MSGR 1945v71n3 by UR Scholarship Repository

By Marylou Massie

THE MESSENGER

UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND

Editor-in-Chief

JULIA S. WILLIS

Richmond College Editor

RICHARD HASKER

Richmond College Staff

ANDREW SULLIVAN DON AGEE

FLETCHER STIERS, JR.

Westhampton College Editor

JEAN SAPERSTEIN

Westhampton College Assoc. Ed.

PEGGY CLARK

Westhampton College Staff

VERDA SLETTEN

FAYE HINES

VOLUME LII PAT FULLER

MARYLOU MASSIE

RUTH SCHIMMEL

Bminess Manager

HAROLD FLAX

APRIL, 1945

NUMBER 3

Editorial

Everyone is in a finishing mood these days. The school year is finished and exams are almost over. It is a good time to look back and see what we have accomplished. It is also a good time to make plans for another year with the past year clearly in mind for contrast and example.

If anyone chose one thing to question for spirit and enthusiasm this year, it would undoubtedly be the efficiency of the clubs. Probably more than any other unit the academic clubs have been most effected by the war. Richmond College has found its club membership depleted by the war and naturally much of our enthusiasm has been turned to war work. This is as it should be, but not to the exclusion of interest in other lines.

At Westhampton there has been a general feeling that some of these interests might be consolidated. It is up to the student body to consider these changes carefully. For instance El Picaro and Les Femmes Savantes have suggested joining in a Romance Languages organization. This would

VOLUME I::I

NUMBER 3

bring a larger group of students together, do away with conflicts in meeting schedules, and consolidate material and efforts for interesting programs and projects. The administration would be simplified and yet neither group need relinquish its sovereignty of interests.

When national affairs reflect and are conditioned so much by international events, it seems almost imperative that there be a closer working between the National News Council and the International Relations Club. It has also been suggested that the Forum, a new organization of this year, might be integrated into these other two as a working method of presenting the int~rests of these two clubs.

All of these units could play a dynamic part in the extracurricular academic life of the college. Sometimes they might be expressions of a student's interests outside his chosen field, and in other cases they can merely reflect and intensify his interests. In any case they are too valuable potentially to let them lapse as they have these last two years.

Dy MARYLOU MASSIE

I i:

The world's gone mad with hate and greed, t ¼ And man-in hating all man-hates him- I ;,: self. ;I: ;,: He tears his own heart out and laughs to :i: + +* see t The burning tears of anguish blind his + eyes.

0~'. ace drinking d"p =d long tbm I

And grinning while the acid eats us up. 1: I'll bet it makes the very devil weep- i :;: To watch and think that hell may come to :i= •r +

TheLegendof the Dolls

THE Sunday morning sunshine fell upon these words carved in stone over the main entrance of the First Church of Pine Groves: "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for My sake shall find it."

However, Doctor Bradford Benson, pastor of the church, did not have his eyes upon this quotation as he mounted the stone steps of the church that Sunday. Instead, a glittering object on the steps had attracted his attention. He paused and picked it up to examine it; he rotated · it loosely in his fingers as he stood there . It was a china doll -just a tiny thing; it was more of a novelty than a toy. It had been made to resemble an English country boy, and it appeared to be hand-made.

The clergyman thought for a moment, and then he slipped his fingers into his vest pocket and brought out another small object. His hand trembled slightly as he raised it to the level of the doll. He compared the two objects there on the empty steps . He looked about for other persons, but most of his congregation had entered the church already. He looked at the objects again; the second was also a doll. It was the same size as the other and it appeared to be made exactly as the other except for the fact that it was a little English girl. Dr. Benson knew that even though they were much alike the chance that they were made as a set was a great one. It might be just a coincidence, but if not, it was a symbol. The two dolls raised a great question in the mind of Dr. Benson, however, as he held them before him.

The sound of the bell broke the silence of the Sunday morning; the First Church of Pin~ Groves was calling the people to worship. Its minister stood below the bell tower, but he was hearing another bell at that instant. The sound fell on his ear almost like an echo in a canyon, but it suppressed all other noises at that moment. Dr. Benson heard the bell of another church, a much larger church than First, and far removed from the little village of Pine Groves. It was the bell of the Northern church that he had been pastor of before coming to Pine Groves. He had imagined this larger church to be the highest attainment he would ever want to reach, and he had believed it presented to him a way of life that was utopian in every sense. The large church performed all its functions like a well-made, well-cared for machine

with its pastor at the controls He gave sixteen years of his life in this manAer.

He remembered now that even the happy years were not without their losses. In the spring of 1938, Dr. Benson's wife died of pneumonia. The tragedy left him confused and lonely for many weeks. Then he learned to look upward for aid and guidance, instead of at his side as he was accustomed to doing. His wife's death left only Dr. Benson and one son to compose the family, but they found more mutual happiness in each other than they ever had before. Once again Dr. Benson was able to take up that way of life he thought ideal.

In 1939, war came to the world. The months, weeks, and days flashed past as it enveloped the world in its fury. Men answered the call to arms in all nations and from many homes; soon that day came when Dr. Benson clasped the hand of his son in farewell. The youth made out well and soon won his "wings" in the Army Air Corps. In • the spring of the year after the son joined the Air Corps, Dr. Benson received a government telegram that informed him that his son had arrived safely in England and was stationed with a fighter group.

