Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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55. MHA 32-12 iitee but t t t. - .M ,Ml Tun Late PRIZE ESSAY Funny, I mused, funny that it should turn out just as Mother had predicted- starting on my own just after reaching my eighteenth birthday. I gazed around the efficient modernistic ofhce. The turquoise wallpaper blended harmoniously with the deep bluefgreen of the furniture. The trim receptionist looked as if the atmosphere had affected her, for she was as modern and eihcient as her surf roundings. My gaze wandered to that sacred door to which only the eflicient receptionist had access. In small, unobtrusive print were those two stark, power' ful lines: MR. HOPKINS ' Producer I'd be scared stiff ifl were he. Imagine having to pick out people for a great New York play. What if you picked out a flop? No thanks! as far as I'm concerned, I'll stay right where I am-trying out for the part, not picking the player. My mind returned to that former thought. When had my Mother said that? Must have been simply years ago. I can remember her very words-something about I'm goin to see to it that you wait until the proper time to get a job, Penny. I won't iave you gallivantin' away from home until you're plenty old enough-around eighteen. I didn't think about her resolution again until I reached the anile age of eight, at which time my father had a long, serious talk with me. Penny, you're gettin' older now, and it's high time you realized a few things. First of all, if you want to git somethin' done around here, you've got to go after it yourself. The next thing's concerning yer Maw. I've loved her fer nigh on twentyfeight years, and I'm jest beginnin' ter realize one thing. Yer Maw's a mighty determined woman. She sets her mind on a thing early and then she goes after it. Furthermore, five outa six times, by heck, she gits it. Now most a her ideas are good-old fashioned, maybe, but sound. Ya don't have ter worry about the sound ones, but every once in a while she pops out with somep'n she don't mean. Then yer Maw turns ornery, and unless ya discourage her right from the start, she'll spend the rest of her life in makin' it come true. That was the longest speech Dad ever made to me, and the last. He died three days later from a heart attack. Then came the start of a new existence. Dad had always let me think for myself and make my own mistakes. However, Mother had different ideas. She decided everything for me, and although it was hard at first to do just what I was told, it soon became the path of least resistance to do something because Mother said I should. The first time I asked permission to sleep at my best friend's house, Mother tumed and cried sharply, But, dear, you're much too young! I had grown so

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23 -.-et 5Ef3f1,1bifSL':-,.-i Ilhituary Opportunity, you lie in unmarked grave, Your pregnant words stopped with the life of time, Indecision melted down the life you gave, And withered all the promise of your prime. After quarrels and trials they opened unto you, Emaciated, dying at the gate, From feverish lips those tardy words they drew, But the fist of War had crumpled up their fate. No knell tolled forth your death and our last peace Save the chimes of loss that wailed our bleak despair, Nor could guilty men your blazing fame surcease, For dark stains of blood traced the story there. Yet, like smoking wick of snuffedfout flame, You, sallow ghost, may light our hope again. Resurrection TO MAC ARTHUR Oh barren skeleton of longfpassed chance Those fleshless bones with life are clothed once more: Oh Opportunity, what hero's lance Has pierced Death's veil and battered down his door? What mortal hand has tumed your dust to flesh, What mortal eye has seen your smoking flame, What human breath has blown you life afresh, And nourished you until you walked again? When enemies would capture your new might Who took their every action in his scopeg Who placed a shade on your revealing light And held you like a banner for our hope? And if, outwom, no victory you bear, At least he plucked your fruit from our despair. Amsou Ross, '42

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ZQUW W Wgfg-gg-,Vg YSEMINARIA 1942 used to accepting everything she said that I made no comment, merely tumed and went up to my room to unpack the little bag I had so carefully prepared. I heard that shocked exclamation often. I wanted to go to camp with all my friends, but upon telling Mother- Why, Penny! You're much too young. Wait till you're eighteen. Mother, can I get a long dress next winter? Young, Penny, much too young. Mother, can't I go out with Jimmy tonight? u My little girl on a date? But you're too young! Too young, too young! Was I never to hear the end of those hideous words? When I went to boarding school, I thought everything would be changed. Mother was, at first, rather unhappy at the idea, but then she became resigned, and adopted the eternal look of a quietly suffering martyr. She helped me pack, and drove me all the way to school, two days' travel. Then she displayed some overly dainty accessories which she had made for my room, and I'll never forget how awfully embarrassed I was when she pulled out my pillow and said she had been too afraid her little girl would feel strange Without something from home. I was in bed one night CI always went to bed earlyj when I heard two girls talking. I only caught a few phrases, but these were enough. They were murmur' ing something about Penny and her Mother's apron strings! When Mother got my telegram, she came right away with the car, and happily drove me home again. I was seventeen years old, and had always been interested in Dramatics. Mother, I'm going to New York and get a job as an actress. Of course not, darling. You're much too young to be doing anything like that. Eighteen is plenty of time. But, Moth- That's all, Penny, I simply won't hear of it. I dropped the subject until a year later, when, upon opening Variety, I chanced to see a notice that there would be tryfouts in two weeks for a new play called 'Young Lady. I looked eagerly at the list of characters. Two stood out-the role of the young lady, and of her older sister. Why shouldn't I try? I'd always taken part in the school plays, and had gone to dramatic school every Friday afternoon or simply years. I investigated the older sister's part, and found that the tryfouts for it were about three days earlier than for the other. I discussed the matter with Mother, and was astounded to hear her say, Why I guess so, dear. You're eighteen, now, and though I still think it's a little young, I think it will be all right. That young lady part would just suit you fine. But, Mother, I wanted to try out for the sister. No, dear, the other part's just right. Now don't argue or I'll fear that you