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

Text from Pages 1 - 72 of the 1951 volume:

I 1 n L, , , f X X mm ,Q f 1 1 f 521204 X Illustrated by Anna Bland, 'sn Qual! own Qaem, faq of Jfecwen- PRESENTING X. FMBQDQ 1 Stories , RAIN ON HER HEART .... ..... CULTURE PAYS OI-'E ..... ..... Fon SALE-MEMoRIEs ' ...... ..... THERE WITH BELLS ON' .... ..... DEcIsIoN FINAL .......... ..... STORM Rm:-:s HIGH ...... ..... THE AWAKENING' .... . . Sou-rAmE .. Essays SHADRACK ...................... ....... LAND Ho! ............................. WHAT DoEs Ir MEAN 'no GRADUATEP' .... SUMMER ANGELUS ..................... I WoULnN r Mlss THAT' ..... . Bovs, Bucs, AND A GOAT . FAMILY or THE BRIDE '...... Features INKLINGS FIGURES ARE My BUSINESS ..... . . . .. Poetry WE HAVE DREAMS' .... Lounm-:s' .............. ..... CAT LovE' ................. .. AssUuP1'A Est MARIA' ..... .. DESIGN ron FUN' ......... ..... FATIMA' ......... ..... Jean Grafuelle, '51 ...... .... 1 0 Mary Ormsby, '52 ......... .... 1 2 Catherine McKenna, '51 .... .... 1 6 Ruth Krause, '51 ....... Mary A. 0'Connor, '51. Anna Guinan, '52 ....... Mary Galyo, '51 ........ Constance Ferris, '51... Suzanne Mayer, '52 .... Nancy Shields, '51 ..... Mary Deegan, '51 ...... Margaret Hollins, '51 .. Denise Keegan, '51 ..... Adele Solari, '51 ...... Marie Quinn, '51 .... ........u-n..-.-..... Guest Editorial ..... Mary Ormsby, '52 ..... Jane Dougherty, '51 .... Barbara Franeen, '51. .. Isabel Trindle, '51 ...... Mary Wisniewski, '52.. ....37 ....41 52 54 . .... 14 34 . .... 28 .. .... 47 . .... 44 48 60 ..5 ....50 ..7 32 . .... 36 .. .... 43 'ILLUSTRATED Stag Ruth Krause, '51 .... ........................ . . . .Enmm ASSISTANT Enxmns Nancy Shields, '51 Virginia Romano, '51 Marion Petro, '51 Marie Quinn, '51 Mary Regina Furia, '51- Joan Summers, '51 Doris Collins, '51 Mary Jane Kane, '51 ART STAI-'If Dolores Clements, '51 Lillian Kijewska, '51 Elizabeth Cimino, '51 Patricia Hinphey, '51 Published twice during the school year by the students of the John W. Hallahan Catholic Girls' High School, at Nineteenth and Wood Streets, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The glorious theme of our '51 SILVER SANDS is exquisitely portrayed in Assumpta Est Maria , illustrated by our contest prize winning artist, Dolores Clements, '51, Author Barbara Franzen, '51, took time out from reporting for Sand Script to do it. Through thick and thin-that describes Tiny to a T . Read There with Bells On by Editor Ruth Krause, and if any persons, places, or incidents are familiar, it's purely coincidental. Are you enchanted by strains of Strauss from a flute? Then maybe you'll get the same satisfac- tion from a nuke at a summer camp. You'l1 iind one in Boys, Bugs, and a Goat by Adele Solari, '51, a top note in our Hallahan orchestra. Take your choice of a pet! You'll iind a variety in Cat Love by Jane Dougherty, '51, Vaulting Ambition , by Jane Morris, '51, and Storm Rides H igh by Anna Guinan, '52. Whether ye be an old salt or a strictly solid landlubber, we're sure you'1l agree with Senior Nancy Shields' feel- ings in Land Ho 1 Did you ever try your fortune with cards? Maybe you weren't too lucky. Try your hand at Solitaire with Constance Ferris, '51, and you ll come out aces high. You don't need a mirror to do a bit of reflecting. Jean Gravelle, '51, does it with a little Rain on Her Heart , and Catherine McKenna, '51, uses For Sale--Memories . Mary 'A. O'Connor, '51, proves that she can do as good a job on the literary team as on the Blue and Whiters. She scores a goal with Final Decision. An artist in her own right, junior Suzanne Mayer pops up to test your taste in a toast to Shadrack. How would you reconcile a father who prefers the arts with a halfback who thinks Da Vinci plays for Notre Dame? Culture Pays OH shows how Mary Ormsby, '52, does it. Mary also offers Lourdes , a poem. W hat Does It Mean to Graduate? asks Mary Deegan, 'Sl. It means smiles and tears, too, and Mary clearly shows why. Little sister annexites from St. Peter's and St. Thomas's give us the inside view of winter, bells, and stepping stones. Before closing our book, Hallahan, dedicated to Mary, Immaculate Queen, leaves the reader with a final tribute to her in a prayer by Dolores Putz, '51g a prayer throbbing with the hope that Our Lady of Light will clothe humanity, trembling before the power of light, modem weapon of war, in the rays of the glory of her Son. The cover design and title page are the work of Dolores Clements, '51. Credit for the lining sheet goes to Anna Bland, '51. 5 ' 'vga' xg? ' fifiiflt sr! W f 4 IW, . , mg- ,fbflfi - ' U' , . fi., -A .- 1 511-5 5 Ali be' 1 it 1 ,serie fax -'Q ., .- ' ,fi -' if-, Q YfT??'ilix 1.37 ,':fi-'-91 - .. ' 2 f , L' . 1: f P g . ' 5 5 f S' , - , Q 1 59321 ' f is- -1 f- '- e -- ,. . 'z-iq-'SFQA . ' 1 ' ,Q ' , -51-+f'i.i3, YH f Y W 2 - s ,i.f 1 S s f - Q - pun from youths hope for tranquility, wff-s i -. 349, M? Patterned like a delicate mosaic of ideals and aspirations . . . 3 -Fragile and fine, which once shone brilliantly, U, -. But now are dimmed by lengthening shadows 2 Of turmoil . . . '-' fig: -Of a world unscarred by the wounds of warg - S--- i- Trernbling dreams of a quiet land unshalzen by 3' If? The heavy tread of soldiers' feet . . . fig? 73154, N4 -of a world where the hands of greed ,, .f i . ifbfl ' eff' Where all hands will be lifted to heaven in prayer . . . LL- b y Q P' Will not steal away our happinessg 'J if A .K . A' g,!ga,fA . X if U. ..Dreams of beauty, ya. gif I Forged in the fire of world chaos, Yet-youthful, hopeful, prayerful, and healing . . 'A' ,gg eng.--J , af We have dreams. A ,V . Margaret Meyer 51 Nettie Guagentx, 51 -Q?i,Qgk N,-es.-Wt.. - 5 . . . '.,f-:Qi-2134 -, If Catherine Whitehead, '51 Elizabeth Radueci, '51 , , V 1 Q. Margaret Hollins '51 'erfisiti . '. - ,fi 4 Q , Rein' -'Ui-'ix - 'fy-'LP ' ...L - e xx-'wr' -'--'fr V 5' ' - - , - -- .l s 5 -as-,bm s. .4-eg, 'SH g A. .,g:'.'4? .4 ' f J:-f Q55 . . 473. --ffQ5:.-1,8-Q, - .fl - gm rgw if, 5 15152, - Illustrated by Lillian Kijewska, '51 53552-gf. 51? Q.-'35 f1fix? 5 ' T , ' -, ,j,.'c,1,ff:.m,j 13 5,agf5':: ..s-i,f,e L:.6- 935 ff:-,wt AQ., - . 3 .4 , '.: ,f .- f -X1 r. . 4- ,.- 9 - ,, 7511! ff! -'?:ff'ff Vw f-' in A U f--ff-5452 .V .gi-2.5, .v gx 4,54 3 if, is .smlhp xy Q4 QQ T --ajfzgt N f ' 4 51 ,. . .J , '12 L Efb: ,,f' V V '- -T f' .' gf -Q JJ, I- 5? .T ,flax - , 5- --U' F 'Q Q .a takin e ' r mf- ,-1??'. 5 iff . .. .-,Ez uk. , Q ,e - ,. .- f Q w -Szfiui ' -as -t - i v- w F 2H' ,- eff V ' ':1wv'rFaw' L '-akeaf-ff-'ML1rSf+sfaesfPif'fFf'N .' asf- -r' .. . . wrt-k-,ws--gf9q9-'K ' - 3 ' 551'-J55E4'Pf1'ft5???ai'fQGm,ga:3'L tw 'ifilfw f -- -'?EIqWJf'..f'z.3SF' A f . - LJ-G ' - 5 if of asm-2 . -Q , , - ,.., - '. 'H -,, ' . .1 izrwsg -- , - -Negfw ft.,-3 .,f , , , , iw 'wfhiii Y'l'i:S'fi'V':f- ' Q-.gn -:Q 4 i 'XA 'U JI, - ?1:- - ff' ' ,' aft-a ' 'fb ffm Mime at-:ww - .MI .V 9 ., 5? . ' I 1.f 1'5 - fi ag 4ig5,,,givf'1s..ffsx'aQ Hfg3gg::va.S't:z. ,J 1 t gf' A 5- 4 ' 'JQ '?5S2.i ... 'ff-ffitffla',1:-.f'-i?3.Sr3Z5- -' ,4 .. f '1:':- -4 . . yffrfifffvx-s A - Ci '?r5???7' -.i? 1ff524i.I'--1?- ' . ' - -' , I 1 1' --an-.73-fin-f.szQ' A if EEX355' if -.- mf N, . .,..1-,.,5,.t--.4vg,3gga,,,?,y , QQ- -,,c.gg.,aw-' K. .,..,v,..,,..f. .f-.45 -, . 5- - ,fr -v - - gw1g,1..4-- Mr, M .--n'N',f - --'t:fuef 1-f'Z'Fzsif+m:.-. 11-ifrgzmfif-',i'I? , ., ' . w Jai i 511'-'IV L,:F:i?.-LM - HR... 4'-3942 'X-f1i'1!'PxqlIf-QZf.'r:'f,'YZ515g5-:--:- '-1-f-5,19U,-5'.-,-,1. Y Hrigfelzzfr' H E J. A '16,-.ww-v lg-. 5 0 -sw ,ii-'Rilgf ,- ,Q , r . .. THE 1951 SILVER SANDS f' Q HE FLAME of her mortal life is gone. She who knew the pulsing beauty of God's great world, And saw the stamp of His divinity On snowflake, Bower, and sky, Who read His glory in the silences of night And in the mighty roar of tempests- Is gone. The flame that fed her being She kept not for herself, But with lighted tapers in her dedicated hands, She led the way of the young Along the unsure paths of life, Guiding, instructing for eternity, Revealing to their eyes the sight of Magic easements flung wide to the beauty That belongs to Him alone. The flame has Hiclcered and died. Gathering about her the fullness of her years of devotion, She has gone to meet Him To Whom, in the promise of her youth, She gave herself in triple bonds. Hallahan mourns herg Yet in our hearts there is joy That she, who for so long Held high the lamp for our feet, Has but left To trim the eternal lamps of heaven. 