Dr. Benson received many letters from his son during the first few weeks. The youth gave his impressions of London, the air base, the English people, the war in general and his fell ow pilots in the group. The letter describing his first mission was brief, nervously written and full of boyish excitement. More missions followed and the enemy was met in combat.

One morning a letter of victory came to the minister; his son described his first "kill" to be like "a match dropping to the ground still lit after you've lit a cigarette with it."

One day Dr Benson received a tiny box and a letter from his son. The minister found the box contained a tiny china doll, made to resemble a little English maid. The accompanying letter explained that this was one of a set of twin dolls. The youth wrote how he had bought the dolls in southern England. The seller of them had told him that the dolls carried a legend attached to them. It was said that if the twins, a boy and a girl, were separated, they would inevitably find their way together again. Thus if two people each [ 1 ]

had one doll of a set, the time would come when the dolls and, consequently the two persons would be brought together again. The son wrote that he would retain the boy doll, because its holder was supposed to be draw"1 to the other, and had sent the other doll to his father.

The son concluded his letter, "I do this, not in the grasp of a superstition which I do not believe, but simply in the hope and prayer that God may soon permit men and things to unite in peace for all time."

On that day Dr. Benson slipped the doll into his vest pocket, and there it remained until now.

The minister of First Church still remained on the church steps. He did not hear the church bell peal out its last strokes; he continued to hear the sounds of the other bell. The bell was calling another congregation together in the presence of a saddened father. Dr. Benson was that father; the congregation was in the Northern church. A second telegram from the government had arrived. Dr. Benson's son was reported as missing in combat over enemy occupied territory. The youth's squadron leader sent a letter of comfort expressing some belief that the youth might be alive. Once again, sorrow and confusion entered the life of Dr. Benson. He felt that all the happiness and contentment he had found in recent years had been snatched from him. He began to look about once again for comfort and joy in living. But it was not to be found for him. His well organized church failed to meet his vital need. He sought people and companionship not efficiency or organization.

It was seeking the values found in men that caused Dr. Benson to come to Pine Groves the following winter. The First Church had much more to offer him in this respect than his other church. It had a congregation that needed him, not as a general director, but as a home minister to each family. These people had much to ask of Dr. Benson, but they also had much to give him-the knowledge of the worth of an individual. Suddenly, Dr. Benson realized the bell of First Church was silent. He was standing alone on the church steps; his thoughts had vanished into memories in his mind.

He slipped both dolls into his vest pocket and walked in the main door of his church.

An usher stepped forward, "You are ready to begin the service, sir?"

"Yes, I did not intend to be delayed. Will you please have the prelude begun?"

[2]

By JULIA WILLIS

:I= Love and tears :I=

:I= Tears and laughter :I= :I= Live together. t

You would shut the heart from sorrow:I= keep it away? t

:I= It will wither. t It will die.

:I= Better that than watch it bleeding, you t would say?

:I= Love and tears is the other way. t Which would you rather?

Dr. Benson walked down the aisle, climbed to the pulpit and sat down. His calm blue eyes glanced over the upturned faces of the congregation and paused on the countenance of a young man.

"He has come here at last," Dr. Benson almost murmured aloud

The newcomer in the congregation was a young man. Dr. Benson knew that he would always remember how he had met him and the story of how the youth had come to Pine Groves.

One day in early fall, Dr. Benson drove out to the Simpkins ' farm. Mr. Simpkins was a member of his church and was recovering from an illness. He was approaching the house, when he saw a tractor towing a trailer loaded with husked corn. He stopped his car and hailed the tractor driver, believing him to be Mr. Simpkins. The driver, who was not Mr. Simpkins, turned nervously and murmured something in reply. Dr. Benson spoke kindly and asked the driver, a young man, if he lived near by.

"You'll find Mr. Simpkins at the barn," the driver stated as he started the tractor moving.

Somewhat bewildered, Dr. Benson later asked Mr. Simpkins about the young man.

"Well, he lives here and he says his name is John Adams. He has a story behind him that ought to be in print. Do you want to hear it, Dr. Benson?" Mr. Simpkins asked when they sat alone by the fire.

"Certainly," said Dr. Benson. "Perhaps I can help him in some way."

"I' 11 start then and give it to you just like he and the Army officer told me. (Continued on page 11)

Passe I

By FLETCHER STIERS

Lost!

:I: Alone! .

Pounding, pounding, pounding,

t The sea ever resounding,

Rocks the bark upon the sea.

t Only four from five do sit.

t Gently lifting, sliding across the back

Of the endless tide of waves

Green, blue, black.

As~rm-

'.t Now topped with white.

'.t The bark, still it floats.

;t Only three from five

:~ Has the night left alive.

Day on day

:t And still the play

:i: Of the sea on its endless tide.

t Never ending,

:t The sea defending

;t Its natural power.

~( And in the hour

:t There is only one from five.

t Now calm. He rests, no, not in sleep. t £ Pounding, pounding, pounding,

+ Endless sea resounding. ! They cut the sea with a quiet wake.

:t Their fin shining bright,

:t Swimming, watching waves dash

).: On the craft.

t Time grows near.

They know their need.

+ It is done.

£ They feed.

