James Palmer `14
Table of Contents “Procrastination” – Ryan Abell ’14 p. 1 Ancient Dragon – Andrew Cavanaugh ’14 “My Trip to Italy” – RJ Napolitano ’13 p. 2 Water Fountain – Andrew Grajewski ’13 “The Journey” – Christian Endrigian ’13 p. 4 Silver Tree – Brian LaGreca ’13 p. 7 “My affinity for you” – Dan DeBrakeleer ’13 p. 8 Young Girl – Zaine Collins ’14 “Life Cycle” – Patrick Quigley ’14 “Nevermore, Once More” – Levi Davis III ’14 p. 9 Bronze Mask – James Soulges ’15 “Confused I Walk” – Matt Skidmore ‘13 p. 10 Broken Book – Jack Klemmer ’15 “Technology” – Joseph D’Angelo ’13 p. 11 Book – Nick Ward ’13 “The Swamp” – Christian Endrigian ’13 p. 12 “Short Story” – Mel Hawkins ’13 p. 13 Boy with glasses – Amedio DeLuca ’14 Green Bowl – Michael DeCristofano ’15 p. 14 “Weeds” – Levi Davis III ’14 “All I remember is that day” – Christian Endrigian ’13 p. 15 Painting – Dominic Bonitatis ’13 “Changes” – Ryan Seiss ’14 “Sonnet of the Arrogant Fencer” – Richard Eckert ‘13 p. 16 The Bear - Antonio Pelusi ‘14 “If Shakespeare” – Dan DeBrakeleer ’13 p. 17 “Forests fulsome with indigenous Life” – Mark Himler ’13 Painting – Aaron Streets ’13 Odd Man – Amadeo DeLuca ‘14 p. 18 Haiku – Phil Zminda ‘14 “Eggs” – Nicco Baratta ‘13 “My Uncles Cancer” – Robert Gilles III ’14 p. 19 Death – Dante Massi ’13 p. 20 “Edgar” – Liam McGrother ’14 Black Bowl – Eric Torres ’13 p. 21 Trees – Mark Himler ’13 p. 22 “The fulsome flowers of Spring” – Jeff Cimbalista ’13 “The ghosts that I know” – Phil Zminda ’14 p. 23
“Man from Kentucky” – Richard Eckert ’13 p. 24 “Discussions of Faith” – Chris Fagan ’13 Royalty – Dante Massi ’13 Lighted Pumpkin – Nick Ward ’13 “Schools Power” – Robert Gilles !!! ’14 p. 25 “Super Bowl” – Robert Gilles III ’14 “poem” – Pat Hoffman ’13 Shapes – Eric Bergman ’14 p. 26 ”Pitcher with skill” – Liam McGrother ’14 p. 27 Shoes – David Givens ’13 “four poems” – Julian Durkin ’15 p. 28 Green/Red Design – Mark Himler ’13 Illuminated Fish – Edward Rausch ’14 Dragon Head – Rodney Walker ’15 p. 29 “My fulsome inability” – David Kotasenski ’14 p. 30 Green Rope Pot – Kyle McElwee ’15 Chain Link – Mel Hawkins ’13 p. 31 Haiku – Phil Zminda ’14 Rolex – David Michie ’16 “Sonnet of the Flattering Thief” – Richard Eckert ’13 p. 32 Tree – Jack Auteri ’15 “Don’t be Cozened” – Aidan O’Neill ’14 “Snow is aesthetic” – Chris Fagan ’13 p. 33 Tree – Brian LaGreca ’13 “Often I see the night” – Robert Gilles III ’14 Medallion – Jack Klemmer ’14 p. 34 Flowers – John Razzi ’15 “My Grandpop” – Mike Pascali ’13 “Himlers Haikus” – Mark Himler ’13 “Oh darling how I wish you” – Phil Zminda ‘14 p. 35 Crawler – Dante Massi ’13 “One Day” – Chris Fagan ’13 p. 36 Painting – Aaron Streets ’13 p. 37 Brown Sculpture – Joon Cha ’13 p. 38 “Tourists” – Brian Robinson ’13 Janus Picture – Rodney Walker ’15 “Guns” – Robert Gilles III ’14 “Internet Poem” – Phil Zminda ’14 p. 39 Bird House – Victor Rivera ’15 School Seal - Tom Conroy ‘15
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11 “Going Fishing” – Brian Robinson ’13 p. 40 “Chicago Cubs” – Aidan O’Neill ’14 p. 41 Tile Man – Chris Bennett ’14 p. 42 “Nuns, Knife Fights, and Nonchalance”– Jim Princivale ’13 p. 43 Alien Shape – Dante Massi p. 44 “Short Story” – Evan Mascione ’14 p. 45 Knife – Dante Massi ’13 p. 48 “The Pack” – Francis Johnson ’13 p. 50 Blue Bowls – Brian LaGreca ’13 p. 51 Tiles – Mrs. Smith’s French Class p. 53 The Elephant - Alex Wysoczanski ‘16 “The Caravan” – Charles Meredith ’13 p. 54 Shapes – Chris Bennett ’14 Bowl of Fruit – Dominic Bonitatis ’13 p. 55 “I Chose C” – Joe Krol ’14 p. 56 Sculptured Tree – Stephen Peel ’14 Columns – Brian Farley ’13 p. 58 Fish – Christian Picofazzi ’15 Goofy Guy – Blaise Palmer ’15 p. 60 “Surfin” – Brian Robinson ’13 p. 61 “Con ‘Text’” – Andrew Garoppo ‘14 “Diurnal Escapades” – Chris Mather ’14 p. 62 Envelope – Nick Ward ’13 p. 62 “The Road to Ruin” – Richard Eckert ’13 p. 63 ‘Poem” – Mike Catalino ’13 p. 65 Dragon – David Kemptich ’15 p. 66 Sun Rise – John Brady ’14
“Procrastination” There is just something about procrastination I don’t why, but to me it’s a fascination I can’t seem to shake this annoying habit The idea of stopping it is as fickle as a rabbit. Procrastination is a deadly thing to be true It’s really something that one comes to rue Take for example this poem right here This will not take too long just lend me your ear This poem is being written at the end of the wire To say it isn’t a product of procrastination, you’d be a liar Procrastination for me does not ebb or flow It is in fact nothing at all like a wave, just so you know It plagues me to absolutely no end Yet frustration is the only thing it will rend I hope in vain that someday I can break this trend However, as of late I cant hope to win This war with a trait somewhat akin to sin But always I will have the hope To unbind this thing that holds me like a rope And denies me the things I might achieve This burden is something I wish to relieve But wishes is all I can do When I’m trapped inside of a shoe Where this demon refuses to be stamped out Like an incompetent bear trying to catch a trout However hard I might try I seem to fail I wish I could take to this thing a flail But in the end it always seem to be okay However much I complain about the day Procrastination is winning the war But for how long, I cannot be sure In this battle too, it has come out on top It has wrung me out and used me like a mop Drained of all hope to regress This issue now I am forced to address And examine myself in a different light To determine if this conclusion is right Continued on p. 6
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“My Trip to Italy” R.J. Napolitano ‘13
Light peeks in the window Dawn Rolling over exhausted I crawl out of bed The same person I have been About to be changed forever Today is the day I travel the world I shower Brush my teeth Change into the same clothes I have worn before Yet I am about to be different I am anxious A little more nervous than usual as I enter the car with my family No one says much We are all excited Pulling up to the airport I jump out The same person I have always been, about to be changed We board the plane and head across the world Land in Italy I can’t believe my eyes I once thought the world was so small Never really appreciating what else was out there Now I am changing New language New people New culture A whole new world Everything else seems so small seeing how vast this world is Hours away there are people doing the same thing as us only differently Our actions seem so small in a world so vast I see new people They look the same but talk different A new type of person The food is different but wonderful The music is a nice change to the songs I have heard The architecture is stunning How did I not know about this? So many people just float through life Not appreciating the vastness of this earth So many people concerned with hating other people
How can you when the world is so big and beautiful? I am changing knowing now how much is out there A problem with my friends now seems so small There is such beauty on this earth that has been here forever For thousands of years and is still as stunning as it has always been We eat the food See the museums Andrew Grajewski Meet the people Visit different towns New experiences each day The trip is almost over I am ready to get home But I will never forget this It has changed how I see the world There is so much more out there Half way across the world But still humans As we pack I am amazed at the trip We board the plane and head home I am still the same person I was But I am changed My view My attitude All altered In a good way The trip really showed me what was out there And taught me to be more understanding The world has so much beauty to offer And to see it was amazing We touched down at returned home I crawled into the bed I had left ten days before The same person I was But I closed my eyes with new experiences that I will never forget
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“The Journey” Christian Endrigian ‘13 At the age of 1, born to be 11 pounds way to big My mama said I was the opposite of a twig Looked like a fat pig from outer space Nobody could see my neck covered by my face Damn, how I miss being 1... At the age of 2, my legs finally became a full time job Walking from here to there with no problem at all. Still didn’t adopt from the sippy cup Nor did I want to leave my parents sight. Damn, how I miss being 2… At the age of 3, I remember taking nice afternoon naps. Couldn’t tell ya much about this age In fact, who really cares about being 3? It was still a memory to say the least. Damn, how I miss being 3… At the age of 4, things started to become clearer. I fell in love with dinosaurs, Spongebob, even the Rugrats. Picked up a basketball thinking I could be in the NBA Sitting here now, nowhere close to that dream Damn, how I miss being 4… At the age of 5, I realized my years were flying by Moved on to big boy things for a change However, still did not know how to swim, Had too much of a fear of that deep blue water Damn, how I miss being 5…
At the age of 6, I started pre school No idea what the school was called Little did I know I would call them the best years of all My education was now starting for the long haul Damn, how I miss being 6... At the age of 7, I started to make some new friends Kids I would spend the rest of my life with. Who can forget nap time during the day? Or the simple grammar lessons learned day to day Damn, how I miss being 7… At the age of 8, I received my first test, Bombed it. Year skipped by. Knew that my education would be long one, But thought that grades had no meaning at all. Damn, how I miss being 9... At the age of 10, I finally made double digits, That didn’t necessarily turn out to be a good thing My parents got divorced so suddenly and My life took a turn for the worst Damn, how I miss being 10... At the age of 11, I was still dealing with the divorce My stepmom thinking she was my real mom My dad thinking my mom was a piece of dirt I simply couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Damn, how I miss being 11... At the age of 12, I started to become really close with my brother, I found a set of friends that I call my brothers. Age 12 was good to me, just Didn’t think it would change so quickly. Damn, how I miss being 12… At the age of 13, I found out I would be leaving my best friends behind, Couldn’t have asked for better buddies. What I would miss most is Abidale Park everyday? Or what about being on the same court? Damn, how I miss being 13…
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7 At the age of 14, I would start my La Salle Career, Certainly did not enjoy it my first year, Thought I made the wrong decision But only time would tell Damn, how I miss being 14... At the age of 15, things did not seem to get better, I just wanted to go back to Lower Moreland, But the reputation of La Salle kept me hostage So I grinded out my sophomore year. Damn, how I miss being 15... At the age of 16, socially my life became fantastic. La Salle became my second home without a doubt. The classroom was a different story though Nonetheless I had the time of my life. Damn, how I miss being 16... At the age of 17, senior year rolled around. The hype of this year proved to be true. I started making an impact in the school community But more importantly, this school impacted me Damn, how I miss being 17... At the age of 18, I stand before you today. My life is great. No complaints at all. La Salle has been the best decision I have ever made. The divorce no longer bothers me. Damn, I’m 18. Looking back on my life, I think to myself what I would Like to have done over. And to be completely honest, there Is not one thing I regret. Sure, I have had some rough years But in the end these experiences make me a much stronger man. I now have a story to tell 18 years flew by. I can’t even imagine where the road leads from here. Where does my journey end? Will I get to live out my dream Of being on ESPN announcing the NCAA tournament? If I do, great, If I don’t I know that I had one hell of a ride. Wouldn’t it just be easier to be a kid again?
Procrastination continued Either way I have expounded a flaw That should be harmful according to law But for me this does not always hold true Yet it is still something I rue This trait I am not proud And in denouncing it I am loud Now I must try to make amends And give it my all to help this mend Procrastination is not right It is something I really want to fight But in the end I am not very strong And to fight it just feels very wrong But try I will, but who knows how long To be honest, this would make a terrible song Ryan Abell ‘14
Brian LaGreca ‘13
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99 My affinity for you is of love, It is much more than aesthetic appeal, Not chimerical, these feelings are real, For our love I shout a paean above. From the day you first came into my life, I've been hopelessly devoted to you, You are my someone from Kalamazoo, The salt of my earth, the safe in the strife, Since you've went away, the night air is dry, My dreams have faded to a dreary gray, Smudged and washed out by the tears that I cry, For I know I'll wake up alone each day, Just stay by my side with each passing sigh, Don't think of the price we might have to pay Dan DeBrakeleer ‘13
“Life Cycle” Patrick Quigley ‘14 Nature reawakes from its endless nap. The leafs cry out to sing a paean And indigenous creatures too, come back. Spring ignites this yearly reincarnation. Nature is rampant from Spring through the Summer. People are ineffable that life has not spurned. Crops are fulsome, which is not a bummer. It seems as though the good times have returned. But then Fall comes and the world begins to die. The Insouciance of the world begins to go away. It is replaced by noisomeness and cries. Nature’s briskness and beauty cannot stay. As the cold and lifelessness begins to engulf us, New hope arrives when warmth and life egress.