8 THE 1951 SILVER SANDS SISTER ST. MICHAEL, S.S.J. For twenty-one years, Sister St. Michael was the inspired moderator of Silver Sands. Under her stimulating guidance, outpourings of the hearts of generations of Hallahanites were fashioned into words of beauty. Today's book is the product of her ever deepening interest. It never lessened. Even in her last illness she followed the shaping of the present edition. Pencil poised, she read eagerly most of the copy in these pages, and in the margins put the tangible seal of her approval in her generous appraisals of Different! and Well done! Her spirit is here, permeating these lines. It is in loving memory and gratitude, then, that we dedicate to Sister St. Michael this special 1951 issue of Silver Sands -our Lady Book.'5 9 'PHE 1951 S1I.vER SANDS RAIN 0N HER HEART ICK HAD left two months ago. Cathy remembered how it had rained that afternoon when he board- ed the train that was to take him away from her. She remembered, too, how the rain had tit the mood of her gloomy heart. How sad she had been to sec him go! How she had missed him in the last eight weeks! Cathy went over the wonderful times they had had together. She had met Dick at a church dance, and he had asked her to go out with him a few weeks later. She had accepted readily, for she had always thought he was nice and so handsome. They had gone to the movies that Saturday night. After the show they had laughed and joked between mouth- fuls of hamburger. They had so much fun that night, and a few months later they were going steady. Their lirst kiss! How thrilled she had been! She had never realized how gentle Dick could be. She smiled now at the times they had gone swim- ming with the crowd and how mad she had been when he wouldn't stop dunking her. That Christmas morn- ing when they had gone to the Nativ- ity Mass and received Holy Commun- ion together was a precious memory. She would never forget how they had looked at each other upon leaving the By Jean Gravelle, '51 church, suddenly realizing the forti- fication their love for each other had received. The next night-her lovely new gown, Dick's handsomeness in his rented tuxedo, his whispered words, You are the sweetest fiower of all as he pinned a beautiful corsage on her shoulder-all this spelled the won- der of her Senior Prom. How proud she had been to show all her friends at college the lovely compact he gave her for Christmas with From Dick to Cathy engraved on the back! He was always so thoughtful. At the january sleighing party, a stranger would have thought they were ten years old. That wonderful night in May when he told! her he had a surprise for her-could she ever forget? It was tl1e twenty-seventh of the month, and it was the most beauti- ful ring Cathy had ever seen. Dick had said, T hat is, if you want me . . . As if she could or would ever say no. They had made plans that night to be married the next spring. She recalled now the love in his eyes when she had shown him her diploma. And what fun they had had at the mad round of graduation parties! Then in June, on a far-off peninsula in the Pacific, war had erupted again. The communists were on the march in Korea. Dick, being in the Army Reserves, ,was called back to active duty. Cathy, he had said, our own happiness will have to wait just for a little while, and then I'll come back to you. I'l1 be glad to iight so that our children can grow up in a happy world. His words had consoled Cathy. Before she realized what was happening, Dick ,was on his way to Korea. f Tm: 1951 SILVER SANDS And. now it was raining again. To- morrow Dick was coming home. They would be at Mass together as they had been so often in the past. She slowly took the telegram from the table be- side her. Though the words were a blur, she knew all too well what they were: We regret to inform you that Private Richard McNealis . . . The rain fell faster. 'k 'k 'A' ERE I SIT admiring your puzzled figure. You have caused me no end of trouble, but there you sit storing back at me with a blank expression. Furthermore, you make no effort whatsoever to explain yourself. Have you nothing to offer in defense of these accusing words! ' You're impossible! You have no feeling for me or any- one else. You merely accept the cutting words and retain 4 school. that plain-Jane look. Figures like yours have kept the paper factories in business and people like me in late after I stab you with my pencil and curse you with my eyes, but still I am not satisfied with your figure. Your lanky lines, crooked posture, and enormous capacity are beyond my comprehension. Everywhere I look I see ports of you staring back at me. I put up with your sarcastic grin and smirking shrewdness five days out of every week, and even then you haunt me over week-ends. You bore me, tire me, and make me with I had never met you. But why am I arguing with you! Well yes, I suppose I do get some satisfaction out of it. My chest does feel a little lighter and yet my heart feels heavy. I suppose I am being mean and inconsiderate. After all, it im't your fault that you have a figure like a twisted wire. But you irritate me so,' it makes me very angry to think that such a confusing little you could cause me so much anxiety. Oh well, I suppose I'll just never understand-you and your geo- metric figure! MARIE McDs1zMo'r'r, '53 11 THE 1951- SILVER SANDS CULTURE nys ff AD ALWAYS said, Everyone should have a hobby. And he was right, I suppose. Anyhow he thinks so. Dad is a great collector of artg in fact, our house is so full of art that I sometimes wonder why some of this so-called culture doesn't rub off on me. However, at present I am inter- ested in an altogether different hobby -very ditferent. This hobby answers to the name of Johnny. Noyv I wouldn't go so far as to say that Johnny is uncultured. I mean, after all, he is star halfback of the local football team. But, of course, Dad doesn't seem to think that playing football demands much in the way of artistic talent. Can you imagine any one's dreaming such a thing! Well, this is all leading up to the night that I was to have my first date with johnny. He just had to impress Dad. If only he didn't say anything, Dad wouldn't know that johnny was illiterate. fHe's not really-well, not exactly, but you know how football players are.J So, I thought if Johnny didn't talk at all, maybe Dad would think he was the quiet, intellectual type. On that memorable evening when the doorbell finally rang, I hurried to answer with a prayer in my heart. By Mary Ormsby, '52 Oh, johnny, please let Dad like you l I opened the door and there he stood. I smiledg he smiled back. Oh no! My hero lost a front tooth in that big game todayl Oh well, if he just keeps his mouth closed . . . I brought Johnny into the living- room to meet Dad. I thought to my- self, This is it I After the brief introduction, I heard Dad say to Johnny, How would you like to see a few of my prize paintings and draw- ings, son P I knew this opening line by heart, for Dad said it to every boy who called for me. Poor johnny! The only drawings he knew about were the usual rathes at school for the football team's uniforms. Nevertheless, Johnny, always the perfect gentleman, let Dad lead him into the study where the masterpieces were kept. Johnny, silently suffering through Dad's little explanation of each picture, really tried to look inter- ested anyhow. Then Dad turned sud- denly to a color creation that had a place of honor among the others and asked, Well, my boy, what do you think of this one? My dream man looked at the speci- fied painting and brilliantly replied, That's nice. It's a . . . a . . . R . . . Rembrandt, ain't it ? Oh no! What a blunder! Even I 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 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 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. . 1-: I . V Q f. . ' i fi f 1 . If A - A , 5? Y I I rx: Ai-.. gl. r ' w K iv, 'tv it in , i M - . Stiff: ' ' f'3 f 4'-j:-T ' , 45 J Nh , Q N4 1 '. 2 1 gif.