Summit School - Flame Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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l l Qgmky 'j cf Lonely ANE shifted her book and crossed her other knee. As she dicl so, she glanced across the aisle at the sergeant. Still looking at her. Would he never stop? She looked down at her book again, but she couldn't read. It was making her nervous and embarrassed to have that boy stare at her so much. She looked out the window. It was terrible weather. The sky outdoors was so dark and gloomy that the porter had had to leave the lights on all day. As she looked now, she suddenly saw the boy's reflection in the glass. She couldn't distinguish his eyes, but his face was turned toward her. He certainly was good-looking. She decided that she needed a few new tactics. She turned toward him, looked him straight in the eye, and smiled-radiantly, she hoped. His eyes shifted a little, and she realized that they were shy eyes-very deep and brown. Maybe he would be nice, but why did he have to stare so? Isn't the weather disgusting? she tried. Yes. Where are you going? Omaha. She thought that would be all she could get. But I wish I Weren't. I've just been home on leave for the last time. My cousin is on this train too, but he's too much of a 'slap-happy' for me. All the men in my et barracks are the same Way. At this moment a more round and jolly-looking soldier came rolling down the aisle. As he came up to the sergeant, he stopped with his hands on his hips and said, You're the picture of melancholy. Why don't you come down to the club car and have a few with me-pick up your spirits. 'Tm sorry, Jake. I don't feel very gay today. Oh, come on. You're only goin' to a war. And besides, our sidelll finish up before you know itf' he urged. By the way, who's the doll sittin' over there? I don't know. Jake turned toward Jane, My name's Jake. This is m' cousin Bill. Mind if I sit down? He sat down beside her as she tried to move unobtrusively closer to the window. She didn't know quite what to do. He clapped his hand on her knee in a friendly way and said, Come, now. You haven't told us your name, Girlie. Jane, she said abruptly and stood up, preparing to ask him to leave her and to tell him hotly that she wasn't the type of girl he Wanted. He must have seen the storm coming, for he got up quickly and Went away, saying cheerfully, See you later, Bill. You're missing a lot of fun. Jane sat down with a sigh and looked at Bill. He smiled kindly and said, I'm sorry he was such a bother. That's all right. I guess I'm just not experienced enough. He stood up and came over to her. I really think I feel better now. Seeing that you didn't like him, I realized that I Wasn't the only one in the world like me. I've been discouraged because the group I'm in are all like Jake. Would you like to have lunch with me? She nodded and laughed, 'tLook! we're going around Horseshoe Bend. We'll have to have our 'train legs' walking to the diner. ALLISON BUTLER Form VI THEFLAME U

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4 my purse, where was my purse? Frantically I felt for it and found it reassuringly safe under my pillow. I turned toward the window again. Darkness. But this time broken by a flash of light. I wondered where we were and what sort of people lived here. What were they doing at this very minute? And as I watched the bright dots skim by, a feeling of bewilderment swept over me. Why was I born to be me, to live at S11 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, Minnesota, U. S. A.? Why was I not born in China or India or this little North Dakota town we were passing through? How did it happen that I wasn't listening to the rush of the train from one of the little lighted houses instead of lying there in the darkened berth? The lights streaked by and the mood passed with them. I lay back and threw my arm over my eyes. The small sounds again took control of my consciousness-the wheels clicked on and on, the ventilator hummed, a gentle snoring came from above, the car creaked and swayed. Pink trip slip for a one-cent fare, Blue trip slip for a two-cent fare, Punch, Bro-thers, punch with care. SHIRLEY WRIGHT Form V Blackout O MATTER how much homework you have, you can't do it during a blackout. Come outside with me. I removed myself from a pile of books and followed my next door neighbor out of doors. The fall temperature was just cool enough to make the occasional gusts of warm air welcome. I felt gay and invigorated and skipped down the walk. Let,s go over to the bluff? I laughed, How to behave in a blackout-rule three-stay indoorsf, Who cares? Daddy is an air raid major, and he gave me permission to be out. If anyone questions us, just say that we,re official plane spotters. Singing the chorus of Semper Paratus we marched to the bluff. Here I had often come to look at the lovely view. Far to the left was the ostentatious downtown district. A searchlight at the airport flashed its powerful rays over the horizon. In the valley a factory