[ 3 ]

INTERNATIONAL

GENERAL SECURITY COURT ASSEMBLY COUNCIL Of JUSTICE

I I

Economic Commissions

ECONOMIC Regional' Social & SOCIAL Secretariat Military Security Commissions Staff Other COUNCIL Agencies Commis s ions

International Labor International Organization MonetQry Fund AIR National

United Nations Food International Bank SEA Contingents and Agriculture for Reconstruction of Armed Forces

Health, Education other Economic Agencies LAND Commissions

INTERNATIONAL ORGANIZATION

Proposed at Dumbarton Oaks

WorldSecurity

By JULIA WILLIS

New Republic April 30, 1945

New York, 20 pp.

THOSE who can remember both wars and the Victory Day of 1918 must have been struck by the sober outlook of May 8, 1945. Bells were rung, but they were in the churches; the people met together, but it was to pray and think. It was not because the America of 1918 was not sincere. It had built its wartime spirit on the hope of ending all wars and giving the world leadership and democracy. It was not because our leaders then did not realize that to win a war was only half the battle. This time we have tasted the fruits of our failure. Perhaps the solemn faces mean that we have at last begun to learn the lessons of history.

This is a book review. Specifically, it is a review of the special section of The New Republic, April 30, 1945. In a broader aspect it is a review of many other magazines and pamphlets that attempt to bring to the people the present affairs of the world they are making. Books are written after a crisis has past. They may be valuabie to posterity but it is to current essays that we must look for discussions of current problems.

The New Republic is not a conservative publication. It has taken the lead on many problems and it was strongly for the League of Nations and America's entrance into some world union after the last war. It is a thoughtful magazine and this supplement presents a series of questions to the American public.

What Dumbarton Oaks is- What it isn't.

An outline of the internal organization suggested for a world union is presented. The Security Council is the executive unit and in this group the "big five" have permanent seats with six other members to be elected alternatively from the General Assembly of nations. The subsidiary organizations are: Court of Justice, Secretariat, Military Staff, Economic and Social Council. This last unit is one on which the authors suggest that we place greatest confidence.

"If this Economic and Social Council adopted

a bold and vigorous policy, it could go far toward making the machinery of the Security Council unnecessary, by abolishing disputes before they begin."

Organizations sincerely built on humanitarian ideas and practical assistance in economic, social and medical problems need no police force to foster them. We need only remind ourselves of the respect given in most cases to the International Red Cross to be convinced. However, in this first article of explanation

The New Republic faces squarely the fact that the Dumbarton Oaks is not yet accepted. Minority groups as well as major · powers have poured in suggestions for revisions. Especially this country and its conservatives have not decided. What the Dumbarton Oaks Plan actually presents is a sincere beginning.

"It is rigged on the ground that responsibility must go with power."

Criticism from Internationalists

The next article is a warning about the first pitfall into which we may stumble. It is that of disappointment among those who want more, not less, power in the international union. These will be the idealists who do not want to "muddle through." They are absolutists and will be the first to spread pessimism and defeatism.

The Question of Sovereignty

Next we must face a group whose reasoning is as insidious as it is regressive. They are those who hold an outmoded concept of sovereignty. They will say we are losing our precious heritage of freedom. Control of foreign policy and economic affairs they will call our sacred rights. However, "the whole purpose of the international security organization envisaged by the Charter is to end once and for all a nation's unlimited right to be its own judge in its relations with another nation."

This is no more than an expansion of the basic idea of our own democratic ideal, that all men have equal rights.

(Continued on page 12)

[ 5 ]

What PriceLife?

By DOROTHY JAMES

THEY always say grandmothers like to 'snoop' around and pry into the young folk ' s affairs, but not me . I've been a grandmother for a mighty long time, and you don ' t catch me spying oh them . I can say that never once have I-well-e-1-1-that is-0, that was different!!! That wasn't really spying, mind you! You see it was like this; I was just walking softly . down ·the upstairs' hall one night , around twelve o ' clock-just minding my own business-when I passed Jane ' s room (Jane's my granddaughter), and I heard her talking to someone . Now I thought , who on earth could she be talking to at this late hour and in her own room at that! ! ! So just out of simple devotion I stopped to listen After all I guess I have a right to know who is spending the night in my house. That's the trouble with these young folks they don't ever tell me anything! I soon found out though! It didn ' t take long or very much ingenuity to figure out that she was just speaking to a picture . A picture of a soldier boy-fine lad-at least, he is from his picture. I like that smile. Well , just out of curiosity, mind you, I stopped to listen . What on earth could she be saying to a picture?

"'You know, Dearest, they ' ll ask me who you are. That's all that matters to them really-just who you are and where you come from. Two very simple questions but very meaningful and important to them Their whole life is based around them. By who you are, Darling, they mean who your mother was, your dad, even your grandfather, grandmother-as far back as the "great, greats " -silly, isn't it? They ' ll want to know if your family came from England, France, or-it would thrill them to death if one of them came over on the Mayflower. As if it made any real difference Yes, they'll want to know if you have been associated with the right kind of people By the right kind they mean people with a high social background-people who know how tc/ give social teas, dress in the latest fashions, abide by all the traditions and conventions of "Society"-and who have never once gone out of their bounds They'll ask you if you have travelled a lot, what school you attended, what " business" you ' re in-or if maybe you inherited all your money and don't

have to work for a living. All those foolish old questions, around which their whole life, if you can call it life , revolves . And when all the time I know what you are!