- ,N 9 : I V - 1 -'NES'-W pi, 1. , , - f it 'x b l W'-5' , , f , p I ,. M I I 5 n 'w- if By Catherine McKenna, '51 Illustrated by Suzanne Mayor, I 42 , HE SMALL house had been closed for ten years. Yet it seemed only yesterday that Kitty had left it, just eighteen and a smiling young graduate of Hallahan. Those ten years had seen the death of her father and mother in a train wreck and an entire new life for her. Stand- ing in the weed-overgrown yard, Kitty could see again the scarlet rosebush, her mother's pride and joy, the green grass young and tender, the white picket fence with the ivy growing over it, and the starched curtains bil- lowing in the breeze. The old apple tree brought many memories flooding back, too. When she was seven she fell out of it g at ten she had a swing from which she might see the world from new heights, at fifteen she re- ceived her first bashful kiss beneath it from the boy next door. You know, Kitty, he had said, I think you are pretty swell. Why, David! I think you're nice too, she had replied. Then came the hesitant kiss, sweet with the blush of youth. Yes, the tree held a great many memories in its leafy boughs. Every nook and cranny of the premises held its own small secrets. I Opening the door, she stepped in- side, half expecting to hear her mo- ther's gay greeting from the kitchen, Is that you, Kitty? I need some things from the store. How many times she had found a million and one excuses not to go 3 now she would have been happy to do the least serv- ice for her. just to see her again! She hurried on, for there was little time left, and she had much to see. In the living room, although bare of superfluous furniture now, she could visualize the wom rug and her old piano. How dusty the staircase was l Yet it was such a short time ago that she had floated down it in a frosty pink gown, ready to go to the prom with Jim, her favorite beau. Mom and Dad were there smiling through misty eyes. What a happy night, the kind to remember for al- waysl A Here are your flowers, Kitty, he had said. You sure look nice! Have a good time, children, and THE 1951 Sxnvnn SANDS be careful, came from her father. Take good care of her and watch the hoops in the skirt, had been her mother's advice. Then with a smile they were off. But time yvas speeding on, and she still hadn't been to her room. It was bare, too, but memory was strong enough to make her see the pennants on the wall, the bed with its brightly colored spread, and the bureau with all its beauty aids lined up. The cur- tains of pale blue were bluer and fresher in her mind now that she was back home, if only for a time. Her parents' room still held the old dressing table with the glass mirrors, though they were misty with cobwebs. The closet disclosed one old pair of trousers and an old felt hat. How proud her father had been wearing it, how tall and straight! Write soon and let Dad and me 14 A ve M aria' '- The words Rang clear And sounded Her reply 7 Was thusg Had begun F or us. gf' I n the Virginfr ear. Be it done unto me - And redemption know how you are, darling, and let us know when we can come to see you. 'Bye, honey, take care of yourself. Remember, if you want to come home, just hop the train and we'll be wait- mg. Those were Pop's and 'Mom's last words to her. Sister Teresa would be waiting at the gate for her, waiting to board the train for New York. In the yard the SOLD sign looked forlorn. Soon, though, the old house would know a new life, just as she would. She closed the gate and it wheezed. Then it was over. She did not turn back but took quick steps toward the train station. The next phase of her life was about to begin. Kitty, Sister Margaret Elizabeth, was going to the West Indies as a missionary. This had been goodbye to the tender mem- ories of home. ! i Z .f' xx N w -5 Q1 Hg' 17 KATHLEEN Amnnuso, 'SZ Tun 1951 SILVER SANDS Voice hom the Grave ARY JANE had a very strange hobby for which she was often laughed at. You see, she liked to read the sayings on tombstones. She had the opportunity to do this often be- cause she always took the short way home through a cemetery. One day as she was going through the cemetery, she saw a tombstone which she had never seen before. Driven by curios- ity, she couldn't resist walking to the grave. On the stone was a picture of a man. Thinking aloud she exclaimed: How could anyone be so ugly! Much to her dismay, she heard a masculine voice agreeing with her. In her horror, the world began to swirl before her eyes. As she began to crumple to the ground, a pair of masculine arms enfolded her. Afraid to open her eyes and yet curious to see her imaginary ghost, she found herself looking into the eyes of a total stranger. The young man, very much By Juno Marla Hamska, '51 surprised at her behavior, remarked, I never thought my face and voice yvould scare anyone into fainting. After realizing what had happened, Mary Jane confessed that he was not the reason which caused her weakness. It was her silly idea that his voice belonged to the man pictured on the tombstone. After this brief explana- tion, both began to laugh at the strange happenings of a few minutes. Mary Jane found out that the young man was named Bill. She need no longer refer to him as The Voice. They dis- covered that they had one thing in common-Mary Jane liked to read tombstones, while Bill engraved them. Three months after their strange encounter, they exchanged marriage vows. Thinking back upon their meet- ing, they not only have a good laugh in store but also a very fascinating tale to tell. Sea .falls What secrets are held in the depths of the sea! If only the waters could speak! What mysteries might it tell me If I should dare to seek! ANNA GUINAN, '52 19 x fa'-ff ' Y f' -hKr'x'7iff . . N.. X 'wif' '- 'Qin TH: 1951 Srnvzn Sums There ith ells n By Ruth Krause, '51 HE PROFOUN D silence that enveloped Tiny's room was disturbed only by the ticking of the alarm clock. The ordinarily boisterous Tiny Mc- Shain was stretched across her bed surrounded by books. Now and then the creaking of the bed-springs could be heard as she reached down to turn the pages of the textbook which she held up with the aid of her toes, while her head was cradled in a pillow. This was certainly a feat, for Tiny was any- thing but nimbleg her name was more of a contradiction than a description, as could be attested to by any member of the F. G. I. f Fat Girls' Institutej. All who belong to this organization know the plight of an overweight teen-age girl. It seems to follow in steps-from chubby, to plump, to hefty, to just plain fat! And Tiny was a member. She was at that stage that when she Illusfrafoql-Ly Lillian Klfewska, '51 THE 1951 SILVER SANDS walked down the street, the neighbor- hood boys all whistled the too popular song, She's Too Fat for Me. And yvhen she was with the crowd after school at the Snack Bar, someone al- ways saved two stools just for Tiny. So, she really did have a problem. Once more the bed creakedg another page was tumed, and time marched on. Tick . . . tick . . . Order requires intelligence, design requires intelli- gence . . . Tick . . . tick . . . Therefore, order and design require intelligence. Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . Ding-a- lingl Like a fish Tiny was on the scream- ing clock and had it silenced. With another sweep of her chubby arm, she had the bed cleared of all the books. The witching hour was here. Tiny surreptitiously drew a book from un- der the mattress, locked the bedroom door, and picked up the alarm clock. The title of the book was How to Reduce with Bells On , but Tiny thought a more appropriate title would be For Whom the Bell Tolls. When the alarm was set and the book opened to the exercises, Tiny set to work. l..2..I'vegot...3..4.. toget...S..6..realthinor ...7..8..I'llnever...9... get a . . . boyfriend . . . IO. Tick . . Tick . . Tick . . The obe- dient timkeeper worked on faithfully. Boy . . . toe, ankle, knee, rest. . . . IwishPeggywould...toe... ankle, knee, rest . . . do this with me . . . toe, ankle, . . . she needs it yvorse than I do .... rest. In the midst of a deep knee bend, she heard her mother's voice penetrat- ing the locked door, alarm clock, and 1..2..3...4. Tiny, a call for you. It's a 'you know what'l Mrs. McShain didn't have to say any more. When a boy called Tiny, no encouragement was needed to get her downstairs. She reacted like an atomic bomb on a successful trial run. She was at the 'phone before her mother could put it down. Hello, Yes, this is Tiny. Who? Buddy? Why of course I remember you. How could I forget! It was at Wildwood this summer. Oh, you're calling from Pittsburg-hg you're living with your aunt for a while. Thatfs line! Say, how can you talk with all that smoke out there? Oh, I see, they've got smoke control. What, Buddy, you're having a special dance and you'll be back here in time for it? That's sharp! Who? Me? With you? Why, I'd love to go. Three months from now? Oh good! That'1l give me plenty of time to get ready. And you'l1 check with me again be- fore then? Wonderful! 