“Nevermore, Once More” Revel upon the Raven that lie Upon the lowest branch Of the sycamore So precariously Planted on a whim; You wonder Of its sinister purpose; Surely it must Be such an Evil thing! A coat of dark, Concealing that of Which few know;
Yet the bird Still does not make Sound, it glances Upon its victims With the very emotion Unthought of such A horrible creature; That of compassion, As it flies with A cry so high, An uplifting squawk. A cry of nevermore,
Levi Davis, III, ‘14
A beak certainly in Waiting of its Next struggling victim Piercing eyes that Shudder the very fabric Of the soul They caress slowly, In such a manner Terrifyingly deathly; Yet the fowl Sits in wait, It’s ominous presence Singing on high A pitch strident Screeching a cry unheard Yet sonorous In the ears Of the innocent.
James Soulges ‘15
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“Confused I Walk” Matt Skidmore ‘13 Walking down the stairs, tired. Rubbing my eyes, barely awake. The door’s open; why? The wind silently crawls in through the doorway, Careful not to disturb. Quickly awakened, worry swells. In robe and slippers, I scuttle outside, Only to see the bleak shadow of the clouds. It is dark. The neighborhood is eerily quiet. Not a soul in sight. It is now that I realize my family is also gone. Did I miss something? I walk through the thick wood, Still piercing silence. Peaceful and serene. Today, the world is mine. From the center of the thicket emanates a light. Soft and pulsating, it draws me closer. Through the branches, I spot the source. Nestled in the forest lies a foreign machine, Sleek and clean. Scared and confused, I run. Back into my house I find solace. A whirling noise fills the sky; Another ship lands, this time in my yard. A creature emerges as I hurry to my room. I hear a loud bang, and after that, silence. They enter, and that is all I remember. Now, I find myself someplace new. My family is here, everyone is smiling. Sunny and beautiful, this place seems like paradise.
Woozy and wobbly, I wander around the place. This is my own home, but things are different. I leave the house to a bustling community. Everyone is happy and friendly. But this is not home, not what I know. Confused, I walk. With no destination, I just wander. I can’t put a finger on what is different. The sun still gleams like a shiny coin, But things are different. As I walk, people come up to me. Soon, I am surrounded. No longer are they friendly. They take me and I have no control. Again, I black out. The silence returns. Darkness ensues, The serenity returns.
Nick Ward ‘13
“Technology” Joe D’Angelo ‘13
Jack Klemmer ‘15
Standing in lines at Best Buy, trying to truly get the best buy. Obsessions become addictions. The necessity to have the latest gadget at your fingertips. IPads, laptops and phones, they Stream the world together as one. Where would we be without it? Dependent on it to survive. Clenched to our fingertips, Afraid to let go in fear of not knowing or being lost. We have lost ourselves
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“The Swamp”
Christian Endrigian ‘13 Ever since Otto was young, he had one vision in mind. If you took a look at his room, you would know what he dreamed of doing with his life. Otto Robinson, a Chicago native, has lived in the small town of Onianto his entire life with just his mom. Although they share the same vision for Otto, they disagree on one big thing. As Otto’s room bleeds orange and blue, his mom’s room bleeds garnet and gold. That’s right. Mrs. Robinson who is a graduated of Florida State University bleeds her college colors. Nobody knows how she ended up in Chicago after graduation, but regardless, her heart still remains in Tallahassee. And that is what has made this entire process so hard for Otto. Since his days in peewee basketball to now his senior season, Otto’s talents on the court plan to take his mother and him to new heights. He was as crafty as Lebron, smooth like MJ, and strong like Dwight Howard. Scouts across the nation said he had the entire package. In his career at Simeon High school, where greats such as Derrick Rose and Jabari Parker graduated, he has set records on top of records. You name it, he owns it. The world belonged to Otto. Schools like Duke, North Carolina, Michigan, UCLA, Arizona,etc. all wanted him. But Otto had one school in mind. He wanted to be a Florida Gator. His room was decorated with past gator players, gator memorabilia, you name it. He even had a sign hang on his door as you entered that said, “Welcome to the Swamp.” Of course his mom being a Florida State graduate, she was not the least bit excited of Otto’s potential future as a gator basketball player. She was happy for her son, but felt tremendous grief towards her beloved college. As the recruiting process was coming to a close, Otto saved his favorite college visit for last. His mother and him were off to Gainesville on an all expense paid trip to see Otto’s future. As they arrived in luxury, they were greeted by Billy Donovan, the head coach of the University of Florida mens basketball team. Right away, Otto’s face turned red. You could notice sweat dripping down his face. Not to mention, the very noticeable armpit stains underneath his arms. As conversation carried on between the coach and Otto, it was obvious to Coach Donovan that Mrs. Robinson was very quiet. She wouldn’t say one word. Coach Donovan then took Otto and his mother around campus to show them the environment. “Welcome to Gainesville!” Coach Donovan said surrounded by palm trees and fountains. Gainesville was an area like no other. Beautiful landscape all throughout the town, nice tall palm trees surrounding fountains throughout campus, and various pools with students relaxing on a regular Thursday afternoon. Everywhere Otto looked, he saw beautiful women wearing nothing but a bikini. The sun was bright as could be in the middle of Feburary with not a cloud in sight. They then ventured to the surrounding area where they saw extravagant shops, golf courses as nice as the PGA tour courses, and restaurants that looked too expensive for Otto’s budget until Coach Donovan said that gator athletes eat for free at these restaurants. Otto fell in love even more. As the trip ended, Coach Donovan asked, “So Otto, do you want to be a gator?” Otto responded, “Where do I sign?” Mrs. Robinson interrupted, “You know what? Before this trip, I wasn’t going to let my son be a gator, but Coach Donovan, you have convinced me. I am on board.” Coach Donovan said walking away, “Well then welcome to gator nation!”
13 “Why, God? Oh why?” screamed Mrs. Jenkins. “John-Boy never hurt nobody.” she sighed. The whole neighborhood was in absolute horror from the grim sight. There lied John-Boy in a puddle of blood seeping into the sewer. “These Manhattan streets ain’t no joke Mrs. Jenkins, you know that.” said RJ. “The streets finally caught up to his dumb ass, surprised he lasted that long,” continued RJ. “That’s enough!” exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins. Just then, the police showed up and started to interrogate everyone at the crime scene. Everyone was cooperating except for RJ. “What’s your name sir?” asked Detective Reynolds. “None of your business, you acting like I killed the son of a bitch.” replied RJ. Detective Reynolds grabbed RJ by the collar and pinned him up against the wall. “You listen hear you little bitch, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours,” growled Detective Reynolds. “You wanna go tough guy? Take that badge off and lets see how tough you really are.” laughing RJ. “That’s it pal, me and you are going take a little trip downtown.” said Detective Reynolds pushing RJ into the backseat of the cop car. “ “Dinner and a movie on you? Awe you shouldn’t have.” said RJ smiling. RJ tried to put up a front for the officer like he was undaunted about going downtown to the police station, but deep down he and the detective knew he was quite worried. The ride seemed to drag on forever. The detective drove through some of the roughest parts of Manhattan. RJ even recognized some of his friends while riding through these neighborhoods. RJ grew up in the topical ghetto neighborhood. The neighborhood or the “hood” as it was commonly referred to was no easy place to live. In the middle of the neighborhood were three project buildings. The names of the buildings were Martin Luther King housing, Malcolm X housing, and George Washington Carver housing. The MLK building was the biggest out of the three buildings, but it was the dirtiest too. It had eighteen floors. The Malcolm X building was the smallest out of the three, but it was the newest. The Malcolm X building had the least amount of vermin in it and only a few of the buildings walls were covered in graffiti. However, it only had ten floors. Last but not least was the George Washington Carver building. It was average in size and didn’t have too much graffiti on the building. However, it was under the most surveillance, so many people hated living in Carver building. Many of the residents of the projects had to resort to illegal activities to make ends meet, so living in the Carver building was a hell on earth for them. After riding through every slum in Manhattan, the two finally arrived at the police station. RJ was shivering uncontrollably. Detective Reynolds and the surrounding officers could tell that he was nervous. The detective lead RJ into the interrogation and then the detective went out. The detective and several other officers studied RJ closely and could tell that he was clearly hiding something. Detective walked back into the interrogation with a manilla envelope in his left hand. RJ was still uneasy. “You’re shaking like a stripper’s booty, boy. You hiding something?” said Detective Reynolds. “No, I’m fine. What that’s in your hand?” wondered RJ. “Oh, just your record. Looks like you got two strikes. One more and…” “I wanna lawyer.” interrupted RJ. “Fine I’ll see you in court.” said Detective Reynolds walking away and closing the door behind him.
Mel Hawkins ‘13
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“Weeds” As I am scolded For laying sight And touch upon That which we Call weeds among Healthy green grass, I slowly wonder, Of these “weeds.” Why are they so Negative, when their Appearance is so Beautiful in my midst? They surely did Little more than grow, Independent of all, Only to face the Ridicule of the Controllers.
Dominic Bonitatis ‘13 Or of this dandelion, With such roots Ground so deeply, A fleeting whiteness Graces it, as it Flies off into The edge of nothingness. In my observation, I cannot help But wonder of The weeds, born The very same, Yet treated so Differently; they hardly Do more than beautify, Emphasize a nature’s Variety and ability.
Why separate them, For they have the Very same purpose As a grass blade; Only an appearance Deemed unsightly in The eyes of the Judgmental and scathing. Such as this weed Here; it’s stem Thick and lush, Its petals in a Full white bloom, Reaching, crying of The sky above it.
Still in the course Of tales descended, They cannot be considered More, any more Than what they Are called to This very day: Weeds.
Levi Davis, III, ‘14
All I remember is that day Thought my parents would never say Constant fighting all night Louder than a jets flight Divorce struck my ears right away. Michael DeCristofano ‘15
Christian Endrigian ‘13
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“The Sonnet of the Arrogant Fencer” I’ve learned the consequence of fervid pride: Such hubris makes the greatest men effete. Because of my hubris, I nearly died. For I thought I could never learn defeat. I once was skilled in the art of the sword. My prowess was ineffable indeed. And with each futile match I would grow bored, Because I was guaranteed to succeed. My pride would meet a noisome end, In spite of fencing being my forte. I lost to a most dear and humble friend, And that is why I’m in disgrace today. One must avoid pride and rapacity, Lest they succumb to hubris like me. Richard Eckert ‘13
Antonio Pelusi ‘14
If Shakespeare’s love is like a summer’s day, Then to me you are the best of July, Sweet and salubrious like chardonnay, Your ineffable smile lights up my sky. Now you’ve cozened me out of my senses, Your “hello” left me supine on the floor, For these crimes I charge you no expenses, They’re insouciant to me, nothing more! Though roses are red and violets are blue, Inveigling is certainly not my forte, So I will never be fulsome to you, Your beauty truly makes my heart cavort.
Dan DeBrakeleer ‘13
My love for you I can no longer fight, So please, won’t you truckle to me tonight?
Aaron Streets ‘13
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“My Uncle’s Cancer” Haiku
Robert Gilles III
Bright abyssal eyes alone in the frozen rain blood red lips and wrists
I always heard about the dangers We have in our cancers But never seen face to face When it came to cancer I haven’t been near a trace It seems me and death are strangers
Prepared eulogies for the funerals of friends who have not died yet Phil Zminda ‘14
That is until I heard about my uncle’s disease Early on it seemed like an ease But that was before he got off hospice After that I still seemed like a novice Then I heard his own wheeze It was hard for him to walk He just wanted to go to his boat’s dock I wish I could say he was lucid Its unfair and stupid He couldn’t really talk
Amadeo DeLuca ‘14 “Eggs” Eggs may come by the dozen But are not usually germane. With eggs there is no cozen. Made with nothing but protein, no sugar cane. Eggs are cooked very fervid And when cooked appear very white. Eggs are healthy, that is asserted Overcooked though, eggs turn vitiate. Eggs help build muscle in fulsome amounts, and sometiems smell fetid. These smells may knock you out for the count, but eggs with exercise can get you shredded. Eggs are not something that obfuscates someone, but are not in paeans sang by a nun Nicco Baratta ‘13
Cancer doesn’t just kill It weakens them to a shrill And puts pain on the family It really was a tragedy To leave his family with only a will Now I wish he could just take me on his boat Although I complained about my strep throat My uncle Bob struggled without a complaint I wish he was here but he ain’t But he really did love that boat Now I see the true pain in cancer And I wish I had answer To why Why do we have to say good bye Why can’t God make us happy campers God, if you can’t bring back my uncle please give comfort To my aunt so she doesn’t suffer And to my cousins so they can continue to live So they can go out and give One day I hope we end cancer cause we can recover
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“Edgar” Liam McGrother ‘14 My name is Fia Benetton. I was just an average girl struggling to make it on my own after I finished college. I guess my story starts about two years ago during my final semester of college at NYU. I was walking back to my apartment when I heard the strangest sound coming from just around the corner. I noticed no one was around so, being the headstrong person I am, I turned the corner and abruptly ran into a man wearing a massive cowboy hat. I was bewildered by this but; I kept my calm and asked this odd man his name. With a smirk, the man said “Why, I’m Mr. Jay Martel, don’t you remember me Fia? It is truly a pleasure to see you again Ms. Benetton!” Instinctively I backed away. How could this man I’ve never met know my name? The man quickly put his hands up and said “Oh my! I’m so sorry Fia; we must not have met yet. The time stream is too complicated to understand.” I was way too confused by all of this and the man could see it on my face. “Now listen Fia, I know you’re confused, but I promise that if you follow me everything will make sense.” Going against every lesson that my parents, relatives, and teachers had taught me, I followed this man I had just met down a dark alley. We walked down the alley and approached a nondescript door in the wall. The man leaned against the wall and loudly proclaimed “I present the most wonderful, magnificent, and may I add beautiful, thing in the entire world!” All I could see was a old and worn looking wooden door so I pushed my way through it. Once I looked around, I was thoroughly blown away. We were no longer in a room off of an alley; we were in some kind of space age room full of incredibly complex looking technology. The man quickly walked up and said “Welcome to the world’s one and only time machine! I like to call her Shelly and she seems to like it.” He followed this up by plopping me down in front of a monitor and then playing a message that was stored on the device. My own face appeared on the screen and told me to remain calm, trust Jay with my life, and that yes, he was truly a time traveler. I was incredulous until the very end when I heard this “Fia I know you don’t trust anything I just said but, you should because this really is you talking to yourself. Listen: Nevermore. I know that you love Poe and Jay here is going to take you to meet your idol.” I was still a bit uncertain but, I decided I was going to see what could happen on this crazy night. I told Jay that I was ready to go and he said “Off we go! Baltimore, Maryland in the year 1842!” With that, Jay hit a large button and the entire room vibrated. After a few minutes of violent shaking, Jay exclaimed “Were here! Come along Fia!” I sheepishly followed Jay out of the room and we emerged onto a bustling street in downtown Baltimore. Everyone appeared to be in the correct clothing of Poe’s time so I continued to follow Jay.
