Putnam Hall School - Pennings Yearbook (Poughkeepsie, NY)

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remaining papers, who .should appear but Micky! A very dilferent Micky indeed, much broader, more manly, and with his arm in a sling, which seemed rather to amuse than bother him. He fondly called it his souvenir of the war, and proudly showed me the piece of steel which had been taken from his arm. Micky, unlike many of his comrades, had not returned from the war without a purpose. He intended to go into the newspaper work again. This, he declared, was a part of him. From the moment when he had sold his first paper, he had always hoped to put himself in the chair of the editor-in-chief of the best and biggest newspaper in the country. Micky had no background, no family, but he did have pluck and persistency to carry through. These qualities won for him his medal of honor and his position today, five! years after the war,-that of editor of the best and biggest newspaper in Washington, D. C. L.E.R. 'X ' x ' lov' prix! 1 l

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The Rise of an Irish Newsboy , doing their best to give me the Jolhest of good times This lf V fd, particular Saturday evening my father had tickets for 37 Keith's theatre. Saturday night was the night Woodrow T VVAS Christmas vacation and as usual my family were uf-A I . . . . . . . Wilson always visited this theatre. All good Democrats and lovers of Woodrow Wilson chose this night so that they might catch a fleeting glance, or perchance a prolonged stare at the Presi- dent, guarded by Hi robust ,policeman in cits. As we entered the door, a small chap came up to us, begging that we buy his papers. As he tugged at my coat, looking pleadingly at me with the largest and most expressive eyes I have ever seen, and assured me he would sell. his papers to me for the small sum of one cent apiece, a choking seized my throat. Here was one of the tragedies that one never reads about. It was eight-thirty and he still carried a fair-sized bundle of the papers which had been given to him, fresh from the press, at three that afternoon. It meant that for tonight this youngster with the ragged trousers would have to go without food, and would likely use his remaining papers to keep him warm during this bitterly cold Christmas evening. About eight years later I was in New York City working for my father on Broad Street. The United States had been drawn into a seething whirlpool-The World War. Daily, yes, hourly, our boys in khaki marched down Fifth Avenue with a strange, unconquerable light in their eyes. Une morning a boy, entered our office 5 landed, may express it more exactly, as I was not aware of his presence until he was standing over me. He was perhaps sixteen, built rather for speed than beauty, as he was extremely awkward. His brown eyes sparkled as, looking at me, he made the startling announcement that he wished to tight. I was not sure whether I should take up an inkstand or call a policeman. I did neither, however, and instead, asked him to take a chair and ex- plain himself more lucidly. He thanked me and remained standing. He told me that his one desire and constant hope was to enter the Navy so that he might have a hand in sending the German submarines to the depths of the ocean where they belonged. I asked him why he came to me instead of going to a recruiting station. He replied that he was too young to enter the Navy and that someone in a Washing- ton newspaper office had advised him to try my father. So with only one thought in his head he had traveled in a freight car to New York and had Hnally reached Broad- Street. I introduced him,-perhaps it would be better to call him Micky at this point, as it was then that I learned his name,-to my father. My father was more than favorably impressed with Micky, not only because of his frank and winning face, but because of his per- sistency in following his chosen road to the end, letting no odds' turn him aside. Therefore, when he and Micky left the office together I was not surprised. While they were out I racked my head to think where I had seen him before, and 'then suddenly I remembered that persistent, pleading newsboy at Keith's Theatre eight years before. I later learned that Micky had passed all the physical examina- tions required by the Navy, and resplendent in the uniform of a gob, was preparing to embark. It was many months later when for the third time I heard of Micky. One morning, the August before the war ended, I opened a newspaper to find big headlines staring me in the face. I was glancing over them hurriedly when the picture of Lieutenant Michael McDer- mott arrested my wandering gaze. One can easily imagine my intense surprise and excitement. The article was long and fiashily written, but what I gained from it was this: Micky had struggled forward with all the fire and enthusiasm characteristic of a young Irish-American. His destroyer had been torpedoed, by a German submarine, the first shot killing the captain and also the first mate of the boat. Micky, one of the most popular men on the ship, rose to his position of captain, like a true leader of men. He managed to bring the ship, with its main boilers not functioning, into an English harbor. Because of all this, he was now grinning at me from a New York newspaper. When the war was over, and consequently my work in New York, I prepared to leave my office. The last day, as I was gathering my few

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.. The Rise of the Seniors A One-Act Play By Swzga I Hark! Hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, at if ff wk it And winking Mary-buds begin To ,ope 'their golden eyes: With everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise! Arise, arise! -Shakespeare SCENE: The Senior Corridor. Qlf the Seniors lived on one.cOrridor.j Doc: Then she must know about it! COuldn't you catch anything she TIME: Early morning. i -said? As the shades of night lift, an alarm clock goes off. LIB fFrantically trying to strangle itj :' Hi, you-all! DOC: What's eatin' on yuh, Lib? LIB: Don't you know it's half past five? Get up! PEG Doc : BOB Doc: Bon Doc: Ch, for john's sake, keep quiet. I'm not getting up this morn- ing. W1iere's the doodle, Bob? QA face appears-besmeared with white ointmentj QYawningj : Did you-all speak to me? Hurry, dahlin' ,,it's gettin' late. Where's the doodle? : What, the patented reducer? I left it last night just where I always do. Well, I can't find it. I'l1go,ask Polly. I simply must get thin- ner. Hi, Polly! POLLY: Hi! Doc: ,Have you seen Bob's rolling-pin? POLLY: No,-but do you know? It was the funniest thing, I kept waking up last night- and Harriet was talking a blue streak about making biscuits and needing a rolling-pin. POLLY: just that she was making biscuits and wanted bigger ones than we had in cooking class! What do you s'pose she meant by that? DOC: I can't imagine! MELIO POLLY : MELIO : POLLY : fEnteringj : Hi, scum! What's the excitement? We suspect my room-mate of-of-theft. M Word! Whoever would have thou ht it? Y S' Well, we don't like to jump at conclusions, but Bob's rolling- pin is missing, and Harriet was talking of one in her sleep last night. QA door is slammed, and Henry comes clattering up the cOrridor.Q HENRY : What ho! fVoice from regions unknown. Ivanhoe lj A HENRY: Do you know thereis a crowd pitching horseshoes in Byx's POLLY : room ? R-e-a-1-1-y-?