Vandergrift High School - Spectator Yearbook (Vandergrift, PA)

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THE SPECTATOR 15 be at the front by midnight or we will never see home again. Everyone looked' in wonderment at one another until Jim broke the silence by saying that he would load it on his track and take it through immediately. Woi-k began to load the track. No argument was aroused as to who should drive the track through for Slim Jim was the only one capable of handling a loaded truck of this size through the almost impossible roads that led to the front. No time was wasted and Jim was soon in position in his truck for the perilous journey. Everyone was anxious to know who Jim would choose for his companion on this journey. He started the engine and gave a last look over the camp; then called out with a sturdy voice “Shorty.” In an instant a little short fellow, that made the company view the two as Mutt and Jeff, was sitting by his side. The truck moved off and a cheer of good luck went up as they left the camp. Onward they sped. For hours neither spoke a word to each other. Finally Jim said, “Shorty, this truck must reach the front and one of us or both of us must see it through.” Silence was again between the two. The only sound was the roar of the powerful engine of the track and the continual almost deafening roar of the guns, and the shells exploding near by. Jim all at once jammed on the brakes and checked the speed of the car just as a large shell passed and burst near by. “Whoo-oo” gasped Shorty, “that was a close one.” “Yes”, laughed Slim, “that’s close enough to this load of German Talcum Powder.” All went well till something happened to the truck. It stopped and in a place very uncomfortable to both boys for they were by this time nearing the front and the shells were bursting close at hand. Slim Jim leaped from the seat and immediately started to look over the engine while Shorty crawled under the track to see if he could locate the trouble and fix it. Soon both boys leaped into the seat and the truck started on its way. Not a minute too soon for a large shell burst in the spot in which the car had stopped. Shorty looked at Slim, patted him on the back and said, “Stick to it, Slim, we’re almost there.” After these words Shorty dropped from his seat dead. He had been hit with a piece of flying shrapnel. Slim also got a piece in the right arm putting it out of use. He still pressed on harder than ever though very weary both from the loss of a friend and partner and from the lack of blood that was gushing from his wound. Almost exhausted and very weak he came in sight of the dug-out that was to receive the powder. With new spirit and hopes he pressed the track to its utmost. Soon he reached the trenches and brought the truck to a halt, just as a piece of shrapnel struck the front end of the huge truck. Slim Jim fell helpless to the ground. He was immediately picked up by some soldiers that were coming to meet him. Jim came to some hours later and found himself in one of the cots of the Red Cross quarters from which he had started. His first words to his companions who had gathered around him were, “Did I get there in time?” The answer to this was the pinning of a medal on him by the captain who said that Jim had saved the day. —Kenneth Smith, ’24. TONY AND AMERICA OU know Tony; he’s one purty nice boy. He go fight for America; he ketch nice suit and gun, he go kick German man and knock the stuffing out. Tony he write home, he says he dig zee trench. He says he talk zee French. He says he fight little bit, eat little bit, and take zee prisoner. Tony he say German shoot and hit Tony in the leg. Tony he go to hospital; Tony says there nice nurse and he hate to get well; but he say U. S. best country on earth and he be glad to fight some more Germans for Uncle Sam. Then he says he marry nice French girl and start fruit stand. Tony says he bring back piece of Kaiser’s mustache and frame it. Tony he one nice boy. I’m his papa. —James Ruth, ’28.

