was transmitted by one generation to the next. How it got its name no one seems to know. However, I can tell you the story of the name of the adjacent street, “Rue du Chat qui peche”. Originally it had no name, but when natives of the district had to refer to this short narrow passage, they spoke... Show morewas transmitted by one generation to the next. How it got its name no one seems to know. However, I can tell you the story of the name of the adjacent street, “Rue du Chat qui peche”. Originally it had no name, but when natives of the district had to refer to this short narrow passage, they spoke of it as "The Street of the Cat Who Fishes”. Back in the 1890’s, a large half- wild gutter cat, a fish in its mouth, was chased from the left bank of the Seine River down "Rue de la Huchette” by a hungry dog. Old wooden-legged Madame Tissot, with her heavy cane, was sitting in front of the little police station. As the cat flew by her, she swung her cane just in time to hit the dog on the ear, knocking it out. The cat, with such a protec- tion, ate its fish peacefully in the dark narrow adjacent street. A few minutes later, returning to the corner to show his thankful- ness to the old lady, the cat arrived in time to see the policeman, the baker, the bookseller, and the butcher gathering around the old lady, laughing as the prostrate dog slowly regained his senses and slunk away. They all had a good laugh and together walked to the nearby hotel bar to laugh again. The next day, the day after, and the day after that—for so long, in fact, that every one in the district knew about it, the cat who fishes brought its dinner there to eat in peace and com- fort. Hence the street became known as “The Street of the Cat Who Fishes.” Any one who attempted to give it another name would have to answer to the whole district. So it was then the city workers came to the old Latin Quarter with fancy name plates for the few streets which had been for- gotten. One of them came with a simple sign, “Rue du jour”, "Street of the Light”. Old Madame Tissot was sitting at her aceustomed place watch- ing the events of the street. She took a good look at the sign as the workman was climbing the ladder to place this new plate on the adjoining building. Suddenly she sprang up, limped over to the ladder, gave it a jerk, pulling the man down. Then she said, “No, you cannot do that. This is ‘The Street of The Cat Who Fishes’.” The workman said, "I will put it up. It is my orders.” "Oh no, you don’t,” replied the old lady, and she started to beat him with her heavy cane. The workman screamed, "Police, police!” 8 Show less
hair was still a soft, light brown, parted in the center; her face was still a “nice” face. She was just the same, but as I watched her talk I noticed something I hadn’t seen at first glance. She was older looking, not because of grey hair or dull eyes but older looking as if she had suffered... Show morehair was still a soft, light brown, parted in the center; her face was still a “nice” face. She was just the same, but as I watched her talk I noticed something I hadn’t seen at first glance. She was older looking, not because of grey hair or dull eyes but older looking as if she had suffered deeply and had become quiet and wise because of it. There was something else too. The quietness was caused by sorrow, but it gave a clear impression of content- ment and happiness. I was sitting there, watching her, studying her face, wondering what it was that had made the difference when her conversation changed from the usual light gossip. “My mother is dead.” It was a sudden remark; it surprised and startled me. I couldn’t make the usual remarks because it seemed as if she hadn’t finished speaking. "That’s why we’re living here now. I’m married.” The quite ordinary remark seemed so filled with tenseness that again I couldn’t answer. We sat there without saying anything for a moment. When she continued, her voice was low and sup- pressed. It had the same quality of feeling that I had seen in her face. "So many things have happened.” She stopped. I knew she wanted to say more; so I just waited. “You know I always wanted to sing. After dad died I changed my major and entered the music school at the U. It was what I’d always wanted; I loved it. The practice wasn’t work, it was a joy. The people I met weren’t dry, hard business people; they were warm and eager artists who understood the things I did, and sought after the things I did, and loved the things I did.” She stopped again; she seemed to be remembering. “And Greg was the best, the dearest, the closest to me of them all.” Again a pause and then she continued in a voice I couldn’t un- derstand and with words I couldn’t see any reason for. “I didn’t think of loving him then; we were friends, very dear friends. But it was natural and good and right. There was noth- ing wrong about it, no reason—” And now the lines of suffering showed again and nearly covered 15 Show less
