Oroville Union High School - Nugget Yearbook (Oroville, CA)

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and multiply. They might change their opinion then. She had a fine head for figures: the teacher at Maple Avenue School had told her and there was not a single boy or girl in the school who could beat her. She wondered breathlessly if she could beat them here. But she shrank at the boisterous, mocking laughter that greeted her outburst. It would be of no use to try. she thought; they would never believe any good of her: certainly, the curse of the race was upon her. “Well, anyway.” called out one small boy. “you may be able to read and write and ‘figger’ and you may belong to our school but you’re not going to take part in our Fourth of July celebration tomorrow, so you can get out till it’s over. It’s only for real Americans. and you’re no American you’re just a foreigner, and nothin’—nothin' but a heathen.” he concluded hatefully. Elizabeth’s eyes blazed again. “Ain’t—ain’t to be-a a heathen,” she cried. “I go-a to be-a a Hebrew Christian ; thats what.” Well, that means Jew. doesn’t it? and you can’t be a Jew and a Christian both, so you must be a heathen, and we don’t want any old heathens or for eigners either, in our patriotic procession, so there. Elizabeth still faced her mocking accusers undauntedly. “But the-a Christ-a himself.” she explained proudly, “was a Jew.” There was a horrified “Oh. followed by a strange sudden silence. That thought had never entered their heads before. It was true, what this child had said— the very Christ whom they worshipped was of the “despised race” and that the Jews were indeed his “chosen people.” They gasped, and, as they thought about the strange 23 thing, the school bell roused them with its clamor. Inside they had time only for lessons, but little Elizabeth. sitting in a lonely seat apart, had time to pull herself together again. Perhaps—and at the thought Elizabeth’s heart beat faster—perhaps she might even today have a chance to show them. America is a beautiful country after all—whether you are a Jew or a Christian, a Russian, or a pure American.” she reflected. Elizabeth’s mind wandered off into far fields, think-ing of great things, planning great things, but it jump-eel back to earth again when the teacher began a patriotic talk, because tomorrow’s Independence Day.” Elizabeth liked patriotic talks they’d had lots of them in Maple Avenue School, where they trieel to make you into good Americans. She loved the country and the flag that hael given them shelter. The teacher was carefully unfolding the silken folds of one ne w. The stars and stripes glimmered and shone in the sunlight. It was te be carried tomorrow at the head of the procession—their own dear flag. The teacher was telling them of its wonderful history and of the freedom and liberty it represented; of the heroes that had died for it and of the men and women it called to them to be. Hushed and awed, the children listened, especially when they were told of how it had been given to them by the (irand Army of the Republic, to revere, to cherish, and to keep ever before their eyes the idea'. for which it stood. Suddenly there rang out a strange clanging of .. gong. The children started to their feet. Eire drill!” they cried. But the teacher’s face was white, and the silken

