Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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JUNE,g1926g g g M 9 Bull Fighting A True Story By SYDNEY GADOW experience in bull fighting This at tempt took place in a little Wisconsin town, Medford, and engendered in my heart a lasting hatred and an imperish- able contempt for bulls. Lorenzo-his real name is Fritz and he is as German as Limburger, but We simply must have our bull-fighting atmosphere- Lorenzo and I had to go to the stockyards and lead a bull back home. The stockyards were three miles away and lay on the oppo- site side of town. We bought a ring for the bull at a local store, and swaggered along, we two innocent toreadors, to the stock- yards. There we found the bull. He was a Holstein-I hate that breed-had a pedi- gree a mile long, and was, all in all, a beau- tiful animal-to look at. Lorenzo called to the attendant and the three of us attempted to make friends with the bull. The bull was singularly self-cen- tered. We drew lots to see who should put the ring in the bull's nose. I drew the longer straw and, believe me, I felt like a lamb being led to the sacrifice. In the ortho- dox Spanish bull-fight there are gentlemen called banderilleros whose job it is to stick eight little spears about three feet long, into the bull's neck. I was banderillero but alasl I had only the one little sharp-pronged ring. I stepped into the corral,-pardon me, the bull ring-and warily approached the ani- mal. In a few simple, expressive, American phrases, Lorenzo told me I was crazy. I halted. I The relief-torreros, Lorenzo and the stock- yard's man, each took a rope, tied them in running nooses, and slipped them over the animal's head. I went forward, with a pair of weak knees, a palpitating heart, and a heaving chest, also the aforementioned ring. The bull, with a diabolical look of cunning awaited me. Unused to this sort of petting party he made a lunge at me. The torreros tightened the ropes: I went nearer, the ring was open, I forced it into his nose. The blood spurted, the bull gave a mighty lurch, I flew to the top of the fence, the bull was free. A SHALL attempt to tell of my' first Lorenzo yelled, I laughed shakily, the pop-eyed bull leaned half-strangled, against the fence, and that part of the bull-fight was over. Where were the Bravos the Vivo el torreros that should have rung in my ears? Was that all there was to it? I should say not! We had to lead the darned animal home. I saw to it that Lorenzo led him, for I thought I had done my share. I found out what the term bull-headed means. The bull's nose was sore, he was angry, he was stubborn, he didn't want to walk- he didn't walk. We tried everything. Switches, beatings, cajoling had no effect. Finally the attend- ant hit upon the brilliant idea of twisting the animal's tail. A bellow and the creature was off. A half a block and he stopped dead. Baleful were the looks cast from wicked, black eyes, sulphurous the snorts from his nose, diabolic, no doubt, his inmost thoughts. Another twist and another half a block! The people on the streets stopped, turned, stared, laughed, and called at us. The spurts grew shorter, the stops longer, the twists more frequent. The sun sank lower in the sky, our hearts grew heavier, my wrist ached, for it was I who had to twist the tail. We trotted, stopped, panted, gasped, hop- ed, despaired, and swore alternately, consec- utively, and indiscriminately. We went through town, a matter of six or eight blocks: through the most deserted district we crossed the river, Fl Rio Dolor. I now had to twist the bull's tail two or three times. Finally he stopped. I twisted the tail four times. At each twist my contempt for bulls grew. The fifth time I gave so mighty a twist that the bull rolled over on his back. A vast relief surged through my soul. The thing had broken its neck. I planted my foot upon the palpitating mass. 'AEI es muertoI I shrieked joyfully. A passing man gave the quivering carcass an experi- mental kick, The chunk of beef slowly be- gan to rise. My troubles began again. The children were coming from the schools.

