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

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We were just THE UTOPIAN Q about to leave the village when a native came into the camp spreading the news that the chief's son was dead and that the gold cache of the tribe was gone. The chief called a meeting of the tribe. It was evident that he was overwrought and he spoke excitedly. I understood him only imper- fectly but I gathered from Juan that he blamed everything on the white men, that before their arrival Kakana had been free of trouble. The next thing I knew a half dozen or so of the natives had seized me and bound me with what seemed yards and yards of hemp. They did not bother: with juan at all, and it occurred to me that they accepted his part-Indian stock as a suflicient guarantee of his innocence. I tried to protest, but to no avail. It was clearly too late to bring forward the matter of Juan's strange deportment. He would have denied. it vehemently, and anyway an accused white man would never have been believed. The chief ruled that as a just punishment I should be buried alive with the body of his son in the tribal tomb. The tomb, I soon found, was nothing more than an underground cave. After I had over- come my initial terror, I set about exploring the fetid tomb. At length I came upon a passage which led to an opening in the side of the moun- tain overlooking the juris River. It was a very narrow opening, and there was no hope that I could ever escape through it. But it at least meant that I could breathe, and that I would die of thirst and starvation rather than suffoca- tion. And it also offered the dim hope of rescue. And so I am writing this letter. When I have Hnished I shall place it in this old canteen and throw it into the Juris. The drawing at the bot- tom will give an accurate idea of the location of the tomb . . . What Juan didn't know was that I had found a gold vein up North last month, and I offer a half interest in this mine to whoever rescues me . . . Quick, jim, let's pack up and get started for the Quinto region. That tomb can't be more than live miles from here. There's no hurry, his friend muttered grimly. The 1etter's signed: 'Eric Van Dusen, October 5, 19033 .75

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.14 fufid BY WALTER McINTYRE, 51 WO YOUNG college mining engineers, searching for silver in Peru, stopped briefly at the juris River to refresh them- selves. was really thirsty, remarked jim Bailey. So was I, replied Bob Renton. What's that iloating there in the river? How should I know? retorted Bob. Jim waded out to the object, which was toss- ing to and fro on the waters. He scooped it out of the muddy stream and returned to the shore. It's a tin can that's got a note inside. Let's see it, jim. Wait a minute. I'll read it, countered jim. Boyl Listen to this: 'Please, whoever finds this note, please come and help me. This terrible experience of mine started a week ago, Septem- ber 21st . . . ' That's only ten days ago, interrupted Bob. His companion resumed. . . . Juan Hernando, my partner, and I were prospecting for gold in the Quinto region. juan had made the choice, to which I was op- posed, of prospecting there. It was growing dark, and we decided to pitch camp immediately and get a good night's sleep. I was exhausted and fell asleep almost at once. Suddenly I found myself wide awake and staring up at a big black native. juan, who had a fair knowledge of the III ll 74 . .., ., - 1 1 f, gf -, ': .... - I . if V ll . .1 Qsifi f ' i3-Q it -lv ee.. -trr a T' . lil fg2f'1wy1- ,- 3 ' .1 -yi..s,V,.lg 9 .4 -gg, It .1 f .' S r ff 5 'A-:rang-.f:f1sg'., ,.?,1 -- ' Lg ' : 4 4. 5 xff f lf il lil-13' . '7-lTi'- ' 7 fl 5 , ' . I uf. g y!!! .Qi 3 E fi 2 L-VI.. .. , ill-,iff if f yillpfi . I li 1 1 Z sis : , , 5 I , ,q y, g will -' 'TSE . 'Fir-fi ' ' - ' ' ' Nj,.lJl-iff.. ' Y' jj. ml'f 7N Nkglkiia EKLIIJ' 3 .553 -4 ,I ' . lk A'7 a,Y ' i'. 11'3 . , , XX. 'gi I 2 5.5 1. i? I D' if 13 , 51 'fi' ' ' xi.-if - jf , I 'fgsg-65,21-'-' 3? ' I YA Nik' NR if 2 'Q ix it ' IN S fm? W '- 12 A W W , ?s'jff-5525 .13 xv: X . V-,,-, li?-iigh t, rf . ,, rx lx xx. t .wx uf, Lg. - '. -, - -' iv., lg J - ' X , A ff! x 'Nwggm m 7, 'K .X ' ragga' W cl . , g1.Xxi.bil.X ,'5,,RX .i 5 XX regional dialect, was able to engage him in con- versation. I learned from Juan that the native was friendly and that he had lost his way in the jungle. I decided to give the native the extra blanket and settled down to rest again. . . . The next day the native returned our favor by taking us to his tribe. We were greeted and treated royally. The chief, who had little respect for white men's ways, rewarded us for THE UTOPIAN

