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

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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

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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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in the world, replied the dog's young master. My parents love her-my father, especially, be- cause he once owned her father, Rex. Rex be- longed to the K-9 Corps, and fought with the Marines in the last war. He received a medal for bravery. Dad keeps it in his bureau drawer. With fresh admiration for the dog beginning to swell within his heart, Bob found it now im- possible to utter what he had been thinking the moment after Queenie appeared on the scene, that it would be better to leave her home rather than allow her meanderings to interfere with their fishing. His intended objection softened into a meek Is she coming along with us? Frankie either failed to hear the question or chose to ignore it. Instead, he headed his bicycle out of the driveway and swung off down Baker Street, followed by Bob, followed by Queenie, bouncing along with an occasional bark, as though fully aware of the fun ahead. Until the three had crossed the last intersec- tion that had stood between them and the open road leading to the Bay, and to Shorty's pier, neither boy had much to say. Each was busy watching traiiic and taking in the sights. Once on the open road they rode side by side, leaving enough space for the dog to trot between them. She liked having a double escort. What did you say her father's name was? resumed Bob. Rex, answered Frankie, apparently pleased to continue the former topic of conversation. I remember the day, or I should say, my Dad recalls the day we received the application form from the government. The letters were addressed to the dog. 'Where do you live? Are you afraid of loud noises? Do you live outdoors or indoors?' and so forth. Imagine the Army writing to a dog! Bob chuckled, then continued: Betcha Rex and the others must have had some life, Hm? Yes and no! responded Frankie. Of course the government feeds, clothes, and houses them in the best tradition, but it certainly doesn't coddle them. They've got to be rugged. They work hard and train hard. You said something about clothes. Well, continued Queenie's owner, as he pedaled along leisurely, it all depends on what type of service each dog is expected to render. For instance, when Rex did night shore patrol THE U TOPIAN . in Connecticut, he had to wear a set of little boots. You see, broken shells cut the dogs' feet. On ski patrol, dogs often wear a white cover-all for extra warmth and camouflage: they even don special goggles to reduce glare. Geel How about that! How'd you find out such things, Franny? Read some of them, and heard a lot of things from the Marine omcer who escorted me around camp when we brought Rex. Juni-something or other was his name, Juniata, maybe. He used to train circus and movie dogs, before the war. At this point, both boys veered off the road, hard, sandy stretch of terrain that led to a long, improvised catwalk built upon pilings of what once had been a ferry slip. Glorified by the ad- dition of a few weather-beaten signs, a shanty, and a Sinclair gas pump, this was locally known as Shorty's Pier. Shorty was a waterfront edition of Barry Fitzgerald. Busy filling several 5-gallon tins with fuel, he nodded a pleasant token of welcome. Nobody's been around all day, he mumbled. Fetch that tomato can over there, and I'll give ya some minnies fer free. Soon the boys were several yards apart, waiting for a nibble on their hand lines. They had squatted on separate pilings, and dangled their bare feet ing space above the blue water. Further up the beach, Queenie raced back and forth along the waterline, in vain quest of a large white gull. The sight of her in search of food prompted Frankie to dig his left hand into the knapsack for the first of the homemade roast beef sand- wiches. Between savage bites he called to his dog: Here Que-e-e-eniel Here girl! Moments later, Queenie bounded along the catwalk, shook a thousand droplets of water over both fishermen, and amidst shouts of protest, settled down to her lunch as eagerly as did her companions. Queenie's retum impelled Bob to revert to his original conversation. What else did you learn from that officer? he inquired. Settling back against the pilings, Frankie re- sumed. At first they couldn't decide what kind of job Rex was best suited for, so they tried him out- What else can dogs do besides fight? Actually, dogs do very little fighting in mod- ern warfare, but they make dandy messengersg guards at piers, airports, arsenals, and similar .77