'Bye now. Mom, I've got a date, it's a dance. Yes, I heard. But Mom, do you think he re- members what I look like? I mean, do you think he's got me mixed with someone else P Of course he remembers, dear. Why, isn't he that Big Moment you had your picture taken with at the beach? And hasn't he that picture P Yes, but maybe he's just feeling sorry for me, Mom. Well, I'll show him what I'll do. When he comes to pick me up, he won't know me. I'll be so thin I'l1 look as if I spent these last three months in a hothouse. QAnd I will if I have tolj. And since it's a special kind of dance, I'm going to give him a special kind of surprise. And 'Tiny meant what she said. With only coffee for breakfast, a quick lunch, and emphatic refusals of dessert at supper time, her campaign was well under way. Every night she did her calisthenics. While the alarm clock ticked away the minutes, she dreamt of yvorking away pounds. She even had a slogan over her bed: To be thin or not to beg that is the ques- tion. Then one aftemoon weeks and weeks later at the Snack Bar where she now indulged in only orangeade instead of the previously favored jumbo sundae with black and white malted as an appetizer, she bumped into Peggy. Why, Tiny, where have you been hiding lately? You look positively ghastly! You're so skinny. You poor thing, were you sick ? THE 1951 SILVER SANDS Of course not, silly. I've just been on a scrumptious diet and I've ac- tually lost enough weight to Ht into a size 12. Imagine! I'm never going back to those 18's again. What's the big occasion, Tiny? A man? Uh huh. Remember that boy named Buddy that we met at the shore last summer? Well, he's taking me to a special kind of dance next week. It's called a F.G.C.B.F. dance. He won't tell me about it, but I just know it'll be wonderful. Ieeper, I've got to be going. I've got to stop at the store on the way home and pick up my dress. I'm so excited I'm ready to burst. Be seeing you, Peggy. The day of the dance found the McShain' house in a flurry of excite- ment. Tiny was all over the place, trying to get ready. Her shoes were downstairs, her stockings out on the line, her dress in the hall closet, and it seemed that she just couldn't get them all 'together no matter what. Buddy called to say that he'd be out at eight o'cloek-only five hours for her to finish ! . When the hall clock struck eight, Buddy arrived and Tiny came floating down the stairs. Buddy just stared at her with his mouth open. He couldn't speak except for a strangled Gee whiz or Golly . Well, Buddy, shall we go? I-Iuh? Where P 2 THE 1951 SILVER SANDS To the dance, of course. You did ask me to go to the dance with you, didn't you? ' Well yes, in a way. That is, sort of. Why didn't you tell me what hap- pened to you? Golly, Tiny, we ca.n't go to the dance now I We ca.n't? But why not? Don't you know what the purpose of the dance was? Tiny, the name F.G.C.B.F. means FAT GIRLS CAN BE FUN. But, golly, you're not fat anymore I don't know what to do! Well, I do, Buddy. I know a place where they sell positively heavenly jumbo banana splits with all the ice cream you can eat, and next door, there's a movie with the biggest candy counter in the city. When the next F.G.C.B.F. dance rolls around, yve'll be there with bells on. Come on, Buddy, let's go! 8 an at Blessed be God- For the earth we love, For the stars that .shine 'W ay up above, For the gentle .round Of quiet rain And the brilliant dawn Of sun again- Blessed be God. Blessed be God- Far the light to see, For the faith infused I n you and me, For the gift of grace When trials sting, Blessed be God For everything. Jon: Rurmm 'r, '52 NANCY Conn, '52 .foufulea A lonely grotto Made of rock, A Pr-'fins sffl In peasant froch, A sudden cloud, A flash of light Before her stands A Mail in white. There lies a rose At the Lady's feet, Her voice is lov, Her smile is sweet. 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M. ., 5 .1L,.- - .4-. ff -- A wt, 1,5 'ls 'xg xv . ,V+ ,F , I L 8, I ,A I-.Il W J -rg I v x 'Q Q X? 1' , '.,.,:, .1e vL'uH- ' . - Ai ' ' -A-155.515-r 3, - ,A niud. , THE 1951 S1x.vr-:R SANDS WHAT DOES IT ME AN T0 GRADUA TE? By Mary Doogan, '51 Illustrated by Suzanne Mayor, '52 HE SUN streamed through Sue's window and it afforded just enough light for her to see in the dark corner of her room her school uniform. There it yvas, all ready for another year's wear. Sue remembered that day in june when she hurried home and discard- ing her emblem of gold, immediately sewed on a red one, the senior emblem of a red letter year. How fondly Sue dreamed about what her senior year would be. Now it was only a fading cloud of something that yvould never happen-not to Sue Crawford any- how. She tried to tell herself that it really didn't matter very much, but deep down in her own heart Sue knew it did. Last year Sue looked forward to her senior year highlighted by the gayety of the prom. She dreamed the ecstasy she would feel during the ring ceremony and the joy of donning the traditional red and white on Halla- han Day. She saw herself having her picture taken. In anticipation she visualized herself taking part in many of the happenings that she thought were very important. Still deep in thought, the girl was revived by her mother's voice calling her and she hurried down the stairs. You're home early today, Sue, said her mother. Did anything go wrong? No, Mother, things were just a little slow. As Sue turned, her mother could see that she had been crying. Does it really matter that much ? she inquired sympathetically. No, Mother, not really. And Sue darted up the stairs to her room. Lying across her bed, Sue finished her cry. Then she had an uncontrol- lable desire to try on her uniform. Looking down, she saw that the red in her emblem produced a shining new brilliance. She recalled how she loved to sing her Alma Mater, one line in particular: Let our lamp then outgleamf' What sort would she be if she let her lamp darken? As the words of the school song drifted through her memory, Sue saw the situation in a new light. Yes, she would miss the girls who had been her friends all through her school life. She'd miss, too, the thrill she got out of saying, I'm from Hallahanf' She could never make up for the joy of Fun ab-'L 1 'Sf 1 1 q 4i1 , M lr' 14' 1' THE 1951 Srnvnn SANDS marching into Convention Hall on graduation day to receive her diploma. She remembered how Dad used to tell her how proud he would be when he heard her name called and saw his daughter receive her diploma. Every- thing had been planned for the big event. Sue had to force herself to realize it would never happen now. Dad had died, and Sue had left school at the beginning of the term to help support the family. She could never make one of his cherished dreams come true. But she knew he would understand as he looked down from heaven and saw her graduating from childhood into adulthood. Adults have to learn to meet and solve problems. And Sue Crawford would not fail. 'k 'A' i' RHUMBA RHYTHM URING MY SIXTEEN short years, I've had flairs for many things. But I think none were so un- successful as the time I wanted to dance the rhumba. My brother was the guiding force in that brainy idea. You see, he was getting married and was going to have the orchestra play some Latin-American music, mostly rhum- ba. I simply had to know how to rhumba! On the next Saturday, after Frank was married, the wedding party went to the photog'rapher's studio. My brother's best man was quite a dancer and an expert where the rhumba was concerned. In the waiting room there was a small phonograph. Leon sug- By Catherine Muniaf, '52 gested that we dance, and I suggested we do the rhumba. We glided across the floor like two birds-one looking like a proud peacock and the other like a silly goose. I was all feet. My rhumba ecstasy was over with the end of the ten-inch record. This first defeat didn't affect me. I still had the bug. Time after time I tried. Even my brother, who is very patient, had given up hope. Now the bug has long since gone and passed. I'm quite content to sit in the dark with the dog on my lap, watching television. Reason-some of the dance steps on the variety shows may give me new ideas on how to do that latest bug of mine-the Charleston! Tm-: 1951 Srnvnn Sams Mother Was Up In The Air HE SUN was shining brightly on the morning of March 4, 1950. The entire Kelly family arose early and went to Mass. This was the day awaited for so long. Today Mrs. Kelly was going to ily to Ireland to have one last visit with her own dear mother, and we were all rather nervous about it. After Mass, Mother went into the sacristy to ask the priest for his blessing, for her Irish faith would not let her risk such a long' journey without God's help. . . Mother was busy giving orderspto everyone. She was so excited she' al- most forgot her passport. Madeline, are lyou sure you know how to fix roasting chicken? Remember not to leave it in too long. Denny, be a good boy and do what you are told. Be sure to do your homework and get to bed early. Eat your cereal in the morning and don't take an hour to do so. Nancy, you help Madeline with the dishes and the beds. Joe and Tom, don't stay out too late and hang up your clothesg don't leave anything lying around. After details were taken care of, we started on the trip to New York. When we got to the International Air- port we inquired where we should go to await the arrival of the plane that was to go to Ireland. The porter looked at us and said, I'm sorry but 'ly Madeline Kelly, '51 you're at the wrong airport. You want to go to the International Field at La Guardia Airport.f' You see, what the travel agent failed to ex- plain to us was that La Guardia Air- port is divided into two parts: the International Field and the National Field, which is most often referred to simply as La Guardia. We were then thirty miles outside of New York. We had to go back through the other side of the city. Finally in desperation we chased a taxicab for about six blocks. At last the driver stopped. I 'suppose he thought we were crazy to be hailing a taxi when we were in an automo- bile, but we explained our predica- ment. Smiling he said, Follow me. We did, and believe me, I never knew there were so many small back streets in the city of New York. Although we were all worrying whether or- not Mother would make her plane, everything worked out for the best. We were so afraid of miss- ing the plane that we forgot the fact that mother was going to fly. When we arrived at the airport we were not allowed to go near the plane, but we could see Mother 'board it. We knew now how Mother must have felt when she left her parents to come to America. 