100%

Scanned image of the page. Keyboard directions: use + to zoom in, - to zoom out, arrow keys to pan inside the viewer.

Page Options

Download this Issue

Share

Something wrong?

Something wrong with this page? Report problem.

Rights / Permissions

This collection, digitized in collaboration with the Michigan Daily and the Board for Student Publications, contains materials that are protected by copyright law. Access to these materials is provided for non-profit educational and research purposes. If you use an item from this collection, it is your responsibility to consider the work's copyright status and obtain any required permission.

May 25, 1947 - Image 11

Resource type:
Text
Publication:
The Michigan Daily, 1947-05-25

Disclaimer: Computer generated plain text may have errors. Read more about this.

PERSPECTIVES

.P,.'? N -LP

CORN OF WHEAT
...Continued from Page 3

CAN I SAY WHAT CAN ANYONE SAY
NOW .... TALK TO HER SHE CAN'T
HEAR, TOUCH HER BUT I CAN'T
TOUCH HER AT ALL .. .. THIS IS
NO SCHWESTER MINNIE DABBING
A HANDKERCHIEF AT HER EYES
.... THIS IS IT, THE REAL THING,
HELPLESSNESS AND LONGING SO
STRONG THAT IT'S A SICKNESS . .
BUT WHY ALL THIS FORAN OLD
WOMAN,.THE SAME OLD ,WOMAN
SHE USED TO SCOLD LIKE A LITTLE
CHILD, TREAT LIKE A KID ONLY
WITH CONTEMPT NOT LOVE....
MAYBE IT'S NOT THE OLD WOMAN
SHE'S MOURNING BUT THE YOUNG
MOTHER THAT RAISED HER . . . .
MAYBE LOVE IS A RETROACTIVE
RESULT OF DEATH . . . I DON'T
KNOW, MUST BE MORE THAN THAT
... SHE THINKS IT'S HER FAULT,
THINKING ABOUT THE TIMES SHE
HAD HURT THE OLD LADY . . . .
MAYBE THINKING ABOUT THE OLD
LINE JEWISH WOMEN HAVE ABOUT
KIDS ACTING UP AND TAKING
YEARS OFF THIR LIVES.. . WHAT
ELSE COULD IT BE? IS IT JUST
MISSING HER, NOT HAVING HER
AROUND, LIKE AN OLD PIECE OF
FURNITURE? MUST BE MORE THAN
THAT MUST BE MORE THAN THAT.
He saw Rosen getting into an old
blue Chevvy. He went over; "Got room
for me, Rosen? My Dad's car is full."
"Yeah, I seen'em. Sure, get in, my
vife's not going toda cemetery."
He climbed into the front seat next
to Rosen. They sat there for a few sec-
onds, then three old men came up and
got into the back seat.
The small dark man from the chapel
came by and passed out funeral stickers.
Fine wetted the ends and pasted the
label on the windshield of the car. Ros-
en warmed up the motor.
Mr. Rosenberg, an old friend of Fine's
father, hurried up to the car; "Got
room for vunmore?'
Fine slid closer to Rosen and the old
man got in beside him. He looked out
through the dirty windshield. It had
started snowing again, wet, dirty snow,
falling on a slushy pavement that was
already beginning to freeze again.
The car ahead began to move. Fur-
ther ahead the hearse turned the cor-
ner. The funeral procession moved
through the heavy traffic, traveling
faster and faster in an effort to keep
the procession together, until the fun-
Continued from -Page 8
it just like she always did, making the
other two that worked with her look
like stooges. She was going like a whirl-
storm, working over every square inch,
and getting every covey around. Inside
of an hour she had five. Believe me, I
was so proud I could have busted. I'd
sing out "Poieent" like by God you
never heard it. And those judges knew
all right.
It wasn't long before Frisk got tired;
and nobody noticed except me. I watch-
ed her. She and the other two went
down into a little gully, so I ran around
to the far side to meet them coming
out. Frisk didn't come. I thought for
a second she had some birds; but that
was only wishing against reason. I ran
down the steep bank and started look-
ing. I found her beside a low bush,
lying there stretched out on the snow,
open-eyed and shivering. In order to
get some help, I hollered "point." Clyde
was way across field, with the judges,
and they came at an easy canter. I
picked Frisk up and carried her to the
top of the bank. When they saw me,
they came tearing. Clyde yelled: "What