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8 THE H M - JUNE,gi926 The forest--the trees were strangely tall -their twisted, knotted arms and fingers seemed writhing in the 'frosted air. How weird and different everything looked and how faint was the path! Where was the path? In the forest it had disappeared. The snow had made huge drifts against the trees. No one used the path through the forest except occasional hunters and trappers, and since last night's heavy snow it had vanish- ed. For a moment Dmitri was at a loss, but hope came and he knew that all he must do was to go straight and soon he would be through these dark woods. The moon shed a pale, ghostly light through the trees and cast long, black shadows on the glittering snow. The air was clear and crisp and the moon high now. Dmitri was cold and hungry: his baby heart was a bit lonely, and his fingers and toes were strangely numb as were his ears and the tip of his nose. His cheeks stung, but not once did courage fail him, The lights of his village seemed always before him, just a short way to go now. What a lonely, wailing sound the wind made through the trees! Was it the wind? Strange that the wind could howl so- Dmitri won- dered if the wind was tired, too-surely not as tired as he was: his feet were so heavy and his eyes smarted so. The shadows were so black-so cold. The trees towered high above as though they would clutch the cold fire of the moon in their frosty fingers. How far away the stars were! Would he never see the lights of his village? But what is that dull'glow ahead? Surely not the vil- lage! Dmitri, with a fearing hope, ran for- ward. His weary, little legs tripped over a gnarled tree root and he fell, gasping, to the snowy ground, a few feet in front of the crimson embers of a trapper's fire. Warmth, -but what an effort it was to rise and go close to the glowing remnants of the lonely ire: that strange howling: it seemed closer now, Snow was beginning to fall, quietly and slowly. Dmitri drew very close to the warm, red embers and put out his stiff, lit- tle hands to the fading gleam. Warmth! The fires and lights of his village would be much warmer, but meanwhile how good it was to be here. The circle of black trees threw a dusky cloak across the dying em- bers, Far above the cold moon half cov- ered now by a cloud-it looked broken- had the trees, perhaps finally clutched a piece of it? Why didn't that weird howling cease? The stars were dimmed now by wisps of clouds like passing spirits. And the red embers were a long, thin plume of smoke like a pale column reaching far into the dark sky. The snow was falling faster now, big, soft crystals, soft and white like his bed. Per- haps they were white feathers for a bed! There, one big flake fell on his drooping eye- lid. Dmitri was too tired to brush it away. lt melted and lay like a huge tear on his cheek. The icy fingers of the cold stroked his face: his mother's touch was much warmer. That eerie howling seemed to come from the trees. Dmitri peered into their depths. Green and yellow fire seemed to peer back at him like eyes-two and two like eyes-eyes and the howling-not eyes but lights-the lights of his village. How warm everything was! Was that his cap slipping from his nodding head or was it his mother's hand caressing his cheek? He called one, Mother! A sigh answer- ered him and then the howling. He was so tired! The snow was soft and his eyelids were heavy. Sleep-sleep and there were the lights of the village, there in the dark. Or were they eyes? Sleep came-and with sleep a quiet smile on Dmitri's childish face. The fire faded and died, crushed by the black shadows of the trees. Only a long, thin column of white smoke drifted upwards through the snow-filled air. And the wind wailed and sobbed at the strange howling that filled the night-the night of Christmas. allied fv, P t

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H H 10 H E M W JUNE, 1926 Ooh, lookit, Barnum 'n Bailey's here. Lookit the bull Hghters! Hey mister, are you Spanish? What does carramba mean? Children, tens, hundreds, it seemed, came running. One of the little imps forced a red scarf into my hand. An idea! Lorenzo let go the rope tied to the bull's nose and I ran ahead. Planting myself in the middle of the road, fifteen feet ahead of the bull, I waved the scarlet challenge and in dulcet, cooing tones invited the bull to share a sultry eternity with Satan. The animal blinked, bellowed, came after the red scarf like an express train. I drop- ped the scarf and made for the nearest tree. The bull pawed the scarf in the dust, look- ed at us with a bored air, and stood still. Again I resumed my tail-twisting. In fif- teen minutes we had a laughing, jeering, hooting procession behind us. We passed a convent. Three nuns were coming out. Lorenzo immediately stopped proceedings. The nuns stopped, too. After answering satisfactorily their queries as to our bull-fighting proclivities, Lorenzo announced he was going to build a fire under the creature, The nuns laughed and moved on. I twisted the tail viciously, and Satan, as we had by this time so christened him, moved on also. As we were about to give up the ship and retire in disgust-also in partial dis-array- a neighbor hove in sight with a couple of horses and a wagon. Bravo! the picadorl A hurried consultation took place and the bull was tied on behind the wagon. The horses startedg the bull, with feet firmly planted was dragged behind, making deep, little furrows in the ground with his sharp hoofs. A half mile of this and the horses were tired. The sky had darkened and it had be- gun to rain. We angrily untied the animal- quite ungrateful for the tow-vitriolically surveyed him, then despairingly we tied him to a fence-post, three-quarters of a mile from home, feeling that if anyone could make the infernal mass of beef move he had earned three hundred dollars worth of concentrated obstinacy and pedigreed stubbornness. We also wondered why and especially how Noah succeeded in getting a bull into the ark. Sadly we returned home for supper. We were greeted by excited cries of What hap- pened? Did he run away? and the like. We preserved a stony, painful silence. Gloomily we ate: we donned raincoats, and with malevolent faces and Machievel- lian thoughts returned to our task. We untied him. I-Ie ran as though Satan himself were in pursuit. Up the road we sprinted, afraid that he might become dis- couraged or take a dislike to the pattern of the wagon ruts and stop. We arrived home more angry than ever. The bull stood in the front yard chewing grass complacently. A subtle guiding hand was placed on his lead strap. He walked airily to the barn and submitted to being tied. It was a tame end to a bull fight. A CONTENTMENT By WILLIAM BEISANG When the morning sun is breaking Where the eagle's nest is bare, And a weary world is waking To another day of care, When the robins sing in treetops, And the swallows start to soar, Let me linger in the orchard And I'll ask for nothing more. Let me linger in the orchard And contented there I'll lie, While the sun, the Prince of morning, Slowly rises in the sky. Let me step into the dreamland Where I've roamed in days of yore, Give me day dreams in the orchard And I'll ask for nothing more. When the evening sun is glowing In the far off Western skies, And I know the day is going As the moon begins to rise, When the crickets in the twilight Start in chanting by the score, Let me linger in the orchard And I'll ask for nothing more.