lonely ones for Gudrun, for her husband was sick. When Lars was up and around, she could find winter life on the farm bearable. It didn’t seem right to have to see her strong, able-bodied husband lying practically helpless in bed. A pale gloom hovered over the snowdrifts. In the woods the drifts... Show morelonely ones for Gudrun, for her husband was sick. When Lars was up and around, she could find winter life on the farm bearable. It didn’t seem right to have to see her strong, able-bodied husband lying practically helpless in bed. A pale gloom hovered over the snowdrifts. In the woods the drifts were piled even higher. Suddenly a grey form began to materialize out of the semi-darkness. It had obviously come out of the wood. Slowly, slowly it approached. It seemed to be a huge dog. But what a strange dog. It was no dog. It continued to ap- proach slowly. The form loomed larger and larger in front of Gudrun’s eyes. She gripped the window—sill with her fingers. Her heart seemed to jump up into her throat. This animal was none other than a timber-wolf. Its eyes appeared to burn in its head,,and they penetrated her very being. She shivered. “A wolf,” she gasped. An old Scandinavian superstition shot through her brain: "If a wolf comes around the buildings, it means that a death will soon occur in the family.” “A death, a death,” she whispered weakly. She wanted to run and be beside her husband and see if he Were well, but she remained riveted to the spot staring at the horrible creature. The animal was nearly three feet tall, but it seemed much larger. He was so gaunt his ribs showed through his shaggy fur. The eyes glistened and leered at the woman in the house. A gust of wind blew past the corner of the house. Then nothing could be heard but its moaning in the tree-tops. EVENING The rain drops are falling, The night birds are calling; Their sweet melodies fill the air. Daylight’s reposing Dusk is enclosing The land most everywhere. Flowers are sleeping, Moonlight is peeping Through the mist in the air. Stars are winking, Lights are blinking, Peace reigns everywhere. —JOAN WICKLAND 19 Show less
Sunday. Yes, it was Sunday. What is Sunday? Dorothy thought. It is the day that people are to set aside for worship. The first Sun- day we were in Minneapolis I was on duty. Last Sunday we went to a church that one of the girls said a friend of hers attends. This church made Dorothy think: "Beware... Show moreSunday. Yes, it was Sunday. What is Sunday? Dorothy thought. It is the day that people are to set aside for worship. The first Sun- day we were in Minneapolis I was on duty. Last Sunday we went to a church that one of the girls said a friend of hers attends. This church made Dorothy think: "Beware of false prophesy.” Aren’t there people in Minneapolis who worship God as He teaches them to? Isn’t there some place in this hustling, busy city where a per- son can get away from the noise for awhile and worship God in peace? Suddenly a clear ringing sound reached her ears. A sound not quite like bells; it was chimes. Dorothy pinched herself to see if she were dreaming and found that she was wide awake. The music floated out on the air with sweetness and beauty: "Beautiful Savior! Lord of the nations! Son of God and Son of Man! Glory and honor, Praise, adoration, Now and for evermore he Thine!” Dorothy’s work had not turned out to be the opportunity for service she had hoped for. So much of nursing was plain drud- gery. Working and working with very little sleep made a person feel like a machine. Being among strange people in a strange world was confusing. Yet, now as she listened to the chimes these things began to fall into their rightful places. The trying times she had had begun to seem like mere trivialities in a big plan, a plan that is world-wide. Her life took on new meaning. Above all the cares and troubles of the world is God, the Maker of the Uni- verse. + A SUMMER NIGHT I flicked avcigarette into the air. The sparks flew everywhere, Bright and hot and glowing. And in a moment— Ashes—dead and grey. So for our lives we pay. For a moment full of heat and growing. Then—ashes? Only heaven knowing. —ROBERT G. KRAUSS 25 Show less
70a SW Won’t even let a fellow try to catch A doze, [es’ winkin’ an’ hlinkin’, that’s how It goes, Tryin’ to see the one you keep awake, I s’pose, I wish you’d turn around the other way And close Your eye, so sleepy folks like me could get Repose. -—HELEN HAUKENESS + fitment Star-filled skies above... Show more70a SW Won’t even let a fellow try to catch A doze, [es’ winkin’ an’ hlinkin’, that’s how It goes, Tryin’ to see the one you keep awake, I s’pose, I wish you’d turn around the other way And close Your eye, so sleepy folks like me could get Repose. -—HELEN HAUKENESS + fitment Star-filled skies above me, Darkness on the ground, Footsteps pointed homeward; It’s happiness I’ve found. —DON HEGG + 5W Shadows are the fingers of an old, old man, Trembling, hlue-ueined, reaching for something, They draw back and reach again. Senile, twisted, crooked with age Shadows are the fingers of a bent, old man. -—IRENE JOHNSON 12 Show less
