Mount St Marys College - Pridwin Yearbook (Emmitsburg, MD)

Page 104 text:

éendi ff.” Mr. and Mrs. J. Walsh pose with their twins at their home The Erwin Straws relax with their daughter, Ella Jean. in St. Marysville. St. Marysville A gravel path leads down into For years now, five to be exact, The shacks of Marysville. The vets have come and gone. They stand there in the shadow of Their wives and children too, in fact, The College on the hill. With mem’ries ling’ring on. All in a row with shingles red, Of good times over coffee, and Quite plain, but very near. Much laughter, many friends, And inside “Riley’s life’? was led, Babies, gossip, well-laid plans, A cozy home complete. A perfect Mountain blend. Mrs. JAMES PETER WALSH Mr. and Mrs. Francis Posey. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Pease and Gregory. 100

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JOHN A. YODZIS B.S. in Biology, 234 S. Hickory St., Mt. Carmel, Pa. Jack was one of | Pennsylvania’s most pronounced propagandists on campus. He cornered a the newspaper business on campus for two years, but for himself preferred } the Mount Carmel Item. He was a charter member of the Coal Cracker Club. Of his many talents he contributed especially to campus musical activities. From clarinetting with the Dixieland Four and the Dance Band, to solos with the Glee Club, to singing basso profundo in the Mount Quartet, he was right at home on stage. Frequently seen at Valley ac- tivities, he was a card-carrying member of the White House set. Few may remember how to spell his name, but far fewer will forget Jack and his grin. | | IN MEMORIAM PHILIP J. STUMPF EX-’52 “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that who- soever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”’ ST. JOHN 3:16 99

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i. “ SumnA Cum LAUDE” (1952) Day in the life of a Senior Seven A.M. and there’s the alarm—a hand goes up and silence once more reigns. But now other rings and buzzes— almost simultaneously synchronized—make further slum- ber uncomfortable if not impossible. Five minutes later Mr. Senior of 52 is beginning another day. The open window, now a channel for breakfast aroma, goes down, and a tired body weaves down the hall, armed with towel and toothbrush. Moments later we’re making our way towards the Chapel, or maybe a test is in the offing and the confines of our rooms permit a last minute look at the highlights. Somebody says “‘Let’s eat, I’m buying,” an d we’re off again. Now for a smoke. “Mine are upstairs, catch you later.” Out of the dining hall, a sharp turn to the left, and after a mouthful of cherished “Mountain water,’ some verbal jockeying from the surrounding bench, and we’re on our way to class. First for a look at the bulletin board— “what’s new and different?”” In no time at all a group forms outside the classroom and speculations. are made about a ‘pop.’ Fifty-five minutes later compliments and criticisms about the lecture are intermingled. Ten a.m. and the mail’s in—news of home from Mom or a “Dear John” from the one and only—all read over a cup in the canteen. Perhaps a package arrives, our best chance at popularity. Now there is a mass exodus to theodicy where mesmerism prevails, and where open-mouthed ex- pressions attest to a philosopher’s genius. Or maybe we have ethics today, where empty seats are at a minimum. 101 Lunch time brings us all together again to talk and listen. We find a minute to get the laundry—or scan the sports page—or write a quick note home for a “small loan.” Our whereabouts from one to four are anybody’s guess— listening to lectures on anything from Plato to Plutarch, from Holmes to Hobbes—and for the music lovers—from Brahms to Beethoven and Bach. Afternoons in the early part of the week find the Biology Lab occupied by thirty aspiring “‘doctors’’—cutting the cat or manicuring mice. But at 4 o'clock the air is filled with the roar of engines. The trip to town is rewarded by an hour of female com- panionship or participation in Greta’s “culinary magic.” All the goodbyes and “‘see you tonights” are said, and it’s time for supper followed by after-dinner speeches on the terrace, where last night’s biggest laugh is re-created and plans for the evening are made. Studies are kept in order—often interrupted by relaxing bull sessions or one quick game of pinochle. The canteen is revisited. The basketball game—or later intramural softball—provides needed diversion. Meetings in the Ad Building—dances and movies—our favorite TV program— or just a few schooners—take up the evening. But no evening is complete without a migration to one of seven or eight rooms—where vets and youngsters alike swap stories on just about anything, dominated now more than ever by talk of nearing graduation and post-grad- uation plans. Soon it’s time to hit the hay and after a few words with “Joe,” our beloved night watchman, the lights in McCaffrey Hall dim—one by one—until the only sounds remaining are the vigilant crickets who are un- stilled. SS RAE TARa TT (195 2)