Vandergrift High School - Spectator Yearbook (Vandergrift, PA)

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THE SPECTATOR 21 THE GOOD LOSER ARIE Antoinette Smith was in a quandary, thei'e was no doubt of that. Her usually calm brow was knit with anxious thought and her lips actually drooped at the comers. The question was a weighty one; namely, —should she accompany Thomas Jefferson Jones, the well dressed and popular president of the Burmingham Colored Dancing Club, to the annual ball; or should she go with Ivanhoe Ripley, also well dressed and popular, besides possessing all the glamour of newness, having but recently come from New York, the mysterious and mighty. To be sure, the credentials of the latter had not yet been produced while Mr. Jones was of as royal birth as Marie Antoinette herself, for did not his father own the Jones Emporium, undoubtedly the best store of the negro quarter and her own father, Mr. Washington Smith, was part owner of the Pastime Moving Picture house. Miss Smith decided to await development and let her suitors load her with the presents which she knew would be forthcoming as aids in the choosing of her escort to the ball, which was still two weeks distant. “Deah me,” she concluded, “Thinkin’ certainly am ha’d work. Heah comes mah gen’emen friend, Mistuh Thomas Jefferson Jones, drivin’ his pap’s deliverev wagon. I so’t of rekon he’s gwine to stop foh me. Thank the Lawd I’se got on mah new yaller silk what mah ma made fo’ my sixteenth birfday.” “Howdy, Mistuh Jones, how is yoh-all findin’ yoh-self today?” Marie Antoinette flashed a brillant smile upon Thomas Jefferson who was immediately transported to the seventh heaven of delight. “Howdy, Miss Smith, I’se fine, how’s yoh-se’f? I’se gwine out to Rastus Black’s place. Won’t yoh-all come along?” “Sho’ly will, Mistuh Jones, yoh-all suttin-ly am a polite fellah. Is yoh sho’ yoh can manage this heah hoss?” Thomas smiled tolerantly upon Miss Smith as he assisted her into the wagon and followed when she was finally seated on the high and rather precarious seat. “Ho, ho, Miss Smith, I’m the original Broncho Bill when it comes to drivin’ this hoss. He am a little wild but I makes him do as I say. Le’s speed up when we git out on the wood road. Sho’, yoh-all ain’t afraid?” Marie Antoinette shivered delightedly and both were silent until the wood road was reached. “Now yoh-all hole on tight an’ don’t be skeered. Remembah I’m drivin’ an’ not even that Pegasus hoss could git away from me. Giddap, Bill!” With a grand flourish of the whip Mr. Jones prepared to show off both himself and his steed before the eyes of his lady love. However, Bill, being a young horse and unused to the discipline of the whip and soon beyond the control of even the superior of Broncho Bill. The April rains had made the unpaved road a sea of rich, black mud and the yellow silk of Miss Smith’s dress soon resembled the leopard of unchanging spots, while she herself was almost white with fear. The bespattered Thomas Jefferson clung to the reins with a courage bom of desperation. At last Bill, of his own inclination, stopped and his two shaken passengers paused a moment to collect their thoughts and arrange their almost ruined plumage. At this critical moment an automobile, undoubtedly second-hand and considerably worse for the wear, drove up, guided by the skillful hand of none other than Ivanhoe Ripley. Ignoring the obvious, he politely inquired their trouble. Marie Antoinette, angered by the ruin of her dress, was the first to find her tongue. “Nothing much happened, Mistuh Ripley h’cept this heah thing, which calls itself a man, tried to show off an’ while he was doin’ it, ruined mah puffuctly new dress besides half killin’ me. I’m tellin’ him heah an’ now that I won’t go to no dance with him. I’m particular ’bout mah company.” The tactful Mr. Ripley immediately offered the use of his car and Miss Smith stepped aboard. The two drove away with a loud clanging of tin, leaving Thomas standing in the middle of the road. The next day Marie Antoinette announced to her friends that she intended to accompany Ivanhoe Ripley to the dance. The crafty Mr. Jones merely shrugged his shoulders, meanwhile cultivating the friendship of Mr. Ripley, who although rather puzzled at first, simply concluded that

