|Paper||Salt Lake City South High School Student Newspapers|
|Rights||No Copyright - United States (NoC-US)|
|Publisher||Digitized by J. Willard Marriott Library, University of Utah|
|Paper||Salt Lake City South High School Student Newspapers|
Page 2 SOUTH HIGH, SCRIBE Friday, May 19, 1944 Cotton 'n' Levi Day Provides Fun for Cubs .Cotton, 'n' Levi Day is here (as if you couldn't tell) and all the slick chicks and solid Jacksons look groovy in their clothes for the day. They. really do! Delbert Atvvood seems to be a brilliant (and how) sort of sender by his selection of a red rayon shirt and levis. To top this Delbert wears a simply well a beautiful, loud-combinati- on tie. (Well, gee, aren't you ever troubled finding the right word?) Miss Lucile 3Ionay and Bever-erl- y Barber look very chick in their green gingham dresses, I mean really! Gloria Taylor and Elnora Hard-ing have both chosen cotton jump-ers for this gay day. Gloria's is green and white checked and El-nor- a's is a navy blue floral de-sign. Both of these smoothies have chosen white blouses. Oh, and there's Howard An-derson (How could anyone miss him?) wearing levi's, a green and red plaid shirt, green and yellow suspenders, red tie and yellow socks. That's exactly what I think! Paul Tollestrup finishes off his outfit of levi's and red checked shirt with a pair of perfectly perfect flashy yellow and black socks. Elaine Hampton looks very cool and comfortable in a white eyelet-piqu- e dress with drop waist. Her dress is buttoned down the front and fits just so, Another feature of the day is a flock of braided beauties. The gals are proving that they can look just as slick An braids as they do in soft fluffy curls. Jean Buddell and Lucille Giau-qu- e have parted their hair down the back and tied each side with a ribbon. Two braids joining across the top of their heads com-pletes this different style in hair fashions. Inez Brimley wears two pig-tails down the back of her head. She ties them with two green ribbons. All in all, things really look different around the old school house today, but don't let it throw you. If you are hep you'll dig in and find out I'm not just beating my guns when I say, "Why don't we do this more often?" the hollow mountain. The train was in the. tunnel perhaps one minute, perhaps two, but not long, at any rate. "Glad to have that over," remarked the English-man, as the train again came into the sunlight, "Yes, so am I," replied the Pole, never shifting his gaze from the German. One by one, they all followed his gaze, and strangely enough, no one seemed surprised to see, although he retained his same position, that there was a small knife placed neatly between his fifth and sixth ribs. The Ger-man was definitely and permanently dead. The Pole shrugged simply. "He was in Warsaw with them. He was the head in our section. He deserved a more lingering: death. The kind that he gave to my family." The Frenchman looked up eagerly. "Perhaps you are right, but I cannot let you take the blame, or should I say credit, for this one. I knew him be-cause of his work in Paris. My brother was ar-rested and shot because of him. He was just now on his way to Bern to hunt down a Frenchman who escaped from a concentration camp and be-came an important member of our underground. Naturally we had to eliminate him. I have followed him from the time he crossed the border." The Frenchman seemed suddenly worried. "The body," he said. "We shall have to dispose of it, some how. If we can get him off the train in Al-gi- et ". He shrugged and looked at the English-man, evidently expecting him to speak. The Englishman straightened. "I must say that even if I didn't know the gentleman" he gest-ured at the inert German, "Even if I didn't know him personally, he was a German. You see I'm from Coventry." The other two nodded in silent sympa-thy. "So you see," he continued, "I'm afraid I have just as much incentive for the extermination as either of you." Simultaneously they thought of the Swiss peas-ant. They turned eagerly toward his corner. He was the factor upon which they couldn't depend. His stupid look had not changed. He looked at the body dully and said, "I have seen nothing. I will say nothing." . With these words, he turned back toward the window. The Englishman looked at him quizically. "My word! For a Swiss he is certainly a silent one. But it's just as well. But now, gentlemen, we'll not bother to say any more about who should rpneive credit for the GestaDO here, for each of the three of us has equally good reasons. The fact is that we are in a neutral