St Peters Academy - Veritas Yearbook (Saratoga Springs, NY)

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Steve was back in the corner a.gain taking a swig of water. Mac rubbed his shoulders, grumbling all the time. He was surprised at Steve's showing and he was making no bones about it. You got the first, Kid. Keep him going like you did and he won,t know where he,s at. Mac could see the timing and rhythm in Steve's footwork. He could see the short light taps he was landing'on Saundersl ribs e steady and challenging. I knew that his artistls sensitivity was paying off; several times he could anticipate a blow by watching his opponentls sallow face. But one thing neither of us knew-how long he could hold up under pressure. The gym hummed with voices. The crowd didn't quite know what to make of it. They had expected to see Saunders put on his usual free-swinging show but he was obviously confused. SteVe wasn't toying with him either. He was going after him carefully, with dogged concentration. I felt like yelling it out so that everyone could hear: uSure he's careful. Right now his future is all laced up in a pair of leather gloves. But I didn't say a word. ' As the gong opened the second round a group on the far side of the gym started heckling Sauna ders. I recognized the harsh voice of Cardacyls sidekick telling him to lean out and fight, Al. You afraid of a piana player? The boys near the ring laughed and turned around to see who it was. In the ring Steve was dancing away from Saundersl angry left. A sudden blow laid Saundersy defense wide open and Steve landed a blow that stung him, momentarily pushing him back against the ropes. He came back mad. Steve kept him OH for a while but he was breathing heavier now and the strain was beginning to tell. He got careless with a' left, throwing it a little wide. Saunders had been waiting for an opening. The blow shook Steve and he leaned heavily on Al in the clinch, trying to clear his head. The ref separated them and the bell stopped Saunders before he could follow up his advantage. r Steve sat on the stool and stretched out his legs. His shoulders were glistening wet under the hot lights and he was still shaking his head a little. By this time Mac was calling him by his first name. He mopped his face with the towel and checked the gloves almost tenderly. Something made me look out into the faces near the ring. For the first time since the beginning of the fight the noise in the room had changed from a droning undertone to the sweeping lifting rushes of sound that tell a fighter the crowd is behind him. Comments were coming from all sides - prais- ing, encouraging and advising. I slowly began to realize what must have happened. The scoHing crack about a piano player had unwittingly started a vollev of questions about Steve and the purpose of the fight. His story had spread to all the on-lookers. They were for him now but there were still three more minutes to go. I heard a voice say God let him win! and realized with a jolt that it was my own. I wasn't swearing. It was the most fervent prayer I ever offered. .For what seemed like an eternity they traded jabs, looking for a hole to send one home. Saun- ders finally threw a right for Stevels chin but he saw it in time to knock it of? his glove. It grazed his forehead, however, and a thin jagged cut blossomed over one eye. After that they weren't box:- ing any more, just punching savagely wherever they could. The noise from the ringside was deafening now; the crowd surged to its feet, stamping in pro- test. Steve was partly- blinded by the blood from the cut. The referee interfered too late - Saunders connected. Steve dropped to the canvas and lay still. Th locker room was crowded by the time we reached the door. They were all saying the same thing. i It was tough luck, getting that cut, Steve. Yould have had him sure. The corridor was empty when we left except for the warmth and the smell of leather. Outside, the fresh air felt clean and good. As we walked along, it began to rain. t THE END

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.He looked out at the spectators then for the first time and the expression on his face made me feel sick to my stomach. I thought of him as I had so often seen him-seated at a grand pianwan ac- complished musician who becomes so absorbed in the notes he is playing that the applause of his listen- ers comes as a surprise. How many times he had looked at an audience as though he had forgotten they were there! Now as before the expression was momentary, replaced by poise and a quiet smile. There was no trace of the fire which must have smoldered before his outburst a week ago. As brothers go. weIre very close, even though our interests are so diHerent; the night I made the boxing team he had promised to watch me tight the last man between myself and success. It was a clean fight ahd I got the decision, but Steve's voice was tight when he congratulated me. I was feeling pretty good so I didn't pay too much attention. The next morning he told me that he had promised to fight in one of the exhibition bouts. No details. All I knew was that he was mad e mad at himself. They told me later that Paul Car- dacy had needled him about his music and made insinuations about his kid brother's having to uphold the family honor. I knew Cardacy only by reputation. His family had pull. in the school as the result of a sizeable endowment. He surrounded himself with self-appointed intelligentia who could stand him for the sake of his money. When he was drunk, as he was on more than one occasion, he was sulky and bitter. When he was sober he was just plain mean. Steve knew enough to pay no attention to'him when he'd been drinking, but that night he was cold sober. Cardaey baited him deliberately, and Steve lashed out in sheer anger. For anyone else a light with Saunders would have been a pushover, but Steve hadn't been in the ring in almost two years. Physically he was in perfect condition. We live off-Campus, a good two mile walk every day. Hours of practicing had'developed his muscles but his strength wasupri- marily in his forearms, not in his shoulders Where it would do the most good. Saunders has become the campus clown, butihe can take a lot of punishment. The issue was clear: If Steve lost the i fight it would be worse than if he had never accepted the challenge; if he won, it would have to be by decision. ' , - The head of the music department called Steve to his oHice on Monday morning. I hope you realize what youlre doing, Nolin. I must ask you to reconsider. You know your circumstances better than I do. That May recital will almost certainly inean a graduate scholar! ship. I hardly think the trustees will think well of a man who willingly signs up for a fight three 11 eeks before the concert. v . - His tone softened a' little.' Steve was the pride of the department. For the love of heaven, Nolin, suppose something should happen to your hands? I knew Steve too well to think that he might go back on his word. I taught him everything I know about boxing and Al Saunders in the days preceding the fight The two stood facing each other, listening to the referee. The crowd seemed to sense that this would be a little better than the usual prelim matches and they were watching expectantly. HThe do'ctor, a short bald man in a grey suit, sat'hunched on the edge ofihis seat, the'ischoolis' guarantee of a resident phvsician available at all times . Taking a final drag on his cigarette, the timekeeper dropped it on the floor and absently crushed out the spark under his heel. i Seconds o'ut. T he gong sounded for the first round. As I look back on it now I couldn t even begin to tell you the details of those first few min- utes. The figures moved around like puppets on a stage, distant and almost mechanical. Then

