Paris High School - Chronicle Yearbook (South Paris, ME)

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'THE CHRONICLE 27 in Greenwich. One Slip Kelly was a member of the above designated gro-up and was holing up at a place called Mortimer's . It was early morning when the mob got Kelly. Sanchez just going home and as he crossed the street the sound of pistol fire broke the mo-rning si- lence. Pancho found himself in the midst of a gun battle before he knew what had happen. Now Pancho is not too smart when it comes to situations such as he found himself in at that moment. He just stood as though fro- zen in his tracks. The gun battle con- tinued and Pancho stayed to watch. Suddenly a man sprang fro-m the door of Mortimer's . In his hand was a smoking gun and, as he ran out of the bar, a car came speeding into the square, presumably to pick up the fleeing gunman. He had not seen Pan- cho when he came from the building but now as he fled he almost ran him into the sidewalk. This is where the mystery that has fo-r sometime troubled me comes in. Pancho did not move, he said something to the gunman whereupon the gunman reached in his pocket and gave Pan- cho something, I guessed it was money, although I did not at that time find out. The question that has always confronted me whenever 1 think of this, is why didn't the gun- man shoot Pancho? Here was an eye witness who could put the finger on him any time, and he could have shot him just as easy with no one being the wiser. But so it goes and by some act of mercy Pancho was spared. It was a year later that Pancho went back to Mexico. I thought that that would be the last I would ever see of the little man but fate would not have it so. Last winter I was in Monterey. One evening as I wandered home to my hotel room, I chanced to pass through a section of the city known as the home of the cafes. This is a section of the city where the cafes are lined up on both sides of the street to great length. The soft flow of guitar music drifted from one of them and to me it sounded like that of the little Mexican whom I had known in Greenwich Village years be- fore. It was Pancho. He had not aged a bit and he still played the same soft kind of music. It was a little trouble for him to recognize me, however, as I had not been quite as well pre- served as had he. As soon as he re- membered who I was though, he could recall the details exaotly. Soon we were drinking and talking of old times, and it was then that the me- mories of his episode in the square was brought back to me. I did not kno-w whether to question him about it or to let it ride, because back in New York he had been very quiet about it, and never would answer questions concerning it. This I de- cided, would probably be the last time I would see Pancho, so I put the question to him. Pancho , I said after a while, Do you remember the night in the square when you were almost shot? He looked at me quizzically for a moment then turned back to his drink and said, Yes, Amigo, I remember, I remember quite well. Did you ever tell anyone how it was that you were not killed on that spot right then? I asked. Ah, no, my friend, for if I had it would have been in the papers and he would have come back and killed me. Because you saw him? I said. Yes, but it was mostly because he

