Throu a Gothic arch
I saw a tree outlined in day's last remnant And in its topmost branch
Was pinned a Star of Bethlehem
Bright and beckoning
As if someone there were saying "Come!" -Peggy Clark.
THE MESSENGER
UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND
Editor-in-Chief
FRANCESKENNARDWOLF
Richmond College Editor WILLIAMRHODENHISER
Richmond College Business Manager HENRY STAGLIEDER
Richmond College Staff
RALPH NOONKESTER WILLIAMBOWDLER
Westhampton College Editor ELLEN MERCERCLARK
Westhampton College Associate Editors
JULIAWILLIS JEAN SAPERSTEIN
Westhampton College Business Manager (Name to come later)
Westhampton College Assist ant Business Manager KATHERYNMUMMA
Westhampton College Staff
LOTTIEBLANTON TWYLAJo NEwHousE
Cover by MARYTUCK
VOLUME LI DECEMBER, 1943 NUMBER 2
Unrest has fused the day into a mass Of solid gray confusion turreted With weary thoughts. And gargoyles punctuate The gloam with crooked, best-forgotten smiles That will not dwindle into nothingness. -Peggy Clark. .,.
"And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. "
The world has travelled on its course more than two thousand years since the shepherds first set out to tell it of peace and good will. Many statesmen have spoken for peace and many mothers have prayed for it, but the peoples of the world have been slow to learn that the two are inseparable . Where there is no good will there can be no peace, either of mind and of spirit or of a material sort. Good will implies knowledge, and sympathetic understanding, and a friendly feeling among the family of nations. Until the words of the angels and shepherds lead men forward where the spirit of Christmas and Christianity guides, they will not know good will or peace.
The trees stood black against a leaden sky, And breathed into the cool and dripping air A pungent, heady incense, rich and rare.
I felt the gentle breezes whisper by, And heard afar the leafy branches sigh. Of this, of all, I scarcely seemed aware, But felt and gloried in your presence there. I knew a love, a joy, that can not die. The place was strange, the time was very late, A sort of mystic beauty wrapped the scene. The tiring walk enjoyed or left to fate, I longed, oh love, to touch the golden sheen Upon your hair, to enfold and consecrate Within my heart a spirit so serene.
-Lincoln Baxter, II, [ 1 ]
M H C' 0 y eart r1es ut
By JULIA WILLIS
• The newsreels flash,
A voice proclaims, ,~ "Our progress on the eastern front."
,~
Two army trucks careen around a corner.
, h 1 A screammg w ist e-
Then the camera shakes, the picture blurs. The sunlight glares against the buildings as they crumble
And shows more dark the spots of grease and blood upon the dusty rubble.
A swift change then-
The picture shows two women scratching in
some rums
\ -searching for their homes or for their dead.
One turns her head.
My heart stops for a moment when I see her I grief and sorrow. ,~
And I wonder what the heart can hold of those ,~ hlkh h k d, w o oo t roug smo e an rums For the body of a loved one who is dead. :-:~
~?. Or the eye falls for a moment on a twisted
• human mass.
M h h. b h k , h .
y eart, crouc mg to e urt, as s, 1s e mme. Was he ours or theirs, it queries. , :-: ~-
And then it hardly matters- ,
~?, Th h h Id h" d ere were some w o e 1m ear. , 0, my heart cries out on looking into children's :-:~ ~- hun2:ry eyes. ,~
~?. And it sickens at the sight of futile death.
,~ B h II f h I h ~- ut more t an a o t ese weep to ear: h
"We must extermmate t em, everyone." ,~ "They are not fit-" ~-~ "They cannot learn-."
It is you who make the battle,
~?. Make the struggle seem in vain.
