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Show Friday, December 17, 194:3 SOUTH HIGH SCPJBK Puge Three Gt By Susan McCarrel $ I FIRST PRIZE STORY Stiffly Charles moved with him to the small sofa in front of the fire. He sat straight on the very edge, staring into the flames. Prof. White settled near him, and his wife was on the arm above her husband. 'This isn't along story, Char-les, but it's a true one. Many years ago a couple who lived in a city named Nazareth, couldn't pay their taxes ..." And he went on with the story of the Nativity. His voice was soft and he used words a small boy could easily understand. He told of the great Star, fearful shepherds, consoling angels, and of the three Wise Men and why they journeyed to see the Child in the Manger. "They believed in Him all of them, Charles as does the whole Christian world. You re-member the Kings brought gifts to the Christ Child? That's why we express our faith and love with Christmas presents. Santa is our symbol for that love. He is no fat little man with black boots .and a white beard; he is a Spirit. He is holly, trees, bells, gifts, and most of all love. He is Christmas. We believe in him, and we want vou to believe, too." Silence for a moment and then, confused, Charles said, "But I have no presents, and you have." Mrs. White gently explained, "The Child had no gift for the Kings, either. Only his love and his promise of faith for the world. That's all we want of you, dear." The, boy's face was blank. He moved from the couch and pick-ed up his Stocking from the floor. He hung it over the nail in the mantel and went back to bed, without a word. The couple let him go, not knowing if he understood, or was mocking them. "Do you think he'll tell them?" a worried Mrs. White asked. "We'll have to wait and see, dear. They're old enough to know anyway," was the profes-sor's answer. Next morning Carol' and Dick dragged their parents out of bed. "The tree lights are on!" they cried. Downstairs they trooped, and found Charles, sitting in front of the tree, a big airplane in his arms. He turned at their voices. "I say, Aunt Mary Ellen, look what Santa left me!" Charles was eleven, and this was his first Christmas. The London slums had taught him nothing about the holiday, ex-cept that it was to be laughed at. The little English refugee, did just that when Carol and Dick White asked him what he'd like from Santa. His laughter reach-ed Prof, and Mrs. White in the library. The boy's American guardians had an idea what he was laughing at. They agreed the past months had been hard both for Charles and them-selves. He had ben a street ur-chin, and finally the Whites had tamed his violent language down to a calmer"gee whiz!", like Dick's. His actions had been made, after a fashion, more American. This happened just after Thanksgiving also his first. The shop windows were big gobs of color. Dick and Carol were very excited, for they knew what December 25 would bring. In spite of his efforts, Charles was caught in all the hurry-scurr- y of shopping, wishing and guess-ing. His curiosity was hidden behind a scornful face and fre-quent sneering laughs. The professor explained to Mary Ellen, his wife, Dick and Carol, "We have to expect this attitude, for he thinks Christ-mas is only an imaginative St Nicholas, and not a spirit. We must be patient and keep our own Christmas faith, and when the time comes, share it with him." Mrs. White tried to help the boy do some shopping1, but he would have nothing to do with it. The professor persuaded her it was all right; Christmas had not yet come and Charles would still find the true meaning of the day. Christmas Eve finally came The night could have been noth-ing else! It had stopped snow-ing, and like a white, down quilt, snow lay over the nearby cam-pus. The moon was a big pond of ice, with chips from it for stars. It was not really cold, for the warmth of the Spirit filled all outdoors. Dick and Carol jumped for joy as the tree was placed in the big bay window. Everything was ready to be placed on it. With great brown eyes pleading for understanding, Charles moved to Mary Ellen, who was sorting ornaments. In a timid voice he said, "I say, may I hold one, Mrs. White?" She put a round red ball in- - to the small cupped hands. It seemed to fascinate him the redness, the painted holly around the middle and his own thin face distorted in the reflection. Dick called to the other boy, "Why don't you hang it on the tree, Charles?" With careful step, lest he drop it, Charles went to the tree and hung the shining ornament on a low brach. As he stepped back, he realized four pairs of eyes were watching him, and four minds were thinking he had changed his mind about Santa. For a moment he Jwd forgotten, but now he remembered. He went directly to the stairs, and about halfway up he turned and said in a steady voice, "There is no Santa Claus, and I will never believe in him." His back was very straight as he went to his room. Mrs. White started after him, but her hus-band took her arm. "Let him alone a while, Mary Ellen. He'll find what he's look-ing for." The family finished decorat-ing the tree, sang carols and hung up their stockings in front of the fireplace all without Charles. Ready for bed, Dick and Carol brought their packages and laid them under the tree. After having been tucked in and wished "Merry Christmas," the three were left in their beds. "Quiet, isn't it?" whispered ten-year-o- ld Carol. "Santa won't come unless it is, silly," Dick answered. A snicker arose from the third bed. "You don't believe us, do you, Charles?" Dick asked. "I'll bet-ch- a Santa's down there now. He's fillin' stockin's and layin' out presents, an', gee whiz, just bein' Santa Claus." . "You just go down and see." Carol dared. They had been asleep for a while before the boy crept from his warm bed, silently opened the door and moved downstairs. Prof, and Mrs. White were quietly laughing over the panda bear Carol had asked for. To-gether they turned to the white-face- d boy on the stairs. "I knew you're not Santa Claus! You teach your children lies! They told me to come and see, and I did, and I'm going to tell them you did this gee whiz!" The professor was now stand-ing in front of the angry boy. "Will you let me tell you a story, son? You don't have to listen, but I'd like you to." grayer By Lou Dods First Prize Poem j Give me this year for Christmas, Lord, A world that is once again free ; Give me this year for Chirst-ma- s, Lord, Rightousness, justice, and lib-erty. Give me this