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llRAllEullPalliCIlf CIlRDllllllBullbllB$ PATRICIA TOTTEN The sun beamed through the neatly curtained window and found its destination on the tousled head of an eight year old boy. Bunky Farrell turned over in bed and drew the blanket closer about him. The September morning had just enough tang in it to make a blanket a thing of luxury, and Bunky had the comfortable awareness that it was Saturday morning and he didn't have to go to school. An agitating sound, however, drifted up from the back yard, flustering his comfort. He pushed the cover from around his freckled ears and listened. Someone was hammering on the boards of his rabbit hutch. Why did things always have to happen to keep a fellow from sleeping on Satur- day mornings. Hadnlt he earned the right to sleep after slaving over a school desk all week The hammering on the fence continued incessantly and at last Bunky crept down to the foot of the bed and peered out of the window. It was that old N111 Davis from next door nailing up the planks where they had ripped IQOse between the hutch and his garden. Bunky,s prize white rabbits, Amos and Andy ,at least thatls what he called them, had broken into the neighbors, garden several times Each time, Bunky had patched up the fence a little, not taking time to repair it thoroughly. Hl thought the o d fence would surely hold till I could get the rabbits out to the fair today, mused Bunky, as he ducked back under the cover. He was a firm believer in the saving of enelgy and had seen no necessity in fixing the fence when he intended conveying the rabbits out to the fairgrounds that very morning. The joy of his nap, however, had been spoiled. For a time he lay there staring goggle-eyed at the ceiling, having made up his mind to stay in bed late even if he couldnlt possibly sleep. He must have his rabbits ready, though, to take out to the fairgrounds by eleven o,clock. His Uncle Jerry was to have some poultry on display, and was coming in his jalopy to take Bunky and his rab- bits out. He had planned to spend the rest of the day in the delightful occupation of watching the carnival shows unload and put up their tents. The privilege of getting into the fair grounds when preparations were being made was one to which he had looked forward for several weeks. Bunky was wide-awake now, his mind busy with dreams of what he Would do with the prize money Amos and Andy were sure to win. ' The hammering had finally ceased. From the kitchen drifted the delightful fragrance of fryn ing bacon. He was out of bed at a bound. If there was one thing he craved better on a chilly morning than a cozy bed, it was a hearty breakfast. Bunky slipped casually into a pair of wrinkled dungarees, put on his shoes, and' took but a momentto greet the friendly croaking frog, in a box, under his bed. HWhat would lMom say if she knew, he chuckled. HNIorning Mom, whats on the menu today, he said as his father often did. uGood morning, Bunky, she chanted, uAnymore fugitives from menageries under your bed this morning. lAw gee Mom, how'd you find out, whimpered Hunky. liCanit I keep him lVIom, huh, lVIomfl I'm sorry Bunky, we're not operating a zoo. Bunky surrendered willingly. It was too nice a day to sulk, and besides he had to take care of his rabbits. He made sure that his neighbor had gone to work before he ventured out to the rabbit hutch. As he hastened through the back yard, over ti ncans and stray papers, his heart produced a queer thump, for there was 'no joyous squealing to greet his approach. Evidently, Mr. Davis had fright- ened them with his incessant pounding so that they were in hiding. Bunky had salvaged a fine bunch of turnips for their last meal before going to the fair. He had an uneasy feeling within him that he wasn't always too faithful about feeding them though he couldnlt bear the thought of any- thing going hungry. Opening the wire gate he thrust in his turnips, but there came no answering squeal of joy. The rabbits failed to account for themselves. Bunkysighed bitterly as he perceived the loose plank at the hack of the hutch. The fence on Mr. Daviss side had been neatly patched, but a plank was