Catholic High School For Girls - Silver Sands Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

 - Class of 1951

Page 18 of 72

 

Catholic High School For Girls - Silver Sands Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA) online yearbook collection, 1951 Edition, Page 18 of 72
Page 18 of 72



Catholic High School For Girls - Silver Sands Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA) online yearbook collection, 1951 Edition, Page 17
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Catholic High School For Girls - Silver Sands Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA) online yearbook collection, 1951 Edition, Page 19
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Page 18 text:

THE 1951 Sxnvan SANDS SHAIIRACK OES MY NOSE detect the delicate aroma of smoldering embers? Shall I fill my water pistol or call the fire department? N ol It's only Shadrack on one of his escapades again. What a toasterl I guess I should be more tolerant though, after all, Shadrack really dates back. Some stories have it that he was brought back from the Cru- sades by Richard the Lion-hearted- and that's quite a bit of lyin'. I can see him standing there. Plug in socket, he looks like a miniature Frankenstein laboratory. Nothing like his modest successors, he displays most of his instruments of torture visibly. His pet coil is one that burns a bu1l's eye right through the middle of the bread, after which he employs a decisive thig-a-ma-jig which liter- a.lly tars and feathers the upper crust. When he has finished damaging be- JI By Suzanne Mayor, '52 yond repair, he just sizzles back, lets off some steam, and gloats while everybody begins choking. From the time I was able to shove a piece of bread into his fiery, yviry claws, my encounters with Shadrack have been my daily early morning challenge. Nothing is more disgusting than to watch him annihilate Bond's best into a black "board" not even good for charcoal. Such a toasterl Yes, my friends, sigh your sigh of satisfaction when you see your toast popped onto a plate: sink your teeth into golden bronze. But you are de- nied opportunity for the conquest of mind over matter. You will never be able to lavish pent-up emotions on your breakfast table mechanism. Give me my Shadrack any day--something with enough tire to irritate me and enough natural stupidity to make me feel like master. That's a toasterl I like wind on winter nights, and The sound of rain on a summer even- ing. I like songs of birds flying high- 1 like living. MARY CONDON, '51

Page 17 text:

knew it couldn't possibly be a Rem- brandt! But will wonders never cease! Dad actually beamed at Johnny, then turned to us and said, "You two run along now and have a good time." When we got outside, Johnny smiled his sweet, toothless grin and THE 1951 SILVER SANDS said, "What a character l" Then I smiled back and replied, "Yes, what a character l" But what johnny didn't know was that Dad liked him a lot, a whole lot. How could he help liking someone who mistook one of his very own paintings for a Rembrandt! 'A' i' 'k OTHER AT ONE time resided in Atlantic City which is suitably called "The Playground of the World." Some of us go there to take advantage of the health-giving air, but most visitors usually promenade the boardwalk Molina Wu fl Gai as part of a most enjoyable routine. One afternoon as Mother was doing just that, she noticed, as she approached New Jersey Avenue, that o crowd had gathered. As she went nearer, she could discern a handsomely dressed couple, each with a large Boxer dog on a leash. A photographer was trying to take a snapshot of them, probably for the rotogravure section of some magasine. He had difficulty in getting a picture because of the pulling and straining of the dogs on their leashes. The owner of the dogs, turning to a gentleman in the front of the crowd, asked, "S ir, would you mind meowing like a cat!" The gentleman gave a distainful look and walked away. In another attempt he turned to Mother asking, "Miss, would you be obliging enough to meow like a catf' Mother was curious and obliging. Instantly the two Boxers became very alert and still, looking over in the direction from which the sound was coming. Thus the photographer secured a perfect picture. After the crowd had dispersed, Mother discovered that the owner of the beautiful dogs was none other than Francis X. Bushman, former matinee idol of the silent screen. Lonnnlun BELIN, '51 13



Page 19 text:

if t I Storm A Y ENTHUSIASM dwindled slowly as I pushed open the ultra-fashionable door of the ultra- fashionable Fifth Avenue Shoppe. I paused, hovering close to the door, and then, my jaw set in a line of de- termination, I marched staunchly into the store's interior. Before I had completed even a lap of my courage- ous journey, I halted in my tracks, tripped over the edge of a deep luxuri- ous rug and only by dint of acrobatic feat managed to land on my feet. Conscious of the icy stare of the clerk, I resolved to act maturely about this project. No one need know this was the first time I had gone shopping without Mother's assistance. And surely it wasn't necessary to explain I had never been in a Fifth Avenue shoppe. Most of my past shopping sprees had taken place in the adoles- cent Teen Shop or an unglamorous bargain basement. But I saw no rea- son to advertise this plebeian state of affairs by childish conduct. So, looking as demure as I dared, I tried desperately to close the gap in my mouth as I passed through the Fur Salon. Finally, a sigh of relief escaping me, I breezed up to the counter for which I had been searching--Maderm C THE 1951 Sn.vEn SANDS C TA DEL By Rita Rieciuil, '52 oisel1e's Perfume Bar. Clearing my throat, I boldly asked the clerk if she would help me. Much to my chagrin, her eyebrows rose to the nth degree as she appraised me with an air of amused disbelief. What did the "little lady" want? Something sweet per- haps? "No, indeed!" I retorted icily. "Something terribly, terribly devast- ating." The eyebrows ascended in in- credulity for the second time. Then I was put through successive wafts of "Midsummer's Love" and "Moon Ecstasy" in their most pung- ent forms. Gasping, I decided on one brand, "Garden of Enchantment," which could be endured without suc- cumbing if I took three quick breaths and then held my breath to the count of ten. But I was nevertheless thrilled at my audacity and ventured to ask the price of this delightful fragrance. It was now time for my brows to rise. I knew this was a shop which carried the best in vogue, but . . . The saleswoman smiled a patroniz- ingly sympathetic smile as I turned away. I was mortitied as I trudged over that dreadful rug and pulled back the more dreadful door of the most dreadful ultra-fashionable Fifth Avenue Shoppe.

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