Verhovayak Lapja, 1940. július-december (23. évfolyam, 27-52. szám)

1940-11-28 / 48. szám

Page 2 November 28, 1940 REVERIE IN THE RAIN By Carole King Branch 430 Homestead, Pa. Last night it rained, and in my reverie I was with her again, walking hand in hand underneath the willow trees. All too soon the rain ceased, taking with it my dream and leaving only a dull ache in my heart. For I know that I can never be with her again, or look into her lovely blue eyes and whisper over and over again how much I love her. It was a warm sultry eve­ning in April. A mist hung menacingly over the moon, suggesting the approach of inclement weather. Joyce and I, oblivious of the threat­ening rain, walked along the dimly moonlit highway. It seemed that we spoke of love frequently, spoke of it only as lovers do. She was speaking when it quietly and steadily began to drizzle. We moved to the shelter of the willows that gracefully lined the road. My hand found hers. Contentedly we walked on. Joyce continued: “Allan, we will be happy. I know we will. Life just can’t be different, not when two people love each other as we do. Why our thoughts are even alike. Allan, tell me again that you love me.” It was then that I realized we had stopped walking, that the rain poured violent­ly from angry clouds. I held her closely to my heart, whispering: “Darling I love you. I shall always love you. Without you life isn’t worth living. You’re my life, my soul, my all. Don’t ever doubt my love. Darling, you’re trembling. Why you’re wet to the skin. Hurry, there’s a cabin ahead. Hurry, darling, hurry!” We had almost reached the cabin when suddenly I felt Joyce shrink away. “Allan, we can’t go into that cabin. There’s some­thing strange and superna­tural about it. It’s as if death dwelt there. Darling, let’s stay here under the willows. I’m afraid of that house, dreadfully afraid.” If only I would have taken her advice, but instead, eager to get her out of the rain and into the warmth of the cabin, I replied: “Joyce dear, there’s noth­ing to be afraid of. Why it’s only an old hunting lodge.” Quietly I opened the door, walked in, lit the candle on the table, then led her in­side. Once seated, her queer obsession of the cabin van­ished instantly. She was her­self again, gayly laughing, happily roaming from one room to the other. At last she found her way back to me, childishly holding before her two cans of beans. She sat in my lap, placed her face next to mine, slipped a flashlight into my hand and softly said: “Allan, it isn’t raining so fiercely now. Please run out and ti-y to find some wood. A fire will make this room cozy. We’ll have a feast, a king’s feast on beans, dar­ling.” I left that house with a feeling that her premonition of death was true. A few minutes later my arms were laden with wood—wood that leaked of the dampness of death. I anxiously hurried toward the cabin when sud­denly the air vibrated with and éar-rending blast of thunder, instantaneously fol­lowed by a flash of lighten­ing which struck so close that I was momentarily stunned with paralysis. My eyes turned heavenward. Somewhere nearby a fire raged, the sky was a bril­liant red. It could only mean one thing, that lightening had struck. Good Lord, it couldn’t be, it mustn’t be. On wings of Mercury I raced forward. Her face was al­ways before me, smiling, beckoning. A red flame hungrily blotted out her im­age. I was at the cabin— at what once was the cabin. Now it was just a mass of hot burning wood, and with­in that torrid furnace was Joyce. I watched that cabin rapidly burn to the ground, vratched my love die—gazed stupidly at its remains, with the rain beating madly upon me—gazed from under the willows. Yes, they too were weeping with me. The rain ceased, and with it the fire. I walked among its ruins looking for some token of hers. All was demolished, burnt to charcoal—all ex­cept a king’s feast, two cans of beans. TO THE ATTENTION OF THE SECRETARIES Of late many letters reaching the Home Office have had insufficient pos­tage. This both delays for­warding of the mail to us and involves additional bookkeeping, thereby in­creasing the expenditures and delaying our replies to you. Please ascertain that all mail addressed to the Home Office is sufficient­ly posted. Verhovayak Lapja OUR PRAYER By ANDREW C. SIMCHO Branch 430 Homestead, Pa. Our father, who art in Washington, we have given I you our vote of confidence, . trustingly, as all children should trust parental guid­ance. Some of the family have hesitated over the issue of a “third term.” To the rest of us, there has been no doubt. With due respect Ic an ancient tradition, we j firmly believe that a modern fast living world should use n Odern science and diag­nosis for our ills. Some of your children have argued the mistakes that have been made, the money that has been spent. Erasers were invented for mistakes. In such a large family as ours we realize that the task of satisfying each member is more diffi­cult than in a smaller family. As for the money that has teen spent, we can