Bishop McDonnell Memorial High School - Mitre Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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l PAGE 4 LAUREL JUNE, 1940 Bates-Noires Sight translations, originals, and oral topics are among the commonest affiictions besetting Memorialites. Nine out of ten Seniors have suffered from these in vary- ing severity. Yet despite the prevalence and gravity of the tro-ubles, sufferers rarely receive the pedagogical sympathy and un- derstanding essential to the banishment of these trials. Raving Latin students, har- assed Mathematicians, and mumbling oral- topicers seek desperately for relief, yet for the most part their search is misunderstood and unfruitful. For further analysis, let us regard the crucible of sch-olars-the classroom. With our first lament-sight transla- tions-we begin. Carefree and unsuspect- ing, we enter the Latin class, we pick up our texts and seat ourselves comfortably and prepare to assist tas silent partnerj Sister, who gallantly wades through the translation. Then the teacher, unaware of the tumult she arouses in her pupils, se- lects a translation foreign to all. She suggests - nay, more emphatic - insists that we translate. This is a singular ex- cursion even for one who makes no claim to Latin distinction. We gaze helplessly at Sister, she smiles reassuringly tlike the dentist who murmurs, UNow that didn't hurt, did it? j. Can you understand now why the student body outlaws this nefari- ous practice? The Latin teacher is of pri- mary and powerful signincance in the abol- ishment of sight translations, but she ac- quiesces to the contention of this con- founduingl'-or Ned -ritual. We murmur a Hmiserere mihi and bow to the inev- itable. Now we will proceed to berate originals. Remember wresting the solution of a math- ematical problem from an already over- taxed brain? The absolute unsolvableness of originals promotes social, physical, and mental decline of those of even superior stamina. We might not have adopted this attitude of downright animosity if we had taken Geometry but once. Twice made it worse, but thrice-there is a limit! We remember one test in particular. We had three steps to our proposition while some of our neighbors had twenty. Afterwards, when all compared notes to discover the secret of brevity and prolificacy, the part- ing of the ways saw everyone enchanted with one another. To us, from victorious hands, was thrown the torch-burning with the bright fire of free speech. But there comes a time when we wonder if this privilege is not over rated. There are times when we consider silence golden, especially oral-topic time. When it is our turn, we tipsy-toe up the stairs wishing we might faint or do some- thing equally disastr-ous. We get lost in the curtains, but ultimately arrive safely on the platform and begin. The planned phrases elude us and, trying to wrap our- selves in the vanishing skirts of the topic, we continue. Our prodigal thoughts never return. Why, oh why, must we approach fC0ntinued on page 23, column 12 i The Graveyard , . . b Doctor: 'CI don t like to mention it ut the check you gave me has come backf' Patient: ffThat sure is funny Doc. So has my lumbagof' Pk Pk Dk Willie stole some maple sap- Tasted so deliciously! Spilt a little in his lap, Told his Ma iictitiously Got it from another chap. Mother spanked him viciously For she saw that the mishap Happened sirupstitiously. ff ff as Brown: f'Back to town again? I thought you were a farmerf' Green: You made the same mistake I did. :sf Pk wk Friend: f'Are you taking good care of your cold? Sufferer: ffI'll say I am. I had it six weeks and it's still as good as new? ' Dk lk 34 She: 'fAre you a relative of Captain Brown of Milford?,' He: HI am Captain Brown. She: That probably accounts for the resemblance. Pls Pk Pk Victim: My insomnia is getting worse. I canlt even sleep when it's time to get upoi ak :sf :nf Usher: 'fOpera glasses, sir?l' Third Balcony: No thank y-ou-a peri- scopef' as is bi: Hokus: UI wish that waiter would stop staring at usf' Pokus: 'fYesg I don't like his policy of watchful waitingf' Pl: vi: Ik Diner tto man making off with his over- coatjz Would you mind if I took a cigar from my pocket before you go?7' A Capital Jaunt Hasty good-byes were said,-and so we were off to Washington! Before we could quite realize how time and we were fiying along, we found ourselves at Uni-on Station in the nation's capital, ready and eager to see the sights. Our first experience on a rubber-neck bus occurred in the evening of our arrival, when we visited the Congressional Library. On the way, while passing the illuminated Capitol, someone had the lovely idea of singing 'fGod Bless America, which hon- estly sent a thrill through each and every one of