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14 THE SPECTATOR HOW JIM LOVE SAVED THE DAY N the ambulance division of the American Forces in France, was a tall slender lad by the name of James Love. James was hardly known to his companions by his right name, but always by the nickname “Slim Jim”. To Slim’s companions he would make a better washwoman than a soldier, for he was always telling of what he would like to do but never got a chance. Slim was very skilful in t e handling of a large truck and was also a very good mechanic. For this reason Jim was appointed driver of the largest ambulance in his division. In exhibition work Jim could do more with his large truck than the others could with the smaller ones. This made Love a companion and friend of all. Day by day passed and Jim Love still had the happy high spirit that he had had in the beginning, though each day became blacker and more dreadful about the Red Cross Station. One evening about dusk when the fire of the enemies’ guns had slackened and the fellows were all grouped together and talking about some news that had been received, Slim Jim started telling stories to help put a smile on the faces which were now showing distress and sadness. In the midst of a very interesting story that Love was telling he stopped, and was noticed to be looking in the opposite direction. His companions looked but could see nothing save the setting of the sun which was very beautiful that evening. They asked what was the matter. His answer to them was the continuance of the story. It was noticed that he seemed to waver a bit in his talk but did not stop. All at once Slim jumped to his feet, looked, turned on his heel and made straight for his truck, leaving his companions in wonderment. He started the engine and the truck gave a leap as it started on its mad dash in the direction in which Slim had looked. Slim was soon so far away that he appeared as a mere speck against the setting sun. By this time Jim’s companions started to laugh at what they thought one of Slim’s silly notions. Presently he appeared and seemed to be coming back, but a little slower than he was accustomed to come. His friends looked for a moment and soon discovered that something had happened. They started to meet him, and to their surprise found Jim towing a truck of the same size as his. They soon reached camp and the members of the squad all rushed up to Slim and very eagerly demanded how he knew the other truck, which was loaded to its capacity with ammunition, was there. Jim merely grinned and said, “I have heard trucks before and know when they are in need.” I heard this one while I was telling the story and at the moment I jumped I heard it grind its last. But let’s stop the argument as this ammunition has to

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16 THE SPECTATOR SLUMMING T was the outcome of my Social Service visit to Grogan’s Alley that brings about this story. Jane and I always hated to visit this particular place, for of all our visits there seemed to be more heartache and misery in the tenements of this district than in all the others taken together, no matter how terrible they may be. I shuddered as we entered the alley. We soon separated, Jane to go her way and I, mine. My attention was soon attracted by a thoroughly drunken man. I noticed with pain, that he wore the dear old khaki of which we are all so familial-. I admit I was frightened but I decided to try to pass him. As he approached me I noticed his sunken eyes search my face with a look that I could not understand. I was astonished to see that he was very young and—well—handsome. I drew my coat more tightly about me as I attempted to pass him, but he would not have it that way. He caught at me, but I, having the advantage, on account of his condition, cleverly dodged him and fairly flew down the street. I hurried into a dirty hallway for my first visit. A pitiful cry floated to my ear as I walked down the hall. As I opened the door and gazed into the room I felt like turning my back on the misery within, but my duty called me and I calmly walked over to the bed where lay a woman. She was not over twenty-eight, but she looked so worn and haggard she might have been taken for forty. I greeted her cheerily but she only shook her head and turned away. I picked up the baby and began to quiet its crying. When I left that room an hour later both the occupants were sleeping peacefully and the room had a much better appearance. Thanks to my hour of faithful efforts! I gave a little happy sigh as I went my way. As I walked along the narrow hallway I heard footsteps of a person coming in my direction. In the dim light I recognized the young man of my encounter in the earlier part of the day. The sight of me seemed to quiet his nerves for I thought I could see some of the pain- leave his face. He spoke and then I realized he was sane and sober. My heart missed a beat. He seemed to understand my mystified look for he began to explain his conduct of our former meeting. He told of his endless search for work. His last resort had been gambling. He had been tricked into a game by a ring of crooks and, fortunately, he had won. The crooks had dragged him and stolen his winnings. When I met him he was suffering from the after effects of the drag and the pain had crazed him. He apologized for his actions, saying that he knew what he was doing but did not have the power to check himself. I forgave him and then he invited me to his home. After a moment of hesitation I accepted and followed him down the hall. He stopped before the door of the room I had just left. He opened the door and gave a little gasp of surprise when he saw the transformation of the room. He then bade me to sit down as he walked over to the bedside and lightly kissed the forehead of the sick woman. She opened her eyes and seemed relieved to find him home again. We then had a little three cornered talk and I discovered that the man was not her husband as I supposed him to be but her brother. The woman was a widow. I learned that before the war they had been accustomed to luxury, but the war had wiped away all their fortune. He liked business but had never had an opportunity to see what he could do, owing to the war. I determined then and there that he should have his chance for there were those few thousands that my father had left me waiting for a chance for a good investment like this. One year later as I entered a little store room, my eyes searched hungrily for the manager. Later as I sat in his neat little office, I smiled as I thought how closely related we soon would be. No, I did not marry Jack Kearns for what would a little crabby old maid like me want with such a young man as Jack? No, I was thinking of Jane, my niece, who was to marry Jack the next day and— I was contented! —Ethel Buckley, ’26.