Vandergrift High School - Spectator Yearbook (Vandergrift, PA)

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14 THE SPECTATOR obtained this tiny revolver which can be held in the hand undetected. “My first real escape from death happened when I was sent over the top with three other boys to learn how the enemy were behaving themselves and to see what we could do for them. We received our necessary information and when returning they gave us a few shots. On exploding, a piece of shrapnel hit about two inches from my head, striking a German helmet and pushing it in the ground about a foot. I hurriedly picked the piece up and put it in my pocket and that is what you are handling now. “Many months I went through this life, during which time I collected enough medals to make that belt you see. A German officer’s helmet, and a gas mask of German make were the largest articles, but one of the most valuable of these relics was this pair of German binoculars which are of the very best make. Just focus it and look at that flag down the street and see how large it appears. “At last on November 1, 1918, I went over the top for the last time. It was raining ‘knives and forks’ and the night was inky black. It was ideal for an attack. But unfortunately, the enemy thought so too and we met them on the center of the field, in deadly combat. We were too close to use guns so we used our bayonets. I got my first man but as I was preparing to strike again I felt the sharp sting of cold steel as it pierced my back. A deadly fear seized me and I became cold as that blade hit my back. Then I knew no more. I became conscious in the hospital. A beautiful American nurse was sitting at my bedside and she told me how the Americans had been victorious in the battle in which I was wounded. I recovered after lying about six weeks with nothing to do but keep still. I tell you it w s an awful bore. That little French pocketbook was given to me by the nurse with whom I had become quite friendly while in the hospital. I lost all trace of her till last week when I received a letter from her asking me to go up and see her.” “And I’ll bet you’ll go too. I wondered why you were acting so queer for the past few days. But you never mentioned anything about these medals which were given to you.” “Well-er-er—” “Yes, I understand you don’t like to speak of your own bravery, but Hen, I congratulate you on your 100% Americanism.” “Thank you, George, but I just look at it this way; that I did my duty like millions of other boys. But these relics, as I said before, will always be treasures dear to me.” “But say, Hen, I should think that you would consider that little American nurse the dearest treasure you obtained—er—of course you hadn’t said anything about obtaining her, but-a-you do care for her, don’t you?” “Well, I-I suppose I do, and she did say something about-er-er-a-feeling lonesome and I-ah-well, I am lonesome myself and-a—” “I know how it is, Hen. We all fall sooner or later.” “Well, Hen, I surely did have a delightful afternoon but I won’t be satisfied until you have secured the best little token of the Great War that anyone could desire.” All Hen said was, “Wait and see.” —KENNETH STROSTER, ’23. THE ADVENTURES OF BILL SMITH PREFACE ILL Smith, explorer, adventurer, and traveler, needs no introduction. I only wish to assure the reader that the happenings here recorded, as related to me by Bill Smith himself, are absolutely authentic, and are vouched for by the highest authorities. I have been especially appointed by Mr. Smith to record his adventures, and am the sole and only one so appointed. All others are frauds. Therefore, my reader, when you would doubt, remember I beg of you, that “there are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamed of in thy philosophy.” And be it also mentioned here that Mr. Smith has personally assured me that the so-called “Baron Munchausen” who has created a flurry lately by his accounts of travels in distant lands is an imposter, has never been outside the state where he was born, and is no Baron, but a simple country dweller with an ingrowing imagination which he is turning to good financ’al account. —The Author.

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THE SPECTATOR 13 as he saw her home. “Too hot for you in there?” “I-I guess that must be it, Pat. I feel out of sorts like,” grieved Emmy. That night the awful vision of arrest passed before her eyes. The delicate pearl grey dress was quite unmistakable. She cried into her pillow bitterly, she would lose Pat now, go to jail, unless she could induce Mrs. Wilson to forgive her. At half-past eight she rang the bell of the great brown stone house and timidly asked if she could see Mrs. Wilson. A moment later that lady swept into the hall. Please, Madame, it’s your dress from Madame Stahl’s,” faltered Emmy. “Why, you’re the girl that won the prize last night,” exlaimed the other. “Madame, I-I want to beg—” “You tell Madame Stahl I’ve decided to take the other dress and I’ll be obliged if she will send it up by twelve o’clock,” said Mrs. Wilson. “She told me that this was an exclusive model, and I saw one like it yesterday. Emmy raised her head and suddenly seemed to see a gleam of humor in Mrs. Wilson’s eyes. Was it there? Or was it imagination? “Oh, yes I’ll tell her, Madame,” she panted, and hurried out of the house with her parcel. —ANNA STIPHANIC, ’24. TREASURES HEN I come to think of it, today, three years ago, Hen Deal returned home from overseas. I think I’ll tell you a little of his history. Just about one month after war was declared, Hen enlisted. Having some training before going to camp, he was made a lieutenant and as this officer he spent his entire time overseas. He was decorated twice for his bravery, the first time by the French and the second time by the Americans. On November 1, 1918, just ten days before the Armistice was signed, he was wounded and removed to a hospital. Here he recovered with no ill effects and returned home sometime in June, 1919. But now I must hurry over and see what he is doing. There he is at the door! “Hello, Hen, how are you?” “Fine, how’s yourself?” “I don’t feel so bad myself but what have you got laying all over the floor here, it looks like an army camp.” “Well, it’s this way George, today being the anniversary of my homecoming from Europe, I was just going over my war relics. Say, I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll go over everything I have here and tell you about them from beginning to end.” “This is just what I want. Let’s have it.” “George, I wouldn’t take barrels of money for this trash, as it appears to you—for they are treasurers to me; treasurers that will be dear to me all the rest of my life. I will begin my story with this small Bible which my dear mother gave to me when I left for camp It was a sad beginning and I felt quite sure that I was leaving home and friends forever. The only thing I have as a remembrance of camp is this ring which I picked up in the mess hall one day, evidently lost by one of the boys. I wore it all the time I was “over there”. Every time I pick this little medicine bottle up it makes me laugh, as it was given to me the second day on the ship. The ship was a floating hospital, as about half of us were seasick that day. “We were seven days going across and believe me I was glad when I stepped on land again. We were hurried into trains and rode about 150 miles to a French Camp, where we stayed for three weeks. At last the order came to move. We were carried from the camp to the trenches in trucks in the dead of night. Everybody was given orders to keep all lights out, but it being moonlight the trucks could be easily discerned. Everything went well for half an hour, and then came the first scare. Some Geiman, about a thousand feet above our heads, let drive with a couple of bombs. Our truck was hit and I was thrown about thirty feet but escaped uninjured. The truck was quickly removed and the dead carried back; the driver and the man sitting beside him having been killed. We piled on the next truck and rode safely to the trenches. The only remembrance I have of that trip is this piece of the broken windshield. “In the trenches I collected many relics. This German Medal of Honor, I snatched from a captured German officer while he was passing through the trenches. On my first trip over the top we captured two German trenches with little loss. Here I