~?. "Man cannot live with man," you say. ,~ ~?. Then there is no hope, no peace on earth or d , h 1 d
• , goo ness m t e an .
fail. Then he'd come back, mean as hell, and ' bout one o'clock we ' d git our pay-as we alwuz kept open ' til one on Satt' dy nite 'cuz in dose three 'ours 'e could make good dough since everybuddy ' ad it. Well this kep ' up , week after week, an ' I didn't mind , cuz I like my likker too, an ' I hate to say anythin' ' gainst a drinkin ' man. Little Molly didn't either, ' cuz she could handle herself with the best o ' ' em
Well this keeps on , but every week 'e seems to be gittin ' meaner an ' meaner. It's like I said, this Chinkie used to be a good un ' , but it seems ' at th ' money went to ' is head and everyday ' e gets worse a nd worse . In fact they say that he wuz g ittin ' to be a damn bore . Sort of prissy he got too , and peculiar , but th' customers still came, but only ' cuz o ' Molly. Well we keeps on ' til one Satt'day ni g ht ' e don't come in . Even when one t'irty comes ' round 'e ain ' t there . So we closes up and I takes Molly home.
0 yeah, I didn ' t tell ya ' but I used to take ' er home every nite. I sort ' a liked her I reckon, but she sort o ' looked on me lik' a father. I used t' walk a nd talk to ' er and we would walk around the p a rk and then on to her dirty little home I found out a lot about her but ' at don ' t have nothin' to do wit th ' story. We used to talk o' the Chink a nd maybe o ' settin ' up a business o' our own some d ay, ' cuz she knew dat she w u z the main bill-o 'fare in th ' joint. But we niver did, God knows why we didn ' t , ' cuz I wouldn ' t be a bum today if we h a d a ' !
Well Sund ay mornin ' ' e gives us hell for q uittin ' ' fore ' e had come , but we didn ' t pay no ' tention to ' im ' cus he wu z alwu z raisin' hell. An' so he finall y drops it , and the week goes on as it a lwu z did . Well that Satt' day when ' e comes in drunk as hell , he sees ' er g ivin' some friend o' hers a bun Now she ' d done this before for good customers , an ' they liked ' er fer it. I don ' t know wether old Won Toe ever knew it or not, but ' at ni g ht 'e wu z high as hell, and so it didn't make no difference! When he sees ' er <loin ' that he goe s cr azy an ' g rabs th ' bun , then th ' Chink g ives her th ' devil. I hear th ' noise and his high pipin' voice , so I g oes to th ' curtained door and watches He calls her all kind s o ' Chinkie names and English un ' s too. Then ' e fires her. Course little Molly gits 'er temper up, but that don ' t help none . So ' e g ives ' er her pay and kicks her out o' the door. She stands out on the walk and cusses 'im up and
down and even swears to kill 'im, but when she sees that she's only makin' a fool o' herself, she gives up.
She didn't wait fer me, and I don't know what she did that night. But I hear that she went home and cried 'er eyes out. It's funny, y'know, h/ w such a thing will make ya feel.
Well on Sunday she don't show up and th' Chinkie has to work the shop all th ' time. I don't see her all a th' week, but I hear that she ain't even trying to git a job . Business falls off an' every day old Won gits meaner and meaner. At night he jus ' stan's behind his counter and looks mean under that old yellow light and when pay day rolls 'round he ain't able to git drunk , ' cuz ' e has to watch th' joint.
He don ' t even try an ' git a new gal, as if he cud, so I reckons that he's waitin' fer Molly to come back, as I know that the old Man needs her to make his business come up again. But no use, it seems. And the next week I work, old Toe so£tens up a bit, jus' like his business, and so I goes to little Molly and this time I talks 'er into goin' back and askin' 'im fer her job agin'. I knew that it would be sort a tough goin' to a yellow guy and askin' fer a job agin', but she wu z gettin' low, especially in cash , and there wuz no tellin ' what might happen. 'Course I didn't tell 'er this, but I reckon she saw that she would soon have to git work again or starve, so she was about forced to do it.
Well , she shows up th' followin' evenin' and I hears her voice out in th ' front room, so I goes t o the door and looks thru ' th' curtains Th ' Chink sor t a flares up when 'e sees her and I can hear 'is voice g ettin ' higher and higher, so I knows he's gittin ' mad . I can ' t hear what they' re saying, but from the tone of their voices I can tell that little Molly i s tryin ' to keep 'er head like a good girl and in that way git her job back. But the Chinky doesn ' t , and he ' s gittin' mad as hell, and it seems that he is blamin' her for his loss in business la tel y. Well finally her Irish temper broke and she let 'im have it. I don't blame her a bit either , ' cus it was more than I would 'ave stood Anyway things g ot hotter and hotter in just a few minutes, and I wu z just gittin ' ready to go out an' stop 'em when he takes a swing at ' er. She mus' o ' seen it comin ', cu z she ducked it pretty
Yeah , 'e missed her but 'e hit the lamp and ( C on t i nu ed on p age 14)
[ 5 ]
TheGodly
May man be noble, Helpful and good. For that alone Distinguishes him From all beings Which we know.
