St Thomas More High School - Utopian Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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questionable activities, let alone engage in what all agreed was unquestionably a shady deal. Chet especially seemed concerned, he studied me intently. You sure you want to do this? he exacted. Right now, I flashed back with bravado, for 34.25 I would walk a tight rope across the Atlantic Ocean with three million hungry sharks looking up at mel Chet reflected a few moments longer, then concluded: All right. You asked for it. I'll call Uncle Chas for the password, assure him it's for some guy who can be trusted, and be back with my buck. You get the money when you come out-or should I say IF you come out? l5lllMAIll. Chet's parting words loosened my knees. Still, I had to go through with the attempt. The picture of Debbie's soft smile floated across my brain. My will grew stronger. Gosh, what won't a guy do for a girl!! Nearly twenty minutes elapsed before Chet returned, mumbling to himself about all the cussin' he had to listen to and all the pleading he had to do before he managed to pry the coveted term out of the elder Sarato. Four-fifths-filled! he imparted. That's what you say to the old guy behind the counter. And be careful no one else's in the shop at the time, or Uncle Chas will be signed up for a one-way ride to Lawnhurst Memorial Park. The den, I leamed in cofidence from Chet, as we piled into his aching Ford V-8 and headed for 725 Mole Street, was located underneath a half- deserted antique shop. My reference to myself as a Mole Street mole failed to amuse the others. I wasn't feeling funny myself. Twenty minutes and eighty jolts and jounces later, we arrived at the designated neighborhood. What a place! The poorly-lighted street was any- thing but quiet. Even above the clatter of Chet's idling motor I could hear the mingled cries of a baby or two, the struggle of a drunk either THE U TOPIAN . beating his wife or taking a beating from her, and further down the block, the combined cacophony of assorted radios and cheap phono- graphs. I was almost surprised that there was no gunfire. Nervously I got out of the car and began to cross the street. In my wake, followed a few tremulous and half-hearted calls of Good luck! You'l1 need it! I passed several dilapidated, unnumbered buildings before I gained the un- wonted assurance that I was on the right side of the street. 713 stared down at me from a dirty transom. 717 . . . 719 went by. A few more steps . . . Whether from regret or from sympathy, Chet pulled up beside me as I reached 723. Still want to do it? he asked almost apologetically. So intent was I in sizing up the grubby-looking antique shop whose windows read Old World Curiosities. 725 that I don't remember exactly what I replied. My heart pounded against my ribs, making breathing difficult. While I hesi- tated on the steps, rehearsing the password, and trying to calm myself into the belief that no real harm would come to me, I heard the car pulling away. Someone said: It's just 10:30. We'l1 be at the corner. Maybe it was this parting com- ment that suplied the necessary impetus that pushed me through the doorway. Anyway, scarcely had I entered the musty shop when a little, white-haired man in shabby clothes con- fronted me with: Are you looking for something special? Can I help you? Trying my utmost to conceal my sheer fright, I struggled to clear my throat. I swallowed hard, then managed to gulp, Four-fifths-filled! The little man glared at me through eyes that narrowed to slits. I felt doomed. If only he would stop thinking and say something! Finally he commented: You're pretty young looking to be interested in antiques! Nobody said anything about antiques, I heard myself proclaiming in the deepest, most convincing voice I could summon. I said 'Four- fifths-iilled.' Fortunately, the repetition of the password must have satisfied him, for, with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, he beckoned me with a nod. I followed him through a curtained doorway, then through a back door and down a long, . 71

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HAT A SPOT! Here it was, the night before one of the biggest nights in my life, yet, in my heart there was no enthusiasm for it. The following evening, Saturday, I would have a date with Debbie, that new little hunk of heaven I had met a few weeks beforeg but without even six cents to buy her a coke what reason had I to be enthusiastic? What could I do? I didn't dare call Debbie and post- pone the date. That would be akin to asking Joe Stalin to drop the Iron Curtain. I could, perhaps, suggest that we just stay home and view the TV. No, that wouldn't do, eitherg she would surely label me cheapskate and erase me from her life completely. What a discouraging situa- tion, no money, no date, no date, no Debbie, no Debbie, no- Well, one just doesn't think of such things. So, as I dejectedy made my way toward The Ranch that spring Friday night, I racked my brain to think of some way to gather 34.00, the cost of a decent date. Soon I arrived at The Ranch, as our crowd customarily called their favorite street corner. Its title was not the least appropriate imaginable, for there one could find the most varied conglom- eration of characters ever huddled in one group. For all that, they were my friends, and I liked them. ' As I found myself a step to sit on, each of the crowd greeted me in his own inimitable way. Further deliberation of my problem was next to impossible, a half-dozen boisterous conversa- tions, ranging from baseball to Boy is she nice! saw to that. At that moment Chet Sarato's grulf voice drowned out all other topics of discussion. Though Chet was actually a congenial fellow, one would never suspect it from the rasping sound of his truck-driver pronouncements. I'l1 bet a buck, he announced, that any one of you guys is chicken! The first four of his defiant words echoed in my ears. Mention of money made me spring to my feet and elbow my way past the others to the side of the challenging Chet. What'll you bet? I demanded excitedly, and followed up a moment later with For what? What's the angle? Before you came along, continued Chet, I was telling these