1 nf ,Q ,24.-f.: ' fiix A PX j.,, .5-, n' f r- -'r i'1f fi ' ' iigffif .- '- uf w I , X ' -1:-gr: V Y In hz ww Ht-Qwest! V.'ClC0lllL'Li hcav.'vtt's Quan- t Ar.-sntttptn est Marin. V ,P Hun-'cxt's mortals at wtwgi wide- T I I . fx Assumptat cst hlllfld. w , , . . Ihr Nlothcr trlumphnnl stepped MIKIIII1 If Asstnftmptat 051 Nhrta. W j .-Xngvls salutvd hv:.tvvn':. cglllflfll'-w P ,5 Assumpm est Marin, t is 131-hwvd Umxghtvr. 1' I Lzppv Nlolhrr, 4 , . ,. ' f'-lust chaste Swousz' ul bod- t I 3 Lllmhcd in tht- Sun. 3 ifruwnvd with stares. l!HlH.hkHl.lhQ Mother blast-- F Humhh' rtnattivxt. F limited crcnxttrc. wi lhruhhing hcart .xt Gtulk high altar- Nltvthrr ttf God-muh: mor-t chcrtr,ht'd-- l:X-.-mxttpta est lN'lari.a. i'.u'th's dm-.tr rvfugc, Nlary B1oths:r-- .Xssumpta est Nlaria. Cludlz own Queen, joy of Hvaven- Assumpta Ds! Klan-ia. ,N F! By Barbara Franzen, Illustrated ox' Dumrcs Chtmcnts, '51 'Q3iW W7' wg- J, . gj ' .t 'wfmuf l I 'Lv THE 1951 SILVER SANDS LA D H0! T WAS ONE of those clear, sunny days in September when summer residents trooped back to the shore for a last Hing at summer. Our crowd started in quest of adventure back' to the bay to try our skill as mariners. We decided we would take turns rowing to the other side and back again. The only catch was that the boys insisted on rowing. That was no adventure for us. Finally by plead- ing and reassuring them that we were experts at handling boats, we per- suaded them to let us go out into the deep by ourselves. The boat we chose was a large, fiat-bottomed rowboat, which could seat four. It was filled to capacity when we pulled away from shore. Then things really began to happen. Our knowledge of boats was not enough to fill a thimble. Stubbornly, however, we decided that if the boys could do it so could we. We had seen people row boats many times before and it looked simple enough. To our dismay, we found it was not so simple as it looked. No matter which way we rowed we were always turning in a circle. It was bad enough that we were getting nowhere fast, but when we saw a huge cabin cruiser headed By Nancy Shields, 'SI in our direction, panic seized all of us. We practically tumed purple try- ing to get the attention of the people in the cruiser and then nearly upset the boat by trying franctically to row out of the way of impending disaster. The cruiser had passed within a hundred feet of us before we finally realized that the danger yvas over. By this time, the other side of the bay had lost its attractiveness for us, and we decided to row back to the haven of the dock. Oh, it couldn't be that far away! All this time the boys were sitting enjoying our plight im- mensely. They decided to add to our misery. First, Tom, who was an able swim- mer, reached us and began to rock the boat from side to side. Bob was inspired to join Tom and threw our oars overboard. Red in the face, we vowed we would bring the boat in under our own power. We enticed a boy in another boat to retrieve our oars for us. No sooner had we started off for the dock again than a motor- boat appeared manned by friends of Tom and Bob. At their suggestion, the newcomers kept circling gleefully, splashing so much water into the boat that we almost sank. By the time the boys tired of their water antics and we had learned to row the hard way, we had blisters to prove it and were near a state of col- lapse. There were never four girls so glad to see the good brown earth THE 1951 SILVER SANDS again. We were ready to kneel down and kiss it. Soaked to the skin, with hands red and raw, our spirits con- siderably dampened, we trudged home, weakly sending up our cheer of sheer relief-land ho! i' 'A' i' T APPROXIMATELY 5:15 p.m., laden with books, I board the bus as part of my daily schedule. I try dreadfully hard not to fall on poor Mr. Porter, as the bus rounds the corner of Oxford Street. A sudden shock might be the end of him, because he has a bad heart. ' .9 in If gaouf Ian, Then there is Mrs. Monaghan! She takes up two seats. You see, Mrs. Monaghan owns a candy store and can't resist the sight of good chocolates. When she gets herself seated, there is room enough for only an extremly thin person, who unfortunately isn't I. As I struggle a while longer with my pile of books, midst a crowd of home-goers, I notice that someone is preparing to get of the bus. Whispering a short prayer of thanks, I lurch toward a seat when, to my dismay, I become aware of the presence of the two elderly Manning sisters. They work in a quaint little novelty shop and always manage to get the same bus as I. But I have been taught the rules of courtesy, so I hastily offer my seat. Once again I join the standing bus throngs who push and shove vigorously. The bus driver having already announced my stop, I start to the door checking on all my belongings. Having now left my only security behind me, the pole, I try to keep myself and my books from slipping to and fro. I have again completed my daily ride in an overcrowded bus without a major castastrophe. I have not sat on the floor or on a surprised patr0n's lap. That is a rare art! Many DoNN1aLLY, '51 35 Marbles in a pattern Lying on the floor, Dilapidated animals Propped against the door. Bottles filled with water, A barricade of blocks, Y 1-f-' vu' Illustrated by Elizabeth Cimino, '51 Tin cans in a tower, Pebbles in a box- Seem to be quite senseless Until I hear the laugh Of a certain elfish gentleman, Aged two and one half. Isabel Trindel, '51 THE 1951 SILVER SANDS ecision FI A L ARGIE WILSON was a sen- ior and captain of the girls' basketball varsity at St. John's High School in Beechwood City. Always popular, she had also captained her freshman, sophomore, and junior teams. Last year Margie received the coveted engraved trophy awarded to the best player in the league. Her skill with the ball attracted the notice of local papersg write-ups followed, predicting her as a natural for the professional field. It was just before the last game, the traditional battle for the champ- ionship between St. John's and St. Mark's of Central City, that Margie received her letter. It was from Mr. Rapone, head coach of the Cadets, a nationally-known girls' basketball team of the Mid-west. Amazed, Margie read his offer of a salary of live thousand dollars plus a percentage of the box office receipts if she would tum professional after graduation and play for the Cadets at Stone City. It was a tempting offer but Margie hesi- tated. Did she really want to play professional basketball? Or should she . . . Well, she'd think about that later. True, if she were to go to Stone City, she would get that good money which she knew her mother and father By Mary A. O'Connor, '51 could use. But after playing for a few years, what would she have ac- complished? That was the big ques- tion in Margie's mind. And suppose something happened to her and she couldn't play any more? What then? What was she to do? Whatever would be her decision now would affect her entire life. In the next few weeks, Margie didn't have too much time to think about her problem. She practised every day for the big game, and then there were studies and dates, too. Finally the big day arrived. The team was sent home from school at eleven o'clock to rest for the game at two. Margie was troubled. She had received a telegram from Mr. Rapone that morning wishing her luck and saying that the owner of the team .wquld be in the stands that afternoon to see the game. At one o'clock the players were in the locker room, most of them already dressed. For the seniors, this was to be their last game for St. Iohn's. At one-fifteen, ready to meet action, they all knelt down and said the rosary. At one-thirty they ran out on the floor amid a loud burst of cheers from the stands. The gym was packed tight. St. John's got off to an early start THE 1951 SILVER SANDS when Margie tallied ten points in the first quarter. In the second, St. Mark's came back and scored every time they got their hands on the ball. At the half, the score was 25-24 in favor of St. John's. In the third quarter, Margie played better than ever and added fifteen points to her credit. She