Hail to the Unknown Higher Beings Which we suspect! May man be like them And His example teach us To believe in them.
For without feeling Is nature. The sun shines Over wicked and good; The moon and the stars Sparkle for the sinner As for the noblest one.
Wind and streams Thunder and hail Rush forth on their way, And in hurrying past Take hold
0 f one like the other.
So also Fortune Gropes blindly among the crowd; And seizes now The curly innocence of the boy And now the bald skull Of the guilty.
By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Translated by Heinrich Heine
According to great Unbreakable, eternal laws, We all must Complete the cycle Of our existence. Yet only the human Can do the impossible: He distinguishes, Chooses and judges. He can lend duration To the moment.
He alone may Reward the good, Punish the wicked, Heal and rescue And unite usefully All who err and stray.
And we honor The Immortal As if they were men. And had created on a large scale What the best would have done In a small way.
May man be noble, Helpful and good!
May he produce untiringly The Useful, the Right And be for us an example Of those Beings.
TANNENBAUM
By DORIS COLLEY, '45
THE night was a cold, dark, green-black, such as is found only in the deep forest. A few inches of snow crackled under the feet of the German soldier as he trudged slowly forward. He stopped under a large drooping fir tree. As he put one hand dazedly against the trunk the clear
11 0 Tann en baum , 0 Tann enb aum , wie treu si n d de i n e Blatt er. " seemed to be echoed from his childhood by that mysterious power that stars and a cold winter night possess
"Tannenbaum ," he said wearily, and placed the other hand on the trunk as if to steady himself for a blow or seek protection from the terror of the black Russian unknown. As one will when the present seems to have come to an end and eternity begun, his mind began to wander a little
"Why did I think of that ?-Perhaps tonight ,yes, tonight is Christmas Eve." Introspection called up ghosts of Christmas' past. Last year here in the frozen waste he had surveyed it as a proud superior conqueror. Year before with lusty brother "Sturm Abteilung ," he had been in a tavern. But the Christmas memories that came strongest to him now were from his childhood-hard brown cookies, presents, the quiet beauty of the little church with a manger scene in front of the altar, the heavenly music of "Stille Nacht, " and through it all the pungent odor of the fir tree, Tannenbaum the beloved. He was still puzzled. His mind had not dwelt on Christmas for years. He was an enlightened German who celebrated only the holidays of the Fi.ihrer or the pure Aryan gods of Force and War. What was Christmas or for that matter what were gods? A Fuhrer?
A flash of momentary clearness illuminated his ha zy brain in this moment when time had ceased to exist. There were no gods. Fuhrers were but men of clay. There was only Life and that was the only Eternal. God was Life, and that not just conquest over this clay he dug one foot down through the snow to the frozen Russian earth. The mist he had grown accustomed to of late cleared from his mind with this act. The constant sense of Russian presence and death left him. A wave
[ 7]
of calm he had not known for interminable centuries , seemingly, rippled over his entire being. But of course! That was as it should be on Christmas Eve. God had sent peace to the earth on Christmas Eve. A childish desire to have his mother tell him so in the same simple words engulfed him. Wishfully he looked at the fir tree still clasped in his arms , as if it could accomplish this miracle. He felt grateful to it, somehow. Tannenbaum was his friend. A symbol of Christmas lost and regained, it had showed him peace. Like a cooling touch a few of its green fingers swept across his face-PeaceCrack ! Crack! Crack !-across the snow-three shots from as many rifles. One of the young Rus(C o n ti n ued on p age 1 7 )
Four Small BrownLeaues
Outside my window stands a towering oakCold, stiff, devoid of dress Excepting four small, brown leaves Which still to branches cling And to my heart do bring A silent message.
Four four small brown leavesWithered, lifeless, lacking former beauty, Yet so full of deepest meaning For the one who knows The unspoken woes Of lonesome hearts.