" 'No, I'm afraid no ancestor of yours came over on the Mayflower , at least, I don ' t suppose you'd know if they did . And your Mother probably doesn ' t know much about social "tete-a-tetes ," and things like dressing in all the latest fashions don ' t really concern her. Her whole life is based on fashioning you for life-and to give you advantages she had never had is all she asked from it. I love the pride and gratitude with which you tell me how she gave up things-things like beautiful clothes-that you might go to college. And goodness, I didn't know there was so much to learn in college until I met you. Yes, you took advantage of every opportunity because you knew someone had sacrificed that you might go; and most of all, you really appreciated that sacrifice. Appreciation -something I've never had a chance to know. Appreciation for the opportunities and the values that come from learning and appreciation for the hopes of others. You know life and you love life; and out of yo"urlove for it has come the desire to help others-others less fortunate than you-to find the joys that you have found. Social Service is a big field but you aren ' t afraid to tackle it. You aren't afraid of anything that you know in your heart is right-there are no foolish traditions to hold you back.

"As for " traveling " -you are traveling today, My Darling-traveling with the courage of millions of America ' s sons-to fight for the country you know and love-the country that gave you a chance to look life in the face , and that same America is opening up for me a chance to live! But oh, how can I show them that what you are is so much finer than who we are! '

" Hymp-guess I walked away at that! Finer than we are, she says! Well-now just you look at this fine old house with its Gothic architecture and old Eastlak furniture-full of traditionsyes-traditions that give her the right to hold her head high! ! ! He could never give her this-but, Oh God, give her the courage to choose what he is. "

[6]

TheSongof the Sawkachee

By FLETCHER STIERS

T1.

HE Dever boys had one of the largest farms in that end of the county. It was land that their father, and his Pa before him had worked, and now Ed and George worked the tired land . Ed and George were twins, and just alike . So alike in fact that they both loved the same gal, Annie, Jeb Hawk's daughter.

It was as they were coming back home one night after seeing Annie that Ed first spoke of it. "Hell, George, this can't go on much longer like this. We gotta have a good talk."

" I know," came the answer from his twin. ' 'I've been thinking the same thing for a long time now. One of us is gotta leave Annie alone. Both of us

Dever boys can't have the gal."

Ed thought for a long while before he answered. His throat was dry like the dust on the road. "Which is it going t' be?" Again he was quiet. The moon was rising from the swamp. "We both love her, and she would walk down the aisle with either of us. We gotta decide real quick which it is going to be."

"Yeah." George answered the remark as they reached the gate, and turned up the lane toward their house. "Annie is so sweet like. She ought to have the best one of us, Ed. Annie ought to have the best man."

Quickly Ed answered this, too quickly for George, "Which one of us is the best man, George?"

There was a silence before George replied. "I don't know, Ed. I don't rightly know which of us it is."

"Then we've gotta find that out."

"Yeah, we gotta find out." They had reached the house. In they went, and then to bed. The sounds of the Sawkachee swamp were their night song, but the Dever boys did not sleep. After a long time of quiet George spoke again. "Ed, if we've gotta find out who the best man is for Annie, then there ain't but one way to find out which that is. We gotta fight it out. Jest you and me, Ed, and the winner gits Annie."

"Ah hell, George, I don't hate you."

"It ain't no question of hate, Ed. I don't hate you. We' er twins and that's closer than being just

plain brothers, but we've gotta find out which is the best man for Annie and this is the only way. We have t' fight it out. There ain't no other way."

"Yeah," was the brother's answer, "it's the only way to find out."

There was a long while that neither of them said anything. They were both thinking about what had been said.

"In the morning, George?" questioned Ed.

"I guess so. We kin go over in the north field, no one will git in our way over there." George searched the wall in the dark. "Good night, Ed. "

"Night, George."

Morning came.

The brothers woke, dressed, ate, and went out of the house. It was a hot summer day, and they started out across the open fields toward the north. George whistled as they walked along, side by side.

"It's goin' t' be a hot day, George." Ed said looking up at the cloudless blue sky "Yeah."

They were silent again until they reached the north field where they grew hay. On three sides there was forest, the fourth side was open. It was a large field, and the twins walked to the center and stopped.

"Well, Ed, here we are. The winner to git Annie. Anything goes?"

"Yeah, George," came the reply of his brother. They stripped off their clothes and stood facing each other for seconds that seemed years. Young, healthy, tanned, stood the brothers in the morning sunlight, each waiting for the other to strike the first blow.

It was George who struck the first blow at last after what seemed hours of waiting. Ed ducked the blow and returned it. The battle for Annie had begun.

