Vandergrift High School - Spectator Yearbook (Vandergrift, PA)

Page 25 text:

THE SPECTATOR 23 COMMON SUPERSTITIONS know you wouldn’t believe me if I should say you are superstitious. But listen! Can you count the number of times you have made a wish at the first appearance of the evening star? Or can you number the times you have picxecl a pin up just for the sake of having good luck? Now I have you, for it was just these foolish ideas, magnified but very little, that the people of the Dark Age believed. As I mention them, see if you are not guilty of a few others. If a black cat crosses your path, misfortune is at hand. In one of the Northern states, on a small settlement, Miss Smith, whose superstitions got the better of her judgment, was preparing to visit a neighboring town. It was dusk and as she started to close the barn door before leaving, a black furry animal crossed her path. Screaming she ran into the house. The following day she burned her hand badly by spilling hot water on it and naturally blamed this black animal which she supposed was a cat. Later in the week she went to the barn and to her astonishment found a family of coons. It was a coon which had doubtless crossed her path. If you desire to know who your future mate is to be, just slip a piece of wedding cake under your pillow and sleep on it. The boy you dream of is the lucky one. Don’t forget or you’ll pass a dreamless night. The instance 1 am about to relate is not so common, but nevertheless is believed by some. During the flu quarantine a lady was baking pies. As she drew the last one from the baker it fell from her hands to the floor. At once she screamed and wrung her hands. Being asked by her neighbors why she acted as if she were insane she answered that a pie falling was a sure sign of an immediate death. Another sign of death in the domestic department is a crack clear across a loaf of bread. If such a calamity should happen, some friend will die before the bread is eaten. Two girls were forced to separate and pass on opposite sides of a fat man who was blocking the sidewalk. Together they said, “bread and butter.” Can you imagine the importance of these few words? Well I’ll tell you, it kept them from having a quarrel. A negro servant was offering a young lady the remaining piece of bread before bringing in another supply. “Oh, I can’t take the last piece of bread,” she cried, “I won’t be an old maid.” “You will marry a handsome husband if there is more in the house,” the servant replied. She ordered the negro to. find out for sure whether or not there was any more. Upon his return he said, “There is Madam.” The piece was taken. If you are all wise you will avoid being awkward when you ascend the steps. The reason I have been told, that a particular woman was never married was that every time she walked up stairs she tripped, which added seven years each time to her single blessedness. Unless you want the devil with you all week, don’t cut your finger nails on the Sabbath.

Page 24 text:

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

Page 26 text:

24 THE SPECTATOR I know it is a great temptation when you see a funeral procession to pass between the carriages instead of waiting a quarter of an hour until the last %'ehicle has passed. But a spell of bad luck will be cast on the person doing so. If a bird flies in a house or against a window pane someone in that house will die soon. A raven is always a bad sign as is illustrated in Poe’s poem “The Raven.” Blue Monday is a common expression. Always climb out of bed at the same side at which you got in. Disobeying this rule you will be very irritable and untactful. You’ll merely laugh and say you don’t believe these, but often you have thought of them and taken time to repeat them. —G. H. HAMMER, ’21. LIFE OF MICHAEL ANGELO ICHAEL ANGELO was born in the castle of Tuscany, where his father held an office as governor. His early childhood was spent very quietly in his home with his brothers, but at an early age he was sent to an academy at Florence to study. Although his father had very little money, he came of a good family, and wanted his son to occupy a good position in law or politics. But little Michael disappointed him, for instead of studying, he covered the walls and floor of his room with chalk drawings. His father scolded, and finally flogged him, but it seemed of no avail; so he decided to let him go as an apprentice to Ghirlandjo, one of the greatest painters of that time. Ghirlandjo must have thought him a great success for instead of charging him for his apprenticeship he paid him a small sum for his work. Michael soon became a very good painter, and at one time corrected some detail of a picture, which his master was giving to one of the students as a model. About this time Lorenzo de Medici was the Duke of Florence. He was a great patron of art and literature. In his garden he had a large collection of statuary which had been made by ancient sculptors. He told Ghirlandjo if he had any worthy pupils he would be glad to have them come and study in his garden. Finally Ghirlandjo recommended young Michael Angelo, and his little friend, Francesco Granacci for the study. It was thought he suggested that Michael change from a painter to a sculptor because he was jealous of his work. But then it was probable that Michael had shown talent as a sculptor. Young Michael liked his new work, and succeeded better than he had done at painting. A story is told that while Michael was working on a faun, which he was copying from an antique mask, the Duke chanced to come by. He noticed the face and told Angelo that a faun of that age would hardly have such a set of perfect teeth. The young sculptor said nothing at the time, but on coming back some time later, the Duke noticed that several of the teeth were cleverly chisled out. Thus all through his life when anybody made a helpful suggestion or a criticism he always profited by it. The Duke was delighted with the sculptor’s work, and took him under his own patronage. Although only fifteen years old Michael had his own key to the Garden of Sculpture and an apartment in the Duke’s home. During the life of Lorenzo de Medici, he and Michael became very good friends, and at the death of Medici, Angelo missed him very much. His son offered Angelo the same privileges that his father had bestowed upon him, but Angelo did not take advantage of them. He soon returned to his own home and worked, his mind burdened by the sorrow of his friend’s death. When political troubles came to Florence, Michael Angelo went to Bologna, but after the troubles were over he returned to his own home. • At an old age Angelo died after having given to the world many beautiful paintings and statues, some of which may still be seen today. —ETHELDA GRADEN, ’22.