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20 THE SPECTATOR some soft green mosses grows a tall slender white flower, wonderously beautiful. Its white face seems waxy in the moonlight, gloriously pure in the sunshine. The green leaves cling in fine folds. It grows in the forests and in well kept gardens. Often can be seen the tiny dew drops, like tears on the white petals. And so came to earth the tulip, given by the Great Spirit who wills that all shall be joyous, and all his people happy. —SARA FREDERICK, ’23. A RIDE ON A RAFT EE, wished I’d a went with Aunt Kate to Swissvale,” muttered a small boy, seated on a large rock on the bank of a muddy pool. The child waa dressed in a worn blue dotted blouse, and the knees of his trousers were patched with bits of blue calico. Golden hair was seen peeping from under his dusty hat, while his blue eyes were watching a frog on the opposite side of the pond. “Why Tommy Greene,” exclaimed a little girl sitting on the sand with her feet in the water. This was Grace Jack, commonly known in the “alley” as Grade. “You jist ought to be ’shamed of yourself. A big boy like you, frettin’ cause you hain’t allowed to go a-visitin’ folks. My ma says ’at when I grow big I kin jist go any where’s that I please, an I kin wait that long.” “Spect I kin go away then, too,” answered Tommy in a tone of disgust,” but gee whiz! I’m gettin’ awful tired waitin’ to grow big. My brother Alex said it took him an awful long time to grow big, and besides I get so tired jist sittin’ around.” “I don’t,” returned Grade. “Well, if I played with them old rags 'at you call dolls, I don’t reckon I would get tired either.” And poor Tommy Green looked like a disgusted sailor on a stormy sea. The two children sat quietly for a short time until a small piece of bark floated past, then Gracie joyfully suggested: “Tommy I know what let’s do, let’s make a raft.” She looked at the boy with eyes wide with inspiration. “Gee Gracie, you’re almost as good as a boy,” exclaimed Tommy as he came down from his thi'one and sat beside her. “There’s some boards up in Farmer Brown’s, ’at would jist go swell. We could swipe a couple and not hurt them a bit, and put ’em right back.” So Tommy went to do the “swiping” while Gracie gathered up her scattered family of battered dolls. In a few minutes Tommy returned with sufficient material to build their raft. They laid the boards on the smooth ground, and Tommy took from his blouse a coil of thick rope with which they tied the boards together. Then they pushed the raft into the water. Both children stood speechless on the bank. At length Gracie cried, “Oh Tommy, it’s sprung a leak.” “I know,” replied Tommy, “But remember in that story how Robinson Crusoe plastered his’n wif mud?” Gracie did remember and they plugged the leak. This accomplished, Gracie got an old rug, a chair, a table and an old box to furnish their grand boat. When it was changed Gracie announced, “And we’ll play we’re sasassity people.” They climed on board and Tommy pushed the raft out in the middle of the stream with a long stick. They sailed downstream for about ten minutes when bang! they bumped against a rock. This sudden jolt knocked the table over, and spilled two of the dolls overboard. “Oh,” screamed Gracie, “My dear little children.” And as she scrambled to the edge in hope of grasping the dolls, she tilted the raft, and head first, she, also went into the water. Tommy jumped in and assisted Gracie to her feet, the water being only knee deep. Then they rescued the unfortunates and walked ashore. As they walked up the hill on the way home, they looked very much like two drowned rats. “What will ma say?” questioned Gracie through a shower of tears. Tommy did not reply. They slipped softly into the house, and that evening, Gracie notified Tommy that she never wanted to ride on a raft again. And as you could readily guess, Tommy heartily agreed. —RITA KAHL, ’24.

