St Josephs College - Footprints Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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Class History, ' 26 . Ind history with her volumes vast Hath but one page. BEFORE I lunch my peij to thai page of gold, I am going to glance over four treasured volumes, my reminiscent Scrapbooks. Dreaming over them before the fire, I cannot help thinking how like the seasons our College years have been, each a distinct act, imaged in nature ' s moving picture. The seasons come and Each with its gifts in hand. Thai u e may see and know How well all life is planned. Spring is the time of green and growing things, fresh and verdant, figuratively a fitting season for Freshmen to enter college and receive the first seeds oi knowledge. A little gold banner pinned to the first page brings back old memories of that ne ' er to be-forgotten first day. especially the cordial welcome from our Sister class. Next, there arc two remem- brances, one from the U. A., the other a program of our Bishop ' s reception, which reminds us of the holiday that followed. (We used t wonder, in those days, whether the Bishop would visit us often!) slice of garlic, pressed, hut long since scentless, revives visions of hazing, when we were adorned with those unique petits chapeaux. A Valentine program of Miir party to our Sister C ' lass. a lolly-pop from Class Day, and a black and gold basket from the Freshman Frolic to the Seniors make me relive thosi joyous moments once again. 1 remember, too, how proud we were t win ill. Silver Cup at the Athletic meet. And to think that we, the Freshmen. were the Champion Basketball team! In those happy days, how we felt the throb of new life! But we did not realize then. an more than do the freshmen of today, how verj green and insignificant Freshmen reallj are. As we curiously observed the upper classes, we knew that there were many things in store for us: 5 ve i Spring full o days and ruses. A box where sweets compacted lie Spring ' s gentle winds and rains soon opened Summer ' s (lowers. We found the skies more azure and the sun more bright, so our Class Colors of blue and gold were proving a true reality. Little by little, hlossoms were unfolding and stretching forth to feel the world. What fun it was for us who had been hazed hut a short time before to exercise our newly gained supremacy over tin poor subjected Frosh ! Now my glance is caught by a program of another reception to our Bishop; a party to the Juniors; a yellow tie. symbol of class Day; programs of Mary Jane McKane and Plain Jane theatre parties to the Juniors and Seniors. All these memories till my pages. Again we won the Championship of the Meet and the Cup is our trophy forever! Then once more, as Summer yields to Autumn, so must our Sophomore year give a to Junior, having added manj sweet remembrances to memory ' s precious fund. Our gala days are half spent. We know we must go on. hut some invisible power seems to check us during a brief moment: ' Twos twilight when I hade van go, hit still yea held me fast ; ll was the time of rases — And we plucked then as we pass ' d! 4 27 |

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and pillars. All was still. The flickering candle glowed before the eternally breathing Presence in the humble abode of the tabernacle. At the foot of the little altar trickled a crimson stream from a heart not yet cold. Only the sword of steel, less true than the life it took, touched it. There it remained, his life blood oozing from the body which a few months before had stood face to face with England ' s King, defending God ' s word and protecting His faithful children. Here was Henry ' s deed, here his love, his friend. Here under those same holy Eyes by which Henry had sworn, lay his victim. Duty to his King in all that was not sin. protection to the flock entrusted to his care, loyalty to Christ the King — all were accomplished. Thomas a Becket. the priest, the patriot, the martyr, the saint, lay at the foot of the Altar of ( k)d. FRANCIS McGUIRE, ' 29. i 26}{

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Autumn ' s glowing shadows were gathering to color new days. Time was creeping upon us. We would sunn reap the fruit from our harvest of hopes and dreams. To receive the new Freshmen revived thoughts of old happiness, when we were as the}-. Shortly after, it was such a joy to get our rings. The Junior week program presents an index to the greater part of this volume. Its contents include our own Mas-., and Hoi} ' Communion and Breakfast, Supper at Gioleto ' s; Rose .Marie. We Love You ; our recep- tion to the faculty and college: our theatre part} ' from the Sophs; Topsy and Eva (ever since the masterpiece of ' 26 in dramatic productions!; and the Senior Supper part} ' . Last of all came our memorable Junior Prom, with its numerous favors, including the pressed corsage, sweet tribute of our Sister Class. Next, I find a little yellow mascot decorated with a blue ribbon around his neck: and a program of Louis XIV — reminders of Class Day: a small silver pencil is the token from Junior Luncheon at the Bossert. There was no meet this year, out of respect for our beloved Coach ' s death, and we have dedicated to her memory the cup lor Ad. The old Sanctum meant a great deal to the Senior Class, but our new one has added even greater joy, though we realize our moments there are brief. In this, the fourth volume so far. we have our Hallowe ' en dance order, a favor from our part} ' to the Sophs, a Christmas entertainment program, reminders of a few lectures and teas; but fairest of all came a bouquet What . ' haii tin- rose more delicate appears. ' Yet hitter thought — it blossoms fa decay; Like hopes in embryo dreams of other years, i r purest joys that quickly pass away. Now in retrospect of these most cherished days of our life, we ask ourselves — what have these years meant to us? Years when Ave worked and played hand in hand? What does our parting mean to those we leave behind? For a while, it means a missing face; a memory — that is all. Time never ceases to turn the wheel, and we are but shadows of yesterday. What these years have meant to us. no words can adequately express, lint after all. it is the old. old story, To know, to love, and then to part. We have learned a new philosoph} of life, realized a greater love for God and our boh faith, and have come to cherish a high moral standard. Before we begin the quest for the realization of our ideals, we wish to express our gratitude to the good teachers who strove So hopctull} during these years to impart to us the best. Each teacher will mean a memory, for each has imprinted some indelible mark upon us wheh no power on earth can eradicate. All evening I have been absorbed in these dear old Scrapbooks, follow- ing our footprints through the green grass, in rose gardens, on autumn leaves, and over the snow. And I really meant to write the Class History ' , but now the hour is late, the logs are low. and the night is chill. As I gaze regre tfully a brief moment upon the dying embers. Sweet Remem- brances breathe comfort and hope; Let fate do her zvorst, there are relies of joy. Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; And which come in the nightime of sorrozv and care; And bring hack the features that Joy used to ivear ; Long, long, he my heart with such memories filled; Like the rase in which roses have once been distilled. You max break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. MAREITTA ROCKEFELLER, ' 26. 4 2S