21 Jay was rushing through the crowd waving to some people, hugging others, and even stopping to talk to some. Clearly he’d been here before. Jay stopped and grabbed my arm, “Come on, I know where Edgar is.” We ended up at a bar that was full of people enjoying their night. Jay said “Don’t worry Fia; I’ll be sure you’re safe inside.” His tone reassured me that if anything was going to happen to me, Jay would try his best to stop it. We entered the bar and were overwhelmed by the pure noise and energy coming from the entrance. Everyone was drunk, loud, and enjoying life. We made our way quickly through the crowds and ended up on the edge of the room. There was a young man standing near us. Jay walked over and said “Edgar! How have you been buddy?” The man turned our way and it was clear to me that this was truly Edgar Allan Poe, my favorite writer of all time. Poe turned to Jay and said “Oh God, you’ve come back Jay! I’ve missed you my good friend.” The two men embraced and then went back to their conversation. After a few minutes, Jay called me over and said “Edgar I would like you to meet my good friend Fia, she is a huge fan of yours.” Poe said “Oh really Fia? You enjoyed ‘MS. Found in a Bottle’?” I was a bit speechless; I was not prepared for this whole situation. I managed to squeak out and quick “Yes” before I blurted out “Are you working on anything new Mr. Poe?” Poe gave me a quizzical look and then said “Come with me you two.” Twenty minutes later, we arrived at Poe’s house. He led us around the back to a shed. He opened up the small building and invited us both inside. “I’m trying to finish up this project but I’m just a little stuck. You guys can look at it if you like.” After reading a line or two, I realized that I was reading the very first draft of Poe’s greatest work “The Raven”. Poe said “I feel like I am so close to finishing it up, it’s just missing that one thing to make it great.” Out of nowhere, I suggested “You need to flesh out the character of the Raven, it has to have a profound effect on the scholar, give the Raven a line.” I was shocked that I had just criticized one of the greatest writers in history. Poe took a moment to contemplate this and then responded with just one word: “Nevermore”. He looked up and said to us, “I’m so sorry but I must write this, if you could please show yourselves out.” Jay said “Of course Edgar, let me know when you finish up your piece, I’d love to read it. It’s been great seeing you.” “It’s been wonderful seeing you too Jay, and you as well Fia, thank you so much.” said Poe. “No problem at all Mr. Poe.” I said. Poe looked up and said “Please Fia, call me Edgar
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Phil Zminda ‘14
The fulsome flowers of spring make me smile And the summer›s fervid sand on my toes Fall leaves me insouciant for awhile I even like winter›s nip at my nose I could sing a paean everyday About the plethora of nature›s charm About the birds that sing and trees that sway The heavenly blue skies that do no harm But time in fields and woods is scarce for me As I am too engaged in other things If only there was a way to be free From my busy life and the work it brings Instead of laying back to watch the stars I must admire nature from afar
Jeff Cimbalista ‘13
Mark Himler ‘13
The ghosts that I know With their ethereal hearts Crystalline blood vessels And lingering fragrances Have moved on.
I stare into invisible eyes Veiled by truth and ignorance For consolation, for love, for “I won’t leave” Standing in the river, dying of thirst.
As if I knew their longing, Days turn to weeks Spent alone, dreaming of Faraway places with their Hands in mine.
The water runs past my knees Grazes my knife wounds From those of the past, Anachronisms, covering, enveloping My mind and soul.
The time limit passed When our hearts were Within micrometers, moments, Of touching and Becoming one.
The nectar below me Cleanses me as I drink. The light fills me. It’s blinding, it’s binding, but Most of all it’s mine.
They drifted off, to become Einsteins and Platos and Socrateses I am Samson And them Delilah, My loves, my downfalls.
The ghosts manifest from the earth, The sky, the ocean, And suddenly the river covers My nostrils and my consciousness Fades into love and radiance.
Their sorrowful hearts Full of mourning, “I won’t forget you”, “I love you”. Empty.
So tonight, I’ll sit on the roof With the pagan hearts Of the stars full of mourning And remembrance, But mine will not be.
The stage we shared Is now empty The audience nothing Lost souls Traveling endlessly, without roads.
I’ll stare into the sunset With eyes deep enough To stand in with conviction alone, I see the red light emanating From the infinite horizon, and I know.
Their crystalline figures follow me, Eat breakfast with me, Sleep with me at night And wake up in the morning At the headboard with golden tongues.
I feel those ghosts now, But they are more than that. They are loving. They are tangible. They are real.
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“School’s Power”
There once was a man from Kentucky, Who went by the name of Bucky. He would gamble a lot, Adding chips to the pot Despite knowing that he was unlucky.
We feel empathy for one another As we walk the halls for what could have ben A bruit went around about the schools power We would be out if this were to happen The hallways seem fervid and intercine Everyone is sad depressed and gloomy We need an elixir or medicine I think it does seem silly or goofy
Richard Eckert ‘13 Discussion of Faith, what is it for? One man knocking on another’s door. Is this the real way? No, not another day. Science will pick you up off the floor.
But some are still able to keep up hope Some say it’s only the generator Because this is a lie they must be remote But still we go ask the educators The belief is currently very low But maybe another time if there were snow
Chris Fagan ‘13
“Super bowl” There was great excitement and awe It was between ravens and niners It is the biggest game of them all Watched by everyone even by coal miners
Nick Ward ‘13
Dante Massi ‘13
The ravens were playing so well it was almost a rout Then there was a change of tide Some say it’s because the power went out This was ray lewis’s last ride But there was a bruit that he cozen It made a change cause both teams run games were posteriori Even the reporters with great acumen Were surprised by the run games priori The ravens “held” off the niners in end It must have been a great game to attend Robert Gilles III ‘14
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27 It’s a 5 AM wakeup with no reward. no sunrise, or birds chirping, just the dark, cold air and clouds. Almost all of nature has taken shelter for the winter, the outside seems barren, and it’s only you, alone, awake at this hour. But we all do it, for different reasons to get onto the roads, whether its to beat traffic, or crowds, or the snow piling up on the ground. Quickly grabbing breakfast, and throwing the gear into the car. Maybe a last minute waxing, and packing enough warm clothes to last a weekend at the Arctic. But the time is valuable, as you have a place far away to get to, so everyone loads up into the car and gets ready for the trip. Not many words are said during the trip, as everyone is sleeping. Radio music playing softly, which will soon enough be lost, as you travel farther into the mountains, through tunnels and windy roads. The mountain far off in the distance, you can see where you need to be, and it feels so close, yet you drive forward and forward, and sometimes feel like you aren’t gaining any progress. But soon enough you’ll be there, staring the giant in the face, ready to conquer the hardest and worst that it has to offer. Pulling up to the lodge, and parking in the driveway,
the car is unloaded. Boots are put on, and every wraps up warm in their snow clothing. Loose screws are checked, and the walk up begins. Once at the lodge, the snow is tested. light snow today fluffy, and not very sticky. Just the feeling of it alone in your fingers gets you thinking of the carving and cutting through the mountain. The tickets are bought inside, and you walk back outside to the bottom of the giant. Strap in one foot, and its almost what you’ve been waiting for. Gliding over the snow to the lift, with no line to get on. This is almost it, and the anticipation is killing you. What’s a five minute ride feels like fifty, as it seems like you crawl your way up the behemoth. But you finally get there, and hop off the lift. You’re at the top now, isolated on the peak. There’s only one way out, involving speed and finesse, but this is it. Sliding up to the edge, you look all the way down. And see nothing but a sea of white. This is the prize for your long and hard journey. The reward on what seems like a miserable, cold winter day.
Patrick Hoffman ‘13
David Givens ‘13 There once was a pitcher with skill. The ball seemed to bend to his will. The batters would all swing, They could not hit a thing; Except on the days he felt ill. Liam McGrother ‘14
Edward Rausch ‘14
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four poems
by Julian Durkin ‘15 I
Mark Himler ‘13
It is going to rain. You should most likely grab a coat Before we are soaked and have to float like apparitions on the sides of Monoliths. Ordinary- the bird beats beak to bark and it’s faster than the blink of an eye or the shattering of water on your coat. As it always does the same way in the same sound Do you hear that? Fear of plenty
II
Besides the fact I'm too cute for it anyway Rest, rest now. Tired trying eyes Will always try and tire out fleshing the bees and outworking the giant hands Yahweh came in a dream And he said: "You're in for it, now." His laugh was hoarse but I slept but I could not ignore it but I am the mark of death.
“chipping paint” And my mother said: You cannot hit so heavily downwards with your shoes Hush now mother I'm falling to pieces
Rodney Walker ‘15
This wound will not scab "pull at its walls" This feels like hair and when I tear it further it burns.
“and on yesterday”
Old C.S lays his legs across me and we quiver So silently. Feeling not hearing not seeing My trial will be tight and in a boiling silence I will bite my fingers in anxiety and play with my tie.
breakfast was getting cold and it tasted like charcoal but not her legs which were eased above me Why are you so easily eaten up like the aguey flesh on me or my wrists which remind she of worms and beaten spiders grabbed their sacks and salivated but you are more like the stoic wolf spider that is startled and it's billion-babied back lets loose and they wane and spread settling soon tender tenuey little easy feet strapped there, easy, does it, bring your face down with it.
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David Kotasenski ‘14 My fulsome inability to express I lack a strong desire to write My poems should be blotted in white The example, this poem here, a mess People may look at these, think “ah, bless,” Yet my incompetence shall never see light Spare this poem, I power through with might For now, seal them away, forsaken chest I should never have touched paper with pen I will know not that what I may write But it matters not for I always lend These words always storm out with a strong fight Words to the wordless shall I fervidly send It matters not whether these words be right
Melvin Hawkins ‘13 Capturing moments The quick click of the shutter preserved history Phil Zminda ‘14
e ‘16
David Michi
Kyle McElwee ‘15
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32 Snow is aesthetic to all kids around Chimerical when it falls from the sky The rush of sledding gets them so high Salubrious when it falls to the ground Kid›s affinity for snow is unmatched The love is ineffable for many A substitute for it there is not any Everyone›s first snow leaves them attached But soon it becomes a bête noir When you have to ensconce yourself at home And you have to clean it off your car As you get older snow will make you groan Brian LaGr And happy days of sledding seem so far eca ‘1 3 When shoveling the driveway makes you moan
“The Sonnet of the Flattering Thief” I’ve learned of the best tools for deception: The best way to cozen or to beguile Is to make use of flattery and wile. For the fulsome will revel in reception. I’ve learned the hard way: from a crafty thief, A pundit in both trickery and charm, Whose speech and pandering left me disarmed And without money, to my disbelief. The theif was able to inveigle me Into giving him all my precious gold. His charm worked to a startling degree. Such a story continues to be told: That charm can shield one from harsh obloquy, As proven by the crafty theif, so bold.
Jack Auteri ‘15
Richard Eckert ‘13 Don’t be cozened by those are try to trick keep your shoulders back and stay on your path find your forte and do something drastic it could be writer or taking a bath the point is do whatever you would want and yes you will sometimes get effete then try something weird, like changing the font. do not dwell on things and just hit delete I urge you to please let no one interstice who else but you knows what you like to do be fervid in what you choose, but be nice you are the pundit of your life, wahoo! I conclude with one more piece of advice be ineffable, don’t slip on the ice
Aidan O’Neill ‘14
Chris Fagan ‘13
Often I see the night, bright-eyed, alone The plethora of stars, spanning the sky And as the ethos begin their sweet moan I begin to pander, and ask you why? Why must your beauty consume my evening? An elixir of life, you capture souls To speak bad of you would cozen your leaving I wish to propitiate out of this hole Yet my effete has been lost to your eye And I shall truckle to regain your favor A persiflage you made of timid lie To return I work ineffable labor Yet all of this be chimerical sadness As I continue to be a savage Robert Gilles III ‘14
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Haikus
His rapacity for the ball was fierce, Yet his team always fell on the back end. His dream was to be as good as Paul Pierce, And to finally get his team to trend.