was sending forth its usual cloud of smoke. Streetcars clanked hurriedly by. The view was the same, but I was different. I was excited. Suddenly from nowhere came the unsteady drone of a whistle. Its steadiness increased directly with its volume. It was joined by whistles from every direction, just as when a horn begins a melody and then is accompanied by other instruments, each contributing a different tone and resonance to the main theme. These whistles were not playing a pleasant tune. It was foreboding. In a few minutes the vast, seemingly uncontrollable mass of lights was extinguished as though one had taken an eraser and with a sweeping movement had removed all the marks on a blackboard. A few minutes ago we had been talking in loud voices, but now I felt compelled to whisper. Everything was so still that I jumped at the rustling in some nearby leaves. A mist hung suspended over the valley and produced an eerie effect. The moon sent its unfeeling sheen on the Mississippi. The gray sidewalk was visible for a few yards and then disappeared. I was standing looking at a ghost town. The serious voice of an air raid warden aroused me from my thoughts. Hey, Walter, did you report the light in the Croydon's house? This was war. I was gazing not at a dead city but at one wide awake and prepared for the exigencies of today. As the all-clear sounded, the street lights went on. Little dots of light appeared in the valley. Before long, red and green signs were flashing off and on downtown, and the streetcars had resumed their clanking. I returned home to my studying. Life had not changed. After all, we had experienced only a test blackout. KITTY JACKSON Form VI 26 THE FLAME

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The Violet Man FIRST heard his bell on the busy, pulsing embankment on the Thames in London. His hell sounded plaintively above the ring of horses' hooves and the honking of the traffic. The ringer of the bell and many like him are well known in London. He signifies a man unemployed, trying to get a skimpy living by selling boot laces and the like, until he can get better work. I jumped down stairs, landing with a thud on the bottom floor, and ran to the doorway. I clutched three big new pennies in my hand. They were very precious to me because they were brand new. He was a grey, old, grizzled man, with a laughing, benevolent face, that sur- mounted all difficulties. A kindly smile lit up his face when he saw the little lidy dashing so quickly towards him. Here, I panted, are Three PENNIESF' I handed them to him proudly. Thanks a lot, little lidy, he answered. Thanks an awful lot. His kindly eyes twinkled, violet as the little flowers he handed me in return. I thanked him and ran back. I saw him once more after that, and this time he got sixpence. He never seemed hardened or angry because of his poverty. I could never have imagined him being angry. Later he left London, and I do not know where he went, but I still remember the little bell ringing, and the grizzled old man smiling to his sweet-smelling violets and a little lidy dashing urgently through the door. SHIRLEY CATLIN Form II Observation YOUNG girl stood on the open platform of a train which was laboriously climb- ing through the Rocky Mountains. Despite the soot, she remained there in the tingling air and the warm, rejuvenating sun. Perhaps the rest of the passengers were a bit amused, after all, one could see just as well inside the car. But she could breathe that life-giving air, scented with young pine, the clickety-clack on the rails wasn't muffled, but was distinct and rhythmic, the sun didn't just fall upon the mountain slopes, as it appeared through the windows, but rather penetrated every living thing. The girl was enlivened by the panorama of luxuriant growth. Slowly the clicking and clacking became more deliberate, a woodshed zoomed by, and the train at last paused in a mountain settlement. The door of the observation car opened, and a group of people stepped onto the platform. They chattered gaily over the scenic beauty and talked with one another about their vacations. Among them were two soldiers--quiet and thoughtful. One of them leaned on the brass railing and watched the exhaust as it gently puffed into the crisp air. The other, standing with his feet slightly apart and his hands in his back pockets, pensively looked at the snow-crested mountains. What was he thinking, the girl wondered. Suddenly a huge engine rushed by and shattered the congenial atmosphere. The door reopened and the group filed in-except for the one soldier who stayed there in quiet dignity. He gazed at the last car until it banked around a curve. The girl tilted her head as if listening for something, but all was still. Then he said in a low tone, I like this quiet. Yes, I do toof' The conductor walked by, waving a red flag, and in a moment the train began to move. He swung himself over the railing, commented on the nice day, and dis- appeared into the car. Soon the clickety-clack became a din. 28 THE FLAME