looked like an easy winner of the coveted cup. Then it happened. Right in the middle of the third quarter one of St. Mark's players trying to jump and intercept a pass, fell and ripped her leg on the sharp edge of the iron bleachers. The game was at a. stand- still. Always level-headed, Margie immediately put her first aid knowl- edge to work. She ripped off the bot- tom of her gym suit and made a tourniquet to stop the excessive bleed- ing. When the ambulance finally arrived, Marg-ie insisted on going to the hospital with the girl. All the way she thought of nothing but her op- ponent's injury. By the time they ar- rived, the game would be over, but it didn't seem important now who won. For in a Hash Margie knew what her decision about that letter would be. An hour later she sent a telegram to Mr. Rapone: SORRY STOP MUST REFUSE OFFER STOP HAVE DECIDED TO ENTER NURSING STOP APPRECIATE OF- FER STOP DECISION FINAL MARGIE WILSON 'A' 'k 'A' In M aryir heart were joy bells ringing As she hurried on the road g To her cone-in's :he was going, There she would make her abode. X W1 ua :- When Elizabeth was greeted By the V irginif lovely speech, She knew without any telling That heaven was within her reach. Gmc: Doucnmmr, '52 T HE 1951 SILVER SANDS utter mp ! ERE YOU ever hated by people all over the country? Were the epithets of Drop dead and Take a long walk off a short pier together with soda pop bottles ever hurled at you? Has a hysterical female ever called you a thief, robber, or a pirate P These are a few experiences most men would like to avoid. However, every year a few brave souls have to go through these experiences not only once but often a hundred times. One of the reasons why they do this is that when they were young they formed the habit of eating regularly and they couldn't get out of it. So naturally, after they grew up they had to work. Another reason is that they're the best sports in the world and they like to see all sports events played cleanly and fairly. By now you've probably guessed my subject is the baseball umpire. Contrary to popular belief, umpires By Constance A. Bonner, '52 are human. They eat, sleep, walk, and talk just like the rest of us. However, there is one difference. They are umpires. It is as natural with a base- ball fan to say Kill the umpire as it is for Ralph Kiner to hit a home run. As I said before, the umpires are great sports and can take these remarks with a grain of salt. How- ever, don't try to go too far with them because they'd just as soon toss you out of the game as they'd bat an eyelash. Fans are funny people. If the ump calls an opposing player out on strikes, he's the best in the world. But just let him call your favorite player out trying to steal second and you retort Get a seeing eye dog, you blind bat l Most of the umps can take these remarks and give back an even better one. I doubt if these men would ever give up the job of umpir- ing, for as one ump said, You can't beat the hours. And besides, they get into all the games free. 'meiwf Wed, She laughed, she sighed, she winked her eye, She tossed her auburn head. Her coquetry availed her not- He danced with me instead I JANE Doucmnrrv, '51 THE 1951 SILVER SANDS Pretty Fish ! ATHER, Mother, little Jerry, and Mary were still newcomers to the Isthmus of Panama, and they delighted in going to Amador Beach, which was on the Pacific side of the Isthmus. Look how white the sand is ! ex- claimed little Jerry. Yes, and feel that cool sea breeze blowing in over the ocean, said his mother. My, doesn't that feel nice P Mother, said Mary, look at all the people. There are some in the yvater, but there's no room for us on the beach. Mother laughingly answered, We'1l find a place somewhere, dear. I hope so, sighed Mary. Amador Beach is always so crowded. Daddy, Daddy, may we please go in swimming? asked jerry. Very well, but take care of your ly Dorothy Haines, 'Sl sister, said Father. Don't go out far. Ooh, look, Jerry, shrieked Mary, look at that pretty fish. Isn't he big? Jerry, delighted, answered, Oh yes. Let's go play with him. Come here, fishieg we won't hurt you. Suddenly a shriek filled the air. A stranger quickly ran over to the child- ren crying, Little boy, little girl, look out! You'll get hurt! Father ran into the water and with the stranger's help got the children to safety. Meanwhile, exhausted swim- mers ran pantingly up the beach, and the lifeguards rescued those who were stranded on the life raft. Once again Father, Mother, Jerry, and Mary relaxed in the sun, but this time no one was swimming. The water had been abandoned until the shark net was repaired. faauldcapo ' Lightly fiufiing snowdrifts Are piling up so high, And Jack Frost, the artist, Is painting a wintry sky. PAULA RICHTER, '53 St. Thomas's Annex Tm: 1951 SILVER .SANDS T0nM Rides High HE GREAT black stallion lifted its proud head and snilfed the brisk autumn air. The sweet smell of grass and new-cut hay filled its nos- trils, but there was also another odor, a strange one. Storm galloped to the far end of the pasture, where he had spent many happy years, and sniffed at the air again. The mighty animal sensed danger. He raced to the rise of land at the northern end of the pasture, where he could look down over the ranch. The white of the walls shone brilliantly in the noon- day sun. Everything seemed peace- ful. The master's house lay quietg no living thing was stirring. Probably he and the other men had gone to the southern part of the ranch to pick up some stray bolts. The Young One had remained at home with the old cook. Although he could ride well, he was still too young to help in the hard work of rounding up strays. Storm loved the Young One, but sometimes he would paw the ground and gallop jealously away when the master yvould stand and look lovingly at the boy. A Hicker of bright light within the gloominess of the bam caught Storm's eyes. He cried loudly and raised his hoofs convulsively in the air. Fire! By Anna Guinan, '52 The barn was on fire. Then Storm saw something else. A little figure was dashing back and forth, leading the horses from the smoking barn. When the lite reached the hay, the whole place would go up like timber. As Storm watched, the small figure emerged from the barn again and again leading the animals to safety. Once more the Young One disap- peared into the building. just then a Haming beam of wood fell across the doorway making it almost impossible for anyone to go through. By this time the men had returned and yvere trying in vain to extinguish the flames. Storm jumped the pasture fence and was galloping toward the barn. A group of men were trying to keep the master from plunging into the inferno after the' Young One. Storm realized what he had to do, for he loved the master above all others. Backing up a good distance from the barn, he started at top speed for the fire. Bring-ing his front legs high in the air, Storm cleared the blazing beam and plunged into the smoke- filled barn. The lirst thing he felt was a searing pain as tiny sparks landed on his shining coat. The entire right side of the barn was ablaze by this time, so Storm kept close to the stalls 7 ,,,, , Y Tan 1951 Srnven SANDS on the left side, peering into the smoke-fogged darkness. In the third stall he found the Young One hud- dled up in a comer crying. At the sight of the great horse, the child gave a cry and jumped up. He patted the anirnal's head, wrapped a blanket about himself, and mounted Storm's back. The extra weight increased the pain, but unflinchingly he moved to the rear of the barn and galloped to- ward the open door. Halfway to his goal, a Haming splinter fell, catching him on the left side of his head, almost blinding him. Rearing, he tumed about and began again. The child clinging to his back was becom- -ing an unbearable weight. As Storm raced for the flaming doorway, fire all about him, the child leaned for- ward speaking encouragement into his ears. Reaching the opening, the horse exerted all his strength and once again cleared the barrier of fire. A cheer went up from the crowd but caught in their throats as Storm's legs gave way beneath him. The boy pvas picked up, unharmed but exhausted. The men turned to help Storm, but looked, sadly away as they saw the master fondling a lifeless head in his arms. Storm was laid to rest in the green pastures he had loved so well. The Master and others who had loved the proud but great-hearted horse, can still see him standing on that rise of land, black mane blowing in the breeze, looking down over the ranch. On that very spot stands a monument. Inscribed on it for everyone to see are the words: To Storm-never shall he be forgotten I Mnifwalwod . '67 M other I M other I Jesus said, As she Tucked Him Into bed. Good night, M o ther 1 W hat delight To hear Him whisper Sweet Good night I CATHERINE E. Bona, '52 Fatinm's Lucy, Child of God's grace. Viflmt heavenly joy Shines on your face! VVhat do you see As with fixed stare You gaze? It's Mary, G0d's Motlmer fairf' W7hat does she say In voice so clear? My love for men Has brought me here. Fatima's Lucy, Sweet chosen one, Pray that the world Xvill turn to her Son. Nlary Wfisniewski. '52 Illustrated by Kathleen Vlfhitc. '51 By Denise Keegan, '5 I Illustrated by Joan Bergmaier, '51 66 H, I WOULDN'T miss that for the world I How many times have I said those words? When our gang got together, there was only one thing we talked about--thai. But sometimes things will happen to change the meaning of a word. It changed for me a few weeks be- fore Christmas when my ten-year-old brother Larry was hit by a car. The doctors told us he would be crippled for life if he didn't get the proper treatments. All the money we could get together went toward operations .