Obsession RUTH PEDERSON Myra and Betty were walking to church. They were attractive women of about twenty-five years of age. Myra’s every action seemed to indicate that she was a woman of refinement. She was perfectly dressed. Everything she wore was the latest in style. Betty had a certain beauty... Show moreObsession RUTH PEDERSON Myra and Betty were walking to church. They were attractive women of about twenty-five years of age. Myra’s every action seemed to indicate that she was a woman of refinement. She was perfectly dressed. Everything she wore was the latest in style. Betty had a certain beauty that good clothes cannot give. Her beauty was of a more natural kind. Her hair came down to her shoulders, soft like a school-girl’s. Both women were talkative and happy- “I still think St. Johns services start at 10:4 5 rather than I I :oo,” Betty put in. Then she added brightly, “Oh, well, what’s the dif- ference? It’s too late now to make it on time if they do.” Then the girls walked on quietly, thinking about the days when they were children together. Myra recalled that fifteen years before she and Betty had been the best of friends. Before they had become rivals. Although un— related, the two girls had been taken as sisters by many. They were both dark. Both had long brown hair. But probably the biggest reason people had thought they were sisters was that they were always together. One night Myra would stay all night with Betty. The next night Betty would stay with Myra. Myra remembered the day they had been playing in the hay mow on her grandfather’s farm. It was fun sliding down the big pile of hay that was stacked in a huge slope almost to the ceiling. When they had become tired of that, the girls discovered a hole in the floor close to the wall. It was obviously a place to shove the hay down to the first floor for the cattle. Myra had seen it first. It was a hole about two feet square. She had gazed, fascinated, down to the wide expanse of floor beneath. Fascinated at so big a gap between the ceiling and the floor. “Oh, Betty,” she had called. uC’mere. There’s a hole in the floor. You can see way down in the basement.” Betty skipped over, got down on her hands and knees and peered over the edge with Myra. “Funny, isn’t it?” Myra had queried as she looked at Betty. But there was something wrong with Betty. Her face was white as a sheet. Her lip quivered as though she were going to cry, but even Myra could see it was something more serious than that. Conflicting emotions twisted her _55 Show less
face. Myra had grabbed her just as she had thrust herself over the edge. What a terrific struggle that was for a ten-year-old girl—to get her playmate back up on the solid floor again. Betty was strangely quiet for about the next two days. She was not herself at all. “Why did you do it? Why did you... Show moreface. Myra had grabbed her just as she had thrust herself over the edge. What a terrific struggle that was for a ten-year-old girl—to get her playmate back up on the solid floor again. Betty was strangely quiet for about the next two days. She was not herself at all. “Why did you do it? Why did you try to jump into that hole? Don’t you know you could have been killed, you fool?” Myra had snapped. “I—I don’t know. I couldn’t help it when I looked down in that place. There was nothing else I could do. I had to jump.” Then more quietly she added: “I’m glad you caught me in time, Myra.” After that, Betty refrained from going into high places or from looking down if she had to be up on something high. Myra continued in her reverie. She and Betty had always ap- peared to be the best of friends. They did get along well until they started attending high school. Then they accused each other of stealing the other’s dates. Even that could be forgiven, Myra muttered to herself, but sometimes things can go too fan—As for stealing James from me, I could never forgive her for that. James Masewood had been pronounced the most eligible young man in the community. He was very handsome, had a nice per- sonality and, what was of the greatest importance to Myra, he had money. He and Myra were going steady, “practically engaged,” the town gossips had said, before Betty came home on vacation from college. Naturally the first person Betty visited on her return was Myra, her old school pal. It wasn’t long before James had become cold. Soon he was going with the more charming, less affected Betty. No, Myra could never forgive Betty for, that. Now Betty was Mrs. James Masewood. Myra was still Miss Myra Coldwell, an ex— tremely unhappy woman. Then Myra had left the community, determined to turn her back upon Betty and James Masewood forever. But, no, some- thing brought her back. And here she was in Evansville, walking to church with Betty. This was a Sunday morning when James was unable to get back from a business trip to Oakville. As they turned up the walk to the church, Betty pointed at the sign announcing services. “I guess services start at 10:45 after all.” "Yes, I guess they do,” Myra answered shortly. 56 Show less