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26 TH E CHRONICLE PANCI-lO S GIFT It was one of those parties where fifty would be a comfortable number a hundred and fifty showed up. Its purpose was to entertain but I could find nothing entertaining about bump- ing elbows and exchanging apologies with a hundred and forty-nine other people. It was then not by chance that I happened to stroll out to the veranda. It was by chance, however, that I heard a certain young woman of some social standing say to a young man of somewhat the same caliber, Who was the most interesting person you ever met? Although the question was not dir- ected at me, I immediately answered out loud, Pancho Sanchez . She gave nie a strange look for a moment then smiled and continued with her conver- sation. But the question had caught me quite off balance and it had seem- ed like the words just spurted out of me at the time. For truly Pancho San- chez was the most interesting and the most striking person I have ever met. Pancho had a talent-a very rare talent it was: that of saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. He was a genius in his own right and there was no taking it away from him. To watch him turn on his charm was like watching a work of art. He could do it whenever and to whomever he pleased. I first met Pancho Sanchez in a little cafe in Greenwich Village just after the war ended in 1945. He was supposed to be a Waiter but most of the time he would just sit in a booth at one end of the place and play his guitar to the amusement of the cus- tomers who patronized the place re- gularly or for those who visited it just out of curio-sity. The Old Mexico the place was called. I used to take friends to see Pancho occasionally from time to time when I resided in New York City. Always they came away impressed. I remem- ber once when I was alone, I watched Pancho exercise his gift. A young man, a Mexican like Pan- cho was attempting to sell souvenirs to a young woman tourist and was having very poor results. Pancho watched for while, then he took two earrings from a cigar box next to where he sat and walked over to the group. Allow me, he said to the young man and moved him gently aside. This rubbish which he is trying to sell you, my dear, is not even worthy of this place. Please forgive him. Here is what he should be selling. It was then that Pancho displayed the earrings. For the first time in the whole transaction the woman's face shown with interest. You, no doubt, know what a truly great craftsman the Mexican Silver- smith is, acquiring his skill from the Aztec Indian and the Spanish con- quistadors. Well, my dear, here is an exceptional example of his genius. Two very splendid earrings. Delicate masterpieces, they are. Fit for a queen and they are yours for just five dol- lars, m'adam. She bought them. Pancho's charm had once again won out. Pancho went back to Mexico in 1950 but before he left, he was in- volved in a very strange and singular incident. The spring of 1949 saw it happen, and it took place down in Greenwich. The mobs were being cleaned up and many of those who are known in underworld argot as stool pigeons, were seeking refuge

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28 'TH E CHRONICLE was in a hurry and just plain didn't shoot me, he said with a smile. 'ICO-me now, I said, Surely he would have had time for one more bullet if he had wanted to, was he a friend of yours? No, he was not, I had never seen him before that time. Well then, what was it you said to him? I asked. Not much, he said, I heard the shots and saw him come running. I knew that if I ran he would shoot me. I was so close he could not have missed, so I just stood there trusting my luck. He nearly ran right over me, but I stood there. What did yo-u say to him, Pan- cho? I almost shouted. Because I have a gift for such things, Senor, I knew just what to say, he said. Pancho, I said, What was it you said ? Can you spare a few cents for a blind man? And you know, Senor, he gave me fifty cents. -Robert Moorehead English IV AND HE SAID UNTO HER COME Debbie Koscubannia'sl tiny frail fi- gure looked lost in the big, old-fash- ioned four-posted bed in which she lay. The summer breeze from an open window blew a loose piece of faded wallpaper softly back and forth. Her eyes followed its motion, yet not seeing it. Now at the age of fourteen the doctors reported there was little chance of her recovery from the ma- lady which had attacked her so- sud- denly. The decision was not final, of course. There were to be more tire- some, tedious hours of examination, then one blunt sentence which would be the turning point, the juncture in her life. Debbie's eyes now rested upon a large picture hanging on the wall. How well she recalled the day her plump, cheerful other had presented it to her with a glow of unconcealed joy upon her face. Oh, Mom! she had cried. Yo-u shouldn't buy me anything. You know we can't afford- Hush, she had answered softly but firmly. I just happened to stop off at the Higgin's barn sale down the street. As I was ready to leave I saw this beautiful picture, thrown in a lump of old so-ap and books. I truly don't think my conscience would have allowed me to walk away without it, she added with a tinkling laugh. Debbie sighed and murmured an oft repeated thankful prayer. The twenty- five by twenty gold-painted frame enclosed an inspiring painting of Jesus Christ sitting on a bench in a flower garden. His feet rested on the lush, carpet-green grass, so much different from the dusty roads of Galilee which he had trod. Surrounding Him were a variety of attractive flowers, display- ing the glory of God's beauty in its fullest. And best of all three young children were gathered around Himg listening intently as He told them of His love and of the Kingdom. On Jesus lap sat the younger sister, pointing to His scarred hand and ask- ing in child like curiosity, What hap- pened to Your hand ? Debbie liked to give the answer to that question herself. She liked the peaceful, quiet feeling which she ex- perienced when she gazed at the pic- ture. In a few days she found herself wondering about this Man. What was He like? No, what is He like? How did He live? The appearance of Mrs.