South Side High School - Optimist Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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LITERATURE THE CLOCK STRIKES NINE By Saul Swam» CHARACTERS Dr. Milburne: A Specialist Richard Manton: A successful business man Shephard: A servant Scene: Dr. Milburne's Office Time: Present The curtain rises on a Hoc tor’s office. It is furnished simply and xcith an eye toward gaining an air of culture. The nails are lined with book cases, and while several books are stacked carelessly on top of the case, together with a fete magasincs. the general atmosphere is one of neatness. In the background looms a large clock which is striking as the curtain rises. In the cen- ter is a desk at which is seated Dr. Mil- bume. On looking at him, one is struck by the geniality of his general appearance, by his commanding personality, and by the strength of character made manifest by the lines in his face. He is clearly over sixty, and his silver hair, carefully combed back over his forehead, gives him an air of classic serenity. He is poring over some papers as Shephard enters. Shephard: Mr. Manton is waiting outside, sir. He says he has an appointment. Milburne: (Apparently distracted.) H’m, yes. Show him in. And by the way, don’t let us be disturbed in any way whatsoever for about an hour. 1-ock tlie door to make sure after he enters. You can leave for an hour or so. too. and get something to eat. Shephard: Thank you. sir. (Exit.) Milburne rises and paces the floor, head on chest, obviously rapt in thought. He walks to the electric switch and extinguishes all lights save a lamp on the desk in the center, the light of which gives an eerie effect to the room. Manton enters. He is essentially a business man. somnehat portly. He is puffing heav- ily from exertion. There is about him an air of the city and its ways. He is very nervous and abrupt, and suffers from heart trouble. Milburne: Ah, good evening, Mr. Manton. (They shake hands.) How is business? Manton: (Speaking jerkily and pausing con- stantly for breath.) Oh. fair, market's a little shaky. (Cockily.) Doesn't worry me. Milburne: No, I suppose it doesn't. A man with your vast experience probably can sense its fluctuations. Will you smoke? (He gestures tmvard cigar box on desk.) Manton: No thanks. Weak heart, you know. That’s what I came to sec you about. It gets me so nervous, jumpy, I can’t tolerate the slight- est noise. My own doctors aren’t doing a thing, so I’ve come to you. You have, you know, the best reputation. Milburne: Ah. I know. But reputations, inv dear sir—what are they? They are built in a lifetime, with a life’s labor, and in a second they are gone. (He is again grouping abstracted, far away.) And what is life, with its many webs, its many crossroads? (His eyes take on a curious look.) Before we get down to actual business. I would like to tell you a true story which brings out my point. Do you mind, sir? Of course, if you’re too busy — Manton: (Taking out his ttatch.) H’m. h’m. Well. I have an appointment for 9 o’clock. I guess there’s time, if it won’t take too long. Milburne: Thank you. My story must go back some forty years. In those days, sir, life did not have the hustle and hustle to which we arc accustomed today. We did things leisurely but meticulously, with an eye to correctness more than to actual gain. Well, I had been engaged for about three years to a lady by the name of Joan Adams. (Manton starts visibly and peers intently into Milburne's face. Milburne. seeing this, draws back into the shad «vs. and goes on, as if to reassure him.) By all means, a common name, but there was nothing common about Joan. I was a,struggling young physician in a small town. then, and while I saw the futility of a marriage with my limited means. I had always looked forward to the day when I would be able to make Joan my wife. (Manton stirs impatiently.) I see. sir. that you are growing impatient, and so I will omit descriptions and state cold, hard facts. (Wistfully.) Ah! They were cold;they were hard! A young man came into our town from the city. He swept Joan off her feet. It must have been the effect of the outside world on a life that had been barren of thrills. Nine

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MSTBI1™1 a cw wccl s our hiKl’ school education will be ended. Some of us will go on to tXV y a college for further schooling, others will enter the worlds of industry and business. To the jx»tential college student, we have a few words to say. If you intend to go to college because you think you can ‘make the varsity team', or because ‘Johnny’s going', you had better stay away. The college student who is not college timber is only wasting time and money. But those students who arc going to college for an education,—remember, education is not merely a fact-finding business; it is the business of training one's mind for the purpose of enjoying life more thoroughly. Preparation for a happy life,—that should be the motive behind every education. That large group of students who arc about to enter the business world.