country and we have a dead German on our hands. Our first re-sponsibility is to dispose of him. Any suggestions?" The Frenchman nodded dryly. "I suggest that some one should lock the door. The conductor may be a trifle shocked if he happens in." The Pole moved swiftly to the door and snapped the lock. "But now, about disposing of the body," continued the Frenchman. Glancing at his watch, he re-marked, "We should reach Algiet in five minutes. The station-maste- r there, shall I say, is friendly to the French underground. If we can get the German off the train, the rest should be simple." The Pole brightened suddenly. "I have a plan. It's a good one. We've used it before in cases like this. First, we tip the gentleman's hat over his eyes, thus, and then two of us support him, one on each side. We walk along, holding him up be-tween us. To curious people, we may explain that he has been drinking a little too much. If the statio-n- master is friendly, as our French freind says, he can take over when we reach Algiet. Is it agreed?" The other two nodded, and as they did so, screeching brakes and the shrieking of the infantile whistle proclaimed the fact that the cluster of houses around the tracks was Algiet. The Englishman and the Frenchman, being the largest, each draped an arm of the German about his neck, and stood him erect. The Englishman smiled slightly. "I say, aren't we forgetting something?" He drew the knife from its rather obvious position in the German's chest and slipped it into his pocket. The Pole walked behind the two, explaining to the scattered passengers that the man had been drinking steadily ever since he crossed the border. Slowly the three friends negotiated the steps. Care-fully they walked across the platform and into the station. The elderly station-mast- er met them at the doorway. "Is the gentleman ill?" he inquired, looking over his specticles at the little group. "Quite seriously ill," replied the Frenchman. "He is a German and he had a bad heart attack. Can you put him some place where he will have good care?" The old man took off his glasses and squinted at the three. 'You are of the underground?" In answer to the hurried look of the English-man, he said, "It is all right. No one is here. You are of the underground?" The Frenchman nodded in assent. "In that case," said the old man, "put him in Stop-Ove- r In Algiet By VELDA SCHOFIELD The small compartment reeked with smoke as the valiant little train made its way through a pass in the Swiss Alps. The odor of cigars, past and present, permeated the cubicle, but the unheeding passengers continued to look out of the window, oblivious, it seemed, to the stale odors, the hard seats, and the presence of each other. A heavy, Teutonic tvpe of man occupied one corner. At the first glance, anyone would have pronounced him to be a German businessman. He stared complac-ently out of the window, uttering not a word nor making a movement. It seemed as though he were two miles instead of two feet away from the shabbily dressed peasant across from him. To say that this Swiss farmer was silent would not be enough. His face, as he stared out of the window, was blank as the white mounds of snow which he saw, that is, which he presumably saw. Judging from the expression on his broad face, he was in a complete stupor, as though see-ing or hearing nothing. He might even have been asleep, had not his open eyes belied the fact. He had a look of stupidity, rather than weariness. Sitting next to him was a small, blond man. When he had spoken to the conductor, his Polish accent had been very noticeable. He was looking thought-fully at the other passengers. The two remaining passengers were reading now. The large well-dress- ed man nearest the door was reading the London Times, while the man opposite him was reading a French novel. They sat there, silently, a German, a Pole, an Englishman, a Frenchman, and a neutral Swiss, thrown together by a strange fate, or perhaps by the inconsistency of the Swiss railroad schedule. The train ran rather seldom now, because of the fuel shortage. "You are a member of the Gestapo, perhaps?" The German merely looked at the small man. It seemed that he was in no mood to exchange pleasantries with him, and he swung his truculent body farther into the corner. Again the Pole spoke, "Oh, come now. There Is no reason why you should not admit it. You Gesta-po men are so easily discerned. I suppose you have as much right to Swiss vacation as the rest of us." The Pole talked snioothly, without a trace of fire or hatred in his voice, and yet there was