Michael Pascali ‘13 My grandpop is the man An old Philly cop The nicest gentleman
Propitiating will be a tough one, Their goal to be bruited is afar. The fervid gym empty when games are done, Which has seen loses that leave many scars.
Himler Haikus Roar of the engines Faint in my gray metal bird High above the sky
But if this rising star had a forte, Hope ran in his blood and kept pushing him. He put life in his team every day, And kept it going until the lights dim.
Cheeks red from the cold As she sits watching the snow Smile fills the night While my eyes are shut I can still see clear as day Strange reality
His affinity for the game kept strong, And his hope led his career to be long. Obfuscated, mom sits alone in tears, A plethora of pain seen in her eyes. “Why must this happen after all these years?”, She asks herself, as her happiness. I could not help but feel strong empathy, An effete heart she now had in her chest. This experience will cause mom to be Lost in memories rather than her best. But I plead to her, “Good will come soon, mom”, The internecine soul rose off the ground. So maybe a man named Jimmy or Tom, Will make everything peaceful and sound. Now my mom ensconces a warm smile, One that she’ll keep with her for a while.
Chris Fagan ‘13
Jack Klemmer ‘15
My elixir is the snow on the ground The innocent earth it does ensconce, love Just as the soil truckles to the pounds So do I you, my angel from above Angel, to you I immolate myself I merely am a sycophant for you Oh darling, how I wish you were present You are my favorite book on the shelf I caterwaul toward the sky in vain You I promise, all of these things are true I needed sunshine, and yet only rain As I lay supine, I am a peasant Andyet, I feel that you are barely there To time, which without you is unpleasant My one true love, my mind you obfuscate I effete, I weaken slowly in pain Stroking yourelectric, sunflower hair My God this loneliness will be my bane Indeed my thoughts you do well vitiate A paean I sing to Him, most pleasant Now I’m unsure if we’re salubrious Although ineffable are these bruises Orif without, we’ll be lugubrious. I shall persevere for the love compiled Through the rough, when us the world abuses When we face the trials of the harsh wild Phil Zminda ‘14 We need not the favor the world chooses For we need not fear with the love we’ve styled. Sonnets
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“One Day”
Chris Fagan ‘13 Kyle Bradshaw, just a normal kid getting through everyday life. That’s me. I lived in a small suburban town outside of Miami, Florida. I’m a sophomore in high school and I live with my mom, dad, and sister. I was a popular kid in his school, I started on the varsity basketball team, and I had a solid grade point average in his classes. I was living the life. At home, we had a great family relationship. My parents, Anne and Rick, both worked day jobs that brought in a more than sufficient income. We always went on vacations and loved spending time together. My sister, Carly, and I had a great relationship as well. Although Carly was only a sixth grader, the two of us could still relate to each other and had a bond that most brother-sister relationships never saw. She, too, was an athlete, participating in cheerleading, dance, and softball. Carly and I were always giving each other moral support when it came to sports because we were both so passionate towards the athletic aspect of life. One day, Carly came home from cheerleading practice, carried in through the door by Mr. Bradshaw. When I saw this, I instantly became worried. Last year she got a minor ACL tear during cheerleading but thankfully recovered. But when I saw her leg, how from the knee down was turned inward, I knew this couldn’t be good. My parents sat there, trying to help Carly straighten her leg, but this caused her unbearable pain. There were countless tears running down her face as she tried her hardest to move her leg. Eventually my parents decided to let her use crutches the next day at school and then they would take her to the hospital when she got home. I had much trouble falling asleep that night. It always hurts to see a sibling go down in an injury, especially when I was so close with my sister. The next day I anxiously waited for my sister to hop through the door on her crutches. Hoping for the best, I was lost in what I saw. There was really no improvement on her leg; it was turned inward just as much as yesterday. My parents came home later that night and ultimately decided to take her to the local hospital. Again, I sleep very little that night, worried of what could be wrong with Carly. The next morning I woke up and talked to my parents about what happened. They explained to me how the doctors were having trouble determining what was wrong with my sister, but if what they think she has is present, it’s not good. I could tell from the look on my parents’ faces that they knew something bad was coming. We ended up waiting about two weeks or so, going through multiple visits to doctors, before we were informed of Carly’s diagnosis. The hospital brought us in and explained what has happened to Carly. They said it was a disease by the name of Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, or CRPS. The way the doctor’s explained this malfunction was very confusing to my parents and I. Basically, it was a disease that was associated with the nervous system that usually affected one’s arm or leg, but could eventually spread to other parts of the body. CRPS is characterized by severe pain and swelling, as well as changes in the skin. Carly’s leg has experienced quite a few injuries, which the doctors say may have led to the CRPS. This disease is an ongoing pain because the injury is very difficult to heal. My parents and I were shocked when they broke the news to us. We didn’t know what to expect in the coming future. We just knew it would be a long road to recovery for Carly, myself, our parents, and our family as a whole. That’s when the hospital informed us of this unique therapy program for children with CRPS. It was held at the main hospital of Miami, which was very convenient for us since we lived right there. The doctors did explain to the four of us that it is an extremely intense program, consisting of physical and occupational therapy for up to seven hours a day. My sister would have to become inpatient for this program too. After much deliberation, my parents were convinced to send an application for my sister to the program.
Just a few days later, we received notice that Carly had been invited to join the program at the hospital. While there was eager excitement in our household, there was much anxiety. We didn’t know what to expect. Right now Carly was using crutches, both of her feet were turned inward, she had a significant limp when she tried to walk, had much trouble putting weight on her feet, and had major tremors when someone touched her legs. We were skeptical about this program despite the tremendous reviews of it: What if it didn’t work for Carly? Would it just be a waste of our time? My parents played a major role in this experience. Carly ended up staying in the hospital for the program for 24 days, and my parents visited her every single one of those days. I was only able to visit her a few days because of the excessive amount of schoolwork I had. Also, Carly was allowed to go out for 8 hours a day on each Saturday and Sunday to enjoy herself with friends and family. These days were where we knew the program was the right choice. We saw her improvement each week, and so did her friends. It was such an amazing feeling to see Carly improving after all the pain she suffered. Granted, that pain was still present. It was just significantly less pain. I had a lot of time to think about my life while my sister was in the program. But what I came to realize through this experience is how much people take life for granted. People always say they’ll go and do something another time, but who knows if there will actually be that “another time”. Honestly, I learned that one should live their life to the fullest and experience everything they possibly can. There will be a time when you can’t do certain things, so go out and live your life. Before I knew it, Carly was being released from the hospital. I hadn’t seen her in about a week, so I was very eager to see her full progression from the program. Hearing the car pull into the driveway was one of the most exciting moments of my life. I peek out the window and I see Carly walking perfectly normal, like any other person on the streets. I honestly believe that this experience was a miracle. To see the image of what my sister’s legs looked like before the program to now, I was astonished. I truly couldn’t believe it. I immediately hugged her and told her I loved her and just grasped that moment. I’ll never forget it.
Aaron Streets ‘13
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“Tourists”
Brian Robinson ‘13 Tourists are like rats on my beautiful beach Too much traffic, too many tires screech They use the beach like a personal trash can They don’t care as long as they get a tan But this is my beach, I run this town Tell me different and I’ll put you in the ground I don’t care where you’re from or who you are Pack up your shit and get in your car And don’t ever come back Or I’ll greet you with a smack We don’t need your money we’ll be just fine Find something else to do with your time
Joonyoung Cha ‘13
“Internet Poem” Phil Zminda ‘14 Our love is framed by LCD monitors and webcams. Through hushed, grainy breaths At 4:30 AM it grew. I stared at his reflection, his visage Emanating from my stale computer screen For lifetimes And not an inch moved. But these secrets are best kept with the moon, With all its slivery light and miraculous Silence. With the mosquitoes biting at my arms I click on his likeness And memorize his face For the thousandth time. LED lights flickered in his eyes Like cicada mating calls. Two years and no one has moved. He sits permanently. But our love is etched In the accented details of Times New Roman and the tunnels of wire that connect My bedroom to his. I’ll sit at the piano and wait For him to graze my ribs like black keys And to play the sheet music rolled Across my lungs like the Torah. But until then, I will Sleep with my computer screen And pretend that his porcelain skin Feels like metal.
Tom Conroy ‘15
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“Gone Fishin’ ” Brian Robinson ‘13 I load up the boat with rods and reels Fill up the live well for the eels The sun begins to rise in the East It is feeding time for the swimming beast Ready to go I push off the dock I reach for the engine to flip up the lock Lower it into the water and turn the key I head for the channel and begin to flee I reach the ocean and see birds diving Gotta rig up a rod while I’m driving Because birds always show me where the fish are If birds are diving, the fish aren’t far To my surprise I see tails breaking water I stop, no need to go farther Turn of the engine and cast to my right A minute later my rod is bent and my line is tight
“Chicago Cubs” Aidan O’Neill ‘13 It’s 1957 and it is late September as the Cubs are about to finish another season without a world series. It’s cold and windy in Chicago and the Cubs are losing 7-2 to the Cardinals and about to end another disappointing season. The Cubs manager Tom Seland asks his assistant coaches what they can do in the off season to give this team a shot to at least make some noise in next year’s post season run. The coach answers with a shrug of his shoulders and says “get 25 new guys”. That smartass answer actually got the coach thinking and deciding that some major changes had to be done with this organization in order for it to have any sort of success in the future. So after the loss to the Cardinals the Cubs players gathered in the locker room for what they thought was just another end of the season team meeting with the manager. Little did they know that their lives were about to change very quickly. Tom gathered the team around and announced that none of them would be returning for the next season. He told them to pack up their things and get their S*** out of the locker room and look for new jobs because he was infuriated with the embarrassment that the players gave to the people of the Chicago Cubs organization and most importantly their fans. However, little did Seland know that the 25 players he was about to sign to play would be the most interesting team in Major League Baseball history. Tom Seland went all over the U.S. and even the U.K. to fill his 25 man roster for spring training that was starting in March of 1958. This team was made up of old veterans with tons of major league experience like Jimmy Luts and Colin Boyle. Along with some crafty veterans there were some new rookies that the league has never heard of like Chris Smith and Robin Ventz. The fans of Chicago were not excited about this new team because they thought that ever since the curse of the goat there was no way they were going to win no matter who the Cubs put on the field. So as the season started Wrigley Field was pretty empty to watch a bunch of nobodies and a couple crafty veterans play. Although it looked like the fans made a good choice but not wasting their money to see these men play because they started the season 1-12. Tom Seland saw that his players were not playing together and trying to do everything on their own. So Seland called a team meeting on a day off and told all the players to get in a circle and pass around a talking stick. Seland wanted the men to tell their teammates some basic information and the most tragic event of their life so far. Jimmy Lutz was first and he talked about how he was from Portland, OR and how he worked on his family’s farm until he was 18 and decided that he wanted to play baseball for a living. Then Jimmy told a story about how when he was 12 his brother had gotten caught in a farming machine and lost his life. He said that no matter what happens in the future with him he will never feel as much pain as he did when he lost his brother. Next to go was Robin Ventz who shared that he was from Philadelphia, PA and how his father was a lower class factory worker and how he had three brothers and sisters. He talked about that one night there was a robbery at his home and the robber killed his parents which left him to take care of his brothers and sisters. He said the next day he was on a train to Indiana to start playing ball in the minors and that he has not talked or seen his family in over twelve years. He talked about being scared to fail and that if he did not try at all there was no way he could fail. As the stick went around the room most players shared similar stories of their background and how their life came to be what it was right then and there. It was after this little team meeting that the players started to play as a team and started to win some games. Therefore, before the fans could blink the Chicago Cubs had a 45-36 record and were only 2 games out of the NL Central race as the All-Star break arrived. After a 6 – 1 win over the Pittsburgh Pirates Seland said to his first base coach “Damn I can not believe that talking stick worked. These “bunch of nobodies” were winning baseball games every way possible: hitting homers, stealing bases, playing defense, and using tricks. Jimmy Luntz even threw a perfect game! However as September rolled around the Cubs found themselves 3 games back of the cardinals and on an 8 game losing streak. Seland decided that another
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43 talking stick method could work. So he had the players seat in a circle and asked them what was their biggest fear. Everyone on the whole team looked around at each other looking for someone to go first, finally Boyle stood up and said “failure”. Boyle described a time in his childhood when he failed to do the entire necessary farm that was needed for his family. He said “that my father was so disappointed in me and yelled at me so much that I had never felt anything worse in my life”. As the men looked at each other they started to see that their fear of failing was exactly why they were scuffling. Seland stood up and said “failure is apart of life, its how you conquer it is what you’ll be remembered for”. The Cubs took that to heart and won their next 9 games to make it into the playoffs. After easily cruising to the national league pennant the Cubs found themselves in a game seven with the New York Yankees. The Cubs were up by one with bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth and Mickey Mantle was up. The Cubs only needed one out and they would win the World Series. As Boyle went through the windup and delivered the pitch, he watched as the ball sailed through the air into the New York sky and out of the ball park. The Yankees had won on a homerun by Mickey Mantle. As the Cubs walked off the field into their locker room, most of them with their head in their hands, Seland stood up and said two words: “Conquer It”. The men got up and looked a little more energized ready for next season to come. Did the Cubs end up winning the 1959 World Series after coming so close in 1958? You’ll have to wait and see.
