1923 Yearbook
Source URL
Title
1923 Yearbook
Description
The bleeding body of the matador struck the sand after having been tossed high into
the air.
A deathly silence, bewildered hush prevailed. The horde was jarred, rocked, shaken,
stricken dumb. Rodoff Walenkeeno, super-man, idol, was dead!
Anguished banderillas, tearful picadores, and weeping toreadors ran wailing and
crying to the prostrate, blood-drenched form. Tenderly they picked him up and carried him to his chambers.
But before the multitude could recover from its shocked lethargy another figure,
unheralded and unknown, had entered the stage.
From all appearances he was an American—cocked derby, snug gray suit, roll-neck,
red-sweater, a nose which decidedly favored the left side of his visage and one and a
half was (the whole one at a somewhat contorted attitude by reason of an enviable
cauliflower). (This is a description of the man and not the deciding influence in my
judgment of his nationality. Most Americans do not look like that—at least, not
exactly.) Yes, indeed, he was an American—from his confident swagger and polished
disregard for all that is just, holy and titled.
Conspicuously in position at the King's box, he stated his case, viz, the public challenge and formal defiance to Tres Diablas in the most perfect of lower East Side
poolance.
Ne, this Highness did not understand perfectly but sagely he sent for an English
interpreter; then a German. Next the French; followed by a Hollander, a Swede, a
Dane, a Jap, an American. (Education via Oxford. His sole earmark of intelligence
being a cynical stare, from the pedestaled heights above the muck and mire, through an
exaggerating proportional pair of shell rimmed spectacles.) An Italian and a Greek.
Finally, the combined mental capacities of these, aided in a great measure by the gesticulating of the puzzling gentleman, managed to deduce that he was hurling an unconditional defy at the sharp-horned dragon.
His majesty, still in the semi-coma caused by the goring of his favorite, half-con-
sciously consented to the match.
A long blast of the heralding bugles awoke the people to the realization of what was
about to transpire. Half-interestedly they looked on, pitying the doomed but courageous dare-devil. Ah, how sadly did he compare with the adored Rodoff. How the
little man was found wanting when the splendid garments, beauty, and the dashing
manner of the Sheik were weighed against his ill-fitting clothes, homeliness and clumsy
gait.
In the privacy of the open stage, before 200,000 prying eyes, the native of the States
made himself ready; briefly and without the assistance of servants. His preparations
consisted in the removing of hat and coat, and the displacement of a prodigious quid of
chewing leaf. Calling upon the knowledge gleaned of an historical event, distrustfully
he ignored the proffered services of a human hall-tree and deposited his apparel on the
rail of Allinso's compartment. Strange capers and odd antics, new to the wondering
Page 19 4
the air.
A deathly silence, bewildered hush prevailed. The horde was jarred, rocked, shaken,
stricken dumb. Rodoff Walenkeeno, super-man, idol, was dead!
Anguished banderillas, tearful picadores, and weeping toreadors ran wailing and
crying to the prostrate, blood-drenched form. Tenderly they picked him up and carried him to his chambers.
But before the multitude could recover from its shocked lethargy another figure,
unheralded and unknown, had entered the stage.
From all appearances he was an American—cocked derby, snug gray suit, roll-neck,
red-sweater, a nose which decidedly favored the left side of his visage and one and a
half was (the whole one at a somewhat contorted attitude by reason of an enviable
cauliflower). (This is a description of the man and not the deciding influence in my
judgment of his nationality. Most Americans do not look like that—at least, not
exactly.) Yes, indeed, he was an American—from his confident swagger and polished
disregard for all that is just, holy and titled.
Conspicuously in position at the King's box, he stated his case, viz, the public challenge and formal defiance to Tres Diablas in the most perfect of lower East Side
poolance.
Ne, this Highness did not understand perfectly but sagely he sent for an English
interpreter; then a German. Next the French; followed by a Hollander, a Swede, a
Dane, a Jap, an American. (Education via Oxford. His sole earmark of intelligence
being a cynical stare, from the pedestaled heights above the muck and mire, through an
exaggerating proportional pair of shell rimmed spectacles.) An Italian and a Greek.
Finally, the combined mental capacities of these, aided in a great measure by the gesticulating of the puzzling gentleman, managed to deduce that he was hurling an unconditional defy at the sharp-horned dragon.
His majesty, still in the semi-coma caused by the goring of his favorite, half-con-
sciously consented to the match.
A long blast of the heralding bugles awoke the people to the realization of what was
about to transpire. Half-interestedly they looked on, pitying the doomed but courageous dare-devil. Ah, how sadly did he compare with the adored Rodoff. How the
little man was found wanting when the splendid garments, beauty, and the dashing
manner of the Sheik were weighed against his ill-fitting clothes, homeliness and clumsy
gait.
In the privacy of the open stage, before 200,000 prying eyes, the native of the States
made himself ready; briefly and without the assistance of servants. His preparations
consisted in the removing of hat and coat, and the displacement of a prodigious quid of
chewing leaf. Calling upon the knowledge gleaned of an historical event, distrustfully
he ignored the proffered services of a human hall-tree and deposited his apparel on the
rail of Allinso's compartment. Strange capers and odd antics, new to the wondering
Page 19 4
Date
1923
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7805