Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

Page 28 text:

-01 THE M1ssILE Yes, sir. It was my father'sg he was killed in a train Wreck in Germany years ago, answered Eric sadly. You say-what is you name ?-quick, man ! Frederic gasped out. Eric Ziesbourg, sir, the boy replied kindly. Eris-my son! Praise the Good Father. I am your 'Dad- dyl' cried Frederic. As recognition dawned swiftly on the face of Eric and a light of joy came into his eyes, he enfolded the trembling old frame of his father in his strong, young arms. The voice of the violin had brought the dead to life, and had found the lost. Imagination By Dorothy Baxter Thou, most Welcome guest, For once be ready to rest: From fair and flooded lands of laughter bent, Usurp my generous mind to thy content. I would with Fancy roam With Jollity to her home, To wander, delightfully dreaming at my leisure Of airy nothings and unreproved pleasure. Dreams are but interludes- The finger of Fancy intrudes To turn the pages of the Book of Life, Relieving the dullness-renewing strength for the strife. 6,0-'ifi fi , - V x , .26-

Page 27 text:

'ibf PETERSBURG HIGH SCHOOL Soon the curly head began to nod, and humming softly so as not to waken the sleeper, she rose slowly and put Eric to sleep in her own dainty bed. She wondered about the big man with his tender smile and determined to keep Eric, if his father were not to be found, to take the place of that little one of hers who had died so long ago. Years passed. The yellow-haired baby was a young man now, and, thanks to the care of his foster-mother, was a very promising musician. He had inherited all of his father's talent, as well as the Cremona. On the advice of his master, Greta was sending him to make his debut into the world of music in New York. Fate had not been so kind to Herr Zeisbourg. After losing his young wife, his son and his cherished violin, he had sunk into the depths of despair. He had traveled far and wide searching for his boy-and had spent all of his meager fortune in the meanwhileg and now he was old and disheartened. At length, on a bleak winter night, he came to the conclu- sion that life really wasn't worth living alone. He had a little money left-enough to buy him one more meal or a ticket to the opening night of a young musician. He chose the latter- not noticing the name, except that it was Eric, So with a pang of longing, he entered the great auditorium. It was packed, and the lights were lowered as he took his place. A slight, youthful figure walked out upon the stage. This figure was Eric, and his heart gave a frightened thump as he gazed upon the sea of faces in front of him, ready to make or to break him. But as he lifted the Crernona to his chin, all of his old confidence returned, and he poured his whole soul into the music. As the opening bars of the Moonlight Sonata swelled out, Frederic gripped the seat in front of him. He knew that tone! He rose to his feet and stretched out a trembling hand. People around him were becoming annoyedg so he resumed his seat with a muttered apology. He listened, enthralled, throughout the pro- gram, and, as the last, lingering notes died away, he heard a. vast sigh breathed over the entire audience. He rose to his feet and made his way to the dressing4room of the young artist, whom he met coming out of the door just as he reached it. Pardon me, Herr, but is your instrument a Cremona? queried the old man in a choked voice. -25-

Page 29 text:

-vlbf PETERSBURG HIGH SCHOOL 10- A Vacation In a Sanatorium By Wilson Sykes DON'T know why, but it is true nevertheless, that most peo- ple place a certain stigma on the mere word tuberculosis No one can deny that it is a dangerous disease, but there is no reason why a sufferer of the malady should be looked down upon, as a great number of people are prone to do today. I have often heard people say that they would rather die than contract the disease, and I have heard several say that they would rather die than go to a sanatorium, even though they had contracted it. They took their choice- and died. Foolishness-and ignor- ance-that's all it is. About four years ago I suffered a physical breakdown, and it was feared that I had contracted tuberculosis. There were just as many negative as positive tests, but the doctor wasn't taking any chances, so he prescribed a rest cure at a well- known mountain sanatoriumf' My feelings were mixed at first -I couldn't see why it wasn't all right for me to stay at home. I had already been in bed three months and had shown great improvement-but orders were orders. I had to wait for several weeks after sending in my appli- cation, and in the meantime I began to look forward to the trip- to consider it as a sort of adventure-something entirely new. This attitude helped more than a little, although I didn't know it at the time. The first day at the sanatorium-shall I ever forget it? I was too sick to sit up. I had arrived at bedtime the night be- fore C8 P. MJ and to bed I went the first thing. I was on the children's pavilion, and one of the older boy patients welcomed me and helped me to get things straightened out. At that moment there was born a friendship that has lasted until this very day. Never had I found a bed so hard in all my life. The next morning I was sore all over and homesick-yes, homesick for the first and only time during my entire stay of six months! After two weeks in the emergency room fa room in which all new patients are isolated for two weeksl I quickly grew used to the routine of sanatorium life and even grew to like it-yes, I liked it, and I can even go farther and say that I never had such a good time in my whole life! After leaving the emergency room, I was placed on the boys' -27-.