BLACK JAZZ LaVon B. Carroll Out of sweating shadows I hear a jungle wake And stomp my dreams With thick, black, calloused feet. I see the firelight glisten Along a tortured thigh Feel the writhing muscle; sigh Something here is strong, stronger than anything in me. Out of the bleeding shadows Black bony fingers pluck at me Thread by thread they pull The oldest fibers of misery Shrieking out of the heavy fabric; I cry Something here is old and wise, older and wiser than I shall ever be. Out of the frightening shadows Black throats and thick red mouths Draw rusty saw blades Pieces of broken glass Across my fractured nerves; I reply Something here is young and cruel and more honest than I dare to be. Out of the glowing shadows Tear glistened eyes Laugh at me Plunge me in muddy waters Filth strewn streets, The thick dark gleaming syrup Flows across the mangled heart And something strong and whole arises Beauty born out of ugliness Like a dust laden shaft of sunlight Through a broken roof A rainbow floating on a greasy puddle. Something here is more beautiful than I shall ever be. 20 MOUNTAIN RESCUE Dean Wade "Hey Dix! Wake up!" The door of the bedroom jumped on its hinges, and caromed off the wall, as Ferd dashed into the room, jumped across one twin bed, and landed squarely on the other, causing its occupant to bounce six inches in the air. "Wake up, damn ya. A plane's crashed." Ferd jumped off the bed and yanked the cord, seemingly holding down the glowing paper blind at Dix's head, causing the paper to rattle like a machine gun. Light streamed in the room, and Dix's head went under the pillow. Ferd gave a strong yank, and the boy was in a heap of wrinkled blankets on the floor. "Can't you ever let me sleep?" came the words. "What do ya mean a plane's crashed? Where?" "Just what I said; a plane from Locke Field crashed about three hours ago on Hochstenberg Peak. Everybody in Cranston knows but you." Already Dix was looking out the window at the hazardous peak lifting its pinnacled towers 6,000 feet in the air. About three-hundred feet from the top, he could see an irregular black spot marking the point of impact for the plane, because of the high octane gasoline from the ruptured wing tanks. "What did it do, hit, then fall into the canyon? Won't be much left of the pilot or his plane after falling a thousand feet. Probably both look like scrap." "They think maybe the pilot got out somehow. Al Shurz said he thought he saw a parachute just before the crash. The Air Force has started a search. Said they didn't have enough help though, and called on Sheriff Harvey, Chief Cap-ton, and the Jeep Patrol. Dad's goin' in about an hour." Ferd's father, Jim Anderson, had been a member of the Cook County Jeep Patrol since it's beginning almost two years ago. He usually took the boys with him when the patrol was called out. They had already been out three times since the first of the year. In January, a skier had been trapped in an avalanche for eighteen hours before being found alive. Twice in March, they were called out to rescue some small children on a cliff. Mr. Anderson had done most of this by himself. He had shared his interest with his whole family. 21