Out of the North came a roaring windFrosty, piercing, tugging At those four small leaves Until one . . . then another Fell together; Still two remain.
How long can they hold fastAnother day, another week, another month? I know they can't forever last But must eventually fall As does each and all Ending life's short span. -Bill Bowdler.
DearAlice-Sit-by-the-Fire
Dear Sir,
I wonder if you can find room for this in one of your issues. I was in the class of '42, and a ~ember of Phi Kappa Sigma. We are, and have been in North Africa for some time. This is in memory of some little men.
Read this America, read this and remember. This is a report, not of generals but of little men. Read this America and be glad for the little men who call America home, for the men who know what it means to be in a fox hole at dawn. Listen to this America and be proud that you have such sons. The people, the little people, that belong to you speak. Every time a gun fires every time the earth trembles, your small sons show what they can do. Be thankful, 0 Blessed Country for the little man who gets the supplies through. You don't hear of him in the news reports. He's not a politician, he doesn't care about votes or drafting fathers, he has a job to do and America, he's doing it well.
Remember the clerk down at the corner store, well who do you think cleared out that machine gun nest that stopped us for a while? Then there was Bill. I remember his last name too, but that wouldn't make any difference to you. You see, he was just a farmer before the war. He was one of those little men that made things grow for other people to eat. He wasn't an important guy at all. Now he's harvesting a different kind of crop. He lost an arm at El Guettar but you didn't read about him in the paper. That new tax bill in Washington was a lot more important. He didn't do anything important, just saved his company but that's small time stuff America. Sure you read about Kasserine Pass, but a lot of us will never remember it. Think this over America. Little men don't lead the army, they are the army. Don't forget America that you are a land of little men. Be proud that these little men, these "Joes," are Americans and call America home.
Fi·om a Dane in our armed fore es Hello there, It was great meeting you the other day at Richmond. I had a pretty tough time getting back to camp again, you may have heard by now about the train accident about 8 miles outside Richmond. After another delay at Rocky Mount I got back to
camp at 10:30 instead of 5 a.m. Well, I have had a good night's sleep by now and am full of pep again. Today I have the afternoon off and will try to write down some of my notes, which I promised to send you. . . .
When the dark clouds of war began to come up in the horizon in Europe and bombs began to fall in China and later on in Spain-another kind of bomb exploded inside me and I got my eyes opened for a lot of things I had never realized before. Today I can express it this way, that if we want to win the final victory, we have to triumph not only over the material armies but also over the armies of materialism.
I believe that in the mind of God the new world already exists, the only thing we have to do is to carry out the details. That's where youth has a tremendous part, as I see it, and of course the big question is, What is your part?
If we don't stand for something today, we fall for anything. World philosophies are on the march mobilizing millions for world ideological supremacy. We need air supremacy of arms plus the superforce of an unconquerable spirit. Ideas are the "mental block busters." You cannot bayonet an Idea. You cannot shoot it down with a fighter plane. To conquer Ideas you have to have better Ideas.
Hitler fired a nation before he fired a shot. He had a big idea, so did Marx and Lenin. Millions march today to bring power to the dictatorships. What is our answer? What is America's Big Idea that will outmatch and outmarch the "isms"? Is Materialism and the Worship of things enough or have we something that sticks with us from the foundation of our country, the answering Big Idea that kept George Washington and his men at Valley Forge. That gave Lincoln his strength in the dark years of war and made him say "That this nation under God may have a new birth of freedom."
We realize that this war is a war of every man, but peace too will have to be the work of every man. The peace will be won or lost hot only by the statesmen, but by the ordinary millions who have to live it. Every quality, every resource, every strength, every weakness of every citizen is being matched against the enemy. The frontline
[ 8}
+ + ''It
was a pleasure to get
a
letter
from you
today, and not only because I have an average to keep up. Besides, I was just about to write to you, anyway
trenches in this war are in the backyards of the nation. What we need is unity in action in a plan that is overwhelming. Some people say we are all behind you but the truth is that they are so far behind, that we can't even see them and nothing will liquidate a good idea more The warmest greetings from a grateful Dane, WILLY.