the hell's the matter?" I just held her
and waited. Clyde grabbed her up,

eral train was a speeding caravan stick-
ing together in spite of traffic and wet
pavement.
WHY SHOULD I CARE? IS THERE
SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME ...
DOESN'T ANYONE ELSE SEE IT?
. . . . IT'S ALL WRONG, WRONG
WRONG WRONG, ALL WRONG,....
IT'S A CIRCUS, GREEN SILK TIE
AND CRAZY FEATHER COSTUMES
....NOW THE FINAL, ACT, THEE
CHARIOT RACE ... TO'TIE .CEM-
ETARY RACE TO THE CEMETERY
. HURRY HURRY HURRY THROW
THE OLD WOMAN IN THE HOLE AND
TOSS DIRT IN HER FACE EVERYONE
CRY FAST SO WE CAN ALL RUN
HOME QUICK PLAY SOME POKER
GO TO A MOVIE TOO BAD SOPHIE
CAN'T COME WITH US SHE HAS TO
SIT SHIVE AND CAN'T COME OUT
.. COME OUT SOPHIE COME OUT
AND PLAY COME OUT COME OUT
COME OUT...,.
Fine got out of the car just as the
pall bearers started into the cemetery.
Ahead he could see Minnie Cohen weep-
ing into a small handkerchief. The
young man with the paper yamalke fol-
lowed her, walking tall and straight;
then came a middle aged man and a
little boy; then a man on crutches,
swinging along easily. Fine and Rosen
fell into the procession and it moved
slowly toward the old woman's final
resting place. The funeral procession
was a solemn parade and the people
walked slowly behind the pall bearers
as millions of Jews had done for cen-
turies before them.
GRAVES GRAVES GRAVES, OLD,
NEW, AND THE GRASS OLD AND
NEW RICH GRASS, DARK BROWN
DEAD GRASS SHOWING THROUGH
THE MELTING WET SNOW .,. .
GRAVES GRAVES BIG ONES TOW-
ERING OVER THE REST .... LIKE
IN LIFE BIG ONES DOMINATE EVEN
IN THE GRAVEYARD BIG ONES
DOMINATE . . . . THIS ONE PAR-
TIALLY BURIED IN THE PATH... ..
HOW CLOSE TOGETHER THEY
BURY THEM . ,... ALMOST FILLED
THIS OLD BURIAL GROUND .. . .
SQUEEZE IN A FEW MORE, ALWAYS
ROOM FOR ONE MORE BURY 'EM
ALL, START A NEW LAYER THROW
SOME IN ON TOP OF THE OLD ...
DAMIT DON'T WALK ON THEM!
GOD DAMTV DON'T WALK ON THEM
. . . . DAMIT DAMT DAMIT NO
and went flying off toward the club-
house. I stood there not looking at
anything in particular, and kicked at a
little heap of snow piled up beside a
tuft of grass.
That was what did it. Afterwards I
told Clyde. I said: "Clyde, I don't want
to handle any more dogs for you."
"What!" he said. "Why the hell not?"
And then he looked at me. It was the
first time he ever really saw me, I think.
He said: "Now wait a minute. You're
mad because I made that dog go to-
day. You blame me for letting her kill
herself. Well, maybe it was my fault,
I guess it was." His voice didn't fit in
right with the way he looked. "But that
is no reason for you to quit." Then he
said he'd pay me more; but I wouldn't
listen to him. I just said no! If he
didn't know how to treat dogs then I
didn't want any part of anything. I
turned my back on him and walked
away. I think he nearly swore at me,
but then caught himself.
All last year I never saw him once.
Somebody told me he had another good
dog, which didn't matter a damn to
me. I had a couple pretty fair pups
myself . . . for the next year.
Then the local field trials came up.
I drove over to the country club to
watch. I guess I can't stay away any-
more, now that I've been going for so

