Westmont Hilltop Senior High School - Phoenician Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

Page 16 text:

colm and Junior started in the direction of the voice; Hope dashed past them; it was her mother’s voice. Not far above them Hope stopped short, for at her feet lay her mother, un- conscious. Junior had run after his sister to see if he could be of any assistance. Malcolm stood in his place dumb-founded. Junior stooped and picking up his mother, followed Hope to the cottage. In her fright Hope had hastily but gently dropped her violin at Malcolm’s feet. When he saw the three descending the hill, he knew and understood, picked up the violin and bow and descended the hill to the cottage, behind his little re-united family. Everything was gone over and understood by all except Helen, who lay unconscious until noon the next day. At the time of the wreck Malcolm had been seriously injured and had lain at death’s door for many months. As soon us he was able he set out in search of Helen and Hope but met only discour- agement and returned home to devote his life to Junior. When Helen gained consciousness she no longer had the dreamy, dazed look in her eyes; she was, except for the “silver threads among the gold,” the same Helen Malcolm of eighteen years before. JUNE KERR, ’24. KING TUT’S RESURRECTION Since King Tut’s resurrection the styles and fashions of men and women (especially the women» have been revolu- tionized. So great has become the popularity of this man, that his name is known at the ends of the earth. Women’s wearing apparel has undergone the most change. Hosiery blocked and squared in such queer shapes, proves to us that the ancient Egyptians must have known something about checkers or chess! When a modern girl is made up (?) she suggests to us King Tut’s sister, (if he ever had any). The Tut style of shoes, hats and the like only goes further to prove that the living past in ever present. Next in line of those who have fallen victims to this pow- erful influence, are the dancers. The reappearances of an an- cient name accounts for the origin of another novelty, “The Tut Step.” And. last of all, the men are succumbing to this sudden impulse in the change of style. Tut shirts, ties and perhaps hosiery, have been and will be bordered with Egyptian figures. “Well,” thought King Tut, as the sound of the excava- tors’ shovels on the stone roof disturbed his slumbers, ‘‘that goes to show that you can’t keep a good man down!” But history repeats itself, again; for, after being enclosed for thousands of years, in his pyramid palace of wealth and unimagined splendor, King Tut-ankh-Amen, comes to rule. He remained there until Father Time’s wheel had made a com- plete revolution. He commands, not in u political or social sense but as u spectre whom we dread; yea, we worship, praise and even make sacrifices to him, as to a God. By sacrifice and worship we hope to secure his favor. This God is the “Tut Style,” the “Tut Fashion.” WILLIAM E. HINKEL, ’24. APPRECIATION OF MICHAEL ANGELOS WORK The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican at Rome was decorated by Michael Angelo and is by far the greatest example of fresco work which the world possesses. This fresco work is decidedly more difficult than picture painting. Some- times the space to be decorated is in a very dark spot so that the lights and shadows of the work must be exaggerated. Often the painter must lie on his back and paint above him, stretching his weary arms to his work for many hours at a time. The paint must be put on while the plaster is yet damp so that it will not peel off. These pictures on the ceiling of the chapel by Michael Angelo seem especially wonderful in that the figures stand out so prominently that it is difficult to realize the work is paint- ing and not sculptoring. Michael Angelo accomplishes this through the exaggeration of his figures, lights and shadows and through his force and desire to make us see the visions which he wished to portray. The decoration begins with the creation, and the rest of the ceiling is divided into small parts each representing a Bible story. These events and stories are all in consecutive arrange- ment finally leading up to that of the last judgment. This is considered Michael Angelo’s best painting, but he has produced many other masterpieces. In the field of sculp- ture his statues of Moses and David are famous the world over and he will never be forgotten as the designer of the dome of Saint Peters at Rome. CATHARINE SIMONS, ’24.

Page 15 text:

there with his bow ready to draw across the strings. Hope listened with wide eyes and open mouth until he had finished. Then she astonished the old gentleman by crying, “Oh, Grandpa! please, I love your music! Teach me how to play.” She came down from the tree but stopped short, for the man looked at her in stem amazement and said not a word. Her eyes filled with tears; then his countenance changed; looking back to five years before he saw lying in the rack of the little Western Express with Malcolm’s baggage, a violin. Had it be- longed to this girl’s father? He took Hope in his arms and kissed her. There in the moonlight of a glorious June night, Hope was given her first violin lesson by one of the world’s greatest artists. Back in New York, Robert Malcolm was pronounced, not only by the public but by the masters and teachers of the vio- lin, the greatest violinist of the age. He had found the only thing his music had lacked five years before. Junior had a private tutor and was learning rapidly. By the time that Hope was twelve years old she had fin- ished at the little red schoolhouse and Grandpa Strayer was teaching her from the books of his own library. She was mak- ing splendid progress in her music and he was greatly pleased with the prospects of her future prominence in music. She was hope and youth and budding life incarnate. In her blue eyes was the expectancy of a rainbow around every corner. In her step was the bounding power of superb health. In her laughing, singing voice sounded love for all the world, abso- lute courage, unquenchable joy. Lately Helen walked farther thun usual. She would wan- der for hours among the hills and always she had that strange far-away look in her eyes; as if looking for something. The first day she heard Hope play the violin, she seemed to awaken from a deep slumber and from that day on spent more time roaming the hills. When Hope became sixteen years of age, Grandpa Stranger told her of the wreck; of her father and her brother as he remembered seeing them that day; of the injury her mother had received and how she had remembered nothing of her life previous to that day. He told her of the violin in the wreck of the Western Express. This all perplexed her greatly, but when he told her what he expected of her in the musical world, it fired her with a determination to measure up to the standard he had set for her. In New York, Malcolm and Junior were planning a trip to the west for rest. Malcolm was tired of fncing those vast audi- ences and longed for quiet and rest. Junior was ready for col- lege and had announced his intention of becoming a great sur- geon. Malcolm was grieved when Junior showed so little in- terest in learning music, but when he declared he was going to be a great surgeon, his father was greatly pleased. He knew that Helen would have been delighted, could she have known. Helen—she and a little blue-eyed baby had been hunting him lately. He and Junior would go west; they would travel the same road they had traveled years before; they would get off the train at the mountain trail, where the wreck had occurred and follow it—where? Fate might determine that. It was evening of the 1st day of June, eighteen years after the wreck. Helen had gone for her usual evening walk. Grandpa and Grandma Stranger sat down on the porch for the evening. Before long Hope came riding up on “Lone Star,” her beautiful black horse. She took the horse back to the stable and returned to the porch and talked until dark of things she had seen during her ride. When the moon came up over the ridge, and her mother had not returned, she took her violin and went up to the “Leafy Bower” to play, thinking her mother would hear and turn her footsteps homeward. Softly and steadily the low, sweet tones of the violin vibrated through the still summer evening. Down on the cottage veranda the little gray-haired man and woman fose and walked to the end of the porch, where, looking up among the trees, they saw the girl who had brought them so much joy and they heard her play as she had never played before. When she had finished Grandpa Stranger said, “The time has come, Rose. Once more we will go back to the world and there 1 will introduce the fruits of my teaching.” Hope’s whole soul and thought was engaged in her music and she did not hear the approach of strangers behind her. When she turned, she was frightened to find two men behind her. One was an elderly man with gray hair and beard; the other was a tall youth with dark hair and eyes. Malcolm stood there gazing; the girl before him in the moonlight had golden curls and eyes that sparkled and danced. To Malcolm it was not Hope he saw, but Helen; Helen as he had known her in the days of his youth. In his excitement he went up to her erv- ing, “Helen! Helen!” Bob! The one word rang through the silent night. Mai-

Page 17 text:

SAFETY In the wild» of Africa, in the wilds of New York. What is the difference? Many people on the street, on Broadway, would shudder to think of themselves in the jungles of Africa. But there they are, carelessly walking straight into danger of all sorts. Long ago in the caveman age, men were surrounded by huge and terrible animals, snakes, small treacherous ani- mals, alligators, and serpents in the rivers; not only that but they were in danger of being clubbed by their own race. But wherever he went at all times, even while he slept, his natural instinct of self-preservation warned him of danger and kept him away from it. Then little by little, man, by means of brains and an active mind, annihilated these dangers, until about early Victorian times there were no dangers except that of being killed in duel or battle. But, sad to relate, with the increase of activeness of mind and brain, and the decrease of danger, our priceless possession, our instinct, died a slow death. Then, again, danger increased swiftly and took a dif- ferent form. Great cities grew up, autos, street cars, and trains are everywhere, wiping out many lives a day, and we go along carelessly and thoughtlessly. The only way we can again develop this needed quality is to practice being on the alert all the time. In this we have many aids. Every year a drive is launched by some one who has realized the trouble with our streets and especially our factories. Signs are everywhere, papers print appeals, and factories make appeals to their workers. But still many retuse to take need and i!iey are paying the price. Many are killed in the street and on railroad crossings, but by far the greatest number is killed working at our industries, especially our factories. And why? Just because of careless- ness, thoughtlessness and lack of alertness. The factories and mills have done their share. They have covered dangerous machinery, printed warnings, and installed safety devices. Now, if the worker is careful, thoughtful, and alert, all of the danger may be avoided. Can’t we take warning from the dozens of warnings in the paper each night, do our best to bring back that priceless gift of nature, the instinct of self- preservation? It is for yourself only that you make this effort. JANET COOK, ’25. This essay won the first prize in the essay contest held by Cambria Steel during its safety drive.