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day that was. Alas, now she is dead and here I am an old man. half in the grave and talking of love. Alas, in those days I was a youth—now a man old and gray. “I remember the last time we were together, before she fell into her last long sleep. That day is quite clear before my mind. We sat out on the large wooden steps of the church and a great oak spread its branches over our heads. “I remember her funeral day; she was buried here, as had been her wish. “Time flies—things change. The old wooden steps on which we sat have been torn down to he replaced by more modern ones. Thirty-five years ago this was a sheep pasture. Now yonder country is a paradise of oranges and olives. Manufacturing has sprung up. railways have been built on a spot which yesterday was a strip of land. Many are the pioneers like me who have adorned these olive-silvered shores with stories, yet I. who have helped to make way for a civilization. must spend my last days in sorrow.” What a curious journey was our lot Again we drove across meadow land. The lights of the studio shone in the distance like those of pioneer days. All might have seemed a dream but that our horse turned its head to the studio in the garden. Its windows' were all lighted and its hospitable doors thrown widely open. WANDA WILSON. ’18. ' TRULY AMERICAN “Sheeny—just plain sheeny, that’s all she is,” scoffed the boys in the schoolyard, regarding the small stranger eontemptously. Elizabeth Kovinski faced them with the fervor of her Jewish blood and all the defiance her nine years could muster. “Ain’t, she asserted proudly. “I go-a to be-a Ameri-can : “Go-a to be-a; Ha. Ha. laughed the boys gleefully. It was not often they had such a fresh new victim to torment. “Why. you can’t even talk English.” Elizabeth’s eyes blazed. In her own dear school on Maple Avenue, she had been the best English scholar. How she loved that school—it was beautiful. How she wished her father had never left the village of Kingston to come to this lonely, cruel place. In Maple Avenue School, too, you weren’t Italians or “dagoes,” Jews or ‘sheenies”—you were just pure American. You loved the flag and you worked and studied hard to become American-like. There were no cruel soldiers there to ransack your home or to stab you with their knives. Rut there, in this small town where there were so few foreigners, the persecutions were really beginning all o er again. “But—but-a—I can to-a speak-a English.” The words came bursting out. fairly tumbling over themselves. “And-a—and—I can-a to read and writ-a and —and to count-a,” she concluded proudly. She just wished she could show those taunting boys, and girls in the background how quickly she could add 22

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flag in her hand fluttered, unheeded to the floor. She knew it was not a “fire drill.” Through the cloak-hall a tiny cloud of smoke was floating. The fire must he in there, or in the room below. ‘‘Quick, children.” she cried. “All stand. First row. march. Second; see how few minutes you’ll take to get out. Double quick time, now!” The children nearest the door had already disappeared. and in the hall below could be heard shrill childish voices and the rush of many feet. The teacher was still counting, urging them on. Left, right, left, right. Quick, quick. If you see smoke, don’t be afraid, children.” her voice called after them into the hall. Keep right on. Be brave.” Elizabeth Kovinski followed blindly with the rest, bewildered, amazed. She did not know yet what all the fuss was about, but she did know there was danger in the air and a sense of some coming disaster. Out into the open yard they marched. Fire! fire! the bigger ones shouted, and the panic grew. Down the street sounded the wild clang of fire wagons and the rush of galloping horses. 'Pile frantic teachers and still more frantic older pupils swept the little ones out of the line of danger, as the great red wagons and foaming horses dashed up outside. Wilded eyed, distracted parents came rushing from every direction, but the teachers reassured them. Every child was out they told them decidedly. Already a tongue of flame had appeared at one of the upper windows and a dense cloud of black smoke came rolling out from the lower ones. Elizabeth knew now what was the matter. Then she remembered. She saw again the flutter of the silken stars and stripes to the floor, the sudden rush from the room 74 and the teacher following closely. The flag; it must still be up there—on the floor—dishonored—neglected and forgotten. Through the crowd, Elizabeth darted without a moment’s hesitation—a little unnoticed figure in all the excitement. There was a door on the side farthest from that perilous flame. It was open and no smoke. The child darted through it and up the stairs. At the top. however, a smothering blast of smoke struck her. Rut Elizabeth was undaunted. “A trust.” the teacher had called the flag—“something to be taken care of- -with your life if need be.” The others had forgotten, so because she was a little American too. she must take the charge. The school on Maple Avenue had taught you other things besides reading, writing, and arithmetic, so Elizabeth knew that the safest place in a fire was near the floor. She dropped on her hands and knees— faster! faster! There-therc was the door. Was it the one? She stopped, bewildered. Yes. it must be the one. at any rate she would try. At the far end of the room was that dreaded red flame. Oh. how the smoke smothered—blinded—hurt her but The Trust?” W here was it? Could she ever find it? The smoke grew thicker and blacker but Elizabeth crept painfully on. Then suddenly the excited, watching crowd outside got another shock. At the upstairs window there appeared for a moment a small wild eyed, dark face, and a little blackened arm flung forth—to safety—a silken American Hag. A horrified cry went up as the face disappeared, but it was only for an instant. A big fireman appeared from behind, a ladder was run up and the