“Nuns, Knife Fights, and Nonchalance – The St. Alphonsus Years ” A little while back in sixth grade I was sitting in the principal’s office next to Billy Wydan. Billy wasn’t exactly the smartest kid I’d ever met, but I could always count on him to have my back in a fight, which, ironically, is exactly why we were here in the first place. “I want to know why you had this at school.” The principal laid a butter knife on Billy’s desk. Santa’s painted red hat on it’s edge had been fashioned into a crude point, which to me seemed counterproductive since there was already a knife on the opposite end, albeit a dull one. Billy and I sat there silently. Sister Ruth, the principal, was not the most in-touch of people. That wasn’t her fault, though. She never asked to be the principal. Until three years ago, she was just the first grade teacher. But then the principal at the time died unexpectedly in a freak bowling accident. Sister Ruth had this way of treating everyone as though they were five years old, which seemed to account for the lack of control she had over the student body. She simply didn’t know how to handle a large number of children older than the age of seven. I had every intention of exploiting this weakness. “Now friends, I would very much like to know why you had this. It’s not very nice to bring… toys like this into school.” Her voice faltered, clearly losing patience. “I’m really sorry I just—” I cut Billy off with a quick jab to the ribs. There was no possible way this could end well for anyone if Billy didn’t keep his mouth shut. The reason Billy had had the knife was because several weeks ago we read The Outsiders in English class and had all taken it very seriously. Shortly after, we divided ourselves into Greasers and Socs and began to fight every day and threaten knife fights if any member of one group crossed any member of the other group. None of us actually intended to get into an actual knife fight, but Billy didn’t exactly get the memo on that one. It was a pretty normal Tuesday when Jack Alvidsen shoved me against a wall and called me a dirty Greaser. What made that day different, though, was that, instead of calmly witnessing the scene, Billy reached into his pocket, pulled out his little butter knife with the painted Santa Claus on the hilt, and brandished it with both hands. “Oh my God, Billy! What the hell do you have that for?!” But before I could say anything more, Jack took off crying down the hallway. That’s how we found ourselves in Sister Ruth’s office. As we sat there under Sister’s gaze, me, silently panicking in my chair and Billy, shitting himself in his, I tried to think any possible means of escape. I didn’t do anything, so either way I was getting out of this fine. But Billy was just trying to help me, so I wasn’t going to leave him in the lurch. “I’m only going to ask this one more time, friends: Why do you have this?” “I don’t know, Sister. We’re both very sorry, and I promise it won’t happen again.” I said to her in the most contrite voice a sixth grade boy could muster. She sighed and said nothing. I smiled as I stood up and knocked on her desk as we turned to leave. I’d like to think we eventually broke that woman. It wasn’t very hard, but I’m sure that the St. Alphonsus graduating class of 2009 was more than a little responsible for her retirement.
Jim Princivalle ‘13
Chris Bennett ‘14
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Evan Mascione ‘14
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Everything about her was perfect, from her long, black hair, to those bright green eyes that destroyed me every time I saw them. She was everything that I wanted in a woman. Just thinking about her sent a shiver down my spine. Every night that I spent in a muddy foxhole with rain pouring down on me and rotting, maggot-infested corpses lying all around was spent thinking about her. Her love, and the love that I had for her, were the only things that kept me alive on that miserable island in the middle of nowhere. My sole reason to live was to see her again, to feel her soft, smooth hands run through my hair; to kiss her perfect lips. “Dixon,” said Sergeant Blackburn, shaking me from my stupor, “We’re moving out in five minutes. Bring your weapon, ammo, and two canteens. Leave everything else.” I placed the picture of Grace back into my pocket and then grabbed my M1 rifle, ammunition, and two half-filled canteens. Placing my helmet onto my head, I climbed out of my foxhole and followed Blackburn to the platoon. Just looking at the platoon showed how decimated we were after two months on Okinawa. We had entered the battle with 41 men, and now had 19. Our lieutenant was killed by a sniper a while back, maybe in early May (it is too hard to remember; at some point in war the dead just start to pile on top of each other), leaving Blackburn in charge. The fact that he had survived up to this point was miracle in and of itself. We met up with the rest of the men to go over the attack plan on Laura Hill. The company had already gone up the ridge twice, losing many men with little forward progress to show for it. Every time we attacked the knoll, the Japanese would let loose a fusillade of machine gun and artillery fire, forcing us to fall back after suffering horrendous casualties. Our company had already lost half of its men, but since we were still considered the freshest of the battalion (the other two had lost 60-70% of their soldiers), we had to go back up. “We’re going to receive fire support from the heavy machine guns and mortars as we move up,” barked Blackburn, “Keep your heads down and keep moving. Establish a base of fire and get up the hill. The only way to stop those machine guns is to take them ourselves.” “Any tanks?” asked Russo, whose bloodshot eyes had a look that was beyond exhaustion. “Two, but they’re only coming into the battle once we clear the base of the hill.” That was the infantry, where commanders valued their tanks more than the lives of their men. The men let out a collective moan, tired of the Army’s bullshit. “Just get it done.” _______ “You ready, Joe?” questioned Nichols, sitting next to me. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Before, I was scared before going into battle. Now, after seeing my friends die in ways too gruesome to articulate, after seeing the absolute worst out of humanity, I no longer feared death. Grace was the only thing that kept my body moving when my legs were too scared or too exhausted to go on. “All right,” said Lieutenant Abrams, who had been commanding the company ever since the death of our captain, “Let’s get moving.” We grabbed our weapons and walked out into the place where men win glory. We charged forward as the Browning .50 machine guns fired over our heads, impacting all around Laura Hill. Mortars and all sorts of artillery pounded the ridge, sending geysers of rocks and dirt into the air. As I watched this awe-inspiring spectacle of firepower, I wondered how anyone could survive these massive explosions, but I knew that the Japanese were untouched by this show of force, and waiting for us to come. The Japanese did not fire back, instead waiting for us to come within range of their weapons before emptying into us. We waded through a rice paddy, with our boots sinking into the sticky mud with every step. I struggled to keep moving, to keep my mind and body from giving up. I knelt down to grab my boot out of the mud when there was a sudden crack. An instant later, the man’s head in front of me exploded in a puff of red, and his body sunk to the ground. Drops of blood sprinkled onto
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47 my face, and for a moment I was suspended in absolute disbelief. Then a burst of machine gun fire laced through the paddy, bringing me back to reality. “Go! Go! Get out of this paddy!” screamed Blackburn, urging us forward. We followed him, climbing out of the paddy and facing the 200-yard dash across a field to the base of the ridge. We charged straight into a fusillade of machine gun and artillery fire. Men were sewn down by white-blue tracers that crisscrossed across the moon-like surface of the field. Between the crashing of shells, I could hear wounded soldiers crying out for their mothers. Always for their mothers. The man to my left was shot dead, a bullet in the forehead. Seconds later, the soldier to my right was hit in the leg. When he began to stumble, I grabbed the back of his collar, but almost immediately afterwards, he was shot again, this time in the heart. His body crumbled into the mud and lay still. Artillery shells exploded all around, spraying passing soldiers with burning-hot shrapnel. A large piece of metal glanced off of my helmet, while another whizzed inches away from my face. Soldiers were mowed down on either side of me, their shrill screams momentarily drowning out the pitter-patter of machine guns and roar of exploding mortars. I passed by the dead and the dying, panting, sweating, heart pounding, mind never accepting what my eyes had seen. These were just kids, none older than 21, lying on the ground, arms and legs torn off, screaming and crying, trying to avoid the inevitability of death. There was nothing I could do for them, and that is what kills me. My legs had just about given out when I reached the base of Laura Hill. Russo and Nichols were there, exchanging fire with a Japanese machine gun that cutting down the men trying to get to us. I fired all eight rounds of my magazine into the bunker, to pin down the gunners. Then, out of nowhere, a wave of flames leapt out from behind me, bathing the bunker and area around it in fire. I turned and saw a Crocodile tank advancing towards us, shooting burning-hot napalm into Japanese positions. The shrill, desperate screams of burning enemy soldiers filled the air. “Alright, move up the hill.” ordered Blackburn, slapping a new magazine into his Thompson submachine gun. We got out of our cover and moved forward, keeping our weapons on our shoulders in case a Japanese attacked us while advanced. “This is too quiet.” commented Barber, our support gunner. I nodded my head, scanning my surrounding for anything out of the ordinary. I could hear the occasional pops of rifles or repeated taps of machine guns, but none occurred near us. Suddenly, as I turned my head to look forward, something hit me on my side. I stood there for a moment in shock of what happened, and then looked down, seeing a crimson-red hole in my shoulder. I fell to the ground, holding my side. I was not in pain, but I could feel a pounding in my shoulder. “Dixon! Dixon, you alright?” screamed Nichols, rushing over to my side. He turned me onto my back, and start to apply pleasure to my wound. There was blood everywhere. When I looked up at Nichols’s face, I for the first time began to fear death. My eyes closed, and I fell into blackness. “How is he, doc?” hurriedly questioned Russo, kneeling down next to me. “He’s fine, but he has lost a lot of blood. I have to give him some plasma,” shot back the medic as he pressed a bandage onto my bleeding shoulder. Bullets were flying all around, and as I looked around I saw that the three of us were behind a large rock on the slope of the hill. My vision was shaky, and my ears were ringing, but other than that I was coherent. “Stay with me, Joe, you hear me?” said Russo, placing his helmet back onto his head. “I gotta go, doc. Take care of this one for me, ya hear?” “Wait, I’m going with you,” I barked, fighting back the pain in my shoulder. I had been with this platoon for two years, and I was not going to abandon it during its time of need. “No, Joe, you can’t.” “That was not a suggestion, Danny. I’m going with you. Just give me some morphine and my rifle.” The medic, shocked, stuck a needle of painkillers into my leg, and then handed me another. I grabbed my rifle, got up, and ran with Russo back to the battle.
I checked my wound on my shoulder and saw that it was mostly plugged up, so I would not be bleeding out anytime soon. “Come on,” said Russo, “The platoon is up this way.” We scaled the cliffs, walking over the torn-up bodies of dead Americans and Japanese. Russo told me that after I had gotten hit, the company had come under fire from enemy positions on the reverse slope of the ridge, causing even more casualties. As I walked past a group of corpses, I looked over and saw the shattered body of Yates, who had been killed by mortar fire. It knelt down next to him and saw that his innocent, bright blue eyes were wide open, staring up into heaven, into the beyond. He was only 18 years old. The kid should have been going to school, falling in love, and doing all the exciting things that kids do, but now he lay crumpled in the mud, dead on a hill that was so, so far from home. Everything that he was and was going to be was gone, reduced to a shell of his former self. I closed his lifeless, and walked away, questioning why kids like Yates were dying in a war started by men. The battle had moved down the hill, and as we got closer to the frontlines I could hear the thunderous claps of machine guns and sharp cracks of rifles. “Dixon, what the hell are you doing here?” screamed Blackburn, looking back at us as he fired at the Japanese at the bottom of the hill. “I signed up to fight, sarge, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” “You’re a goddamned idiot, Dixon, you know that?” “I do, sir.” I lay down next to him and began firing at the enemy, who had set up positions that ringed the bottom of the ridge. An hour later…. The battle had ground down into a stalemate at this point, with neither side willing or able to advance on the other without receiving hideous casualties. So we dug in, setting up our machine guns and plotting points for mortars to establish, so that they could begin firing as soon the Japanese came. Another platoon from Baker Company came to reinforce our shattered unit, which had lost 35 men killed and another 41 wounded in the charge up the hill. I applied another tourniquet to my shoulder, and then stuck the morphine needle into my leg. “How’s the wound?” asked Nichols, sitting next to me in the foxhole. “Tender, but better.” I was lying; my shoulder hurt like crazy, and a wave of pain swept through my body every time I took a step or fired my rifle. “You can go to an aid station, Joe. Don’t be a hero.” “I’m not trying to be a hero.” “So then why are you staying here?” “Shut the hell up and keep watching the line.” As Nichols scanned the slope of the hill for infiltrating enemies, I wondered why I was staying here in the middle of this hell even though I had an excuse to leave. I did not have an answer to that question. The night wore on with little action. I slept for a few minutes, but forced myself to stay awake, for I knew that if I fell into a deep sleep that I may not wake up. The Japanese would send infiltrators into our lines at night into order to weaken our lines and cause confusion. Those bastards loved to feast upon any American that fell asleep at their post. A flare rocketed into the sky, illuminating the battlefield. I looked down onto the bottom of the hill, and to my horror saw a company-sized element of Japanese advancing right towards us, their bayonets shining in the moonlight. “Japs! Japs, they’re coming right at us!” screamed a soldier in another foxhole. I grabbed my rifle and began shooting as fast as I could in the direction of the enemy. Their cover blown, the Japanese began to charge straight at us, screaming, shooting, and throwing grenades. “Open fire! Open fire!” The entire line opened up, chopping down the enemy as they struggled to climb up the steep slopes of the hill. We killed many of them, but once one Japanese fell, two more would take his place. Outnumbered, Abrams called for mortar and artillery support. I could hear him screaming over the rapid staccato of machine guns, telling the mortar crews to walk their fire towards our lines.
