blennerman, and shtabbed him three times. Der knife was aboudt 8 inches long, like one dot is used to skin a rabbit. Der handle vass decorated with carving. I saw Schmidt with a knife like dot many times. The Attorney for Defense suddenly pointed to the big clock on the opposite wall of the small courtroom and shouted, “What time is it? Quick! The little fat Dutchman stared vaguely at the other wall and mumbled huskily, haltingly, “Vere—is—der—clock? There was a sepulchral silence. Then a roar of laughter. The judge said sternly, “Case dismissed. We will hold the witness on criminal charges. ---------o-------- Some Other Time Dear by W. E. DONOVAN Marion Mitchell, although but nine years of age, had all the hopes in the world of soon becoming a fully capable housewife. One morning she came running down the stairs to the front door where she came upon her mother readjusting a stubborn lock of hair and powdering her nose. “Mother, she asked. “Where are you going? “Out, answered her mother abrptly. “But Mother, dear, you know you promised me you would teach me how to bake a cake today. “I know Marion, but I simply must attend this social meeting if I’m to retain my reputation. “Oh, but Mother, answered the disappointed child, “When will you teach me how? “Some other time dear, some other time. Marion fitchited, “That’s all I ever hear, she mumbled, but her mother’s unheeding ear brought no answer to her remark. The door shut with a “bang and her mother was gone. Marion, with tears in her eyes, turned and started for the back yard