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8
THE MAROON TIGER
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW—
John H. Young III
“If youth but knew that age would learn,
Many a love youth would spurn.”
I had just turned seventeen. Seventeen glorious sum
mers had I spent among the sun-painted hills, the wind
swept plains of Texas. And now my seventeenth birth
day found me in the city of my youthful dreams—New
York. My mind was in a turmoil as I wended my way
up Saint Nicholas Avenue. Seventeen, New York—in
love with Sonya.
I had met Sonya during my freshman year in High
School in Houston. One day she had dropped her hooks
and I. being the nearest Sir Galahad around, had stoop
ed to help her pick them up. Unfortunately, she was
rising just as I had stooped and our heads humped with
what to me was the sweetest hump I had ever felt. We
looked at each other for a moment, then broke into
laughter; not laughter of the wise, the aged—hut laugh
ter of innocence, of youth.
‘'Sonya,” I had mused to myself with the feeling that
I had embarked on my first voyage on the sea of ro
mance.
Ours had been the most beautiful of youthful
romances. Hadn’t the campus spoken of us as the ideal
couple? Many a beautiful moment had we spent to
gether. The horseback ride through Broken Hollow—
the theater on Sunday nights—the Sophomore Prom—
the nights on Sonya’s doorstep when we had whispered
sweet nothings, vows of love to each other, all blended
together had created for me a kingdom of bliss wherein
I was king and Sonya queen. Sonya’s parents bad
moved to New York, and, naturally, she went with them.
So there 1 was in New York to visit my beloved.
Before 1 bad realized what was happening, I had
reached Sonya’s abode on Sugar Hill, had rung the
door-bell, and there she was! There stood my Sonya,
beautiful, brown, young.
After some deliberation we had decided to go cabaret-
ing. I remember now that as we had taxied through
Harlem I had to make note of Sonya’s reluctance to go
with me. Had she met one of those big city fellows?
Was she in love with him? What was he like? With
these things in mind we had stopped in front of a
cabaret upon whose marquee was billed “Small’s Para
dise Inn.” How wordly wise, how sophisticated had I
felt when we had selected a small table near the or
chestra.
We had been seated only a moment before I began
to survey my first night club. Just above us was the
orchestra, resplendant in uniforms of black and white
and playing wierd fantasies as only Harlem orchestras
can play them. Around us were many tables covered
with white cloths that stood out in the semi-darkness.
Abound these tables sat gay.men and women, filled with
laughter. I had wondered if their laughter was as sin
cere as Sonya’s and mine had been. On each table was
an array of bottles, glasses, glowing cigarettes. Suddenly
a captivating odor gave my olfactory senses a smooth,
soothing effect. Champagne!
So taken away had 1 been with this new, pleasant’
environment that I hadn’t noticed the waiter who had
been standing, patiently waiting for my order. What
would I have? And then, with all of the air of one who
had suddenly become ultra-urbanized, I bad ordered:
“A couple of Martinis, with gin fizz. 0 yes—and
champagne!” I Lucky that I had read that once in a
story about a cabaret. I
Couples had then started to dance with Harlemaniae
rhythm. The orchestra was playing “Stormy Weather.”
“Boy. this is life,” I had thought. I took Sonya by the
hand and went on the floor to dance.
My heart was beating as fast as the noise-makers had
beaten on the tables, a few moments before when the
floor show had finished, as we glided in and out among
the couples. Now a husky baritone was crooning—
“Don’t know why, there’s no sun up in the sky—
Stormy Weather: since my gal and me ”
As we danced near the entrance to the dance floor. I
notice a tall, stately built woman of about thirty-
five years making her way alone through the dancers.
“Some lady who has lost her man,” I thought. I
had just turned to dance away when suddenly I felt
Sonya being snatched out of my arms. VC hat man had
dared do that? I would break him in two. Turning. 1
saw not a man but the stately woman standing in Front
of Sonya with her hand tightly gripping Sonya’s wrist.
“\^ hat do you mean by running around on me?” she
asked Sonya.
I could hardly believe my ears. I was shocked back
to reality when Sonya answered:
“Please, Bea. you know I don’t lcve anyone but you.
I have always been true to you.”
“Then come on, let’s go home,” the stately person
ordered.
Sonya went. V\ hen she reached the doorway she turned
and looked at me. I shall never forget that look on her
face. She looked at me and then towards this stately
person, and then with a sigh of despair she was gone.
The woman ol thirty-five with a glance of triumph had
disappeared behind Sonya.
For what had seemed to me ages I stood, ideals tum
bling into broken illusions, staring unbelievably straight
ahead. Outside a motor started, first with staccato
vibration, then a smooth roar, and it had gone.
The dancers, unmindful of what I chose to call a
small tragedy, had pushed me towards the bar. Above
the glass-cluttered counter a round clock struck twelve.
My birthday was over. I was no longer seventeen.
I am twenty-one now and deeply in love with Phyllis.
She is a sweet thing. Some day I hope to marry her.
For, although I was once seventeen, at twenty-one I am
still guided by the innocence, the hopefulness of youth.
musical notes
In keeping with an old and popular tradition, the
Glee Club and Orchestra left the campus early Wednes-
day morning, February 20th, bound for lower Georgia
and Florida on the annual spring concert tour. A
group of thirty-three students, eager and excited in an
ticipation of the interesting journey which would be
theirs, boarded the large Greyhound bus, together with
Mr. Harreld, and the company moved southward, de
termined to capture glory and honor lor dear ole
Morehouse.
The eight and one half days’ tour took the group over
more than sixteen hundred miles of smooth hard road
that blazed a veritable rainbow of color, from yellow