From Pvt. lf/ . Hargrove Dear Nat ,
Do you remember how we would of ten talk about how wonderful we thought Chapel Hill was. Why I'll never forget the night I told you that when I died I didn ' t want to go to heaven. I just wanted to stay in Chapel Hill. I was mistaken . When I die I don't want to go to Heaven or Chapel Hill, I want to stay here in Fort Bragg. To put it mildly it's pretty wonderful down here We just lie around in bed every morning until 5 o ' clock. This of course gives us plenty of time to get washed, dressed, make the bunks etc., by 5: 10. By 5: 15 we stand outside and shiver while someone blows the hell out of a bugle. After we are reasonably chilled, we grope our way through the darkness to the mess hall. Here we have a hearty breakfast consisting of some nice, muddy unidentified liquid and choice beans, either white or red .
The breakfast is delicious. While eating it we think of the good time we' re going to have throughout the day. We eat ten times as much as we would if we were rolling out of bed at such a late hour as at 8 : 30. Boy that's a tough life.
After the breakfast at 5: 30 , we loaf slowly back to the barracks. We have nothing to do until 5: 3 5 so we just sit around and scrub the toilets, mop up the floors, wash the windows, and pick up all the cigarette butts and match sticks within a radius of 150 feet from the barracks. No janitors coming in l:o wake us up. No Sir. When we sleep, we sleep, and as for janitors; they can go to hell.
Around 6:00 with a quarter of the day already loafed away, the sergeant comes in and says, " Come on out in the sun, kids" ; So we go out and bask in the wonderful sunshine . Of course, it's been raining for three weeks, but the way the
... ,,
sergeant talked it might clear up today . To limber up we do a few simple calisthenics. Not like the hard ones we had to do in compulsory Physical Ed. at Chapel Hill. Definitely not. These consist of simple exercises such as touching your toes with both feet off the ground and grabbing yourself by the hair and holding yourself out at arm's length.
At ' o'clock ( the time you unlucky guys are getting out of bed) we put on our light packs and start walking. The light pack in not to be confused with the heavy pack. The light pack is very light and consists of only a gun, bayonet, canteen, fork, knife, spoon, meat can, cup, shaving kit, pup tent, raincoat, cartridge belt, first aid kit, fire extinguisher, tent and a few other negligible items. The light pack also has a blanket. Carrying my light pack I weigh 293 pounds (Note : I weighed 138 pounds when I left) so you can see how easy it is to romp and play while marching.
An observation car follows us as we march, playing "God Bless America " and picks up the fellows who faint. The boys who pass out are treated very well. They are given six months in the guard house, but they do not have to face court martial. At 12 o'clock those as can, limp to the infirmary. At the infirmary patients are divided into classes. Those who have athlete ' s foot and those who have colds. If you have athlete ' s foot, you get your feet swabbed with iodine. If you have a cold, you get your throat swabbed with iodine . Anyone who claims he has neither a cold nor athlete's foot is sent to the guardhouse for impersonating an officer.
0 Yes, there are other advantages. It's almost impossible to find a beautiful girl here. Why things have come to such a lovely state that I've forgotten what the Carolina coed ever looked like . To state the facts, I've seen no woman. Now isn't that just ducky? What, may I ask you , would a man between the ages of 21 and 3 5 want with a woman? Nothing!
Well , that's all I have to write now . I've got to rush to mess hall and beat the maggots to the meat. We're having grits tonight, OH BOY.
Love , BILL. [ 9]
ITALIA REDENTA: An lnuocation
By HUGO PROSPER LEAMING
Tiberius and Gaius, return from Tiber's fields, Return, you jewels incomparable, with passionate appeals
For Populism, people's rights, and justice for the poor 1
For land division, and a vision greater, and far more:
A peaceful, fair republic, from shore to lengthy shore.
Rienzi, last of Romans, return from Roma's ways,
You final Tribune of the Plebs in Rome's dark latter days,
You flash of lightning in the black, you islet in the sea
Of Medieval feudal rot, and nascent monarchy, You portent of the future, for few, but some, to see.
And come, too, great Mazzini, you prophet madly sane,
And bring Cavour the swordless, whose weapon was the brain;
Bring also Garibaldi, the Red Shirt, Bourbon's foe,
His Thousand too, who struck for Truth, a farresounding blow,
Risorgimento gave their land, and worked the tyrants woe.