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49 The explosions would be coming dangerously close to our lines, but we were desperate to stop the Japanese. I watched as the mortars landed among the enemy columns, but not even artillery fire could stall their advance. I squeezed the trigger over and over again, killing several Japanese as they got within 25 feet of my foxhole. During the heat of the battle, I looked over and saw Nichols slumped motionless over his rifle. I grabbed the back of his collar and looked at his face, seeing a nickel-sized, red hole in the middle of his forehead. He was dead. I wanted to shake him awake, to curse him for sleeping so deeply, but it was to no avail. I let the body of my dead friend slink to the bottom of the foxhole and continued to fire away that the ever-nearing enemy. We gave the Japanese everything we had, killing hordes of them, but it was fruitless. The enemy was on top of us, and the battle descended into mayhem. Two walls of men collided, shooting, stabbing, clubbing, punching, kicking, scratching, biting, screaming, neither side giving, climbing over the piles of dead enemies and comrades in order to engage in vicious, hand-to-hand combat. The fighting was gruesome, as men descended into their basic animal instinct in order to survive. I was wrapped up in the horror and chaos that surrounded me. After my rifle ran out of ammunition, I grabbed Nichols’ pistol and continued to fire away with that until it too fell onto an empty chamber. Throwing away that now-useless chunk of metal, I grabbed my knife and slashed and stabbed at two Japanese soldiers that leapt into my foxhole. I killed the two men, looking deep into their desperate eyes as the life slowly faded away from them. Suddenly, something hit me in the back, throwing me forwards. I grabbed the spot of contact, and when I looked at my hand I saw blood. I turned around and saw a Japanese standing there, trying to rework the bolt of his rifle. He looked shocked and scared. I grabbed my knife and dug it into his chest, killing him. My knees shook, and my head was spinning. I dragged myself out of the foxhole, trying to crawl towards Blackburn’s foxhole. There were bodies all around. I peered inside his hole and saw him lying on his side with bayonet and bullet wounds stitched across his chest. He had been a great leader, a great soldier, and a great man. I rolled over onto my back, and waited for the end. “Joe, hey Joe.” I opened my eyes and saw Grace standing over me, wearing the bright yellow dress that she had worn on the night before I had left to go to war. I wondered what she was doing here on Okinawa, in the middle of this battle. “Grace?”
“I love you, Joe. I love you more than anything else in this world.” She bent down over me and let her long, black hair run across my face. “It’s time to go.” I saw her suddenly becoming farther and farther away. I reached out for her, to touch her one more time, but she was too far away. I blinked, and saw that Grace was replaced by a soldier standing over me with a rifle pointed at my face. I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to go away. Japanese. I watched as the mortars landed among the enemy columns, but not even artillery fire could stall their advance. I squeezed the trigger over and over again, killing several Japanese as they got within 25 feet of my foxhole. During the heat of the battle, I looked over and saw Nichols slumped motionless over his rifle. I grabbed the back of his collar and looked at his face, seeing a nickel-sized, red hole in the middle of his forehead. He was dead. I wanted to shake him awake, to curse him for sleeping so deeply, but it was to no avail. I led the body of my dead friend slink to the bottom of the foxhole and continued to fire away that the ever-nearing enemy. We gave the Japanese everything we had, killing hordes of them, but it was fruitless. The enemy was on top of us, and the battle descended into mayhem. Two walls of men collided, shooting, stabbing, clubbing, punching, kicking, scratching, biting, screaming; neither side giving, climbing over the piles of dead enemies and comrades in order to engage in vicious, hand-to-hand combat. The fighting was gruesome, as men descended into their basic animal instinct in order to survive. I was wrapped up in the horror and chaos that surrounded me. After my rifle ran out of ammunition, I grabbed Nichols’ pistol and continued to fire away with that until it too fell onto an empty chamber. Throwing away that now-useless chunk of metal, I grabbed my knife and slashed and stabbed at two Japanese soldiers that leapt into my foxhole. I killed the two men, looking deep into their desperate eyes as the life slowly faded away from them. Suddenly, something hit me in the back, throwing me forwards. I grabbed the spot of contact, and when I looked at my hand I saw blood. I turned around and saw a Japanese standing there, trying to rework the bolt of his rifle. He looked shocked and scared. I grabbed my knife and dug it into his chest, killing him. My knees shook, and my head was spinning. I dragged myself out of the foxhole, trying to crawl towards Blackburn’s foxhole. There were bodies all around. I peered inside his hole and saw him lying on his side with bayonet and bullet wounds stitched across his chest. He had been a great leader, a great soldier, and a great man. I rolled over onto my back, and waited for the end. “Joe, hey Joe.” I opened my eyes and saw Grace standing over me, wearing the bright yellow dress that she had worn on the night before I had left to go to war. I wondered what she was doing here on Okinawa, in the middle of this battle. “Grace?” “I love you, Joe. I love you more than anything else in this world.” She bent down over me and let her long, black hair run across my face. “It’s time to go.” I saw her suddenly becoming farther and farther away. I reached out for her, to touch her one more time, but she was too far away. I blinked, and saw that Grace was replaced by a soldier standing over me with a rifle pointed at my face. I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to go away.
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“The Pack”
Francis Johnson “All right boys, looks like we’re walkin’. The truck just isn’t working right. We won’t last a quarter mile with this piece of junk. Gather up your supplies and put ‘em to your backs. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us,” announced Frank, the manager of the unit. “Stay warm and conceal all parts of your body. Don’t draw any attention to yourselves, we might not find ourselves alone on this march. The most important thing is that we stay together. One person lost in this area with this weather…well, your chances are next to zero. So long as we keep a good pace, we can be at camp before midnight. Do as I said and you’ll be there in no time.” The words alone sounded like a death sentence to him. Steve Derrick had been working for Northern Lumber for nearly ten years now and had never encountered such a situation. The walk alone was bad enough, but this sort of weather made everything difficult. There seemed no respite to the endless snowfall cascading down upon everyone as quick as if it were rain. Despite considering the endless scenarios in which it might go wrong, Steve packed his gear in the bag, strapped it to his back, and began what was sure to be an eventful trek. The trees seemed to cover everything for the next hundred miles. In the distance were various rises. Some looked large enough to be considered peaks. The terrain was anything but flat. It twisted and turned in the most irregular way as though someone had taken an enormous hammer to it. It took them nearly a half an hour to find the opening to the path. The trees rose as high as skyscrapers so that the flat land from which they had come would be out of sight in a matter of minutes. When driving back on the truck, the forest seemed just another area to get through before finally reaching the camp. When walking through it, it was an endless expanse of tall shadows and strange creatures beyond count. Steve found Frank and stayed close. Finally he asked, “Frank what did you mean we might not be alone here?” Frank looked around the forest, “There are all sorts of animal life in these woods. You never know what you might find here. Bears, white wolves, coyotes, large groups of deer, you name it. They’re all dangerous at the best of times, although I never had to deal with any of them.” “I take it you had to do this before,” Steve said in questioning tone. “Once back in eighty-nine and again in ninety-five. Both times it was that truck. We ought to have a back-up at the yard,” Frank slid his bag over his shoulder. “Both times we made it out ok, I guess. We did have a couple cases of frost bite though.” Out of nowhere, hail stones pelted them. They started as small chunks but soon became a torrent of slings and arrows falling from above. When the pelting had finally subsided, the snow seemed to be pouring down even faster and Steve could hardly see a thing. It was as if he were under a sea of white mist. Steve found himself shivering on the ground what must have been minutes later. Someone grabbed him and forced him upward. He thought it was Frank but found that it was Evan, one of his senior coworkers. “Looks like we’re separated from the others by a wall of snow. We’re going to have to wait out the night, there’s no way of getting back to them now,” Evan said as he dragged his gear off the ground. “We’ll try for it tomorrow.” “We can’t survive out here alone. You heard what Frank said. Our chances are close to zero. We have to find the others,” Steve said in a panicked tone. “He said the chances of one man lost out here were slim. He said nothing about two. We’re not catching up with them tonight. Come on, it’s too cold to start a fire, but we have to find shelter before we freeze.”
51 Steve reluctantly followed Evan through the woods. The best that they could do for shelter was a few pieces of wood leaned against a tree that was near a collection of large rocks. Steve knew very little of Evan. All of his attempts to talk to him were met with one word answers. He heard the others talk about how he supposedly got lost once on one of these marches and was attacked by some sort of animal. He never knew which, however. Evan left Steve alone in the hut while he went to find more wood. Steve suddenly heard a loud but low moaning in the distance. It sounded like a horn announcing a battle. He had never heard such a sound. The next was even louder. Whatever was making the noise was close and getting closer. By the time Evan returned there was more than one cry. There was a look of horror upon Evan’s face. “It’s a wolf pack. They have our scent. They know we’re here and soon they’ll learn we’re isolated,” Evan said in a hushed tone as he shuffled through his pack. “We have to make fire to ward them off. Do you have anything flammable?” Steve ripped some pieces off of his undershirt. “But you said it was too cold to make a fire,” Steve said, his heart racing. “How are we supposed to make a torch?” “We have to try! They’ll find us soon. Find whatever you can in your pack.” Evan shook as he rubbed some of the logs together above a collection leaves and pieces of cloth tied to two sticks. Steve offered him some of the lubricating oil for his saw in his pack. Finally the spark caught and the ends of the sticks lite up. One last muffled howl came from the wolves. The howl was death beckoning the two of them. Three enormous white figures erupted from the brush around them. The wolves bared their teeth and circled the two of them. Evan was the first to make a move. He waved his arms and the fire in his right hand. Steve tried to mimic his actions. The wolves seemed indifferent. They growled and let out low moans. Steve was sure that they would be the end of him. The largest leapt at Steve, but Evan moved quicker. He smashed the beast in the nose as hard as he was able with the end of the torch. The wolf let out a shrill cry. This only angered the others and they slowly moved in closer. “Use your torch. If they try to make contact, keep the fire on them,” Evan breathed to Steve. Another leapt at Steve and he did as Evan said. He caught it full in the face with the torch. It retreated backward. They circled the two of them for another few moments until Evan finally took Steve’s oil can, burned the top of it, and threw it at the largest like a grenade. The can exploded with a thunderous crack. Already frightened at the abrasive sound, the wolves turned to the stampede of footsteps coming in their direction. They slowly withdrew from the two. They saw numerous figures moving through the trees a few yards away. Frank’s face soon appeared through the brush as well those of the dozen others in their unit. “How did you find us?” Steve asked to no one in particular. Frank spoke up, “We saw the fire through the trees and heard the crack. Besides, we saw the wolves racing toward you.” “But the wolves…They could have attacked you…” Steve managed despite feeling speechless. Frank shook his head and said, “Wolves always flee before the larger pack.”
