South High School - Tiger Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

Page 33 text:

By Katherine Lorn berg i stood where the mist of the river. Went winding away at my feet. And gazed at the sunstecpcd horizon. Where the sky and the river meet. The moon like a golden goblet. In the depths of the waters below. Seemed tattered and torn to fragments By the river’s restless flow. And I thought of another river. Whose current deep and wide. Still carried the gleam of the daylight. Long after the day had died. And the miniature streams by the wayside, Lach stagnant, sluggish pool. The river had given lifeblood. With a touch of the lingers cool. And sweeping away all the darkness, ()n the swell of its restless tide. I lad carried them oft like an infant. On its current deep and wide. This river blowing gently. Through the country's soothing strife, Is the great American Legion, The tide of America’s life. And the stagnant j ools by the wayside. Stemmed in by the thick of a glen, Strengthened and cleansed by the river, Are only the souls of men. Men from the heart of the cities. Men from the heart of the slums. When the air is heavy with dampness. And the sunlight never comes. Men with minds that will linger. When the lire of the nation is old. This is the toil of the river. With the burden of soul’s white gold. And yet like the other current, With the misty moon hung high. It meets at the heart of the nation. As the river meets the sky. N-.- - ' . PnK« 27

Page 32 text:

An Historical Letter By Dorothy Thompson Cedar woods. Williamsburg. Mass.. October 13. 1781. Dearest Cousin: I don’t know whether this will reach you or not. The “redcoats” are invading every house and holding up every vehicle for miles around, and keep a sharp lookout for messages of war or valuable information which might he risked on the highways. I received a note from Grace yesterday. She sent it from Boston, and it took a week just to come twenty-nine miles. l eing held up by the Loyalists in New Devonshire on the way. Take stock in this, this letter will not l e trusted to carriage or mail-route, hut I think Old Black Tom will see that it gets there all right. He is going to wait for an answer, liecause I am more than anxious to hear from you. Of all the thrills that arc being passed around now, I will tell you one which was given to me which I will not Ik forgetting very soon. John was called to headquarters last Saturday morning, and Mammy, Old Black Tom. Mrs. Perkins, and 1 were left to guard the valuables. Evidently we didn’t present a very aweinspiring api earancc. for that very evening a measured gallop was heard on the drive, and fifteen “redcoats” invaded the place. They were hunting for John, of course, but I was thankful I could truthfully say that John was not on the grounds. The Major of the band was to arrive the next morning with three other guards, and—Oh! Nancy, now comes the biggest shock of all! When I ojjened the door to let the Major of the redcoats” in. I found myself face to face with Grace’s brother. Harry! 1 could do nothing but stand and stare. Harry in the dress of an English Major was so different from the Harry of the Philadelphia horse races, that I had known so well! That evening I gained courage to ask him what they wanted of John. This was his answer: “Mary. I may have done wrong in joining the English forces, hut 1 believe in their cause, and it is against any man's principles to fight for a cause in which he does not believe. I am able to face mv friends and relatives in jjeace, even if my ideas differ from theirs so widely; hut. friend. I will have to fail in the mission I sought to ] erform when 1 came here. I cannot take John prisoner. If you lKlieve in me at all. tell me the direction John took, that I and my men may take the opj ositc one. I cannot face John.” Nancy, he was so sincere, and so in earnest. I could only tell him. The next morning I Lade him good-bye, and he and his men turned toward the north. John had gone south. Write me a long letter when you answer, for I will l»e so glad to hear from vou. Your affectionate cousin. Mary J. Winslow. PiiRe 26

Page 34 text:

Thankfulness By Homer Kelly Too much holiday mince pic. and an unsatisfactory Christmas necktie put one of our classmates into a jieevish mood. On New Year’s Day he compiled the following reasons for: 1 am thankful because: There is no school the day after Christmas for special internal reasons. My school marks can’t he much lower. English isn’t any worse. The Literary Digest doesn’t last all day. The world hasn’t any more known history that has to be studied. There are class plays and 1 don’t have to go to see them. The Southerner hasn’t more financial difficulties or sjx rt extras. There’s nothing in a name, esjiecially the teacher's in room 210. It had been a merry gathering: even the boys enjoyed themselves in spite of having so many girls around, for who couldn’t l e gay and frivolous at a Hallowe’en party? Among the entertainments provided for the young folks there were an apple bobbing contest, a ghost parade, and a witches dance, not to mention the party itself, which was the most important thing on the whole pro- At last the merry making broke up. the hostess deeming it wise, for there were nodding of heads and spasmodic jerks on the j art of Reddy, trying to keep awake. After a while every one was on the way home and the old barn was deserted, (by the way. this Hallowe’en party was held out in the country where all good old-fashioned Hallowe’en parties arc held.) Reddy McDowell was an Irish lad from the soles of his feet to the crown of his red hair, and he was as su} erstitious as he was Irish. Something that had hapjiened to his great-great-grandfather had imliedded in him a fear of evil spirits. —but that is another story. Suddenly he saw a sight that froze his I 1 hk1 and made him take to his heels. Reddy rushed breathlessly into the house, his legs shaking under him like a | air of wind-blown reeds. He threw off his hat and shoes, and crept quietly up stairs, for his mother had warned him not to stay longer than ten o’clock and it was already three minutes of twelve. The steps creaked and groaned, only adding more fear to his terrified imagination. He dived into lied and pulled the cover over his head. Needless to say. however, the boy did not let the story get abroad, for even if he was Irish his sense of pride was too rankled to permit his sense of humor to let anyone laugh at him. Years afterward when he recalled the story he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks at the memory of a little red headed ! oy running across a moon-lit marsh. Next morning a neighbor rejxirted that his cow had broken loose and wandered all night. Hallowe’en Bv Carl Soergel gram. Page 28