And come, oh Matteotti, you voice of Liberty, Reviler of the Blackshirt, proclaimer of to be
A peasant-worker commonwealth, where none shall grind his friend,
And hate and fear shall fade away, and broken souls shall mend;
Oh, martyr who died cruelly, your dear dream to defend.
And come you brave Di Bossis, oh eagle of the air,
Who tracked the monster even home into his very lair,
And from the blue zoomed down to drop upon th' Eternal Town,
Your messages of life and hope, to start the whisper 'round,
And then flew off to meet your fate, heartpierced, to plummet down.
Italians all, and lovers all of Freedom and the Right,
Return into your children's hearts, so there may burn full bright
In Latin fields a fire,
Consuming Fear and Ire,
The flames ascending higher, Into the hopeful night.
In Annoyance
By LEAH LEVIN
After due consideration
Of the trying situation
I felt the necessitation
To see you.
W'ith further deliberation
And lots of hesitation
I resisted the temptation
To call you-collect.
Then came the inspiration
And following preparation
With all due application
To write you.
To my exasperation
Reviewing your situation
You replied in reciprocation
No can do.
Now I ask in desperation
Should I in tribulation
Resort to Mr. In place of you?
After further consultation
Over future deprivation
I say sans hesitation with you.
WE OF '47
A BeautifulPathway
By KIMI FUJIMOTO
T is a beautiful path, a narrow and a winding Jl path that leads from mountain to mountain , hill to hill, village to village; a path which is quiet and peaceful with hardly a disturber; a path which is dark and lonely but rich in friendship; a path that will carry you away from a hard, busy and rushing day , and will give rest and relaxation to a person spiritually as well as physically .
I often wonder what makes this path so beautiful. It's just a path cut through the mountains, a narrow and a lumpy old path with holes here and there. I realize that it isn't the path alone that makes it so beautiful but the nature that surrounds it.
When earth wakes from its long weary sleep and begins to show its life with beautiful tender leaves, the path still keeps its silence. When the trees develop to maturity and stand firmly with dark complexion as if nothing can harm them, and the hot glistening sun strikes the earth with its strong ray , this rugged path lies patiently.
When the earth almost over night puts on its brightest garments, and an attractive girl in flattering clothes walks slyly down that path with a beautiful parasol, I ask my eyes if that could be the same winding path .
When earth is cove.red with the white cotton of the sky, and the wind harshly blows against it, there lies my path in per£ ect peace When water comes down tip-top, slowly wetting the ground, or when it pours with lightning and thunder, refreshing the earth , there lies that muddy path as still as ever.
I have often walked through the path with happiness and hope , with a dream of the future and have sung. I have walked with sadness and discouragements, sorrow and weary heart, and have often wept among the wild flowers , where cattle often broke the quietness.
The path is a real friend to me, a friend without speech, but a friend with kindness. I have skipped along my path with a girlish joy, and it has re-
( Co ntinu ed o n pa ge 15)
A Friendin Exile
By MARYLOU MASSIE
Marie Ujiiye is an American, born of Japanese parents, who has been uprooted from her home in California and sent with friends and relatives to Wyoming.
The return address on the letter glinted in the sunlight. It was from Mollie
Miss Marie Ujiiye
25-13-E
Heart Mountain Wyoming
That address probably looks strange to you; it looks that way to me; and most of all it seems odd to Marie. She used to live in Los Angeles at an address much the same as yours and mine, but now there ' re barracks instead of a home, a relocation center instead of a city You see, Marie's parents are Japanese.
Mollie and I became acquainted through an old Nipponese custom. Each year in April, seven days are put aside for a doll festival, and each Japanese girl has her own set , arranged in steps, on display. Some may be antiques, handed down for generations , invaluable; others may be manufactured, cheaper; and still others may be modern but handmade and priceless. Regardless of their value, they are all standard types. There are always an emperor and empress seated on the top step with the court retinue arranged below them. Certain figures have allotted places, but the number that she has and their arrangement is left for the individual girl to decide. Since I collect dolls , a friend of Mother's in Los Angeles began a set for me Marie ' s father worked in the home of this friend as houseboy, and Mollie heard from him about my collection. Interested, she sent me a doll herself. I wrote to thank her, and we ' ve corresponded ever since.