-W aim 'Ui E: . oullmgt and treatments for Larry's injured legs. There wouldn't be any money for extras for a long time. I admit I was bitter, but if you wanted something so badly that nothing else mattered, you would feel the same way. Oh why did Larry have to stop a car, especially at a. time like this? When I came home from school e .4 one day, I missed seeing Larry lying on the couch in the living room. I didn't say anything until supper time, when he wasn't brought to the table. Larry's been taken to the hos- pital for the last treatment, Mother told me. If this doesn't work, there's nothing more to be done for him. Then I realized for the first time yvhat that accident might mean. Larry at iss It Morris, my brother, might never play or walk again! . I forgot all my troubles thinking about him. That night I prayed: Dear God, please forgive me for my seliishnessg let this treatment work. Make Larry walk again. Days went by. It was the day after Christmas. Larry had not come home from the hospital yet. About seven o'c1ock we got a 'phone call from the hospital. It had worked! The treat- mnzaak. ment was a success! Except for a .slight limp, Larry would be as good as ever. I was happier than I had been for a long time. After all, there are more important things than a blue dress and a Senior Prom-things like see- ing Larry on his feet again and run- ning around the house. Well, I have to hurry now. Larry's coming home today, and I wouldn't miss that for the world! THE 1951 SILVER Sums Ballerina HE STARDUSTED, glimmering velvet curtain rose slowly on this never-to-be-forgotten night. Inch by inch it revealed colorful hues, cos- tumes, and lights so dazzling that the adult audience of the Toddlers' Thea- ter was left speechless. And sure, chuckled old Kate, the wardrobe mistress, as she patted the last costume and tied the last bow, 'tis no wonder they are all so stunned. This was the debut of our tiny ballerina, our Bunny, my cuddly, lov- able, six-year-old sister. She resembles a cherub with her platinum hair, pink cheeks, and nose so like her name- sake's, the Easter Bunny. As the stage became a cluster of tiny dancers with twinkling toes, our pride and joy, all six years of her, glided forward and executed the most graceful leaps, twists, and turns that had ever been witnessed in the Tod- dlers' Theater. She gave the impres- sion of a downy bundle of fluff being tossed about by the wind. Yes, it was evident as the ballet reached its finale that our little Bunny's performance was superb. ly Susanne Oobboeko, '51 After the show, critics showered Mom and Dad with compliments for our cherub. Her stage was set, her career in life decided upon by critics, newspapers, Mom and Dad, and me. The step was approved by everyone. No one found fault with our decision to make Bunny one of the greatest ballerinas of all time, no one, that is, but the most important person of all, Bunny. She decided to select her own role in her young life. Now, a few years later, at the mis- chievous, pigtailed age of eleven, our tiny ballerina is boldly thrilling throngs of spectators quite different from the appreciative audience at the Toddlers' Theater. They are the pudgy, freckle-faced youngsters screaming yvith excitement as they cheer their idol of the day, Booty , the star quarterback of the Twelfth Street Terrors. Yes, there she is, No. 4, booting that football over the goal line with the toe that once brought her fame of another kind. Bunny, now Booty has made a switch to her self-chosen career-from foot- lights to football. THE 1951 SILVER SANDS SUMMER ANGELUS T WAS NOON of a perfect sum- n1er's day and I loved it. The trees were fragrant, the wind was mild, and the sky was loose with thin white streaks. I felt that if I didn't walk, admire, and think about the power of Almighty God, my soul would ily away and I would be left insensitive and dead. ' I toiled up the hill which was near- est, but in spite of the ascent, I could not feel tired. It was a slow climb and I wondered if any other person .was appreciating the same things that moved me. Was anyone else thinking with me and thanking the power be- hind all this-God? Over the top of the hill I went and walked into a beautiful field of ripen- ing corn. I sat on a rock and looked at the panorama of country below me. It was noon, high noon, and all was silent for the oncoming service which I had not expected. Suddenly the corn was no longer By Margaret Hollins, 'Sl motionless: a gentle wind had given it life. With each new breath it bowed as if to an unseen power and waved its leafy arms in a strange gesture of adoration. The wind made the trees sing beautiful music, unrecorded in the books of man, and sent the per- fume of honeysuckle through the air. Then it seemed as though the wind blew faster and the corn bowed again and again. . At once I knew. This was nature's Angelus. The corn was the worship- pers, praying emotionally, thankfully. The wind was the organ, and the trees were the choir of celestial voices all assembled in the church of the world. It was the most inspiring thing I had ever seen or ever felt. My heart thumped wildlyg my eyes were blinded by all this beauty and I felt unable to breathe, but my mind was clear with a million hymns of gratitude. I descended the hill with more of God than I had when I climbed it. I .Bake Maas I like music, bebop, swing, I like music that can make my heart sing, I like music 'cause it never grows old, I like music for its treasure of gold, I like music for its silvery sweetness, That fills the night with magic completeness. NE'r'1-nz GUAGENTI, 'Sl QR' By Adele Solarl, '51 Illustrated by Suzanne Mayer, '52 OMPLETE with suitcases, tennis racquet, portable radio, and a few other sundry items, I descended upon Camp Ozananka. This was to be my home for the next two months. Imagine, getting paid for taking care of children! I learned that art early in our family. I could see myself now, after a day of playing games, swimming, and story-telling, resting on the front porch of our cabin, strumming on my ukelele. After one night, I was rudely awakened to the fact that country living is very different from city life. Insects, which scare me to death, seemed to find my bedroom irresistibly attractive. Bugs, big and little, fat and thin, of assorted colors and odd-numbered arms and legs, plagued me until the wee hours of the morning, when the freezing cold drove them away. Instead of dropping off then into sweet slumber, I was kept awake by the noise of my teeth chattering in the sub-zero temperature. Rising from my iceberg, at what seemed the crack of dawn, I shivered into my camp clothes and sallied forth to meet my charges, all wriggly little boys. The morning flew by, the time before lunch being spent in getting I Continued on Page 63 ll 0 YS . ll lfli S . A if ll li 0,1 T THE 1951 SILVER SANDS ' HMMB' By Mary Worthington Miss Mary L. Wordiington is a graduate of the Immaculate Heart Center, one of four such Centers which were the nucleus of the present john W. Hallahan Catholic Girls' High School. She later served as president of its alumnae. As she herself ex- plains in this guest editorial, Miss Worthington stepped from high school into the business world. Though especially valuable for our graduates who share this goal with her, Miss Worthington's pattern for a happy life belongs to every student of Hallahan. HEN I WAS A YOUNG LASS in a size twelve dress, the digni- fied age of twenty-one was five years into the future. Twenty-one was a most advanced age, and I distinctly recall thinking that certainly it would see the culmination of my life's ambitions. By the time I reached that auspicious birthday, there was no doubt that I was going to be all the things I wanted to be-which included a great many things. I longed to go to the foreign missions. On the other hand, the idea of thirteen chil- dren interested me greatly, seven boys, six girls, and I had names for them all-strong, powerful names, names with a punch. But