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Ill W,- Pll0lZH'S PAPA BY JULIUS A. OLITA, '54 66 HAT IS SO rare as a day in June? Well, even if Frankie Tempers didn't know off-hand, he found nothing wrong with that certain day in july which shone so gloriously over San Francisco that he could hardly wait to finish his breakfast before hopping on his bike and heading off for-oh, anywhere! But first, as he discovered to his regret, there was a matter of a slow leak in the rear tire. It would have to be in the rear, the harder to repair! That explains why the usually merry Fresh- man was just a shade less merry as he plunked himself down beside his wheel on. the front lawn of his Baker Street home, and began a struggle to the death with a mushy tire securely shellaced to its rim. Workin' hard, Franny? The friendly inquiry of Frankie's best pal, Bob Harris, who at that instant was turning into the driveway, only em- phasized the realization that he was working very hard but getting nowhere. Frankie grunted an almost disinterested H'ya! and was about to comment upon his obvious plight when Bob cut in: Here, better let my vast experience with such difficulties save you time and money. So saying, the master mechanic of nearby Elm Street backed his own bicycle upon its stand and contributed two willing hands to the tussle. Frankie rocked back on his haunches, pre- tending amazement at his ingenious schoolmate. That's what I like in a friend, modesty! Yes, sirl I'm your man-Old Bashful Bob, in the flesh! Both boys proceeded to pull on the uncoop- erative rubber. Sooner than Bob expected it yielded, sending him backward against his own bike, which upset. Ouch! he mumbled, rub- bing the back of his head. The things I get myself into, for people! 76. Okay, okay! So you're a martyr. Start bleed- ing, why don't you? Anyhow, thanks. With that, Frankie disappeared into the house and retumed shortly with a tire repair kit. From then on, the job was easy. Tell you what, he added. Soon as we patch this and get some air in it, 1et's ride down to the bay and do some fishing. That is, if you have nothing else special in mind. Good idea! commented Bob. We could fish from Shorty's pier. He told me to come down any time I felt like. All right with you? Uh, huh! nodded Frankie. Then, while you finish, I'll spin over and check with Ma, and get my lines . . . and maybe some lunch, if we're gonna stay. Bob retumed about ten minutes later, to find his friend returning the tire pump to the garage. The delay was over, at least so far as repairs were concerned. Frankie would have to get his tackle together, and some sandwiches. Bob dismounted and sprawled himself on the grass. The sun felt wonderful. He could hardly wait to take his shirt off and get a good tan. He found himself whistling Oh, what a beautiful morning! Two choruses later, Frankie burst through the front door, swinging an Army knapsack, evi- dently well-stuffed with food. He read Bob's mind and forestalled the ensuing remark with Just a little snack I whipped up myse1fl Further discussion ceased, for at the same in- stant the screen door flew open and out bounded a beautiful German police dog. Queenie recognized Bob immediately and hustled down the front steps toward him. He patted her head affectionately, then turned his attention to Frankie, who, having taken out a key, was fumbling with the bicycle lock. It snapped open. Gee. She's some dog! observed Bob. Wish I had one like her. You couldn't buy Queenie with all the money THE U TOPIAN