not offer facts in argument. However, all rational people should tealize the debt that would have burdened us had our relief lines continued unre­lieved, had the thousands of young men been allowed to idle on street corners and had the banks been allowed to “bankrupt” as they pleased. As a father and husband, wc feel sure that you will not allow civilization’s can­cer, “WAR,” to come un­contested to our shore. Should it come we know you will not allow it to catch us unprepared. Dear father, our confi­dence in you is such that for the next four years you shall be our rampart, over which the enemy can not mount, tunnel under or walk around. Watch over my brothers and sisters, over all The United States, and know that your glory shall not be in shattering an ancient precedent but in a good job well done. Twelve years of eternal vigil are yours. No other man have we trusted to safeguard our home and family for such a length of time. To you, dear father, good night and pleasant dreams. Your son, of the United States of America.--------------O-------------­Made of hair felt that si­mulates grass, a device re­quiring only seven by three feet of floor space has been invented to enable golfers tc practice cup shots in­doors, being adjustable to nine different approaches. Ileal Verhovav Fraternal Spirit In the small group of Verhovay Contest winners of 1939, who traveled to Hungary under the capable leader­ship of Michael J. Varga and Bert Kun, a real lifelong spirit of fraternal friendship was developed. When the group returned to their homes it not only brought back pleasant memorie? of Hungary but also new friends and a fraternal love one for the other. This pronounced spirit of friendship is present today as it was a year ago; instead of the usual fading friend­ships a stronger friendship is seen. The Youngstown re­union this past summer is an excellent example. To illustrate further, there is the marriage of Julius N. Szalay of Detroit and Mary Fabian of Omaha, telling proof that this spirit of fraternalism prevails. Not only was the new couple swamped with letters and telegrams of congratulations and well wishes but the group, under the leadership of Alexander J. Goydan and Marie Gallo­­vich, made plans to have the true spirit of Verhovay fraternalism and friendship developed in Hungary, remain in their homes as well as in their hearts. Members of the group are Michael J. Varga, Supreme Treasurer; Bert Kun, Director; Dr. and Mrs. Joseph Kon­dor, of Trenton, New Jersey; Stephen Horvath, Plymouth, Michigan; Rose Petro, Woodbridge, New Jersey; Frank Mate, Grafton, Ohio; Mrs. Andrew Perhacs, Hollidays Cove, West Virginia; Mrs. Michael Fejes, Toledo, Ohio; Mrs. Julia Lukacs; Mrs. Frank Balint; Mrs. Frank Varga; Mrs. Jo­seph Nagy; Mrs. Joseph Pécsi, South Bend, Indiana; Mrs. James Gall, Cleveland, Ohio; Mrs. Furedy, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; Frank Balogh, Chicago, Illinois; Alexander J. Goydan, McKeesport, Pennsylvania; Marie Gallovich, Detroit, Michigan. These were Contest winners. Those that joined the group in Budapest are Yolanda Bencze, Pitts­burgh, Pennsylvania; Louis Pocza, Portersville, Pennsyl­vania; Ann Talaber, Chicago, Illinois; Andrew Fay-Fisher, Detroit, Michigan, who, although not a member of the group, remembered the pleasant days he spent with them and deemed their spirit of fraternalism deep enough to con­tribute towards furnishing a home by presenting the Szalays with a gift which will always be with them and reminiscent of true Verhovay fraternalism. The presentation of a beautiful living room rug was made by Marie Gallovich and Andrew Fay-Fisher in the name of the entire group. With tears in their eyes and sobs in their threats, the young couple accepted the beauti­ful gift which came as a complete surprise to a pair whose turning point of their lives came about on that memorable trip to Hungary. Thus true and lifelong friends were created among that small group of travelers in 1939. —A. J. G. WORDS FOR A SONG How come you always like to go everywhere with me? Ii makes me think that maybe you enjoy my company, But when I try to tell you all the things I want to say You ivon’t give me a chance, you change the subject right away. How come? Hoiv come when you’re with me you seem so happy and gay, Though when I try to hold you tight you push me away? Your air of gay abandon in a moment takes wing, You murmur you don’t really care much for that sort of thing. Hoiv come? All day and flight I dream of holding you in my arms, Of calling you my own and sharing all your lovely charms. I’m so seriems won’t you hear my plea? You’ve set my heart aflame. Oh, please don’t say you don’t love me. It’s all a cruel game. How come when we are dancing you sing to me all the while You look at me so sweetly with that heavenly smile. With your eyes aglow so bright I figure everything's all right, In my bliss I stop to kiss. You whisper, “Not tonight.” How come? —ARPAD CHONTOS Branch 430, Homestead, Pa

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