Brian LaGreca ‘13
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“Guns”
Robert Gillies III Maybe I do watch too much TV But it is because of what I see I’m afraid of where we’re going The reason for the violence is unknowing And this especially to me I always question bad video games Others have made other claims That is until I saw a movie This film was very newsy It explained why men are now in chains It went country to country And explained the violence in the community And why most reasons for crime are amiss If we fix it we won’t have to reminiscence And deal with this death and disunity It ruled out games and number of guns Because other countries’ guns comes in tons Also rules out shows and movies Although bad are not the causes truly With no reason we like to start our runs One thing that is different is our media I’m not talking about the encyclopedia I’m talking about the news We always see depressing views We gotta change the info in our multimedia Other countries’ news are much happier Why is our so sad and deeper We only talk about the criminals and their actions I don’t get it is it some kinda attraction We are giving criminals there own feature If it weren’t for this movie I would still be blaming games like Call of Duty It changed my perspective Without being deceptive Now I have a finger to point when it comes to shooting
Alex Wysoczanski '16
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“The Caravan”
Charles Meredith ‘13 A very long time ago, when I was still a young man, I worked as a guard for the Crimson Caravan Company, a trading company that would ship spice and goods to various outposts throughout the Sahara Desert. As a young man I had a thirst for adventure, never being satisfied with an existence that was limited to a classroom or an office. At age 16 I left my home, with just a rifle, a pack of food, and several coins, but now I felt I had everything I had ever wanted: adventure. For about a year I roamed the desert and made my living through thievery, stealing food and valuables, and I had my scratches with death. Through being a thief I met Barata, who was a seller of ancient Egyptian Artifacts. One day he said to me “Akil, you seem to be quite the thief, but I have an offer that you would be foolish to refuse. I want you to join a group of tomb raiders who plunder the various ancient Egyptian sites and then bring the artifacts back to me. You will be paid great riches of course.” How could I refuse? This was an offer of a lifetime, a chance to get away from the filth of the city and have wealth beyond my wildest dream. I was introduced to Gahiji, a skillful rogue who could break any lock and disarm any trap in all of Egypt. And then there was Darius, the largest and most skillful warrior in all of Africa. As a team we were confident we could get into any tomb and indeed we did. Tomb to tomb we went, taking various types of jewels and ancients texts, always bringing them back to Barata who would then pay us. One day Barata tipped us off about the location of one of the most legendary tombs of all of the pharaohs. There was believed to be a diamond there, the largest in the world. We raced across the desert and found the tomb near a dried out river. As we were making our way to the treasure, Darius triggered a trap and fell into a punji pit trap, and he died of his wounds. We were deeply saddened by his loss, but we knew we had to find the diamond. We moved cautiously and made our way into a damp chamber and there it was, the Diamond of the lost king. It was gorgeous; it glistened and was the size of a man’s fist. We put the diamond in our pack and made our way back to Barata, but once on the outskirts of town I had an idea. “Gahiji my friend, let’s not give this diamond to Barata but let’s keep it for ourselves! With this diamond we could live the rest of our lives like kings, but if Barata takes it we will just get enough to buy a couple of meals.” He thought for a moment and then spoke, “Akil I don’t like this, Barata’s men will come looking for us, and they will never stop!” I responded, “That’s why we will flee to Italy and live like the emperors of old!” And flea we did, traveling with the utmost haste across the mighty Sahara, only stopping in towns when we needed food and drink. On our journey we were ambushed by a group of raiders, and Gahiji was killed and I barely escaped with my life. I knew that I would likely encounter more raiders along the way, so at the next town I found a group from the Crimson Caravan that was making its way up north to eventually cross Italy. Since I had a rifle and was a good shot they hired me as protection. Little did they know that I was in possession of the largest diamond ever discovered. On the fifth day of our travels I spotted a figure in the distance, and as I got my binoculars out and focused in, the person had vanished. I thought
little of it at the time, but on the eighth day of our travels things would come full circle. We were traveling along a riverbank when out of nowhere gunfire broke the silence of the morning. The person on point fell off his horse with a terrible scream and lay on the sand crying in agony. Over the hills I then saw 7 men with rifles on horseback begin to descend upon us. I knew our caravan of only 6 untrained men could not possibly defeat the horseman, but we would try. The six men and I took shelter around our wagons, and the gunfire sent our horses in a blind frenzy. To my amazement I saw Barata among the charging horseman, screaming commands to his mercenaries to locate the diamond. The mercenaries began to circle our stalled caravan, firing well placed shots at the guards. I aimed my rifle and fired as quickly as I could, silencing two of them. Although one of the guards had killed a horseman, there were still 4 left, and they were carrying repeating rifles, while the guards had older muskets. As they were reloading, the horseman killed them one by one as I watched in horror. I could not fight them all, so I grabbed a long fuse stick of dynamite from my satchel, and placed it in the wagon, which was carrying several barrels of gunpowder. I lit the fuse and began to run for the river, which was about 80 feet away. The horseman began to gallop towards me, but I heard Barata yell to them, “Leave him, find the diamond!” Once I reached the river I threw myself down in anticipation of the blast, and I then heard a concussive BOOM followed by a long whooshing sound. Moments later I rose and heard nothing. I looked back at the caravan and saw dead men and horses scattered about, some in pieces. I went to the river and began to wash the grime from my face and then sat in relief along the bank. While I was resting, I heard behind me the words “Where is it?” I turned around and to my horror it was Barata covered with smoke and soot with his revolver raised at my forehead. I knew if I flinched he would put a bullet through my head, so I told him, “I am going to reach into my pocket and get it out”. I pulled the diamond out of my coat and saw Barata’s eyes fill up with greed. As he viewed on in amazement, I threw the diamond with all of my might into the river, and Barata screamed in horror, lowering his pistol. At this moment I reached for my pistol and aimed it at Barata and pulled the trigger. He died instantly and fell with a loud thud. Although I had lost the very thing that would make me rich for the rest of my days, I still had the thing that was the most important: my life. A nearby caravan had spotted the smoke in the distance and rescued me a day later. Although my youth is long behind me, I still from time to time wonder where that diamond is and if I could still find it, but these our only dreams.
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Stephen Peel ‘14
“I chose choice C” Joe Krol ‘14
It was a beautiful sunny Saturday in Ivyland, Pennsylvania. I woke up close to 12 pm because I was out late the night before. I wanted to do something interesting that day and I did not want it to be like a normal, boring Saturday. I went downstairs to see who was home. I walked around the house calling out the names of my family members. There was never an answer. I angrily walked to the kitchen to get some food. “I guess this is going to be another boring Saturday,” I said to myself. I looked on the fridge and saw a note. It read, “Joey, went to the shore. We wanted to let you sleep. Be back tomorrow morning.” I ripped up the note and threw it away. “They can have fun while I sit home and do nothing,” I said. I decided that maybe a good meal would cheer me up. I went to retrieve waffles from the pantry and, of course, there were no waffles to be found. “Great. Now I have to go to the store and buy some,” I said. I hopped in the car and drove to the supermarket. I arrived at the supermarket and headed right to the waffle aisle. I grabbed the waffles and some syrup and headed right to the check out line. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. While I was in line I looked to my right and I saw Jackie Robinson. I could not believe my eyes and I was overwhelmed with excitement. I leaned over and said, “Hello Mr. Robinson. My name is Joe and I am a huge fan of yours. You changed the game of baseball and you’re an inspiration.” “Thank you young man. I appreciate that.” “Hey kid! Move up, it is your turn.” “Relax old man,” I said. After I paid for my waffles, I ran after Jackie who was leaving the supermarket. “Mr. Robinson, wait up! I know this may sound weird, but do you want to grab something to eat? I just have so many questions I want to ask because I play and love baseball.” I was so nervous and I thought he thought I was crazy. “Sure,” he said. “I do not have anything to do today and I am starving. Where do you want to eat?” I was about to say McDonald’s but I stopped myself. “Are you familiar with Chickie and Pete’s in Warminster?” He smiled and said, “Yes I was there the other night. Let me drop off these groceries and then I will meet you there.” “Great. See you there.” I went to my car with a big smile on my face. I could not believe I was going to have lunch with one of the most well known athletes ever.
On the way back to my house, I started to get really nervous. I was scared that I was going to run out of things to say and I was also afraid that he would not show up. When I arrived at my house I threw the waffles and syrup on the table and sprinted back out to the car. The ride to Chickie and Pete’s seemed like an hour long when it was only a 10-minute ride. I walked in the door and looked around for Jackie, but he was nowhere to be found. The hostess asked me how many people and I told her two. She led me to a table towards the back of the restaurant. She asked me, “Are you waiting for someone?” “Yes. I am waiting for Jackie Robinson.” she started laughing and walked away. Five minutes went by and Jackie still did not arrive. Ten minutes passed and Jackie still was not there. I started to get really nervous and I even broke out in a sweat. A couple minutes later I started to hear cheers coming from the front of the restaurant. All of a sudden I saw Jackie coming around the corner. “Traffic was brutal,” he said as he sat down. We both took a look at the menu and placed our orders. He turned to me and said, “So kid, what do you want to ask me?” I started to think and wonder what I should ask him first. “Were you nervous the first game you played in the majors?” He paused for a moment and then he smiled. “Of course I was nervous. Being the first African American to play in the majors I knew that I was representing my race. I also knew that a lot of people did not like me. I definitely had some jitters because I wanted to do well and show everybody that I deserved to play with the best players in the world.” Our food arrived, but I did not even touch it because I was more interested in finding out more about Jackie’s life. “What was your childhood like Mr. Robinson?” “I was the youngest of five kids. I had three brothers and a sister. My dad ran off with another woman when I was just a baby. We moved to California when I was one and my mom worked long hours to provide for us. All the white people in our neighborhood wanted us to leave because I got in a fight with a white man in our neighborhood, but my mom refused to leave. I went to John Muir Technical High and I was a star in football, basketball, baseball, and track. I went to UCLA and the rest you probably know.” We continued to talk for the rest of the time. We laughed, I told stories about my life, and Jackie shared some stories about baseball. We had a really great time and stayed at the restaurant for almost two and a half hours. Jackie was so kind and paid for lunch. As we were walking out of the restaurant a couple of people asked for Jackie’s autograph and he was happy to sign a few things. I thanked Jackie again and I was about to get in my car when Jackie asked, “Hey Joe! Do you want to hit some baseballs?” “Are you serious? Yeah that would be awesome!” Jackie followed me to the local baseball field and Jackie grabbed a bat and a bucket of balls out of his car. I grabbed my glove out of the back of my car. “All right kid let’s see what you got,” Jackie said. I grabbed the bat and I was so nervous. I did not want to do badly in front of Jackie. He threw the first ball right down the middle and I hit a line drive up the middle. I was so happy that I hit it hard. Every ball Jackie threw I hit hard and Jackie was impressed. “Man kid, you’re pretty good.” “Thank you Mr. Robinson. That means so much coming from you.” “Stop calling me Mr. Robinson. Call me Jackie.” “Okay, Jackie, let’s see if you still got it.” Jackie hit every single ball in the gaps. It was an amazing thing to see. “Not too bad for a man in his fifties,” he said. “I meant to ask you something Jackie,” I said. “Why are you here in Ivyland, Pennsylvania?” “I was visiting one of my long time friends,” he said. “I was visiting for a couple days. He paused and looked around. “You have a nice, little town here. Well I better get back to my friend’s house. He is probably wondering where I am.” “Jackie, thanks for spending time with me today. I had a lot of fun and this was probably the best day of my life.” “No problem Joe. I had fun too. Continue to practice and work hard and you have a shot.” We shook hands and got in our cars. On the way home I was reflecting in the day. I woke up in the morning and thought that it was going to be an awful day. I went to the supermarket for waffles and I met the one and only Jackie Robinson. What I thought was going to be the worst day of my life it turned out to be the best day of my life. I was so thankful that someone ate the last waffle because if he/she did not, then I would not have experienced the best day of my life.
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Brian Farley ‘13 “Changes”
Ryan Siess ‘14
Kevin sat in his seat contemplating the last four years of his life. He thought about the good times and the bad, and how he has grown as a person since he first started out at Temple University. He looked at the robe he was wearing and the awkward looking hat with the hanging thread that sat on his head. “I’ve gone through four years at this place,” Kevin thought to himself, “and the only thing I have to show for it is a stupid robe and a piece of paper.” Sure, he would probably get a job and become successful; at least that was the plan thus far. However, Kevin was plagued by the idea that he had lived the most exciting part of his life. He couldn’t help but feel the rest of his life had been planned out. He did not find any security in this idea, but felt threatened by a dull life. On one hand, he wanted to raise a family and be successful, but on the other he couldn’t help but imagine himself twenty years from now caught up in the meaningless trivialities of daily life. Kevin looked over at his friend John. John had been Kevin’s best friend since Freshmen Orientation. The two shared similar last names, which is why they sat together that first day of their college experience, and now the last. Kevin and John had even decided to transfer into the same dorm room in their second semester of their freshmen year. Consequently, they moved into an apartment with a few friends as soon as the University had allowed them. They had been through a lot in the past few years. There was one particular day that stood out in Kevin’s mind as he pondered life. “Wake up!” shouted John. He had been standing over Kevin for almost five minutes trying to get him out of bed. “Get the hell out of my room,” said Kevin in a raspy voice. “Fine, you want to do it this way,” Kevin had just gotten back to his dream with Jessica Simpson when he felt a shivering cold wave of water crash down on his face. “SHIT!” said Kevin, “I’m up!” “Good, it’s Saint Patty’s Day, and you know what that means. Now, get ready we’re goin over to Ken’s house to get an early start,” said John. It was now Kevin’s third year at Temple, and it was a tradition by now to start drinking by at least noontime on Saint Patrick’s Day. Kevin looked at the clock, which said 11:56 AM. “So much for tradition,” he thought to himself. He quickly got up, put some clothes on, and went to meet John in his car. “This is gonna be reckless today you know that right”, said John. “It’s noon time right now, there are three kegs, and the party doesn’t start until five, what are we waiting for!” cheered Kevin.