Before the war, Marie and her three brothers attended public schools in California. Although the native tongue was spoken between their parents , the children refused to use it. They were thoroughly American. When the Japanese were evacu(C ont i nu ed on p age 15)
[ 11 J
i My Way Is Cloudy I
By DAVID M. PLEASANTS of Virginia Union University
I've tried it in the South-I've tried it in the
North, % I've "conjined" on the levees all I'm worth. J i I've sweated in the factories-made steel in the i ,!? mills.
I've farmed in the valleys-cut wood in the hills. & i And I can't get ahead no place. 1
I've picked fruit in orchards all day long, I Pawned my clothes in a hockshop for a song. % Where it's been dirty and dangerous, I've j sought my stake,
At the misery of my family, felt my heart would i break, J ,!?
For I can't get ahead no place. i
But all my chilluns got to have some shoes, i i And I can't get ahead no place. , 1 • j i
J
On paydays they give me some no-good "scrip"; I've wanted a record-changer to play the % "Weary Blues" j
My kinfolks call me lazy; white folks call me i ,!? ~,
I can't be going crazy-'cause brains I've never had.
If I live through the winter-I'll be 'forth j years old, Stripped, tied and tangled-out in the cold, % And I just can't get ahead no place. j
I've drawn salt pork and molasses most every i i J i i J [ 12]
,ties and cases were beginnin' to blaze. Molly just stood and watched 'im with her mouth wide open until the Chinkie screams He was cornered behind th ' counter and begun to scream like a cornered mouse I could hear 'im plain , screamin' fer her to save ' im and he'd give her job back, and a raise, and a reward, and so on Me? I got scared and beat it, I couldn't have helped ' im anyway cuz most of the fire wuz between him and me. I beat it 'round front and turned in the alarm tho', and called Molly thru' the door to beat it , as I ken see that the Chinkie is a g onner.
She' s a brave ' un tho' and runs fer a fire extinguisher to put it out, but the Chinkie just hollers louder and louder. I sees 'er strugglin' with it but nothin ' happens She finally throws it on th' floor and runs fer a n o ther but it don ' t work either.
Then I hollers fer her t' beat it, cuz the extinguishers must be dried out or sumptin ' , and if she don't she ' ll be burned. She must o ' heard me, cuz she looks up and sees me thru ' th ' winder and then seein ' the fire closin ' round ' er, she screams and runs fer the door. I grab 'er as she comes out because I think she ' s goin ' to faint.
But she don't , she just grabs me and cries on my shoulder - just like a baby , while I stan ' there and w a tch the Chinkie burn . He makes one last try to get out from behind the counter and then falls. ' Course the fire departm ' t don't git there ' til too late, but they finally put out th ' fire and clean th ' place up.
Now here ' s th ' funny part, 'cuz y' might say that Molly killed the Chink. Y see it wuz her that made all the dough fer the old man, and it wuz the dough 'at killed 'im, ' cuz he'd filled up all th' fire extinguishers with th' cash
Beautiful Pathway
( C on t inued f rom page 11)
joiced with me. I have climbed this path in the bla zing sun until exhausted , and it has given me a shady place to rest every now and then I have walked slowly with anxiety and discouragement and have often heard a sweet small voice whisper, "Chin-up, little lady. "
As I lift my eyes to the horizon, a picture of beautiful leaves, red, orange , yellow, brown, gold and green glistens in the sun When the friendly breeze comes along, these leaves nod their beads
and one by one leave their homes and friends behind and happily skip along their way as if they have a destination Perhaps they have a destination
While walking slowly between the gorgeous thick carpets one day, I suddenly stopped. There was a tree which had almost lost the remaining leaves. There were twenty-four of them hanging on and there. I admired once again the wonderful handiwork of God.
The beauty of this path has of ten made me become a poet, a poet without a word , and an artist without a brush.
A Friend in Exile
( C o nt i nu ed fr om p age 11) ated inland (May , 1942) , Mollie wrote me about it in a pathetic little letter.