us. We almost regretted reaching the Library, the Happy Hunting Ground of the shades of all book-worms, even of those who tunneled their way through Shakespearels first editions 'way back in sixteen hundred and something. Litho- graphs, stamps, jewels of Mary Todd, the original Declaration of Independence were all glass encased and carefully guarded. Finally collected, we were returned to our ho-tel, where we eventually tumbled into bed with nothing to worry our weary heads except to wonder how the Dodgers were getting on. After First Friday Mass, we headed for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Friday afternoon, we went to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, one of the great- est peace incentives that our country pos- sesses. From Arlington we speed on to Mount Vernon, which, strange to say, lived up to our great expectations. Everything was so perfect that we felt as though we had just walked through a picture frame. On our return trip, we passed the cherry blossoms and the Washington Monument. At the Lincoln Memorial, we tumbled out of our buses once more. Looking sternly down upo-n us as we climbed the countless steps, sat the Great Emancipator in whose stone eyes there gleamed a mute melan- choly. When we looked at the left side of his face, he app-eared to smile, but from the right and directly before him, his ex- pression was uncompromising. We had to be forced to leave the Memorial, the sight of which alone justified the journey to Washington. Friday evening was unscheduled. Hence we could stage a quiet riot whenever and wherever we so desired. On Saturday, we visited the Shrine of the Immaculate Co-nception and the Fran- ciscan Monastery, both of which are be- yond description. At the Monastery are the Catacombs, an imitation of those roam- ing Roman underground passages, gloomy, dark, eerie. One of the most beautiful por- tions of the Monastery grounds is the ter- raced garden with its gorgeous flowers sur- rounding countless shrines hewn in the rocks. We could have spent a whole day at the Monastery itself. .After a long drive of twenty-some-odd 131195, we steamed into Annapolis. Begin- ning with a visit t-o the tomb of John Paul Jones, the fath-er of the Navy, we were guided through the buildings, to the gym- nasium and the natatorium. tIt was 21 fC0ntinued on page 22, column 11

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, 1940 r act, it'5 nosing fws, re- them, aber: sembly, Pledge . skim- Jack of casual Senior tory of meant 1... .ly was I go-od- rt only 1me to . hold- ig that vvn An- Pledge 5 that Dome ial Li- it . . . ood to and a Basin -Foxls e trafn f peas 'erbial 1 con- n and exams 5 Day nes in is . . . tears f'This fe. JUNE, 1940 LAUREL I PAGE 3 EILEEN RILEY She .has a marvelous capacity for old jokes, loves dogs and doesnlt mind telling you about them, and has been everybody's right arm on the Staff since we can re- member. Way back when Eileen was a wide-eyed cub in the Exchange Department, her calm ability and aptitude for writing came to the fore. Climbing out from among the mail bags, she delved into the book- shelves and for two terms acted as re- viewer in the post of Literary Editor. Ceaseless work and acknowledged worth rewarded her with the Associate Editor- ship, her crowning achievement. For one so- small, she accomplished much, being here, there, and everywhere in rapid succession. Her readiness to help was never patronizing and that is why we liked her so much. Altogether, her laughter at trouble and cares will bring her to mind whenever we think of the nicest things in Memorial. MARY HART We, the survivors, feel it our solemn duty to expound the virtues, faults and otherwise of the scholastically deceased. Therefore, suppressing all lumps in our throats, tears in our eyes, quivers of our lips and so forth, we shall attempt to do justice to one Mary Hart as she stands before our tribunal. The first item-that of virtues-finds us with an abundance of incriminating accusations against this 'fLaurelite. She was cheerful-always so cheerful-and her every look and action was embodied in the starchiness of vigor. Her manner was breezy and definite as she swept in and out of the LAUREL Room on the offi- cial Business of Circulation Manager. And this business was accomplished in the most orderly manner. Mary was all Hart. Often did she step out of her capacity as Manager to aid a disheveled Staff, and so we can't help beaming with pride and satisfaction at her now. Of her faults we have no material. Of otherwise -we wish to say that Mary was tall, dark, sylphishly slim, de- lightfully blue-eyed and an ardent Dodger fan. SO FAST! fContinued from page 1, column 12 Mater more than ever . . . envious ffor the first timej of the Freshman . . . wish- ing the four years ahead were ours . . . excited about the rings . . . dreading the first sight of our pictures . . . whirling through weeks of exams, measurements and rehearsals . . . relinquishing the locks after three years of memorizing . . . Class Day . . . prophecies and remembrances . . . a sad farewell to faculty and 'students . . . a tear, a regretful good-bye . . . itls all over-the years go by so fast! MARY O'TooLE, '40, ROSEMARY CHRISTMANN She is so- different-so utterly different -from her strange green eyes to her il- legible scrawl. She loves to read and, as she herself says of books, she 'fteethed on themf' Rosemary has even dabbled in free verse-nay more than dabbled. We have enjoyed immensely the tidbits of poetry which she has reeled off in the odd- est places-English class, lunch, soda fountain. We call it genius and the green eyes laugh. But it isnlt only poetry she writes. The three terms she has spent o-n the LAUREL Staff as Exchange, Activities, and Feature Editor have witnessed extraordinary abil- ity. The column f'Patchworkll is her spe- cialty and a part of her. Those little knick-knacks displayed lively observation, pleasing individuality, and superior per- spective. No wonder we call her the Duchess, But for all her regal dignity, we have never found Rosemary more striking than when sitting on a park bench ,mid a cluster of pigeons gently coaxing them to accept her peanuts. Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven. -WORDSWORTH. Life stood at its witching hour, pierc- ing sun cut splinters in dewy shadows, pouting buds parted lips to greet the day, moist leaves glistened and trembled as the wind skipped in and out. It was the fourth spring I had stood thus-there in the Gardens-and felt that tremor of unspeakable joy. I, an onlooker of the panorama of Naturels awakening, seemed an intruder and I scarcely dared to breathe lest I should frighten the flowers, the dew, and the breeze and they should flee in haste with all their beauty never to appear to mortal eyes again. But a pigeon hobbled saucily across my path cocking an inquisitive eye at so early a visitor and I felt at liberty to follow its peculiar gait down the soft, earthy road. The sun was gaining footho-ld rapidly as I reached the cherry blossoms. They fluttered there so delicately pink and, as I drew near to the archway, my heart was filled not with an overwhelming, awe with which I first viewed them but rather with the sensation of the renewal of delicious joy-for this was my fourth spring. I moved slowly for fear they would pass too rapidly. They were over my head now, and on either side. Little splotches of sun reached down and spotted me and the ground. The air was sprayed with fragrance, the world was quiet. Green grass shot upward, clean blue shone above, the breeze was cool in my hair. The beauty swelled my breast and I shut my eyes from it to bury my face in the blossoms hanging low. They were soft, smooth, fragrant. God, can there bc a war in Europe? Presenting- THE EDITOR That's not a sunbeam riding the crest of a wave. That's our red-headed Editor carried into the LAUREL Room by a ripple of her own laughter. Immediately voices clamor, Madame Editor, is this front page news?l', Madame Editor, how many words are in this article?H, f'Frannie, this whole thing has to be rewritten. It's terriblef' Madame Editor invariably ploughs through the collection of harassed Staff members, plunks her books on the desk, and grins a satisfied grin at her audience. Then things begin to happen. Frances is a happy-go-lucky sort of person. She joined the Glee Club, but when told she had to sing alone, she ran away and never went back. Her sojourn in the Tennis Club was equally as brief. As a member of the French Club, her lo- quacity amazed the muter members. She was also a leader in the Clean Literature Campaign. But the LAUREL-ah, it's there that she shines. In the sixth term she became a Staff member, creating a new Editorship fActivityJ, making a huge success of it. Small wonder that she was chosen to be Assistant Editor. Then at the beginning of her eighth term, she reached for the last rung and found it, becoming the Editor-in-Chief. As an Editor, Frances has proven her worth. Her ability to write is marveled at by all and sundry. And she has a unique way of meeting trouble. She just pretends it isn't there and the next time she looks, it usually isn't. Working with Fran, we've found out a lot about her. We know she likes to sit at a desk piled high with papers. C'Well, it makes me lo-ok busylllj She loves Viennese waltzes, books, and sliding down bannisters. It's been grand knowing her, Now that it is time to part, we can only hope that her life will be as serene and clear as the blue eyes that look at it.

