Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 31 text:

AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER X . 4- L , 1- ggi . - 1+ . . - , 53 T3 -fl? '. ' - . l - - - eff- , 17, .Eff -1 , ,. A- A: ' - , .. if I1 'gt -4- -- 'I .-ge., I 13-1- ' f -'fri 'f 'E cs? ll , di ff? i-:ia Ja r:g 355agy5g,,, Qfifw jfgfgg l lm If e- - Lf ff-bf ,,2,wfs'-- .-2 , .EL ,J A 4 ,.-,,g.g:g::,-1-v 'A ,,. 4 F'?Z'-7555? TJ ' ggmf me TI? r . .,'.- :.f,- --if ::-J?--,:'-:,-.mfg , f X - -ff. -- Hamm ---I F , .L ' 1 -fir-fv - 3.2 - --1--- ' - '-' ' jikiifgflfi-2,11 ',f4 e.i'-H, L! ' ' ' H ' A H 3. 'i - rr ,. f . E. ' 'S' '1?, f 1'lfifi'Zi25.?i.Eij-. jf ' njf i- -5-is - ' ' - - ff:-'mai ss :f fils ' 1 Y ' - - r , - e - -:1. -'S I ., -' -Ff'.1:i f.'-wr 1 ': ' 1 1'-'Qif'-ilifrr, w--- -- - J-419 Nmuf- Y other successful landings, so that the novelty of its appearance gradually wore off. After the curiosity of the campers had been satisfied, the question of why it was there came to the minds of one and all. The explanation was disappointingly sim-ple. The hydroplane was an army plane, and its pilot, an officer of the United States Navy. He had been sent on an an- nual inspection tour to the Deer Park Coastguard Station on Lake Super- ior-over there, where the sound of the water could be heard in never ending roar. After the plane had departed and quiet reigned once more, a question arose in my mind. Was it a welcome visitor or an unwelcome intruder? To be sure, it came on official business, but what business had a hydro- plane to break the stillness of the early evening air, laden with fragrant, mixed odors of burning wood and various kinds of food, especially that of fresh-caught fish, frying to a luscious brown? What right had even a. government plane to frighten every fish in the lake, from ten-pound muskies, that make such whopping good fish stories, down to the less acclaimed, little perches, that make such delicious fries? And who will ever know how many disappointed campers were forced to remain rest- lessly in camp that night because the fishing had been ruined? And how many of these same campers may have arisen sullenly the next morning and eaten in bitterness a fishless breakfast? The more I thought it over, the more it seemed to me that I was just- ified in resenting the interruption of our quiet, primitive life by a repre- sentative of modern civilization. Instead of a welcome visitor, the hydro- plane seemed more like an unwelcome intruder.

Page 30 text:

. 7 WH, 777, W AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER FLORENCE OTTO miles of almost impassable road, leading through dense pine woods, indeed, little more than a logging trail, had recently taken at least a dozen parties of campers from Newberry, the last point of civilization, to Muskellunge Lake, in the uppermost penninsula of northern Michigan. Deer ran wild through the woods, and an oc- .. XXX casional bear was seen out in the famous blue- ' -fx berry patches. The place was alive with little N-X wild animals, so interesting to all, especially the I, children. At night the howling of the coyotes sent a chill through the hearts of the more timid campers. Muskellunge, famous for its fishing, had lured many at that time to its waters. On that particular afternoon, the sun was slowly sinking behind the stately pine trees. It was late in August. The day had been unusually warm for so far north. While it was hardly supper-time, nearly all the camps gave evidence of cooking, as it is always necessary to prepare meals ahead of time to satisfy appetites sharpened by the outdoor life. It was the most quiet time of the day. Not a bird could be heard, as it was too late for the morning birds and too early for the evening. There was not even the splash of an oar on the lakeg indeed, the only sound to be heard was the low, monotonous roar of Lake Superior-not more than two hundred feet away. Suddenly the stillness was broken. There was a whirr that sounded exactly like an airplane. It didn't seem possible that it could be an air- plane up in that remote region, where such a thing was probably un-T known. At that very moment, I was in a boat with my two brothers on the lake. Imagine our surprise when we looked up in the direction of the noise and saw a large hydroplane, coming toward the lake and making a perfect landing upon it. The Water began to rise and fall, like a mighty ocean tide, threatening to capsize our little fishing boat. As soon as the plane righted itself, it glided across the lake to the farthest shore. Filled with curiosity, we rowed with all speed to get a close-up view. By this time, the shores were dotted with excited people, appearing suddenly, as if from nowhere. Women with aprons on-and probably with flour on their hands-men in their shirt sleeves, and children of all sizes, were craning their necks to get a better view of the great, white sea bird. As if resting for a while and regaining its breath, the plane stood still, and then suddenly took off, glided over the tree-tops, and disappeared from view. During the evening, it flew about the lake many times and made

Page 32 text:

LIGHTNING IGHTTIME, and pitch black! The worst storm of the year hovered threateningly over Lunken Air- port. Rain and wind combined savagely to tear the wind-sock from its support, to rip open the hangar doors, and to rock the oflice from its foundation. The gale viciously attacked the steel framework of the weather tower and shrilled an unpleasant accompaniment to its forceful actions. High in the tower the weather observer sat, mechanically recording wind-velocity and temp- erature, charting the antics of the storm. A bell rang, announcing to the observer that a V report was about to be broadcast from the Farm- ' ingdale weather station, twenty miles to the left of the air-line. An alert business-like Voice warned of the approach of a near tornado at portentous speed. The observer, again mechanically per- forming his duty, recorded this additional storm data. All at once his body stiffened, as with the stirring of an impulse, as his ear caught the familiar roar of an engine and the sound like a thousand electric fans. It was the arrival of the 10:40 mail-plane. Ralph MacArthur, pilot, was circling the field. Almost immediately the rain-swept terrain was Hooded with brilliant light. The plane came into view, settled to the ground like a weary bird, taxied to the hangar, and, like a bird, came to rest. Men, encased in heavy water-proofs, rushed out from the office into the gale to serve the pilot and plane. How's the weather been up there, Mac? It was Big Tim Kelly, the boss, yelling against the roar of the wind and rain. A cumbersomely clad figure pulled its huge bulk out of the cockpit and answered, with a true pilot's prejudice for his beloved air, Not as bad up as it is down. Old Jupe Pluvius seems to be calming himself a bit. Can you verify that, Joe? The Joe addressed was Joe Blasengym, who was just climbing down from his observations and recordings in the tower. Yep, was the slow, sullen, yet calculating, reply. Farmingdale re- ports the wind and rain dying there and everything clear. You ought to have good weather your next hop. Falsifying a weather report! Sending Ralph to death or serious injury! What could account for such a malicious impulse? Fresh in Joe's mind rankled the memory of his late threshing at Ralph's brawny hands when the latter had found Joe taking spare parts. No thoughtful consideration had been given to the fact that the thresh- ing was a kindly substitute for the report which would have certainly cost Joe his job. had Ralph chosen to report it. J oe's type was one that failed to appreciate this kind of a favor. To him the ignominy of a threshing was something to be avenged. Humiliation and thwarted purpose had bred in him an insane desire to harm Ralph MacArthur. He was obsessed with the idea, and this night's storm was presenting a peculiar opportun- ity for his treacherous purpose. With the motor gassed and oiled, propellor and controls checked, the ship was pronounced ready for its next hop against the storm. Ralph