It was a clean fight between the brothers with no low punches. It was a good clean fight. For a while they stood slugging it out, first one giving ground and then the other. Then they stood no longer, but rolled through the hay that stood almost waist high. The hay was crushed under the weight of the fighting, sweating bodies. On and [ 7}

i t i Tear-stained i

i By PEACHEE

i Mother Nature beats an endless rhythm i i With her dripping finger-tips i i On each glistening roof, on every window i pane.

i The trees are softly crying i :I: And to the naked branches i i Cling their silver tears, the rain.

i Shining streets are empty, i i And on their surfaces lie, i Like so many mirrors, dull, time-worn, and i g~

i Puddles scattered recklessly about i In far-fiung confusion. i Which refiect the dimness of the day. i

The Sky, a sombre color, :I: Makes a heavy blanket for the Earth. i i She is crying also-soft and icy tears which i fall i Upon the shivering grass and few remain- i i ing leaves.

i The World is sad, i And her sadness gathers overhead and =i: settles down, enveloping us all. i

on they fought, neither giving in to the other. Ten minutes, fifteen, thirty they battled. They were tired out, but battled on. Soon the tan of the hay was sprinkled with the blood of the fighters. On and on they battled, turning and twisting, then standing, now falling back to the ground. They fought well.

They were plum tired out, but they did not stop the battle. The sun climbed high into the sky and beat down upon them as they fought. They each gasped for air and battled on.

Across the field, into the forest on the other side of the field they battled. Now smashing into trees they became entangled in the Spanish moss. For an hour the battle raged and still the brothers fought. Int0 the swamp the battle led with Nature and God as its only witnesses. They stood now, almost knee deep in the slime of the swamp water slugging it out. Each could think of but one thing: the winner gets Annie.

The field and forest were left far behind, the path of the battle led deeper into the Sawkachee. Each was determined that if he were not the best man then the other should have to prove that he was.

Suddenly into the slime they fell, turning, twisting, splashing in the filth, but the water refreshed them and gave each new hope. Deeper and deeper into the swamp they went, and on the battle continued, the battle of the Dever boys. Each saying to himself, "Annie will be mine, she'll belong to me if I win. Just a little longer and he'll have to give in, just a little longer." But neither of the Dever boys gave in, each of them wanted Annie for his own, his very own. Sweat and blood poured from them. Both Ed and George, were completely exhausted, but still they fought, still they battled on and on into the depths of Sawkachee.

Then it was Ed who fell backward where the water was deep. His head quickly popped to the surface of the filth and he began with slow, painful strokes, to swim back to where George crouched in the shallow water. It was then that George heard the 'gator, and then he saw him. He came swimming swiftly through the water toward Ed, his mouth slowly opening.

"Ed, Ed," was his panic stricken cry. "It's an al' gator. Quick, Ed, swim faster. He's coming straight fer you. Quick, Ed, git out of there. Hurry, Ed, hurry."

The swimmer was completely lost in sudden panic. Ed could swim no faster.

"Ed, hurry. Please hurry. He's just behind you. Quick, Ed, quick." His brother pleaded from the shallow water.

The 'gator was almost on him. Ed could feel it in the water behind him. "Help me, George, help me," he cried out. "Please help me, George. Please," he cried in a last desperate, painful cry. He saw George reach his hand out. It was just inches from him now, only a few short inches.

Then he felt it. Teeth, sharp and white dug into his leg, tearing him apart. He felt himself being eaten alive. An unhuman cry ushered from his throat and pierced the Sawkachee. Something that sounded like "George" came from the tortured face. Then Ed disappeared under the surface.

George heard the cry, and he too had felt his brother's pain. He had stood there in the shallow water only a few feet away and seen his brother, his twin brother, eaten alive and he had been helpless to do anything.

He stood there now, crying Ed's name. The water before him was red now and then he realized that it was Ed's blood that made the water red. Blindly he ran through the swamp, falling (Continued on cover 3)

[ 8 J

WoodenPennies

By JEAN SAPERSTEIN

THEY'S kind. Those white folks sure am kind. Here I is, a poor old nigger blind man, a sitting here a waiting for mercy. I is the sittenist old blind man you ever seen. I just sits on this corner and holds out my cup.

" Give to the poor," I calls.

"Give to the needy," I says.

I is blind , the Lord done took mah eyes, cause the Lord, he needs 'em and what the Lord has a mind to have he takes. My eyes is a servin' the Lord.

" Give to the poor," I says again. I always sorta moans out that word "give." And they gives. Them white folks is good folks , I know they is cause I hear the clink o' their money when it falls into my cup

There it goes again-clink, clink, clink. Nice money agoing clink. Emanuel here, he's a nice boy, takes care a this nice money. He's a real good boy. He sits here aside of me all the day and he talks to me. Sometimes he even helps me holler. He ' s a mighty nice boy and the Lord shore am gonna help him.

I never gets tired asittin ' here. Not with little Manuel, I don't. Not when they is all them nice people agiving me pennies, I don ' t. I just listens and sits, sits and listens. I hear the people atalkin' and Manuel atalkin' and sometimes I even hear God atalkin '. God, he ' s a mighty powerful bein ' , that God He comes to me when I is sittin' here and he tells me I is servin' the Lord when I makes people give. A givin' people is a good people he says and how can a people be good 'less they have somethin' to give to . I is shore servin' the Lord.

Here I sits , me and Manuel. If I puts my hand out I can feel his twisted hair. It's the hair of an angel , it is, a little black angel, cause my Manuel's servin' the Lord . My Manuel's a good boy. He just sets aside of me all the day and helps me. He sets here ataking care of his old nigger ffi'an llke he ' s a little ·angel. Every.time Manuel hears that " clink" he just tips his hat and says, "Thank you kindly, ma'am, thank you " Then he takes the money from my cup and puts it away so's we can buy bread aindsausage for dinner.