long. Well even before I got the car

MORE RESPECT FOR A DEAD MAN
THAN A LIVE ONE . . ,.. THESE
CLUMSY FEET STILL IN THE MIRE
GO ONWARD CRUSHING BLOSSOMS
WITHOUT END . . . . WHO SAID
THAT? .. . . WELL HE WAS RIGHT
RIGHT RIGHT . .. .
The procession stopped before the
open grave that was to house the coft
fin of the old woman. It rested in front
of a large double stone with the neat
"Fine, 1860-1927, beloved husband and
father." The other half of the stone
Was blank. It faced the backs of three
small headstones.
People crowded forward, trying to
get a last look at the coffin, a last look
at their mother, their aunt, their cousin,
their friend, a last look at Sarah Fine.
The man on crutches pressed for-
ward eagerly and looked over one of
the small headstones, not noticing that
he was standing on a grave. "Daddy,
look!" the little boy's voice was filled
with horror; "that man's standing on
a grave."
DON'T BE SHOCKED LITTLE BOY
GO BLIND LIKE THE PEOPLE
AROUND YOU, LIKE THE CRIPPLE
. . . . COME HERE TO PAY YOUR
RESPECTS TO THE DEAD BUT BE
CAREFUL THAT YOU DON'T RE-
SPECT ANY BUT YOUR OWN DEAD
. THROW FLOWERS ON THE
GRAVE OF YOUR OWN DEAD LITTLE
BOY TRAMPLE ALL THE OTHERS
. . .. BE BLIND LITTLE BOY ....
BE INDIFFERENT . . . .
The man on crutches moved off the
grave, looked a little embarrassed and
tried to push deeper into the crowd. The
round imprints of his rubber crutch
tips and the outline of his feet remained
in the snow covering the grave.
LIKE LEWD PICTURES ON A PUB-
LIC BATHROOM WALL . . . .
The Rabbi began the Kaddish again.
Fine moved into an opening in the
crowd. His cousin Sophie stood nearby,
supported on her brother Moishe's arm.
She was crying loudly again, her voice
harmonizing with the Rabbi and the
Mourner's chant.
DIGNITY AND SOLEMNITY OF
GRIEF .... BEAUTY OF THE KAD-
DISH .... BEAUTY OF THE WHOLE
CEREMONY EXCEPT THE PEOPLE,
BLIND, CALLOUS, SELF CENTERED
PEOPLE KICKING AWAY THE DIG-
NITY, THE SOLEMNITY, THE BEAU-
parked, here comes Clyde. He was aw-
ful excited. Also he was half tight.
He tried to be nice as gold, and make .
things seem like the old days. At least
that's how it struck me. He told me he
didn't have anyone to show his dog,
and asked me if I'd do it as a favor. Well
there I was. I could have started apol-
ogizing, and backing out; only I didn't
know how. If he had seen things like
I do, he wouldn't ever have asked. There
wouldn't have been any need. But he
didn't understand, and I couldn't tell
him . . . at least not unless I was out-
and-out mean. So I figured heck, it
wouldn't hurt anything; and since he
wasn't hiring me, I might as well do
it . .. Maybe I'm just a sucker when it
comes to handling good dogs. I got out
of the car feeling pretty uncomfortable
. . . which Clyde didn't notice at all.
He told about the dog: how he was big
and rangey and fast-moving; only he
ran over top of birds sometimes. I guess
I got interested, like I always do, and
started thinking how to slow him down.
All I've got to say is that it's a good
thing Pan liked my voice. Usually when
a pointer starts working he doesn't
notice anything, or at least acts like he
doesn't. Well this dog noticed my voice
and liked it, in spite of the fact I was
strange. I simply talked him out of
messing up his points. He'd go tearing
around like a steam-engine, and then

