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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 28, 1945)
Guilty ? (Continued from last week) What did she have to start bawling for? God be merciful! God who? That guy the chaplain iti the ref used to jog on and on about Sundays? The boy wasn't listening to the attorneys; he didn’t give a damn what they were gnawing about, he told himself. He knew he was too scared to listen. The veins in his temples throb bed disturbingly. He traced the thin beam of light struggling through a rainstreaked window, followed it to its course far beyond the courtroom. When they got all this over he’d go home and forget. The lawyer had practically told him he could. People were getting off easy every day. You read about them in the papers. What was one less old maid school teacher any way. Look at the war - people were killing people by the tons and Cheering! The Blame It hadn’t been his fault anyway. The old lady practically walked into the bat. He didn’t know he could swing it with such force. What business had she snooping down there anyway. Ail they were doing was taking a couple of quiet drags on some cigs Johnny Belk in pp’s father had given him. Oh, si re, they’d been told not to—but the teachers did it, didn’t they? You could sure smell it on them. And anyway you got tired some times, when all you needed was a cigarette. Lord lie wished he had one now! She hadn't knocked when she’d me into the sports room either. She’d said. “Well! I guess you boys know what this will mean!’’ and si tinded proud to have caught j them. She hadn’t seen him stand ing by the bat rack behind her, testing out one of the new Spald ings. It felt smooth and sleek beneath his hands. He'd only meant to scare her. The lawyer's voice broke through his wall. “These are liis trends, his parents. They have faded, not lie.’’ Faces The faces in the audience began I take shape. He had to look at them sometime. His father—not much to be proud of. He hadn’t even fought in the last war. Always trying to make monfcy: never feeling any. Letting life kick him around like he was scum. Blaming everything on Mom, or Lit, or him, or people he worked for. He said it served him right when the gang got caught with Sinburne’s stuff. And he'd killed the dog. The old For the Ideal Masculine Christmas Something' in LEATHER from PRESTON & HALES $57 Willamette Hi. 665 lady blamed the car, but he knew who had killed his dog. He’d made a fool of himself then, but it had been such a smart little thing. Followed him around and waited for him after school. Came when he whistled and even if he kicked it, came back again. And no one else could touch it! His eyes flicked over the Old lady. Thanks for rooting for me, he thought, but I don't need it. This lawyer guy’s got it all sewed up my way. He’s got contacts. Wait and see. “The police of this town must take up their responsibilities also. Youth should be able to respect them,” the lawyer fired on. The cop was there, too. Hiyuh, Joe-boy, how's the copper. He hadn’t said that for a long time. After than Sinburne deal he never trusted coppers. Funny though, the guy was pulling for him. He was a good guy, as far as cops went. He knew this was all wrong and they’d let him go home. That was a good point the lawyer was making about ruining his life by the evil influence of the ref— ha! The ref did do things to you though. You got all twisted about a lot of things, and you didn’t give much of a damn about anything except just to get out -get out! His Mother His mother—God she looked tired. He guessed he’d never noticed that before. Never saw her much now anway. He thought she’d be mad, but she wasn’t. Just terribly tired. Even his dad hadn't blown up like he’d thought he would. Just said: “We’ll see you through, son.” He’d never said that before! Liz—probably had a date again. She was too young to be running around. The boys said things about her. WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU WHEN YOU KILLED SOME ONE ? There it was, that’s what he was afraid of. Not the jury, or the people or the judge, but what were they going to do to him! Sometimes it was life wasn’t it? Sometimes they fried you! The prosecuting attorney^ had tied knots in him for all his front. He couldn’t remember what the law yer had told him to say. They could - kill him! He'd read once where it was just like burning to death—being fried. He could feel1 the searing electricity creeping into his flesh—burning—God, no! He jerked away from his imag ination. What the hell wras he thinking about. They didn’t do things like that to kids anymore. They gave some of them life though. God that would be worse! Sixty, maybe seventy years held in by cold grey walls, huddled with cold grey men, herded by guards until your mind stopped working and all you could think of was kill ’em, KILL ’EM, and get out— GET AWAY! That’s how he’d felt at the ref, how he felt in that court room, in the school. People built walls to pen you in and hound you from all four sides! God he hated walls! Time Suddenly the yawning empti ness of the jury box broke into his consciousness. When had they gone? Was it time for that? The time had seemed so long until now. Now they were coming back. They couldn’t have been gone very long. The jury filed back into the room under his frozen gaze. What was that? Oh yeh, yeh— stand up, stand up—“hear the ver dict of the court.” Hear what? Was it time for that? What? “. . . merciful ... 20 years . . .” Twenty years ? But the lawyer had said . . . Twenty years! Merci ful? God! NO! The court was adjourned. Re porters scurried away to their papers. Loungers went back to their street corners. Social work ers shook their heads. The bailiff who was to take him to the .wait i THE UNIVERSITY THEATRE Presents William Saroyan's ‘The Time of Your Life’ A 3-Act Comedy by a Leading American Playwright Admission 80c Reservation 3300, Ext. 216 Johnson Hall, Guild Theatre DECEMBER 1-4-5-6 8:00 P. M, ALL STUDENT CAST Under Direction of Horace W. Robinson ing car, clapped handcuffs on him and led him outside. A playful breeze gently slapped his face. He stopped and looked around. A news boy ran past yell ing: “Allies bomb French coast! Allies bomb . . narrowly missing a furred and bosomed matron in tent on Schaffs for tea. A sleek stockinged girl of peroxide perfec^ tion paraded proudly between two soldiers-on-leave. An old man felt his way along, hugging the build ings for protection from the city crowds. The milling people. The spit marked pavements. Pulsing traffic and blinking lights. The city—the world! This was my world, he thought slowly. This was . . . twenty years ? Twenty— “Come on, you,” the bailiff tug ged his arm. The eyes grew cold. The light went out. “Yeh, yeh! I’m coming, ain’t I?” "SENORITA FROM THE WEST" with Alan Jones, Bonita Granville "CRIME DOCTOR'S WARNING" with Dusty Anderson, John Lytle "THAT NIGHT WITH YOU" with Franchot Tone Susanna Foster McDonald "OUR VINES HAVE TENDER GRAPES" with Edward G. Robinson Margaret O’Brien "BEWITCHED" with Phyllis Thaxter Edmund Gwenn PRIVATE' HARGROVE!" with Robert Walker Donna Reed 'BACHELOR MOTHER' with Ginger Rogers David Niven