I hears them feet go by. Does you hear them

[9]

feet, Manuel? Them's the feet of the rich folks, Manuel. They' s the feet of the kind folks. They' s our friends, Manuel.

"CLINK." "Thank you, ma'am."

Yes, they' s our friends. God sees ' em, he knows our friends, cause he's a mighty great fell a, that God.

Manuel? . . . Manuel? . . . Manuel, child where is you?

What's that you' re atellin' me? HIT? A car?

No, that ain't true, not my Manuel, not my boy. He was asittin' here aside of me. He was tippin ' his hat and thankin' people like he allus does And it weren't but a minute ago No, that ain't my Manuel.

What's that you' re asaying? Put my hand out?

His hair, it's my Manuel's hair. Yes, I knows it, I know that little head, it's an angel head . . . an angel head.

Oh! Lord you done took my angel. Lord you done took my eyes. You' s got a mighty powerful Heavin' now, Lord. That's what you've got .

My Manuel, I's not goin' to see you 'till I die. And you was so little-so good. Now I is alone, all alone. I must sit here without my Manuel. Oh Lord who will take the money to buy the bread? Who's again' to tip his hat to the kind people. My Manuel, he's gone. I is all alone and I is afraid.

As I sits here all alone I can hear the people's feet. Does you hear them feet, Manuel? Can you hear them feet where you is, Manuel? They is the feet of our friends. They is our friends, Manuel. Ain ' t they our friends , next to the Lord they is.

I knows they is our friends. Just listen and you'll hear the "clink" of money, for they's good people. The "clink"? I ain't a hearin' no "clink ."

Why don't I hear no money afallin' in my cup?

"Give to the poor." "Give to the needy. . . . " "Clink"? There ain't none. Ain't you ahearing me people? You is kind people, you gives me money. "Give to the poor." Here is my cup, people , here it is. Don't go by, I is over here. Stop those feet and give to a poor man. Why is I alone? Where is my Manuel? The people done give when my Manuel was here, I knows they did, I heared the "clink" of the pennies.

(Continu ed o n co v er 3)

Transition,ElementNo.94

By RUTH SHIMMEL

THE thin, brittle razor of the professor's voice cut through the mists of his consciousness -

"And now gentlemen," he sliced, "having discussed the commercial preparation of this King of Acids, we will take up its physical properties. Mr. Blake, will you tell the class. . . . "

Good. Good. The Doc was starting at the beginning of the alphabet; he'd never get to the back row this hour. He sank back once more into his feather bed of thoughts. Once more the insistent refrain nagged him: What was he doing here? Why? Why? How long? He knew he was unique, novel · no one as he had ever existed; a rare and ' precious element. Yes, yes, that was good-a new element. He played on the strings of his lyre of self-aggrandizement; his eye~ grew moist and modest as he realized the tragedy of the egocentricity of those ignoble souls with whom he was forced to consort. Now they scoffed, now they sneered, now they mimicked, but in future days.

... "Ah, vengeance is sweet, saith the Lord!"

Here he sat, one of the tragedies of war, in a Chemistry class, tolerating the dull prosey of Science 9nly because by some miscarriage of Destiny, the Dean said so.

"Therefore," mused he defiantly, "I shall study me by the approved, analytical method:

SUBSTANCE UNDER DISCUSSION: ELEMENT 94

1 History:

The element was first isolated on December 12, 1924. Credit for this element is usually given to its procreator, James Wyatt, erstwhile entertainer, raconteur and racketeer, although convincing evidence has been presented to the effect that Playboy Powell and Mrs. Wyatt were conducting similar experiments at the same time. The element was christeend James Wyatt the II by its indifferent parents. It soon became apparent that the Wyatt menage was no habitat for an unsophisticated young element, so he was transplanted to the hardy soil of Maine to stimulate the diminishing clan of his Aunt Hannah. Aunt Hannah was what is philosophically termed a "good old soul," but she had neither the inclination, inspiration or indoctrination to shape and mold the delicate character of James the II.

II and III Occurance and Preparation:

Thus the prodigal son of Manhattan profligates awoke one morn to find the increased pressure of the crags of New England on his spiritual fontanel too much to bear. Fortunately, everyone in the country was playing soldier. James the II, never to be outdone by the rabble, decided to play too. He played sailor.

At first No. 94 was a wee bit disconcerted; he had been misled by the imposing and soul-stirring posters which had seduced him to work, a fact he became very bluntly familiar with at the Great Lakes Training Center. With the air of a White Russian Baron applying for membership to the Brooklyn Street-Cleaners Union, Local 23, James condescendingly humored the Navy in fulfilling his tasks. He finished his boot training with no further claim to glory than the besmirching commendation of his bunkmates who had proclaimed his forehead the "most likely to recede."

From Great Lakes he was transferred to Key West, a town with the warmth and promise of its many dark-eyed senoritas. Narrow, crowded, noisy, senuous, the town always wore an overcoat of trouble and in no time at all, the first button on that overcoat became James the II. The rough, vulgar verbosity of the people was in direct contrast to the flat New England frugality of speech as were all their other mannerisms and element No. 94 was swept off his feet. He delved so enthusiastically into the pleasures of Bacchus, Venus, and Mars that in Hades his deceased father winched in shame at his own, contrastingly insignificant record of crime.