birds they would be chicken to 70 . do something I think pretty dangerous! Dangerous or no dangerous, I thought to my- self-a dollar's a dollar. So what? I enjoined. Well, you see, it's like this. My Uncle Chas is a mighty sharp characterg he has a lot of 'businesses' in this town. Yeh, we know! replied some of the boys. He's the hottest bookie from here to Mifflin Street. Don't mess around or you'l1 get wrecked, sparked Chet belligerently. As I was sayin' a moment ago, he continued somewhat more calmly, Uncle Chas knows a lot of shady guys in this town, and I happen to know that he does business with a guy who knows a goofer who Ilillll Ili BY RUDOLPH MEGARO, '51 runs a real opium den. Furthermore, my Uncle Chas knows the password to get into this place, and I kin easily get it, if not from him, then through my aunt, who's dumb enough to think the place Chas talks about is a wholesale fumi- ture joint. So, I'm willing to bet a buck you won't go there and stay inside for one full hour! There was a murmur, then finally Hank Carpenter spoke out: I'm not goin', but I'll put up two bucks that sez nobody'll do it! As though eager to buy their way out of a tight spot, two others followed Hank's proposal. Said Ike Miller: Me, too! I'll stake a buck! To which Redhead Ronnie added a quarter. Ronnie was a born gambler. Ideas began to take shape in my head. Here at my fingertips was 34.25 of certified govern- ment currency, much needed to date the delect- able Debbie. On the instant I decided that I would be the brave fool. O.K., my bountiful ones! Let's have the cash. Most of the crowd were amazed, for never before had I shown any inclination to encourage . THE UTOPIAN

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spiral staircase. There was no banister. The cold walls and the darkness, save what little yellow- ness his half-dead flashlight spread, intensified my nauseated feeling. At the foot of the steps we reached another door, slightly built it seemed to me. From beyond it came a stream of sounds far more unearthly than those I had heard out- side. Screams of pain from several people pierced the air, while occasional bursts of laughter punctuated the dull rumble of a dozen people talking to others or to themselves. 'Someone was evidently hysterical with laughter. To my great surprise, the door was unlocked. My companion merely unlatched it and nodded to me: In there! Practically petrified I edged my way in, instinctively saying at the same time, a fervent act of contrition. As never before, I meant I firmly resolve to amend my life . . . While my eyes were adjusting themselves to the gloom and smoky haze, 1 entertained recol- lections of The Snake Pit. By comparison that was a children's birthday party. The patrons of this dingy establishment seemed to have grouped according to their respective moods. Three middle-aged men were huddled in a corner, sobbing like uncomfortable babies. Another group of people was evidently trying to exter- nalize the inward surge of emotions the smokers were experiencing. Then I saw something which, had I been less frightened, would have made me laugh. A tall, thin man was perched atop a stool, addressing an imaginary audience. Between puffs of his hopped-up cigarette, he proceeded to claim himself master of the universe and emperor of all earth's continents. No one opposed him, at least here. So far as I could see, he was probably a frustrated husband, a fugitive from a nagging wife. The laughers were the most nearly-normal, though they, too, would have made a psycho- pathic ward look like a pilgrirn's picnic. I glanced at the radium dial of my wrist watch. l0:45l A small, beady-eyed man ap- proached me with a box of cigarettes. How many? he asked. Onel I quavered. I took it and went to a corner close to the door. No one minded that I slumped down to smoke alone. While pre- tending to reach into my pocket for my lighter, I pocketed the cigarette and instead, removed one of my Chesterfields. I crouched unnoticed, and cautiously lit it. 72. Twenty dragging minutes passed. The little man returned and asked again: How many? I held up my index finger, and with the other hand, extracted the potent package. I repeated the process of pocketing the dope-stick and lighting my own cigarette. I began to wonder whether the others would expect me to cry or laugh or shout. So long as no one observed me, I would do none of the three. More people came in, and a few more passed Out. As I finished my cigarette, I glanced at my watch. ll:20! Phewl I sighed. My thoughts turned to leaving . . . what to say . . . what to do! I concluded that I should simply rise and Walk out and up the stairway. By the time I would reach the street, the required time would have elapsed. As I rose to my feet, both the dope distributor and his partner who had let me in approached me. Did they sense that I was about to leave? Smilingly inanely, I whispered confidentially: I was just thinking of going. I've had enough for tonight. Together, they wedged themselves against me like a pair of book ends. The white- haired one countered: That's all right with us, but how about the 55.00 for the weeds? All my previous uneasiness returned. I tried even harder than before to conceal it. Should I I explain that I would have to get most of the money from my friends at the corner? Would they actually have that much on them? Would these two gents believe me? As one began to reach into his jacket, possibly for a concealed weapon, I decided to exit hastily. Having pretended I had dropped my wallet from my hip pocket, I wheeled and lurched for the door. Like an antelope, I shot up the stairway, but despite their age, the two proprietors were on my heels shouting and cursing. Dizzy from my hasty ascent of the spiral steps, I bumped into the door of the shop, reeled into a large, Oriental vase which toppled and shattered on the floor. The sight of this greater loss tem- porarily stunned my pursuers, both of whom stopped dead in the middle of the room. In that important instant, I reached the front door, grabbed the knob, and . . . found it locked! Panicky, I whirled about, seized a life-size statue of some Greek gladiator and shoved it in the path of my pursuers, who were now joined by . THE UTOPIAN