year for Christ-mas, Lord, Escape form this nerve-wrackin- g fear ; Give me back this year for Christmas, Lord,, The things I once held so dear. This year for my Christmas, 0 Father of mine, Protect my homeland across the sea; dear God above, Safeguard the things so dear to me. I know I'm asking a lot, dear Lord, But give these things to me; Let peace to man rule all the earth, And let the world be free. Amen (Eljrtsfnms . Donald Stauffer j IBy Prize Essay j In the years gone by, Christ-mas has meant little to Ameri-cans as a whole. Of course we all understand what Christmas stands for and we believe that we celebrate it correctly, but do we live up to the things we be-lieve in? Do we get down on our knees and thank Almighty God just for the privilege of living in a land' where all men are created equal and justice is supreme? Do we go to church and worship the ideal that made all Christmases possible? J, for one, had never thought of it in that way. What was Christmas to me? It was a holiday from school, a time to be merry and gay, and to receive presents in-stead of giving them. If we were made to realize the idea behind the giving of gifts we would not consider the value of the gift but the sentiment represented in the gift. What do we, as Americans, really want? I believe we want this war that we are engulffed in to end, to iiave our brothers, sweethearts, and fathers home again,' to restore upon this world the peace and prosperity that was so unmistakably ours. Some of our fighting men will never much happier end, but others will be maimed for life. What would you or do if an arm, a leg, or an organ that we had used so much before had been , taken away with one single sweep of the hand of fate? It is hard to realize, to visualize, such a condition. Yet, that is what many of our boys, our val-iant fighting men, must go through. What do we want for Christ-mas? We want the idea of "peace on earth, good will to-ward men" to again dominate the souls of all human beings. Can it be had for the asking? It can not. We must spill the precious life blood of many before that goal can be reached. All because a group of fanatics cannot ap-preciate the rights and privi-leges due all men. What do we want for Christ-mas? We want the meaning of liberty and democracy burned in-to the very souls of the mis-guided and oppressed. We want the lives of our kinsfolk spared, but most of all we want peace to reign supreme. We all hope time approaches, the light of freedom will again be burning brightly, and with the help of the Divine Providence, we will never again let it go out. That's what we all want Tor Christmas. A fetnras elusion By Shirley Ancell j Hororable Mention Somewhere in Italy an army Chaplain delivers a sermon to ing, 1943. "We are here in this old Ro-man church on the twenty-fift- h day of December to commemor-at- e the birth oi Christ. This occasion seems a little out of place in a world at war, but we Americans overseas, must know the true meaning of Christmas or we may falter in our attempts to free the world from tyranny and oppression. "Many of us here have wit--1 nessed some incredible condi-tions. Last week we took a smali Italian town from the Germans. There, we saw half-cloth- ed children sitting in the street, crying for food. Some were hunting through garbage cans to find a dried-u- p crust of bread or even a contaminated shred of meat." Could you have come in the back door of the Chapel at this point of the Chaplain's sermon, and had you looked past the many rows of soldiers to the end seat, fourth row from the front, you would have seen a tough-lookin- g sergeant slump down in --his chair and fall fast asleep. You would wonder what kind ofr person this is who falls asleep on one of the most important events of the year. He is Max McCurday, and he comes from a Colorado mining town. A few weeks before he had asked the C. 0. if he might leave for the United States on the next hospital ship, so as to be home for Christmas. Of course, this request was curtly refused, and because of this he had become very resentful to-ward the army. The rest of the fellows would have liked to go home for Christmas, too; they knew it was impossible so, they were making the best of it. How-ever, McCurday began acting away, it seemed to him that he was in a coastal town in Greece and German "bombs were falling. Ragged and half-starve- d people were running across the streets to find shelter in buildings, only to have the building collapse, burying them alive. Finally when the ruthless Ger-man planes had left, there were only a few remaining buildings" in sight, and the disheartened citizens were wandering through the streets, searching for loved ones or seeking a place to stay for the coming night. As he moved along aimlessly with them he noticed a family huddled in (Contitvicd on, jxige 4, Col. 5) to decorate the tree this Christ-mas Eve just as he had done with them many times before. With the tree on its stand Sam-my and' Molly began placing the ornaments and tinsel on it. His father put the string of lights carefully around the tree while his mother placed the traditional star at the very top. Then, all of a sudden, his family, the Christmas tree, and everything disappeared. He heard a loud roar of bom-bers the shrill scream of bombs and the sharp explosion of anti-aircra- ft guns. At first he couldn't tell where he was ; then, after clouds of smoke cleared like a spoiled child. He was grouchy and sullen and wouldn't speak a pleasant word to any-one. There he was, sound asleep or was he? By his movements and facial expressions it looked as though he might be dream-ing. And so he was. He found himself in front of a neat white frame house. Real-izing it was his home, he ran up the walk. He saw a light in the front room and he saw someone standing near the window. On coming closer, he discovered it was his mother, whom he hadn't seen for over two years. He wanted to rush right in and give her a big hug and a kiss and tell her he was home to stay. He saw his jolly, red-face- d father hold-ing a large Christmas tree. It seemed like an eternity since he had spoken to him, and he just couldn't wait to get inside. He looked through the window once more who was that lovely young lady holding a box of Christmas decorations? His heart began to swell with pride as he discovered it was his kid sister, Molly, who used to have freckles and pigtails. There was his baby brother, Sammy, not a baby any longer, but an average mischievious boy of nine. The whole family was helping |