University of Pittsburgh - Owl Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

Page 19 text:

The (crucible A CRUCIBLE, belching ruddy murk from its encrusting slag—that is the critic's usual connotation of Pittsburgh. On the surface Pittsburgh has that connotation, is that “Shrine of Materialism. But are these critics blind to the molten metal beneath the slag, to the idealism beneath the grime? Pittsburgh has no place for azure skies and babbling brooks; it is a place of industries. Furnaces line her rivers and mills creSt her hills. To them by barge and train come coal and ore and sand; from them go glass and iron and Steel. Pittsburgh is an unrelenting force, driving wheels, and turning rollers, a creative force harsh and overbearing. Always, since the Pyramids were lifted Stone on Stone to a brassy sky, men have been lost in immensities, individuals in their endeavors. Such is the Stigma of Materialism: such is the Stigma of Pittsburgh. When force raises the ribbed vaults of a Cathedral, and beauty Stains the mullioned windows, then artisan and capitalist are brothers and all the world applauds the thrill of creation. Such is the spirit of Pittsburgh, the spirit which redeems her from coarseness and gives her a genuine glory. As truly as soot and smoke are symbols of Materialism, so the red night skies are the torch of the spirit beneath.

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LITERARY CONTRIBUTIONS W. Frederick Elwood Literary Editor CONTRIBUTORS W Hervey Allen James McC. Barnett Hannah Bechtel Edith Caplan Frank D. Curtin Frederick P. Mayer Abe Savage Agnes Starret Ernest Wright Duella S. Stranahan................Secretary Our Qity speaks 1..................I have not lost my soul; It lives a glorious thing beneath my smol{e; It is the spirit of the folk, who toil. Radiant as ynolten iron and glowing coke. Men have not glimpsed me yet in my true might They see my body which their hands have made; My soul lies hid beneath the sulphur night, Waiting the dawn of morning, unafraid. My feet are rooted in these ancient hills; I watch my wizard caldrons slowly boil. And hear above the thunder of the mills The wordless prayer and hope of them that toil. --W. HERVEY ALLEN, 15

Page 20 text:

Cfires Out- night I lay by a fire of twigs at the wood's edge. Below, the river was lacquered with red, flawed light. At dawn I covered the fire with ashes. One night I Stood by a fire in a Slovak, kitchen; A mother sang to her child of the hills of Bohemia, And this night her husband slacked the fire with ashes. One night I Stood by the open hearth at Bessemer. Mournfully, through the dark, a freight tram whistled. Fury and splendor of flames awed me to silence. Time will put out these flames with his own ashes. (m3