IV. Pro perites:

During this era of the elements' existence his state was usually liquid, though on all occasions his conversations were gaseous. Solidity was as yet unknown. His density was obviously high, aye, to the point of stupidity, for he had yet to formulate a philosophy of life, yet to meditate on the frivolity of his escapades, yet to yearn for the compassionate heart and helping hand of a true friend. His physiological properties had somehow contrived to remain intact in their original pleasing forms despite his varied dissipations and [ 10]

his effect on the body was discernable only to the female of the species.

V Chemical Conduct:

Obviously James Wyatt's chemical conduct w;s atrocious. He was equipped to be neither a "gentleman" nor an "officer," but through the efforts of a credulous superior officer he was made to unite with a V-12 unit. The reaction was exothermic. Since James the II was not being utilized in the fight with Hirohito, he declared a private war of his own.

VI Uses:

Thus Element 94 had been recognized by the Chemical World for twenty years and had not yet been put to any practical use in the advancement of civilization. He was regarded by experts as an annoying negative catlyst.

This was Element 94' s status on entering the Chemistry Lecture Room. What was he doing here? Why? Why? How long? The chant persisted. He was oppressed by the purity of his life. Let not the arrogant oppress thee. Well, they were; they were squelching his own peculiar genms.

"But perhaps, Mr. Wyatt can solve that problem of its volability for us . . . ?"

"Doc," he leered, "I ain't interested."

He calmly took out a cigarette pack, arose majestically from his seat sauntered out the door, puffing contentedly. It's better this way he gloated. Never let 'em get you down, James, old boy. He inhaled deeply and tossed two symmetrical smoke rings into the eyes of that guy on the steps. Touche, that guy was the Skipper. -f -f -f

The Legend of the Dolls

(Conti1111edfrom page 2)

"When the American Army advanced through France, it took the small town in which John was found. He was living with a French family, living like one of them in fact. His uniform was destroyed for security reasons when the people found him, and none of the family could remember anything about it other than it was American. None of them spoke English, and John, or whoever he is, had a difficult time living with them. He said that he didn't remember anything about himself before living with the family. He told me that they called him by the name 'John Adams,' but he wasn't sure that it was his name at all."

"The Army placed him in a hospital in Paris for observation," Mr. Simpkins continued to relate.

"Later he was transferred to a London hospital. They labeled him as an amnesia case and sent him to a large general hospital on the East coast of this country. John told me that he was kept there for several weeks. Then one night he seemed to come to himself. He told the officer in charge that 'John Adams' was his real name. He said that he was able to remember that he had no family, and he had been a farm worker in Indiana. John demanded to be released. He was given some medical examinations and mental tests, and finally issued a medical discharge on the basis that his mental condition had returned to normal. Before he left, plastic surgery operations were completed to remove facial disfigurements that he had received somewhere in combat. Such operations as this are unfortunate, I think, in amnesia victims since they make recognition by acquaintances very difficult.

"Early last spring he came here asking for work. I hired him and filled out the regulation form, in order to hire a person with a medical discharge, and sent it to Washington.

"A few weeks after filing the statement, I received a letter from Washington asking me to come to the Army Recruiting Center in Hamilton City on a certain date. There I met an Army doctor from the hospital where John stayed. He was traveling through, and the hospital had asked him to stop there in order to see me. He told me that he had some special information regarding John Adams. He said that when an investigation of John's old home and occupation was made, no records could be found of him. He said that John had not shown the capabilities of a normal mind on his last mental tests. The officer expressed some doubt that John was really well, but he believed that his chances of recovery were as good with me as in a hospital. He told me to keep him as a worker, but to notify him if his condition changed or he wanted to leave. Thus, you see how John came here. I trust you will not reveal what I have told you, since it might hinder his recovery.''

Dr. Benson drove home that night, a thoughtful and wondering man.

Here in the quiet moments before the worship began; Dr. Benson's thoughts recalled the many talks that he had ,vith John Adams. He was careful in all that he did not to reveal to the youth

what he knew of him. One evening as they were talking on the farmhouse porch, Dr. Benson told John that he knew of a clerical job in Pine Groves that he might like. He invited him to live at the church house, since the minister was alone. John seemed to show a desire to do it, and yet the hidden fear, that Dr. Benson had seen before, forced his decision from him.

"No, I cannot go. I thank you, but I am needed here," he replied and bade the doctor good night.

Dr. Benson continued to see John as much as possible, but he always felt that the hidden fear formed a barrier between the two men. Dr. Benson's affection for the youth increased as he knew him more. The minister felt that all people held a greater place in his heart as individuals now, but this lad seemed to produce a special warmth in the minister.

Dr. Benson's thoughts ceased; the organist had concluded the prelude and the call to worship. The minister rose and moved easily to his pulpit. He looked into the face of John Adams once more.

"I am glad that he has decided to come here. I couldn't make him come; he had to want to come. Now he is here. I know that some day he will find the peace of soul he needs, and I believe that he will find it in the house of God when he does," the minister thought silently.

The service was a pleasing one to Dr. Benson; his sermon flowed smoothly, and the order of worship was simple. As soon as the service ended, Dr. Benson, the new Doctor Benson who loved men for their worth as individuals, announced that the Church was open to receive new members. He said that there would be a baptismal service at this hour. He asked that those who wished to unite with the church might come forward during the hymn and scripture reading of the baptismal service.