" I have checked out of school. But gee! It was hard to part with my friends. I cried and cried. Some of the teachers cried too . Now that I have checked out of school, I spend most of the time packing. We have cleaned out most of our furniture. Even though I am going out there, you will write to me , won ' t you?"
In a later letter, she told me about the camp and her new home , writing as one friend to another , with no complaints Many families are placed in the barracks . They have little room and less privacy ; but still there are no complaints.
We exchanged school papers for a while. In Th e Ech o from Heart Mountain, there was no sign of disloyalty. Each sentence stood out plainly as being pro-Allied. . . . ·
So it was a letter from Mollie I picked it up and leafed through the pages One of her brothers was working outside the camp to make money for college. They had held a carnival in camp, and it was a success. She had made a trip outside to Montana for shopping ("O, how good it was to be free again ") Some of her friends had been sent to another camp , and she missed them I laid the letter down.
"If you are going to college, ( she had written quaintly) many luck to you "
Wishing me luck when she ' s had trouble that I'll never see. Is there any gesture more ideally American than that?
"Many luck to you," I whispered.
[ 15}
My Houseis a Domeof
Glassand Ice
My house is a dome of glass and ice,
The sun paints a rainbow through it.
It's a glorious home, but high is the price,
And may the sorrows it brings me.
The air inside is fragrant and warm,
The sounds are pleasing and light; There's nothing around that con do me harm Though it's cold and stormy outside.
I can lie on my bed and gaze out at life, Knowing there's none can see in. I can give thanks that I'm safe from the strife, From the tumult that's raging out there.
At night the lights of the city vie With the stars and the moon above; And long I kneel by my bed and cry And it's strange-for I don't ' know why.
For I have all I have ever dreamed, I have a world for myself; All the things that ever seemed Worth having are here in my dome.
And all is given me, I can live In peace with the calming thought That never will I be asked to give And there'll never be rent to pay.
Or so I once thought, but now I've found The price the highest of all I pay as I watch while the world goes round And men fight through the storms outside. -Aonoymous.
[ 16]
A Symphonyin Prose
By JEAN SAPERSTEIN
Allegro:
Have you ever seen Puck in your dreams? He dances on the vibrations of air that fall into a graceful waltz or light sonata. He plucks the laughter out of life and sets it to song. He is the master of music, for he is the soul of us who dream.
Adirato:
I'm the scum of the earth. I spit on you who hate me. My heart has no compassion, for you who made it hard. Someday I will use my heart to write. I will write hate, hate that will fill the world with darkness and fear, and will cause men to think. For if men thought I would have a heart and love would be my theme.
Andante:
We three sit so still, enchanted by the magic in the vibrations of the air ways. Buoyant vibrations that waft you into the land of happiness, remembrance and back again to the realism that we all must lose ourselves in. The world of remembrance is not for us. Maybe an hour, a minute, a second, but no more. As unrealistic as fantasy itself. For we were born to a world where we may touch the happiness of the world of dreams only for a mere second in all eternity.
Sa11ctissimo:
While watching the soft blue of a pool of water fall away into the blackness of forever we feel the soft strains of music flow into our hearts. For this music is our gift, we give it to you. Keep it for us, save it, guard it and when the blue of our world begins to turn to blackness, give it back. We will give it to God and he will fill the heavens with song.
Tannenbaum (C o ntinu ed f,.om pag e 7) sians shuddered. Another looked off into space. The third, not visibly affected, said, "Well, are we ready for the next prisoner?"
The young one who had shuddered, said, "Nono more--not on Christmas Eve."
[ 17}
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Wherever you go, you hear them saying "I smoke a Kaywoodie'.' Ail over the world.
There are good reasons for this international opinion.
It is because of the briar-wood which Kaywoodie is made of, the way this briarwood is prepared, and the way it smokes. It comes from the Mediterranean. There aren't many pipes made of it any more. It is seasoned and cured with tempering agents that permeate the wood. Look for "Kaywoodie;• cut unobtrusively on the stem of each Kaywoodie Pipe. Always good-tempered, mild. Kaywoodie Co., New York and London In New York, 630 Fifth Avenue, New York 20, N. Y.
A "Billiard" shape Super~Grain Kaywoodie, $5.00.
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