After a long while she felt comparatively calm and still. Then she looked at Mark, and a bitter sense of loss gripped her heart. “Why did he have to die? He was such a good man,” she moaned, “such a good man!” + Chance Perhaps if I had hurried At a time when you delayed Or spoke instead of... Show moreAfter a long while she felt comparatively calm and still. Then she looked at Mark, and a bitter sense of loss gripped her heart. “Why did he have to die? He was such a good man,” she moaned, “such a good man!” + Chance Perhaps if I had hurried At a time when you delayed Or spoke instead of listened When first I heard your name Life would now he diflerent And our choice of love the same. --DON HEGG + Still of Night BETTY PLOYHAR A quietness was enveloping the whole world like a blanket, smothering all sound. A leaf, dropping from the top branch of a tree, slithered across the other leaves heaped upon the ground. The crickets chirped unusually loud. The sound echoed again softer and very muflled. There was a tiny swish as the wind gently brushed one blade of green grass against another, a faint slap as the water touched a rock near shore and retreated. I heard a pop as a fish came to the surface. There was no other sound. As night fell, the park had drifted away from the noisy daytime world into a vacuum of quiet. 63 Show less
Besides, streetcars teach you thrift. If you are wise, it is not necessary for you to spend a single nickle for a morning paper. Merely sit down or stand up beside someone who is reading a paper and glance casually at theirs. Be careful not to lean over too far or you will find your head resting... Show moreBesides, streetcars teach you thrift. If you are wise, it is not necessary for you to spend a single nickle for a morning paper. Merely sit down or stand up beside someone who is reading a paper and glance casually at theirs. Be careful not to lean over too far or you will find your head resting in the lap of your neighbor with the paper. Come now, Just what would you do if there wasn’t always an- other streetcar around the corner? + K. G. RUTH PEDERSON Joe and Elsie’s Hamburger Shop was all but deserted when I came in. I saw the empty booth by the door and sat down. “What’s it today, the dinner?” While waiting I settled down to reading the morning paper. I soon became aware of a lively conversation going on in the next booth. . “You know, I wish I had some of the dough old McMorency has. Maybe I could buy me a Cadillac too.” “You probably would if you pinched your pennies the way he does. He’s the worst slave driver in town. He runs those service stations of his like a dictator.” The voice of the second man sounded somewhat older. I “The kids in those stations can’t do anything, but McMorency finds out about it and sticks them for it.” "Yeah, I’ll never forget the time Jim was listening to a good radio program. He heard a car drive up but didn’t go out right away. ‘Let ’em wait,’ he said. It was 01’ K. G. himself, and he wasn’t cheerful. ‘If I have to wait, certainly customers have to wait while one of you guys is listening to a stupid program’.”—-—He mimicked McMorency in sneering tones. "Oh, so that’s the reason he wouldn’t let us have radios any more. I wonder what’ll have to go next. “He tried to get rid of the newspapers once. I don’t know what made him change his mind there.” “Probably doin’ his good deed for the day.” Both men laughed. 47 Show less
the quiet peace of her face. She was struggling with something she couldn’t explain, something she couldn’t even understand. "Oh, it was hard. To us it was so wonderful; we loved each other, it was just us two. We knew vaguely that there were ob- jections, but we were educated, intelligent, even... Show morethe quiet peace of her face. She was struggling with something she couldn’t explain, something she couldn’t even understand. "Oh, it was hard. To us it was so wonderful; we loved each other, it was just us two. We knew vaguely that there were ob- jections, but we were educated, intelligent, even gifted people. Our friends were intelligent and enlightened. We had not thought of their objections. We were engaged. We didn’t tell anyone until I had the ring. We wanted to surprise them. And they were shocked; they didn’t believe us; they even tried to persuade us not to—” Another break. I couldn’t understand her story; I knew there was something terribly tragic, terribly wrong; but she had for- gotten me; she didn’t think I wouldn’t know all she knew. She was just reliving. She continued, her voice softer, loving. "When Greg heard them talk, he tried to make me forget him. He wanted to spare me. But he loved me, he couldn’t deny that, and as long as he loved me, I loved him. I knew, oh, I knew what our marriage would be like. I was feeling it already; our friends were distant, even my mother. Mother had told me I’d have to make a choice. It wasn’t hard—the choice, I mean. There was only one. I loved Greg more than anything on earth. I couldn’t do anything else. Mother said I was selfish. Maybe I was. What she said about our children especially. Maybe I was selfish; I don’t know. I just know I loved him, I couldn’t do anything else.” There were no tears in her eyes as she finished, but her voice was full of tears, not tears of sorrow, but desperate, pleading tears that begged to be understood and not condemned. uWe were married. Greg is a fine musician, he will be a great musician, and he and our music were enough for me. We didn’t even miss our friends, not even my mother. We had enough. Then our little boy was born. I didn’t know there could be so much joy and so much sorrow together in one heart at once. He was so beautiful; he had hands like Greg’s. He was a born musician. But he was alone. I was afraid for him; he was so sensitive, so loving, so easily hurt. He never had any friends. The children liked him, but their parents. . . And he was so good. He couldn’t understand —either.” A long pause. Her face was intense with suffering, no hatred for 16 Show less
