Townsend Harris High School - Crimson Gold Yearbook (Flushing, NY)

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MISINTERPRETATION By Thomas Drake Durrance Richard Pearson was an unobtrusive per- son engaged in an equally unobtrusive occu- pation. Nevertheless and paradoxically enough, he was a person upon whom the fate of millions depended. He was a motorman on one of the ushuttlen trains. Most of you have ridden the ushuttlef' Did you ever stop to think what a hum-drum existence those motormen lead? Riding back and forth in a caged steel animal, day in and day out, rid- ing-walking-riding-walking-never halt- ing. Such was the life of Richard Pearson. l say was, because . . . well, if you'll bear with me, I'll tell you the entire story from its happy beginning to its not so happy ending. :lc qc 'Q Pearson's childhood days were spent in Arizona. He resided in a little town in an arid region where mining was the chief in- dustry. A wide, turbulent river surged on its winding way some distance from the town. An irrigation dam was being constructed and daily Pearson would wander down to its high banks and watch the men at work. The fact that the boy's mother prepared lunch for some of them gave him an entree into their elite fat least to Pearson, society. He soon became acquainted with many technical phrases and would invariably delight the workers with his all-too-serious questions concerning the progress on the dam. The child was fascinated by the roar of the en- gines coupled with that of the river and by the feats of skill and physical strength which he observed being performed high above its red waters. Then and there, young Pearson determined that he would some day be a great engineer. The ambition grew more steadfast as the boy matured. It was the central cog about page seventy

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He was silent for a moment. Then he got up and walked oH'. A few days after this talk with Pat, I was strolling along a country road, enjoying the sun and fresh air, when I saw a slab on the side of a hill nearby. I was struck immedi- ately by its resemblance to the stone I had brought to Pat, both in color and texture. Uf course it was an odd thing to do but I determined to bring it to the old fellow. I had a good cart, and after digging a while I could manage to get the slab out. I went home to get a pick and shovel. I borrowed a horse, hitched it to the cart and went back. It took me several hours to do this and when I got back it was quite dark. Coming to the spot where the stone was I was greatly astonished at what I saw. The stone was gone. I could not follow any tracks so I went back, returned the horse and 'gturned inf' On the morning of the next day I went to the cemetery. I walked to the shed where Pat had his collection of stones and looked in. The stones were gone. There were flowers on the window sill, something that Pat never had. I walked away and began looking through the cemetery. I saw an old man walking through the paths, smoking a pipe. I walked up, to him. 4'Pardon me, I began. Lookin, for Pat? The words darted out at me. Yes, I replied. Where . . . ? 6'Dead! The man chuckled. 6'He was out collectin' stones last night. Got run down, the fool. Was tryin, to haul a big rock back here. The big fool.', I raced away. The amused chuckle of the new keeper sounded horribly in my ears. I found out later from the man who had run him down, that Pat had evidently seen the same stone I had and had begun to haul it away, when he was hit. There is a stone in the corner of the ceme- tery at Breau that is as rugged as it was before it was ever brought there. On it these words are inscribed: Patrick Donelly, He Served His Masterf' Though many people look at this inscrip- tion and wonder at it, and even ask the keeper what it means, they never know exactly what it signifies. I am the only one who does. page sixty-nine

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which the entire delicate mechanism of his mind functioned. Graduating from a small western university, Pearson set out to con- quer the world and to span the rivers. That was in 1928. Drawn to New York by the possibility of connecting with some larger firm, he somehow managed to eke out a meager existence for three years, until a stroke of fate interceded in his behalf. Walk- ing along an icy pavement of lower Manhat- tan in the winter of 1931, he espied an elderly man who was having some difficulty in main- taining his balance. Finally, his plump body was keeled over by a particularly strong blast of wintry wind. Pearson approached rapidly and aided the gentleman in regaining his feet. 0ut of that chance 'meeting materialized his job as motorman, for the person he assisted happened to be Cornelius Oaks, president of the subway company. Although suffering from disillusionment and all its ills, Pearson worked faithfully and diligently at his new occupation. Yet he was like a man enveloped in a trance. His actions were merely mechanical and his brain dwelt in an atmosphere quite different from that of his body. One afternoon in the middle of May, 1932, when he had been with the com- pany approximately a year, Pearson was called to the section manager,s office. As he opened the door, he beheld a stern, mous- tached man seated in a swivel chair behind a large, paper-littered desk. Come inf' the manager had a particu- larly rough voice-just the type of Simon Legree you see in the motion pictures. 'GI take it that you are Richard Pearson? Pearson stood ill at ease before the desk, fumbling with one of the grey buttons on his uniform. Yes, sir. The manager, whose name as proclaimed by an exceedingly elaborate desk placard was Isaac Cohen, leaned perilously far back in his chair, crossed his legs, and tapping a long, yellow pencil against the sole of his left shoe, moistened his thick lips. uln our annual statistics we discovered that the company made a net profit of two million dollars last year. Pearson whistled in aston- ishment. Cohen continued, Wfhis, of course, you realize, is far below our usual standard. Pearson blushed and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Therefore, we find it necessary to let some employees go. Natur- ally, those employed most recently must be among the first. Pm sorry, but I am forced pflge Selleflly-One