Nonfiction Commons^™

Superman Grandpa, Carl Shultz

Manuscripts

In a quaint little white and green house on Archington Avenue one sunny afternoon, Jane, the mistress of the house, was knitting a sweater. As she worked over her masterpiece, she listened intently to the voice coming from grandfather's room. Once again his imaginative mind was working overtime, and his daydreaming gremlins were carrying him off to a land of oblivion. Jane listened, "Whish, with a quick change of clothing, I stand before you as Superman!"

Winter, Jacquline Crist

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No abstract provided.

The November Persecutions Of 1938, Anastasia Schwarzleder

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The month of November, 1938, had started on a dreary note in Berlin; it had been raining for several days; the skies were dark and clouded.

On the fifth, my father's younger brother had left Germany with his family and his orchestra. Of Course, we were glad to see him get out of the infernal country, yet we felt sad at seeing a near relative leave us. Now, besides us, my grandparents and my father's older brother were the only members of our large family still in Berlin.

Land Of Zion Reborn And Hebrew Revived, Raymond Y. Sussman

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SCENE I - IN THE FIELDS

Spring. The Palestine countryside begins to bloom. Plants begin to grow, and the leaves on the trees start to turn green again. In the flelds the farmers begin to plow the dark, rich earth. The farm helpers sit behind the plows, or scatter the stones or spread the seeds. And as they work they sing together: "Shuru, habitu ur'u, rna gadol hayom hazeh, esh yokedet bachazeh, v'harnachraisha shuv polachat basadeh. Et, ina koosh tooriah v'kilshon, hit lakdu b's'arah, v'nad- Iika shuv, shuv et ha-adama, b'shalhevet y'ruka." ("How great is this day! The heart glows …

The Thicket, Joan Hayden

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As I scuff through the fallen leaves these days, I find my thoughts turning constantly to The Thicket, my former home in southern Indiana. Autumn will be arriving there, too, and I wonder what it must be like there now. Indian summer must bring dreams to the old place of all the years that have gone, and of the seasons past now. I wonder if it will ever be spring there again?

The Heart Of America, Eileen Hoover

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Do not allow Pete to deceive you with his modern ideas and speeches. He is really quite a character from out of the old world with all his old-fashioned ways.

Italy can boast of the birth of one Peter Galbo about half a century ago. Having been reared there until he was eighteen years old, Pete to this day has the dialect and mannerisms of a true Italian. Surprising, yet true, Pete's ancestry has never caused him to be partial to his native land. America has never had any truer immigrant. Pete expresses his greatest pride when he steps into …

The Girl With The Tan Hair, Jean Pittenger

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I was the long desired baby sister with the "tan" hair. My brother, who was six years old at the time of my birth, had ordered me specially. Because he greatly admired the blond baby sister of one of his boy friends, he made numerous and serious appeals and accepted my arrival with the same enthusiasm as he had displayed when given his highly-prized, red tricycle. Although most people called me a "towhead," Bob still considered me his little sister with the "tan" hair.

Fantasies Of The Night, Lena Willkie

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Night reached greedy fingers across a leaden sky. In the west, a sullen November sunset faded into a melancholy gray. Naked trees swayed and bent and moaned under the whiplash of a winter wind. Leaves whirled and fell in a lifeless dance. Dull, brown, untidy lawns darkened in the fading light.

Mariclon's Cove, Mary Alice Kessler

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It was a bright, brisk day. The foaming sea crashed gaily against shining rocks. The wind blew high and strong. My hair was torn back from my face; my wet face, so clean and free. I was free. The wind and the sea and I were free .. free .. free. Life had thrown me into a tossing, black-green world. A windy spray-world of clouds and burning sun and screaming gulls. My wet dungarees clung to my legs and I tasted the salt of a day at sea.

The Banker, Doris Daley

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Sylvester scowled at the traffic light because it was detaining him for a valuable moment or two; even though he could have crossed safely, he waited because that is the law. When the light changed, he hurried 'across the street with others who had eight o'clock appointments with destiny, and, just as he did every morning, looked in all the smart shop windows.

The Spot Of Ink, Lucy Kaufman

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Looking away from his book, Peter stared at the hard hot brightness of the one Iighted lamp. He liked the yellow compact circle of light thrown from the unshaded bulb, for although it was adequate for reading, it was too small to illuminate the room. For a long time, almost it seemed, from the time of his first coherent thought, he had wanted to burst the bonds which chained him to the room. And each night he read to forget the soiled cracked wallpaper and the thick film of dust which smudged the window panes and slid along the edges …

"Saturday's Child Has Far To Go", Mary Elizabeth Black

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The courthouse square of our town is always crowded on summer Saturday nights. Cars are wedged neatly around the four sides of the square in every available parking place, the shops and groceries are ablaze with lights, and horns honk wildly as little children dash across the streets to join their friends in playing tag on the courthouse lawn. As one makes one's way through the crowd, women with bundles of all sizes and shapes and grocery bags with celery peeping out of the tops jostle one from all sides. Farmers dressed in faded overalls and toddlers licking ice cream …

Lucifer And The Light Lady, Joy Higdon

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Lucifer was a very young lightning bug, but although he was very young, he knew his way around. All the lady lightning bugs were acquainted with Lucifer and they were fond of him.

An Afternoon, Mary Chappell

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Now the cab was leaving the downtown area and was entering the residential district. I sat forward in my seat and looked out the window. Apparently this was not a fashionable neighborhood, but middle class and decaying. I had never been there before and looked at the big, dirty frame houses, old, stone churches with dead ivy clinging to them, and maples, bare of their leaves and dripping in the rain.

The Meetin', Robert Cornett

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The folks in the little meetin' house was beginnin' to git the sperrit. The meetin' was gain' along just like the Lord would want it to go. It was hot in that little one-room buildin' settin' there on the side of the mountain, but nobody cared about that. Fact is, folks had to be a little too warm to really git the sperrit.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 11, Issue 1: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

The Playground Of The East, Jean Harlan

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I lay down on the beach and looked dreamily away to where the deep blue of the sky blended to meet the blue-green of the ocean. The sun shone brightly on the golden sand about me while the brightly colored sea shells came and went with the ocean waves. The whole shore seemed secluded, but by noon it would be jammed with people bathing or basking in the sun. The shore would be a mass of red, yellow, blue, orange, green, and purple umbrellas

War In My Lifetime, Jeanne Sutton

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The war has been going on for almost two years now. Think of it! Two years of the worry, heartache, tears, last-minute smiles, last-time kisses, letters, day and night news broadcasts, furlough dates, rationing, last-minute shoe rush - a million things which happen to a girl only in war time.

To Save Our Soles, Marjorie Phillips

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Americans in 1943 are doing a number of things that we never did before and, in all probability, will never do again. The world is changing rapidly, adjusting itself to the necessities of a nation at war. We are beginning to feel, for the first time, the insidious fingers of the international conflict. There is a seriousness now behind the American smile, a strength, a realization of what this war means.