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22 THE SPECTATOR Thomas was a “good loser.” However, Thomas Jefferson thought it best to let things rest as they were for a while, philosophically deciding that many things could happen before the dance and that while “there was life there was also hope.” Two days before the great event Thomas asked Ivanhoe if he would help him pile the boxes which were to be auctioned off at the Baptist box social that night. Every young colored person, unless otherwise occupied, was planning to attend this affair. Mr. Ripley consented, so that night the young men, while the guests were upstairs removing their wraps, busily piled up the boxes in the church basement. Finally Mr. Jones straightened himself saying, “Thank the Lawd, that job’s finished. Say, Ivanhoe, Tulip Johnson, mah gal, tole me her box was to be tied with red ribbon. ’Cose that’s against the rules to tell but yoh all know how these gals am. Has Marie Antoinette tole yah hers was to be tied with green? Oh, boy, I know a fine joke. Listen, le’s jes’ change the ribbons on them gals boxes. Then you bid for the one tied with red ribbon which is really goin’ to be Marie Antoinette’s but will look like Tulip’s box jes’ to make ’em jealous. I’ll do zactly the same with Tulip’s. Understand?” Now Ivanhoe Ripley loved to play a joke on someone else and he fell in readily with Mr. Jones’ proposal. It was the work of but a moment to exchange the ribbons on the gaily bedecked boxes. “Say, Ivanhoe, yoh-all go up an’ tell ’em to come down. You can so’t of hint ’bout the joke to yoh gal but don’t hint too much.” A few seconds later a motely crowd filed down the stairs. Soon the bidding became fast and furious indeed. Messrs. Jones and Ripley, by spending their small capital, se- cured the boxes that were to figure in the great joke. Mr. Ripley approached Marie Antoinette with the box of his choosing partly untied, and under her stony gaze, made so by his seeming betrayal of her confidence, unwrapped the box with tantalizing deliberation. He drew the name slip from the box but, after one glance, let it fall to the floor. In a hoarse undertone, he cried to Thomas Jefferson who was standing near to see the fun. ‘‘This heah papah has Tulip Johnston’s name on it, not Marie Antoinette Smith’s. Somethin’s actin’ funny, boy.” Miss Smith could contain herself no longer, “Cose it says Tulip Johnson, yoh-all bought her box aftah me tellin’ yoh how mine would be fixed too. So that’s yoh joke, is it? Yoh-all can jest take Tulip Johnson to the ball. I see Mistuh Jones has mah box—he’s a gen’emen foh you!” Ivanhoe turned on Thomas Jefferson with clinched fist. “So yoh changed the ribbon back the way they was, Mistuh Snake in the grass. Jes’ you wait, I’ll git you yet.” With hurt amazement in his eyes, Thomas regarded his angry friend. “Why, Ivanhoe, how yoh-all does misjudge me! ’Cose I changed the ribbons on the boxes while yoh was gone, but mah conscience got to hurtin’ me so I fixed the boxes the way they was befoh. Too bad I forgot to tell yoh, but Ivanhoe, Tulip’s an awful nice gal an’ I jes’ know she’s goin’ to like you.” But Marie Antoinette interrupted him, her hand on his arm, “Say, Mistuh Jones yoh sho’ am a nice fellah. Remember what I said about goin’ to the dance with you two weeks ago? I didn’t mean that a-tall an’ yoh can take me to the ball if yoh likes.” MARY CULP, ’22. SIGNS OF SPRING When the snow starts to melt, And the sun shines more bright, When the thick smoke hangs low Like first curtains of night, When the soft zephyrs blow, Making drowsy the mind, When the small birdies sing Of the joy that they find, When the new grass and flowers Start up from their bed At the south wind’s soft call— Spring is not far ahead. When the lilies and tulips In their gorgeous array, Make the tired world glad— Spring is not far away. —sue McGregor, ’22