something sinister in the whole proceeding, some intangible something which seemed to crowd the compartment to the bursting point. All of the men now, except the dull farmer, were alert and watch-ing the Pole and the German, not knowing quite what to expect later. Reluctantly, using his hands to motion frequent-ly, the German gave his answer. "Yes, I do work for the Gestapo. All countries have their police, you know. The Gestapo is well, just like the Bobbies in London." He smiled now. "I've been in London twice. It's almost as beautiful as Ber-lin. Yes, that's it. The Gestapo is just like the Bobbies." Turning to the Pole he said, "Those men who did so much killing in Warsaw who called themselves Gestapo, they were merely " he looked at the Englishman and the Frenchman "they were merely people who wanted to stir up trouble between the Poles and the Germans. They were not Gestapo men. They were not even Ger-mans. But as you say, I am merely on a vacation, here in Switzerland. We Germans have beautiful mountains, but even we cannot claim them to be as beautiful as these." Having switched the conver-sation to a pleasant chat about scenery, he settled back, apparently relieved to have disposed of the mater. The ever-bus- y conductor opened the door just as he finished and said, "We are coming to the tunnel, gentlemen. Please do not open the win-dows cinders you know." Giving the German a particularly hostile glance, he withdrew, and al-most immediately the unlighted train was sur-rounded by darkness and the turning of the wheels echoed loudly, as the train was incased in the back room. I will see that he receives the best of care." While the other two were engaged in following the instructions, the Pole said, "You saw that farm-er who got off just as we did?" The station-mast- er nodded. "You mean old Jan? Yes, he has a small farm up the mountain. Mad as a hatter. A sad case. His only son, a fine young man, volunteered for the French army. The Germans killed him. It sent the old man crazy." The Englishman reentered the room with the Frenchman. "But can he be trusted?" he asked. "Oh, yes," the older man replied, "he hates Ger-mans as badly as anyone. He never says a thing to anyone. But now you must hurry. Your train is ready to leave. Goodbye, ajid good luck," he shouted as they scampered aboard in the nick of time. They found their compartment and for a few minutes, none of them spoke a word. Finally, the Englishman broke the silence. "I say, do either of you still claim to have done it?" The Frenchman smiled and said, "Regrettably no. The underground sent me to get him, but I must have been a little late. "I too was after him," the Pole said, "but evi-dently you were faster. He was a prize. I envy you." The Englishman neither confirmed nor de-nied. He merely smiled, and a little later he pulled from his' pocket a small, blood-flecke- d knife. It was a crude little knife, perhaps the kind of a knife a farmer might carry on a farm up the mountain. SouthScnbe Founded, 1931 Published by the students of South high school, 1575 South State Street, Salt Lake City, Utah. EDITOR LORNA CALL BUSINESS MANAGER LA WANA RIGBY Associate Editor Berneice Nash News Editor Beulah Latimer Feature Editor Joan Crebs Associate Feature Editor Maxine Snow Social Editor Susan McCarrel Associate Social Editor LaRue Forsberg Sports Editor Grant Woodward Associate Sports Editor Jerry Dalebout Girls' Sport Editor Aline James Alumni Editor Phyllis Clayton Editorial Assistant Don Lefavor Art Editor Don Hague Historian Beverly Christensen News Desk: Jay Tashima, Helen Tate, Marilyn Rasmussen, Paul Tollestrup, Howard An-derson, Margee Smith, Eloise Griffin. Sports Desk: Bob Hughes, Bruce Goates, Cliff Miller, Cliff Patterson. Social Desk: Betty DeGoyer, Irene DeHaan. Copy Deskr Margee Smith, Janet James, Jay Tashima. Picture: Jeano Campanaro. Business Aids: Barbara Pace, Pat Peterson, Beverly Lambourne, Roselyn Woodward, Betty Jo Wiece, Marilyn Owen, Marilyn Woodward, Ardeth Lym, Marilyn Beaner, Genevieve Wilson. Circulation Bruce Goates Exchanges Marilyn Rasmussen FACULTY SPONSOR V. F. VICTOR (SI M jiizQ snoop scoo? Hello, guys and gals! Here's that Daffy Club again with fluff stuff in the Excuse me. That's the wolf influence I've been subjected to lately, I guess. Ho! Hum! Spring's here at last. And see what old friend Sun has left us already. Those tomato-colore- d wrappers make me wond-er if we might be running an In-dian school. If Adelaide Jarvis, La Rue Forsberg, Nymphus Sims, Ed-die Vetter, dene Sorenson, Nand around a couple dozen others start