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1940 so we I: could flying Station ger to -necku nrrival, ibrary, iinated dea of Ih hon- every aching 'round en of hrough ack in Litho- lid, the e were iarded. to our d into ' heads s were led for Tomb great- 'Y POS' ron to 1, lived bything igh we frame. cherry ument. led out sternly luntless Whose melan- eft side lt from his ex- had to re sight ney to Hence 'er and fine of Fran- re be- ry are roam- oomy, ll por- le ter- 's sur- rr the e day e-odd Regin- Paul were SYm' was a JUNE, 1940 LAUREL PAGE 5 Redheads On Parade Though blondes may glory in their bril- liant halo, and brunettes be content with dark flowing tresses, it seems that the red- heads have their fingers in a comparatively large number of pies. And if they get in trouble, they can always blame it on their hair. Of course, they are vulnerable. An ex- pressive ffHi Red starts the mercury rising, and a volcanic erruption often re- sults. Thatls why they're dangerous and it is from behind locked doors that we fling a tentative f'Hi Redl' at: Mary Bisdale of the Hockey Varsity. Bis has the twinklingest eyes, busiest manner and the nicest flick of her skirt as she rounds the corner at sixty per. Where you were, Bis was, where you are, Bis is, where you will be-guess who! She's the reason why the little man who isn't there doesn't have to be. None the less prominent, and not en- tirely because of hair, is Margaret Crown. This President of the Glee Club, pianist and organist is awarded as a parting gift, a wreath of high do's never to be worn atop her flaming glory. Another in Memorial's blazing crop is Lorraine Slingland, veteran of the foreign wars, engaged in as the Inquiring LAUREL Reporter. While on the subject of our school paper, now is the time for intro- ducing Madame Editor, Frances McDon- ald. tAside from the LAUREL Room: Take a bow, Simon J. Two members of Memorial's R. Q. are also prominent in blazing a path in the I. Q. field-Virginia Fox and Gertrude Callaghan of the Bureau of Investigation in Education. Atlas Gaynor and Marie Gruninger, carrot-tops of the Commercial Department, are ready and willing to up and at the business world. The M. U. A. took on added color this term with the advent of Eugenia Schroeder as President. Kath- leen Smyth, whose fingers glide gracefully over piano and test tube, is among the pick of the crop. For four years an able Thespian, Ver- onica Laughlin has made her presence felt through the electrifying effect of her tresses and her performances. Among the gayest smiles in our halls is that of Ger- aldine Croft, also of flaming youth. And paradoxically, serenity is possessed by Eileen La Prenta and Marie Mark- samer. Red-headed senioritas may not be found in Spain, but Mary Gallaghan has been captivated by the thoughts of roses in pearly teeth, lace mantillas and tore- adors. Last in this parade of redheads, but, proverbially and otherwise, not least, is Grace Cox. And as the last strains of these notes die away, we leave you. P. S.-All you above-mentioned red- heads may form a single line outside room 201 to take turns in annihilating the orig- inator of this brilliant idea, Doreen Hardy. After all the suits for libel have been thrust upon Doreen we can guarantee that she'll be in the red for a while. ECHDING YEARS Many a footfall is heavyg many a foot- fall is light as legions travel the well-worn path that is Eastern Parkway. Through the brisk fall, the chilly win- ter, the balmy spring, and the broiling summer, crowds of Memorialites stream along the Parkway. Freshmen tear along at break-neck speed, a dreaded late slip haunting their minds and adding to the weight of those necessary school-bags. Lagging a bit, the Sophomores follow, minus the school-bags, until thoughts of undone Geometry prod them into a mild sprint. Then a junior dawdles by. Is that o-minous green tome a third-year Latin book? Ah, yes! Cicero has the floor. Time marches on. But wait! Here comes a Senior. Without books? Oh, I beg your pardon. That is another one of tho-se grass-hued volumes, isn't it? The same one? No, it's somewhat thicker, Fourth year Latin. Virgil has his say. And at the end of the trail stands a monument