The Bridge PHEBE DALE The streetcar rattled toward the bridge. She opened up her evening newspaper and looked at the small paragraph again. The words were unmistakable. "The Washington Avenue bridge has been pronounced unsafe by the city engineer.” All the way from downtown when she first noticed... Show moreThe Bridge PHEBE DALE The streetcar rattled toward the bridge. She opened up her evening newspaper and looked at the small paragraph again. The words were unmistakable. "The Washington Avenue bridge has been pronounced unsafe by the city engineer.” All the way from downtown when she first noticed the article until now when the streetcar was moving slowly across the bridge, she had felt a chill, insidious fear tightening against her heart. She tried to tell herself how ridiculous it was to be frightened. She had ridden across this same bridge every day for two years and it had never bothered her before. She had even rather enjoyed watching the river and the thick green trees along its banks. But now she hardly dared look out the window. Why were they moving so slowly? Didn’t the driver realize the danger? She looked apprehensively out the window. Why, they hadn’t even come to the middle of the bridge yet. She felt a compelling urge to go up and show the driver the paper and tell him to speed across. Was he totally uninformed of the desperate situation? She was suddenly aware that a man and a girl sitting behind her were talking about the bridge. "Do you realize,” the man was saying, “that if this bridge col- lapsed now, you wouldn’t have a chance?” “Oh, Bill, don’t!” “All these people would fall on you and you would be com- pletely crushed.” She was horrified at the utter cruelty of that man. He was thoroughly terrorizing the girl. But what he said was undeniably true. If the bridge, packed with cars and streetcars and people did collapse. . . She could feel the sickening sensation of being hurled into noth- ingness, then the cold, dark water enveloping her. She could hear the hysterical screams, the frenzied cries for help, the grinding crash of steel. . . She looked out the window. They had crossed the bridge. It was a block behind them. She looked out the window and laughed. 13 Show less
by the nape of the neck and said, "Sorry, folks, you’ll have to re- sume your quarrel tomorrow night. It’s nearly six o’clock. We’ll have to get back to our places before the girls wake up.” A hush fell upon the little animals. Oofta, the big rabbit, slowly walked towards the door. He was... Show moreby the nape of the neck and said, "Sorry, folks, you’ll have to re- sume your quarrel tomorrow night. It’s nearly six o’clock. We’ll have to get back to our places before the girls wake up.” A hush fell upon the little animals. Oofta, the big rabbit, slowly walked towards the door. He was followed by the smaller rabbits, the ducks, Kitty, the mouse, Philip the worm, Oscar the psycholo- gical elephant, the baby elephant, Horace the horse, and dogs of every size, color, and description. The monkeys followed, leaping from one piece of furniture to another. Overhead flew the owls and the pretty birds. Stinky, the skunk, brought up the rear in this mournful procession. Our animals sadly waved good—bye to their friends. Finally they climbed up on the bookcase, the desk, or the dresser for another dull day. I did not sleep the rest of that night. I kept thinking about many things. I kept thinking about how uncomfortable the cat and the mouse must feel sitting side by side, for now I knew that it mattered to them. I resolved that I would speak to Thelma in the morning about changing the positions of the little animals. + A Moment of Silent Prayer The minister walked slowly up the steps of the pulpit. In a deep, sonorous voice he said, “Let us all rise for a moment of silent prayer.” - There was the mufiled swish of people rising, then utter and com- plete silence. I stood by my pew, my head bowed. The room was so quiet that I imagined everyone could hear what I was saying to God. I glanced up. Every head was devoutly lowered. The round, rosy-checked face of a little baby peered out from his mother’s arms. Even the infant seemed to sense the peaceful sol- emnity of the moment. He stared wide—eyed and unbelieving at the hushed congregation. I breathed and the roar of my breath echoed throughout the church. The silence was painful and unnatural. The “moment” was stretching into an hour. I longed to hear a sound, any sound. "The epistle text for this morning. . .” The minister’s voice was strange, unfamiliar. It seemed so long since I had heard it. —PHEBE DALE 33 Show less