making with the Indian war chant, we'd better become al-armed and get in touch with our nearest office of the Department of the Interior and make some im-mediate adjustments. My! but there were a lot of ab-sences last Friday. Judging from the excuses in the office, there's certainly a spreading of colds this spring. Incidently, the water was fine at the beach, and the sun was just right for crisping one's skin. Just ask Mitch and Jack or any of their numerous girl friends. r v t. Say! Mrs. Welsch, that's a mighty pretty diamond you're wearing. Who's the lucky man? A certain teacher was puzzled the other morning when Edgar Denny walked in his classroom and sat down wearing a hat. Since Eddy as a rule is quite a well-manner- ed little boy, this teacher politely asked him to remove thet hat. When this request was made, our little Eddy set up quite a naughty fuss. Anyone could see that he was extremely upset. But finally he did remove the hat, and there on top of his head was a brand new bulldog haircut, and on top of that, a pretty pink ribbon no doubt the gift of one of his ad-miring playmates. Those noonday whistles aren't always for lunch. As a matter of fact, those whistles aren't always confined to just noon for cute Dorothy Nielsen. I wonder if she'll ever learn to tame that steady pack of wolves that follow her from morning to night. And this little smoothy's really hep to the jive, according to the report from some of her dates. They say she can really dance, (ask Gordon). And have you heard her sing? Dotty, you really send us! Poor Bob Carabine ! Come the last couple weeks of school, and he gets sent to the hospital for an appendectomy. Some people have all the luck. (To be Inter-preted in your own manner. I'm still apple polishing for final grades.) Margie and Packard, whacha up to, holdin' hands in the hall? May Anderson left South last Monday for Washington. I don't believe it's official business. Question of the day (by re-quest) : "Are Max Batty and Ger-aldi- ne Clayton going steady?" Doug Penman has become pretty discouraged trying to re-pair his car. He said Tuesday that he'd finally finished the job, only to find the block" was cracked. Which block, Doug? Jimmy Harries has asked us to make it known that he is now a free man. (Jimniie, we'll send you a bill at the first of the month.) Well, it's time again to go water my Victory Garden. Be seein' you! A Consistent Tennis Player By RONALD GRIDER Did you ever play with a con-stant tennis player? He never gives up and he never misses a shot even though his drives have no power behind them. Here is the reason that you see some ten-nis players pull out their hair, burn their rackets, and quit tennis for the rest of their lives. No matter to which part of the court you direct your shot or how hard you hit it, he always returns it. After you have rallied for ten minutes and you're so tired you can just lift the racket, he lobs one over that sets you up for a perfect smash. You come down on the ball with all your might and it's a screaming smash to the ex-treme corner of the. court. He rushes over quickly and with ease makes a perfect "pick-up.- " The ball comes back at you in one of those familiar lobs. The impos-sibility of the return in your mind and the sight of that ball in front of you after you have spent all your strength in the smash is usually too much for the human brain, and under such a strain you may do anything. Some peo-ple sit right down in the middle of the court and sob brokenhearted-ly- , or anger may dominate their feelings. If anger is foremost in their minds you will see the ball sailing up over the tree tops on its way to the next town. If they haven't time enough to hit the ball, they will throw the nearest thing they can get their hands on, which is naturally the racket. If this happens, the racket will usually take the same course the ball would have taken. Sometimes the thought of destruction enters their minds. The nearest thing to destroy is the racket and the nearest place to destroy it is on the court. So down it comes with a force equal to the anger which has been pent up in them for the last ten minutes. The result of such force is a neat little pile of kindling bound up by twine. Their patience has come to an end and so has the game. If you are a consistent tennis player, have pity on your friends. Miss a shot once in a while just for their sakes. Some time you may run up against a player who is not a good sportsman and his main point of destruction may be you; so for the sake of your friends, and your health, don't be too consistent.