of Catholicity, our Alma Mater, towards which is directed the steady tramp, tramp, tramp. And even now, as we leave that marching column, we hear ech-oes in the distant years as the Ntramp, tramp, tramp, goes on. EILEEN M. SUTHERLAND, !4O. UDS AND DUWNS Exits Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, Memorial High School, June, 1940. To HTHOSE WE LovE'l: Why, oh why, are there s-0 many radi- cals in this world? Do signs marked UP and DOVVN mean nothing more than just: Do as you please? Itls so confusing to me. I never know quite which way I'm headed myself. Often have I pondered upon the uselessness of laws and labels. Memorialites spend their school days rushing frantically to basketball practice and lunch or sauntering sedately to a Math or Latin class. Damage to my im- maculate shirt fro-nt always impends and often results. tMy laundresses are ex- cellent, my dears. You really must try them.j In support of weary bodies, my arms are always extended. Must you con- stantly scratch my limbs with those rough school-bags? Will you forever chip my new coat of nail p-olish with those awk- ward rulers? When I'm freshly laundered, who pelts me with papers and spots me with ink? With a sigh, my bosom heaves in agony and a student suddenly finds herself gro-veling at my feet, instead of standing on her own. Revenge is sweet! Although my trials and tribulations out- number my comforts and consolations, somehow I feel that I'm worth the soap it takes to polish me. There must be someone somewhere, who, some day, will in some way remember me. Your obedient servant, THE STAIRS. EILEEN M. SUTHERLAND. Being Photographed and How Not to Do It We, as Seniors, feel it our duty to inform you about an experience which you, too, will be f-orced to undergo when you reach this exaltedt ?j stage. You may think that our existence is just a bowl of cherries, but sometimes itls more like cherry smash! Had we only known the ropes in the art of being photographed! But at least we are considerate enough to think of you even though we are floating away in the tears shed over our own pictures. So here goes. First of all, don't spend the night before the Big Day in front of the mirror trying to affect various poses and expressions. That sophisticated arched eyebrow looks like a question mark when photographed and that Hsavoir faire smile like a stage- fright grin. If you've walked around for four years with your hair long style, then leave it that way. Becoming glamorous overnight with an up-do never works and, anyway, it generally rains. Speaking of rain, we also advise yo-u to bring implements for curl persuasion. You may look like a tin soldier and people may stare, but donlt mind. You are going to have your picture taken. tEven the Faculty is indulgent if you explain. Anyway, you're a Senior.D Th-ose drapes you see about our necks were for the purpose of uniformity and grace. However, we think they ought to be wrapped tighter around some necks- especially those who wear turtle-neck sweaters on that day. Use a little com- mon sense. As to the actual photography- 'fPut on your face sparingly. This is no time to look like an Indian. As you sit down, hold your knees. That gener- ally helps to- prevent them from knocking. Then look at the photographer. He'll grin at you, go through a series of antics with bulbs and lenses, and tell you to look here and there. Do just as he says, even though you think you look better with your nose tilted that way. He's the photographer and he knows. The click mean youlre done and as you wobble out, don't trip over the wire! Turning the Tables If we had had mustaches, We would have twirled them with greater elegance and we would have grinned more mali- ciously than any theatrical villain ever did, for we felt justly triumphant as we surrounded Lorraine Slingland and bom- barded her with questions. Lorraine is the creator of THEY SAY, the inquiring reporter column. f'What have you done in your four years? That started something, for it seems that Lorraine is a veritable Jack Horner. She has done everything from writing po- etry to cheering on the Cheer Squad. She worked in the Hawthorne Room sang in 1 ns fC0Vlfin1l0d 011 page 23, column Zj