TY, THE FEELING OF TAD TION
THAT JEWS HAVE BUILT UP OVER.
THE CENTURIES ... . JEWS BUIT
UP, NOT INDIFFERENT BLIND MEN
TALKING YIDDISH .... ARE THERE
ANY LEFT, ANY JEWS LT . . . .
I'D BE A JEW MYSELF IF THERE
WAS ONE LEFT, EVEN 0E, JUST
ONE, ONLY ONE . . .
The people said, "O .ins. Sophie's
voice rose until it bordered on hysteria.
Moishe put hio. arms ,round her, trying
to get her to control herself. The crowd
dispersed, some toward the entrance
gates, others deeper into the cemetery
toward the graves of old friends and
relatives. Fine saw Rosen in the latter
group so he stood watching the two
workmen cover the old woman's grey-
white coffin. One of them stopped, took
out a cigarette and carefully placed it
in an ivory colored holder, l it, then
scooped up a shovelfull of dirt and
pitched it on the coffin.
PERIOD FINISH END . AND
THAT'S ALL IT MEANS TO HAVE
BEEN....
Fine turned slowly, walking af ter Ros-
en. Ahead of him Minnie Cohen stopped
before a large stone. The snow, falling
heavier, clung to her beaver fur coat.
She leaned over and flicked aside a
small circular bronze cover and looked
at a woman's photograph fitted into the
stone. She straightened up, brushed
the bronze cover and it fell part way
over the picture. Flakes of falling snow
melted as they hit the portrit.
The tall young man with the paper
yamalke followed the well dressed Min-
nie. He stopped in front of the uncov-
ered portrait and looked at it.
WILL YOU FIX IT? FIX IT PLEASE
FIX IT . . . . FUNNY BUT IT'S IM-
PORTANT . . . . FIX IT . . . MORE
IMPORTANT THAN ANY OTHER
PART OF THIS SIDESHOW .. . FX
IT FIX IT PLEASE FIX IT .. .
The tall young man wiped the melt-
ing snow off the glass surface and care-
fully moved the bronze cover over the
picture.
HELLO . . . . WHERE HAVE YOU
BEEN... .SO THEREIS ONE LEFT
AT LEAST ONE JEW LEFT . . .
Fine stopped before a shabby little
grave, marked only by a cheap little
headstone. He bent over, picked a rock
off the ill-kept grave, an iscarefully
rolled it into the path.
stop cold. Not like most dogs who sort
of ease forward into their point; he'd
sail in, and bang; he'd have them.
The trouble was he wouldn't stop quick-
ly enough; and the birds would go ham-
mering away in every direction. Well my
talking to him slowed him down just
enough to make him pull up right. Even
then he'd be so close in that I was
scared to holler "point" for fear of
jumping the birds. But it worked out
all right. By Sunday afternoon Pan was
going fine. There wasn't much compe-
tition, and we won.
I don't know - and never will -
what was the matter with Clyde that
day. He and a bunch of others were
there with the judges when time was
up. It was in a little second-growth
woods about a half-mile from the club-
house that we finished. Clyde was real-
ly drunk; and so were the others, for
that matter. He came stumbling down
off his horse, slapped the dog a couple
of times, pumped my arm and every-
body else's, and mounted again. He
passed the bottle around, shouting like
a fool all the time. When we started
back, he kicked-up his horse and took
off. He was wobbling in the saddle,
and waving his cap, and yelling like
nothing you ever heard or saw before.
Nobody else was crazy enough to follow
like that. Naturally his horse got scared
. Concluded on Page 12

Back to Top

© 2021 Regents of the University of Michigan