The two friends arrived at their buddy Ken’s apartment, and walked in. “Yo, What’s up boys?” said Ken. There were already at least seven guys in the apartment. Everyone said their hellos, so Kevin and John poured a beer from the first of three kegs by the fridge. Kevin’s thoughts were interrupted by the school’s president. “Ladies and gentleman, I would like to welcome you to our great university. These last four years have most definitely been a constructive and life building experience for each and every young man and women present here today. I am so pleased to see that every single student has put in the hard work and dedication needed to reach this point. That hard work is what makes this university so great. “Thank you.” “What a load of crap,” thought Kevin, this guy has never taken the time of day to meet any of us.” The names on the list were read off one by one, and it would be a long time until Kevin was called up. “Look at those kegs man, what a great sight,” said Ken. “Do you realize how many people are gonna show up here?” said Kevin. “Yeah, I just don’t want any of them black kids showing up. You never know if their gonna pull out a gun or steal something!” exclaimed Ken. “That’s right man, you can’t trust any of them people,” said Kevin. During the next few hours the boys got a little drunk, and then guests began to arrive. The party was in full swing by about seven thirty, and everyone was having fun. The first keg had already been kicked, and the music was loud. The party was almost out of control. Kevin was too drunk to care about what might happen if things got worse, so he just enjoyed himself. The party raged on and on, and by about twelve thirty there seemed to be no end to it any time soon. However, Kevin was feeling pretty sick, and headed for the bathroom. He threw up a couple of times, so he just stayed in the bathroom for a while. All of a sudden, he heard the sound of the music stop. He could hear a stampede of people running all over the place for about five minutes. Over the loud stomping noises he could hear the voices of policemen. Kevin was way too drunk to do anything rational. He jumped out the bathroom window, and luckily he fell only a few feet because he was on the first floor. “Shit ,that hurt,” said Kevin. He barely stumbled down an alley behind Ken’s house in an attempt to escape the police. Kevin was sitting in his seat patiently, but on the inside he was on edge. There were so many things going through his mind. He didn’t even know what he was going to say when he got up to the podium after his name was called. “Why did they even ask me to speak?” thought Kevin. The reality of the situation was that Kevin was a scholar ship student from a very poor family. He had been abused from a young age, and was taught to hate anyone of a different race. He was asked to give a speech about the power of hard work, but he considered a speech like that just as phony as the president of the school. It was almost time for his name to be called, and he did not have any idea what he was going to say. The lady’s voice startled him, “Kevin Weisman.” Kevin could barely even see straight. “I gotta get home,” he mumbled. He started heading for home, but he stayed in the alley ways as much as possible so the police did not spot him. After twenty minutes or so Kevin realized he was lost. He had no idea what direction he had even been stumbling toward. He looked around and tried to look for a landmark or a street sign, but he was only in a dark alleyway. He did notice a few guys walking behind him. He decided to keep on moving to get away from them. He was terrified too look back, but he knew he had to so he could see if they were still there. As soon as he did he felt the broad side of a two by four crash into his face. As Kevin lay on the ground the last things he remembered seeing were the white faces of his attackers. Kevin was shaking as he walked up to get his diploma. He made his way up to the stage, got his diploma, and took his spot at the podium. He stood there for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. He suddenly realized he was going to be okay, and he was going to control how he spent the rest of his life. He looked out at everyone in the audience and spoke about what was on his mind. “Thank you for allowing me to speak today. It’s an honor. I would like to start off by saying that I am very grateful for the opportunity that this university has given me. It has not only given me a future, but my experiences here have given me a new outlook on life. I have never been accepting of anyone different from myself. I can honestly say for my whole life I hated anyone that was not white.
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61 “However, going to this school has made me realize that there are more important things to worry about than the color of some ones skin. We must all learn to judge people by their actions, and not by their appearance. Thank you.” Kevin was applauded by the entire student body for his honesty. “The president can shove his hard work speech up his ass,” Kevin thought to himself as he returned to his seat. Kevin was in and out of consciousness for what seemed like forever. He had been beaten and robbed, and left in the alley. Kevin knew he was being carried by someone, and could faintly hear their voice. “You’re gonna be okay man, I’m gonna get you to a hospital,” said the voice. Kevin’s face was swollen so he decided not to open his eyes. The only thing going through his dazed mind were the words of the man saving his life. Kevin was thankful every time the man spoke so he knew that he was still awake. Kevin soon heard other frantic voices and realized he was in a hospital. He tried as hard as he could to peel open his eyes so he could see his savior. The only thing he could make out was the man’s black skin.
B l a i s e P a l m e r ‘15
“Surfin’ “
Brian Robinson ‘13 The water is all I’ve ever known And it’s all I’ll know even when I’m grown My connection with the ocean is hard to describe But I feel it on every paddle and duck dive Surfing is more than catching a wave It’s a time to escape the parties and raves Time to think is what surfing’s all about Even when it’s dark I’m not ready to rout I’d spend my whole life out here if I could Life would be easier, I swear it would Surfing takes away all of the stress There’s no worries even if your life’s a mess All you feel is peace and tranquility The feeling is unreal to me If life is ever stressing you out I urge you to grab a board and paddle out
“Con “text” “
Andrew Garoppo ‘14 Texting oh texting the hell of it all So much more complex than a call She texts me “hey” So what should I say? I type a draft but think na that’s gay I can’t get a tone, is it happy or sad? I don’t know if it’s neutral, Horney, or mad Text are not like conversation There’s so much premeditation You must say the perfect thing Or your confidence will sting I send a response and begin to fete Did I say the wrong thing? What response will I get? Was that funny, racist, or witty? I over think it and start to feel shitty Maybe I’ll be lucky and she will take pity Time goes by and I begin to sour How long has it been? 10 minutes? An hour? I get back a lol and sigh with ease I try to think up a response and I start to freeze…
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“The Road to Ruin, The Beginning of The End” Richard Eckert ‘13 “Diurnal Escapades” Chris Mather ‘14
Arising with much dismay Grip my frigid arms BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP! Ears reject shrill alarms Too lethargic, too tired Short and steady movements My whole day lies ahead I slowly pick up pace Decisive planning, time to eat? No. I’m out the door. Take a deep, slow breath I tell myself, then drive Flying, fluid movements in and out Dancing with other cars, I soar I fly, I am almost there Melodies of fuzzy stations surround me Feel the music, embrace the music Made it! “Carpe diem!” I say
Life begins to settle down I can collect my thoughts Just as a writer reviews I go over my day What mistakes did I make? What can I do better? Time for needed rest Every warrior must sleep Drifting off, the sea Takes me far away Untold adventures lie ahead Dreaming, floating…BEEP, BEEP!
Fully torqued, I am ready to go School day begins, and so do I Stresses come upon me, but I overcome I am powering through the grueling day More work piling up, I am drowning Gasping for air, the clock strikes, done. Relief. A word taken for granted After the smoke and dust clear out I stumble out weak but victorious Like a gladiator who fought courageously I gleam with pride and accomplishment Internal applause lifts my wary spirit
Nick Ward ‘13
Audio
Common folk would expect me to start my story at the beginning, but, in all honesty, it doesn’t matter where my story begins, or where any other story starts. Why’s this? It’s simple: no matter where a man’s story starts, it always ends in the same place: Hell. Damnation, ruin, use whatever word you like: no one ever really ends on a happy note. Don’t believe me? If the world around us isn’t enough to convince you, here’s a story from a commoner. It was around thirty years ago when this new techno age started. It was also the same year that my boys and I were coming back from the biggest catch of the century. The fishing business was something I couldn’t let go of, unless I wanted my daddy’s ghost haunting me in my sleep, but that isn’t important. What is important is the fact that this was going to be the catch that would put about six months of dinner to the table. I had a wife and baby waiting ever so patiently for me to bring home the bacon… or mackerel, as it were. For nearly ten days we waited out in the ocean, just waiting for something to hit the net. We had anchored the boat near the supposed sighting of a fish nesting ground, and we expected about 100 or so to ram into the net. Wouldn’t you know it, about five times that amount flew in, and it took all the strength we had just to keep all those goddamn things contained on the boat. One of us almost fell off the boat, and another got hit in the face by one of those flappers and blacked out when he hit his head on the boat. Still, we got them all onto the boat, and didn’t lose a single one. I’m getting to the bad part of the story; just hold your horses for a minute. So, what was our reward, you might ask? How much were you paid for pulling up all those fish and seeing one of your boys get a coma over that struggle? We earned but two things when we reached that dock: Jack and shit, and Jack was the fellow bringing us the bad news. Well, good for the rest of society, maybe, but awful for me. You see, Jack was one of them scientists working for the folks responsible for our new “gilded age”: the ATSAA: American Technological and Societal Advancement Association. It was there, on that dock, that Jack told us that during the time we were out there trying to catch those little meal tickets, the boys down at the ATSAA perfected animal cloning. I had heard about this project being in progress for the last four years, but never really thought they would actually succeed. But, wouldn’t you know it; these fellows found a way to keep making animals for meat whenever they needed it. Those words alone were enough to render me worthless, and no more were that more prevalent when my Evangeline showed up on the dock and told me that to my face. “Thought you were dead out there”, she says. I might as well been, since she told me all about how happy Jack was going to make her and her baby. Since then, I’d been stuck in that hell that all mankind’s going to be heading towards soon.
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64 I’m not the only one in this position. That cloning machine was only the first step in a “new age of ceaseless progress”. Since then, many a man’s job’s been taken over by the machines from those ATSAA bastards. Nowadays, concrete money’s all but dead, replaced by data currency stored in these little cards. Only problem is, only employed people can get their hands on them, and I’m one of those many “dust men” who has to mug a few ATSAA boys just to get by. You see, the only people able to get by any more are the folks building and researching machines for the ATSAA. Government’s all but dead, these boys run economy now. ATSAA gizmos and robots are being used for everything: cashiers, military defense, housekeeping, building, banking: pretty much everything a man used to do to feed his family. It’s been thirty years since that day on the docks, and people still don’t believe us when me and my street brothers tell them where’ we’re headed. I guess it’s ‘cause our leader’s a crusty sixty-year-old man who’s worn the same rags for the last five years. Still, while my credibility’s been lost in the streets of Neo-America, the truth of it all is far from gone: It can only get worse from here. Sure, purists in the ATSAA might tell you otherwise, but I can see it happening: these “works of art” are going lead us to pushing up daisies in a matter of a decade. It’s happened before: when the kiddies build a new toy, they’ll want to try it out. They did it to Japan years ago, and they could just as easily do it again soon. Recently, the ATSAA’s announced their plans to make fully self-operating and tactical machines to use in war. They say it’ll lessen casualties, but given their programming, that’s bullshit. These things were made to keep on truckin’ down the road of progress, and to smash any roadblocks in the way. I know as well as the next man that the other governments: Russia, Japan, China, and others, ARE those roadblocks. As far I’m concerned, perfect ain’t an actual word. It’s impossible to make this much progress and not get lost in the heat of the contest. Humans may be imperfect as all Hell, but at least we had the common sense to know when enough was enough. As for these machines, mercy, compassion, and the well being of everyone around them has all been thrown out the window in favor of that golden rule of mechanical progress. How and why did it all start? All because some kid found his daddy locked in a fridge and felt this itch to keep his progress-mad work in motion. Now do you see what I meant earlier? No matter where the story starts, Hell’s where the story ended. If you want my advice, I’d do one of two things: either try and put a stop to it, or run away. It’s probably pointless, though. It’s like the old man said: life, time, and progress will all end, not with a bang, but a whimper. That’s how pathetic this who ordeal has become. Between you and me, though, at least it’d give me something to live for. A new Evangeline, if you will.
Poem about A Concern Mike Catalino ‘13 College next year is a very interesting adventure. There are many thoughts that come to mind. Some are good, and some are kind of scary. There are so many things that go through my mind. For me, staying close is essential. Going far is not in my cards. The thought of leaving home is not great. While I wish I could stay, I know I cannot. It is life, and moving on from is what needs to happen. Leaving is can be exciting however. It is exciting in a few ways. In ways such as meeting new people, learning new things, and also learning life lessons. While my family doesn’t want me to leave, they know that it is time as well. This is the way of life. The memories I have experienced at home are unforgettable. The things I have learned I will keep with me forever. While going to college may seem awesome, and lots of fun, concern comes in. The thought of living on my own is scary. Not having people to watch over me is an odd thought. I am used to being told what to do, and in a way I will miss it. Being on my own may seem great, but with it comes a lot of responsibility. I am concerned with being able to get good grades, and to do well. I want to live up to expectations, and be able to make my parents proud. The thought of being away from my siblings is also scary. They mean a lot to me, and I am always with them. They are the best friends any brother could ask for.
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I am also concerned with being in a place I am not familiar with. Going to a new place kind of freaks me out. I want to be able to fit in, and to take advantage of every opportunity I get. Overall, the thought of leaving is my biggest concern. Going somewhere new is going to be odd. I want to be able to keep a balance of school and family. I hope I can get over my concerns, and have the best possible time next year. These concerns will soon be history, and I will be having fun.
John Brady ‘14
Editors:
Mel Hawkins ’13, Sean Naessens ’13, Ryan Abell ’14, David Kotasenski ’14, Evan Mascione ’14, Liam McGrother ’14, Chris Mather ’14, Phil Zminda ‘14
Contributors: Nicco Baratta ‘13, Chris Bennett ’13, Dan DeBrakeleer ’13, Dominic Bonitates ’13, Michael Catalino ’13, Joon Cha ’13, Jeff Cimbalista ’13, Joseph D’Angelo ’13, Richard Eckert ’13, Chris Endrigian ’13, Chris Fagan ’13, Brian Farley ’13, David Givens ’13, Andrew Grajewski ’13 Melvin Hawkins ’13, Mark Himler ’13, Pat Hoffman ’13, Fran Johnson ’13, Brian LaGreca ’13, Dante Massi ’13, Charles Meredith’13, RJ Napalitano ’13, Michael Pascali ’13, James Princivalle ’13, Jamalie Roberts ’13, Matt Skidmore ‘13, Aaron Street ’13, Eric Torres ’13, Nick Ward ’13, Eric Bergman ’14, John Brady ’14, Andrew Cavanaugh ’14, Zaine Collins ’14, Levi Davis III ’14, Amedia DeLuca ’14, Andrew Garoppo ‘14, Robert Gilles III ’14, Jack Klemmer ’14, John Krol ’14, Aidan O’Neill ’14, James Palmer ’14, Stephen Peel ’14, Pat Quigley ’14, Eduard Rausch ’14, John Razzi ’15, Ryan Seiss ’14, Phillip Zminda ’14, Jack Auteri ’15, Tom Conroy ’15, Michael Di Cristofano ’15, Julian Durkin ’15, David Kemptech ’15, Jack Klemmer ’15, Kyle McElwee ’15, Blaise Palmer ’15, Christian, Pricofazzi ’15, Victor Riviera ’15, James Soulages ’15, Rodney Walker ’15, David Michie ‘16, Alex Wysoczanski ‘16
Moderator: Mr. Dennis Bloh