—with you we wish to plead, plead that you further your education. This does not necessitate going to college. There arc numerous day and evening schools lie re in our own city where one may receive education in languages, literature, drawing, engineering, building trades, accounting, clerking, salesmanship; in fact, practically every phase of art. science, industry, and commerce. At these schools one may receive instruction in one's chosen vocation, or one may learn to better appreciate the beauties of life. In addition to these institutions, one may use our Public Library, which maintains large collections of books on every conceivable subject. These books will always be open to you in your search for knowledge and in your preparation for a happy life. In this era of plans and systems, it would be especially appropriate to work systematically in your extension of knowledge, and in this connection it might be well to keep in mind the words of Mary Lyon, the American educator, Do something, have a plan, live for some purpose. Those of us who follow such a program are sure to get out of life that satisfaction that we seek. 4CrN(HIED8MINI of the faculty who have rendered us their assistance, and to those members of the under- graduate student body whose efforts have helped make possible the success of this magazine. We now present it to you, trusting you will criticize lightly, and hoping that it will keep fresh in your memory the days you have spent and the students you have met in South Side High School. Very sincerely, PHILIP FELDMESSER, Ed it or-in - Ch icf. l.SKU HERE you will find listed those members of the Senior Class whose loyalty and labor have brought about the publicatum of this magazine. Here, I wish to express, in the name of the staff, our gratitude to those members Eight

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The Optimist They eloped suddenly, went to tl c city. I tried to get sonic comfort from my work. It was useless, and I followed into the city. Twenty-five years later, I was called to a tene- ment in the heart of the slums. There I found Joan in a house whose filth nauseated the senses, dying of a cough that constantly racked her body. She had been deserted by her husband for the sake of another woman, and had sunk to this level. (At this point, and during the rest 'of the speech, beads of sweat are apparent on Man ton's brotv. Out of the shadows. Mil- burned eyes, shining with madness, pene- trate like twin daggers.) She recognized me. Manton. Told me the name of the man who had played false with licr. And on that day, I swore that I would seek that man. Manton : (Leaping to his feet with a wild cry.) Stop it, I tell you, stop it. I didn't come here to hear a wild yarn from a mailman. (He crosses to the door, Milbume witching gravely. He tries it; it is locked. He bangs wildly, am! whirls around as Milbume laughs.) Milburne: It is no use, my friend. That door is sound proof. I have sent away the servant. There is no one here, but you—and me—and her. looking down on me, asking me—to re- venge her. (Manton is visibly shaking. He looks around like a caged animal, and his gase falls on the windmvs. Milbume, noticing this, crosses over, and dratving over the shade, discloses a sheet of steel in the place where the glass should be.) For years, I have planned this hour. I have had but one objective in my life since that day twenty-five years ago. When that is gained. I will no longer have any desire to live. (Hyster- ically.) We will die together, Manton. do you hear? We will die together! (Manton, non sweating freely, moans and slumps into the chair, clutching at his heart. Milbume crosses over to the desk and takes out a black bag, from which issues a ticking sound, as of a clock.) In this bag. Manton, is a time bomb. It is now nine minutes before nine o'clock. When that clock (pointing) strikes the hour, this bomb will explode, and then — Manton : ((, as ping from the chair and speaking in jerky sentences.) I t me go, Milbume. III give you all I vc got. I'll give you my yacht, my home, only let me go. I’ll make it worth your while. (Coaxingly.) Will you lose all these just for this — revenge? (Encouraged by Milbume's silence, which he takes for indecision.) Listen. I’ll go to Aus- tralia, pretend I’m dead. I’ll leave you as my heir. Well, Milburne? (There is an oppressive silence, punctuated only by M ant on’s heavy breathing.) Well, why don’t you say something? (His voice rises to a shriek as he struggles to his feet,) Say something, will you. say something!!! Mii.burne: You have now three minutes in which to prepare yourself for the end. Will you have a cigar, now? It will soothe your nerves. There is nothing like dying with a cigar in your mouth, a smile on your lips. . Manton : (Desperate.) Let me go. let me go. (His voice shrinks to a whisper.) me go, will you! (He falls into a chair, his head slumping to his chest. There is a silence, then Mil- bume crosses over and feels his heart. A smile breaks out on Mitbume’s face, as he extracts a common house clock from the black bag. He takes out a death notice from the desk, and as he rentes, he reads aloud — Richard Manton: Died at nine P.M. October 23. 1930. of a heart attack. (He chuckles to himself, and as the clock strikes nine the curtain falls.) Poem O that was the time for love and life and laughter! I danced with the leaves in the ecstasy of Spring. I answered the raucous sounds of the birds with wild discordances of my own. I sang, I screamed, I shouted! and cared not for your frowns and censorous chidings. Winter was so near and cold----. Dorothy Scher. Ten