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T HK SPEC T ATOR 15 Note: These adventures are given as nearly as possible just as related to me by Mr. Smith, since I believe that no literary flights, however exquisite, could surpass in effect the clearness and simple accuracy which marked Mr. Smith’s narratives. If these accounts have merit, it lies alone in their scrupulous truth and honesty. —The Author. ADVENTURE I. “Necessity is the mother of invention,” and indeed I, William Smith, have often had occasion to note the truth of this adage. When I say this I have in mind an incident which occurred during my first Polar expedition. I had been for several days on the trail, accompanied only by one Eskimo and my dogs. When we halted that night, I found, to my surprise and consternation, that we had not one match with which to light a fire, and as we could not keep moving forever, a blaze was an absolute necessity. However, emergencies such as these never “stump” me for long as I am naturally of an optimistic and resourceful nature and so 1 soon bethought myself of the sunglass which I always carried with me on my tours. But, after a moment of sane deliberation, I soon saw that this method was impossible, since the northern sun at that time rose for so short an interval, and gave so little heat, that it would never suffice to ignite the most inflammable material. At this junctui'e I felt myself barren of further ideas, so, being always a’ded in such dilemmas by smoking my pipe, I filled my meenschaum, and was feeling in my pockets for a match when I remembered myself. “Indeed,” thought I angrily, “either I am getting old or absent-minded!” But now I set to work in earnest to find some method by which I might obtain fire, since my inconvenience was now increased tenfold, due to my being unable to smoke, “To die,” thought I, “is inevitable and not unendurable—but to be without smokes—!” I could not harbor the idea. At this point I bethought myself of an experience in Africa, where I had seen a savage create fire by rubbing two sticks together. But I knew that this required years of practice, in order to acquire the necessary speed of vibration. I knew I had not that speed, and that I must devise some means to make the necessary vibration. At this moment a happy thought struck me, and in a moment I was putting it into execu- tion. First I took my portable phonograph, and putting a jazz recoi'd into place prepared it for playing. Then I piled plenty of fire wood at hand, and, all being now ready, I took two dry sticks, stripped them of their warm coats of bark, started the phonograph, and held the sticks tightly together. In a moment, due to their having no bark to keep them warm, they began to shiver convulsively from the cold, and, this condition being aggravated by the jazz music from the phonograph, which caused them to shimmy quite shamelessly, the two sticks were soon vibrating at an extraordinary rate of speed, and before long, due to the heat of friction caused by their rubbing, the sticks were blazing merrily. With due care these little blazes were nursed into larger ones, and soon my Eskimo and myself were enjoying a meal in the grateful warmth of a roaring fire, while the phonograph ground out merrily the strains of “Keep the Home Fires Burning.” ADVENTURE II. Recently a certain passage in “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” was called to my attention as being especially unbelievable. In this passage the self-styled “Baron” asserts that during his (imaginary) adventures in the far north it sometimes became so cold that sounds—especially human speech—were frozen. This, be it said, is the accurate truth, but where this imposter found the information I am at loss to say. If my “Memoirs” were at press or had been printed I should suppose that in them he had obtained data, but (or so I thought) they have been kept a profound secret, and I would have thought them safe from prying eyes. But, it appears, this colossal fraud has means of securing access to places where he is not wanted, so to end controversy, and in order that all may judge between my account and his, I hereby publish a true account of my discovery and use of this phenomenon, and of how my life was saved by it. This incident occurred during my third northern expedition in the winter of 1909. We had erected a comfortable cabin in a slight declivity, and this constituted our headquarters. We had constructed it of logs, chinked it as well as possible, and then had carried water from a nearby lake, throwing it over the cabin until a sollo sheet of ice covered it, giving us as cozy a dwelling as could be desired.