@he Ghimes RUTH PEDERSON Dorothy opened her eyes, yawned, turned over, and snuggled back into sleep for a few minutes. Soon she was awake again, aware of the fact that sunlight was pouring into the room. Obvi- ously it was quite late. She noticed that her roommate, Marie, was still in bed. This... Show more@he Ghimes RUTH PEDERSON Dorothy opened her eyes, yawned, turned over, and snuggled back into sleep for a few minutes. Soon she was awake again, aware of the fact that sunlight was pouring into the room. Obvi- ously it was quite late. She noticed that her roommate, Marie, was still in bed. This is Sunday morning, Dorothy thought. It doesn’t seem like Sunday morning. None of the days here in Minneapolis are like days anywhere else. They are like days in a nightmare. Dorothy was a student nurse in the Cadet Nurses’ Corps. She had taken a year and a half of her training in South Dakota in a small town close to Sioux Falls. Now she and three of her class- mates were taking their affiliation in Minneapolis. All reports had indicated that Minneapolis was a large and beautiful city. It was large, but the beauty? Well, she had seen none of it. Since she and her girl friends had come on the train she had left the grounds of General Hospital twice—once to attend church, and once to walk the six blocks to Donaldson’s and Dayton’s. They had taken their walk during the rush hour. Everybody in Minneapolis seemed to be hurrying to get to the same place at the same time. The girls had become so confused that they did not care to venture out again. If it had been only the city itself they had disliked, life in Gen- eral Hospital might not have become so unbearable. It was the tediousness of the work and classes and the kind of people one came in contact with throughout the day. The girls Dorothy met in the hospital were not the type of girls she was used to associating with; they were “of the world.” She saw her friends from South Dakota only seldom now. Eloise and Jenny were "on nights” while she was "on days.” Betty was usually visiting a cousin when not sleeping. Dorothy got out of bed and looked out the window. Looking out the window was the closest she got to the outdoors for some- times as long as two days. Just to get outside one would either have to take the elevator down twelve flights of stairs or go up on the roof. 24 Show less
But the bus had passed on and Mrs. Fowler didn’t notice. She was thinking of her shopping and how nice it was to meet a sen- sible girl these days. What a pity such a nice girl had to wear makeup to work. ‘ + LIVING I felt the knife of deep despair And cringed in hollow fear; I heard the hot,... Show moreBut the bus had passed on and Mrs. Fowler didn’t notice. She was thinking of her shopping and how nice it was to meet a sen- sible girl these days. What a pity such a nice girl had to wear makeup to work. ‘ + LIVING I felt the knife of deep despair And cringed in hollow fear; I heard the hot, hushed voice of death And swallowed back a tear. I took a drink of sweet, cool joy, Embraced a laughing sky; I touched a baby blade of grass And caught a robin’s eye. I saw a candy-coated cloud And heard a tinseled brook, Absorbed intently all of life, For I had read a book. -—-IRENE M. JOHNSON + WHITE GOWNS Like snow that melts on hearthstone, warm, The love of God’s inviting balm Descends from out the gathering storm, To flood each willing heart with calm. As outside winter’s coat is borne, By shivering ground, midst deaf’ning din Of Arctic cold’s impinging morn, The grace of God doth cover sin. But far beyond the azure blue, Yea, farther than the eye can see, Dwells peace that world never knew, An everlasting Spring for me. —PAUL ARNOLD 29 Show less
WW 7% Find them on the back streets of most any Southern town Beating out the rhythms of a diflerent color throng. Making sounds of laughter, Singing songs of sin; Plenty more comes after A drink or two of gin. White man bumps a Nigger passing to the bar; Each must voice his anger, adding to the... Show moreWW 7% Find them on the back streets of most any Southern town Beating out the rhythms of a diflerent color throng. Making sounds of laughter, Singing songs of sin; Plenty more comes after A drink or two of gin. White man bumps a Nigger passing to the bar; Each must voice his anger, adding to the roar. Bodies jerk and stumble, Dancing on the floor; Crazed by heat and passion, They always beg for more. Loungers on the sidelines sponging time and drinks, Boastful of their efiorts to feel and never think. Arms around each other, Passing out in pairs, Proud of all the envy They read in every stare. Morning fades the shadows that brought such great delight. Honky tanks are settled, waiting for the night. —DON HEGG + YOU If I am of tender heart and loving care today, And everything seems right, It is just because of you. If tomorrow’s cares seem far away And all my days the same, It is not because of what I have done, Or what I’ve learned to say; It is just because of you. —DON HEGG LOVE Love is a feeling, a thought, a look. Love is an action. Love is. —BETTY PLOYHAR 31 Show less