The organist began to play the opening of the hymn softly, and the congregation rose to sing. Dr. Benson looked over his people, proud of their devotion to him. As they sang, a little girl slipped from her seat and came hesitantly toward the pulpit. A man and his wife, new additions to the community, came to the minister next. A young boy from the Church Sunday School moved up the aisle as the congregation sang the last verse of the hymn. Dr. Benson raised his Bible, while the people remained standing, to read the lesson. The eyes of John Adams were fixed intently upon him as the minister read. John's eyes looked soft,

troubled, as if he were seeking · something. Dr. Benson turned to St. Matthew's account of Jesus being baptized. He read the passage through and c_oncluded with these words of our Heavenly Father, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."

Dr. Benson closed the Bible and looked at the main aisle in surprise; a man was advancing up it toward the pulpit. Dr. Benson extended his hand to receive him in welcome, and he received the hand of John Adams.

John looked up into the kindly minister's face and said, "I believe I have found the light I need in my life."

The lips of Dr. Benson moved, but no words came from them. His kind eyes glistened with a tear drop or two. The heart of the pastor of the people of Pine Groves was filled with silent joy as he closed his service.

When the two men walked down the church steps that morning, John paused and said thoughtfully, "You said that office job starts at eight o'clock, Monday morning, didn't you?"

The sun sank that evening on the church house of Pine Groves as two men, one young and the other older, stood before a low fire on the hearth in the pastor's study. Once their lives were worlds apart, but today they had found happiness in each other in the space of an hour. John and Dr. Benson turned their eyes upward toward the mantel of the fireplace; a set of twin china dolls-an English boy and an English girl-stood like the two men beneath them, together in silent, complete happiness.-Roy Wyatt. i i i

World Security

(Continued from page 5)

TVill It Be Ratified?

The Connally vote in the senate proved that these leaders realize the importance of some sort of international cooperation. So many things may come between the present plan and its reception We and our leaders must realize, however, that everything must have a beginning. The death of President Roosevelt lost for us a man with great knowledge and experience in foreign affairs who was often capable of seeing beyond a minor concession to the eventual good. Another danger is in the isolationist frame of mind which is expressed in other things than merely a resentment at a superficial world organization. It is well [ 12}

known that the Republican party is the stronghold of these ideas. Senator Vandenberg stands as the major Republican leader.

"If for any reason, political or otherwise, Vandenberg is 'disappointed' by the San Francisco results, he will be the Henry Cabot Lodge of this generation "

These questions are a warning to a people who were once fatally discouraged. Last time we wavered and failed before a complex situation which we gave up as without a solution. This time we know there must be an answer. These editors of The New Re public, Max Lerner, James Loeb, and George Soule, are asking America not to lose her idealism, but not to confuse it with naivete . We must watch: those people we have elected to administer our affairs; our allies as well as our enemies in the way they legislate for the general welfare; money, that it does not buy privileges for itself; but above all ourselves, that we do not falter in our vigilance or compromise our ideals when we think to compromise only to minor desires of others -f -f

The Song of the Sawkachee

(Continu ed f r o m pag e 8 ) and stumbling, always crying, "Ed . Ed. Ed. Ed. Ed. Ed. " No longer did he think of Annie. He could think only of Ed , and his horrible death.

From the water he ran and into the bog Suddenly he was caught. He began to sink in the muck. Already it came to his knees, now his thighs. George didn't fight, he didn ' t want to, and he was too tired. The soft mud was to his waist. Now he struggled, fighting for his life. Now the mud was to his chest. He fought hard against the power pulling him, deep and deeper down. Then with silence from exhaustion he too was lost.

The battle was done.

No one had seen the Dever boys for almost a week now and Annie Hawks was real mad be' cause they hadn't called on her. When some of the men went up to the Dever house to look for the boys they were surprised not to find the boys there . They could not explain it. Then some of the young fellows found the clothes over in the north field. Everyone went to see. They saw the crushed hay and blood and the path could be followed for a ways into the woods , but was then lost.

They searched the woods and the swamp, but not a trace of Ed and George could be found any.where.

They couldn ' t explain it although everyone tried. They all knew that the Dever boys wouldn't go for a swim in the swamp, and there wasn't anyone who would want to kill the Dever boys and get rid of their bodies. No , not one of them could explain it no matter how hard they tried to do so. It was too much for the people who lived on the edge of Sawkachee.

It was about two weeks after they had found the clothes over in the north field, at the wedding of Annie Hawks to Jake Swift, that old Granny Tombley came forward with her explanation of the Dever's affair. She stood right up in the church and swore before them all that an Angel of the Lord had come to her and had told her the truth about the matter. "The Lord," she said in her shrill and shaky voice, "had need of two fine young men and he looked down on Earth and saw the Sawkachee and the Dever boys living by it. Well, the Lord didn't have t' look no farther for right there were jest the young men he had need of. So he called them to Heaven, He did." She paused because she knew that they were not believing her. "It's the truth, an Angel told me so."

So they believed her because Granny Tombley had always been an honest, God-fearing woman. "Since they came into the world without any clothes they had to go out the same way, " she said before they could ask about it.

But then they asked her about the blood and broken hay and the strange path into the woods , she answered, "We here common people of Sawkachee, we ain ' t the ones to question the workings of the Lord. "

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