when several potential husbands floated in with the tide, I didn't give one of them a Chinaman's chance. They were nice boys, too. I could have done all right. At school, Latin had been my specialty. I had thoroughly detested book- keeping and all that figures entailed. So, at seventeen I took a job as a bookkeeper and s'help me I've been tigurin' ever since. Oh yes, from time to time there was a step upward, and responsibility was added here and there. Finally, when the whole caboodle of the financial structure of a fairly enterprising business was thrust into my lap, the Federal Govern- ment, State and City Fathers decided to make the taxpayers brush up briskly on their mathematics. Then there really was fun, cutting halves of one percent into quarters, and wondering just what amount would jump up when the excise tax equalled the sum of column five plus colurrm six divided by column eight minus column ten-to be inserted in column seven on page one. Q It's an interesting career. And the majority of you starry-eyed young graduates of nineteen hundred fifty-one will take it. Decision or indeci- 50 Tim 1951 SILVER SANDS sion may steer your steps into the held of keeping the financial world going around. Whatever the motivating power, yours is the task to keep that world up to the dimensions of the Catholic woman. With some, oppor- tunities will be tremendous to direct otherwise questionable channels. In others, example may be the only medium to make the influence of the Catholic girl permeate her office and beyond. And don't think that men don't notice these things. There was one in our office who could turn the air blue with the picturesqueness of his vocabulary, but when any one of us Hallahanites appeared as he let loose, he stopped dead in his vocal tracks and apologized. His verbal exuberance finally diminished. Small things count, don't discount them. Father Keller says in his most recent Christopher reminder: Change the world before it changes you ! If yours is the business career, let me urge you to think and act on sev- eral points. In the pursuit of your daily orange juice and Wheaties, don't forget the cultural side of life. Study, read, attend lectures to further your education. Go to the opera, orchestra concerts, the famous ballets, the art museums 5 and don't ever miss our own combined musicales or the Alum- nae's great reunion each October, both magnificent achievements unique in educational annals. Keep your sense of humor. Sprinkle it generously over everything. You'll be surprised how its impact smothers diliiculties and its reflections react upon yourself. To your ideals and principles be true, and I can promise you, not perhaps great worldly success, though I hope you attain it worthily, but an ever increasing consciousness of the providence of God over you, without which, you will by that time realize, nothing else matters. My father used to say to me when I was thinking over those many things that I wanted to be, Whatever you are, be the best in your line. May I pass that advice on to you? It means effort, sacrifice, cooperation, enthusiasm, and continual self-education. But it means also the satisfaction of achievement. No little bit of that achievement comes from the under- lying spiritual values on which you build your career. Hallahan gives you only the finest in your preparation for taking your final place in the world. You have been molded in a pattern of spiritual and intellectual culture. The shaping of the design of your future life is in your hands. As you draw the lines, be guided by the only slogan worthy of you-VVhatever you are, be the best! 51 4. ,,-' 1-1-',, .1 , N,- .,. I 0,34 , ,. N. .-A . ,p... h lifvjr, . 'f - V Hi' ' ' . - ,I ,' A. I . h :f ,I ' ug v ,QS , ' fi-,, ,I 1-. 'Q . . , 'A 2 gf- WJ. ,,-- 7-. ., . :F -1 kg I' 'A ' S ff' Z' W 'H . - Le wg ' .V 5: 1 -Rs: 1 LQ! i ' ' . , .gif , -. I -1 . K Y N x J! Q I 45 :- N -P N. A sb A A - Q' 1, . lax 5 .. :fi Sy, 'QF - xv , rv . :lug 6 day nights later, you brought your- self back with a start as your mind began to wander. Bill had kept a con- stant How of chatter going since you began dancing, but somehow the words were lost before they reached you, now at last they penetrated your consciousness. And Fran, we'll have such fun at the games, he was say- ing. Games? your mind repeated. Oh, football. Bill was in his second year at State and was telling you of the gay times you'd have together. Dear Bill, you thought, looking up at his honey-colored hair and intense blue eyes. Built like a football player but unable to play because of an injury sustained in childhood, he was an ardent fan. That you had shared his enthusiasm for the game seemed v av T vague and distant now, his talk dull. Oh yes, we'll have so much fun, you managed to murmur. Everything here, the soft lights, the beautiful ter- race with the moon's beckoning silver light seemed unreal. You were living in a world of illusion. This was not the realm for you. 1 1 1 Mother, I'm sure it's the place for me, you finished, and your family nodded in agreement. Yes, in a few short weeks, you, Mary Frances Bar- ker, would trade your pretty pink party dress for the black habit of the Sisters of Charity. And this, your very heart sang out, is the awaken- ing, the light after dark, the calm after storm, the start of a new life in devo- tion to Him ! V K fi fl .51 vi .pt E, f-7. ' i sh, In Vi df Ahh 1.7.11 .Ju-usa gnupg Solitaire USAN SAUNDERS, a pretty, blond, eighteen-year-old, lived with her parents in their hotel in Oceanside, a summer resort. She was not entirely happy. There was some- thing that life had not given her. Though quiet for her age, she was popular. There was always a family staying at the hotel that provided a friend for her-if not a girl, a boy. One day after Susan had finished typing some letters, she let herself sink into a big deep leather chair to wait her rnother's return. As she sat gazing at the ceiling, thoughts of regret filled her mind. They always leave just when I get to know them. 'Just another week is all we're staying? 'Didn't these two weeks go fast? And then 'Good- !l ll That was one word she had learned to hate during the last few years, Good-bye . Her musing was interrupted sud- denly by a terrible clatter and crash- ing noise in the lobby. When Susan made her way to the scene, she found bags scattered in all directions. From the middle of them emerged a mass of curly brown ringlets atop a perfectly - 54 ly Constance Forrls, 'Sl astounded face. A tall, middle-aged man and a small, rather thin woman appeared. I told you to take only two at a time, he said reproachfully to the young man, now on his feet. But you young folks have to do things the fast Way!! The woman approached Susan. Pm Mrs. Reynolds, she explained. We have reservations. Susan found the reservations just as her mother came into the lobby. Mrs. Saunders finished the formalities and asked Susan to show the Reynolds family to their rooms, assuring the young man that the luggage would be sent up in a few minutes. When she returned, her mother was looking over some mail. Susan, I want you to mail these letters. Then you can have the after- noon to yourself. Susan glanced at the clock. There would be time for a few hours at the beach. On her way to the post office she laughed when she thought of the avalanche of suitcases. He was good looking, she discovered, and maybe about nineteen. Her errand finished, she hurried to the beach and soon felt the warm, dry sand creep into her open sandals. She waved to the people she knew. For a while she sat watching the surfg then she turned over, propped herself up on her elbows, and began to play her favorite game, solitaire. Suddenly a splurt of sand hit her in the face and a shower of it covered her blanket and cards. VVhen she was able to see again. before her sat young Mr. Reynolds, three hot dogs in one hand and one cup of soda in the otherg another cup had come to rest in chapeau fashion on his head. Little streams of brown bubbly liquid ran through his curls and down his face. Gosh, l'm sorry! he apologized. Seems I can't do anything today without falling all over myself. Oh, it's all right, Susan said sym- pathetically, now standing over him. She took the cup off his head, reached for the hot dogs and handed him tissues from the pocket of her robe. He began to wipe away the soda. 'Tm afraid you'll have to buy some more, Susan said. l guess I will. 'We1l, thanks a lot for helping me. Sorry I have to be so clumsy. By the way, my name's Ronny. Mine is Susan, she said as she sat down. VVell, so long, Susie, and thanks again, he called. V Susie , she laughed to herself. No one had ever called her that before. It THE 1951 SILvER SANDS was funny, but she had never been nicknamed. I guess I never looked like anything elsef' she told herself as she dug her cards out of the sand and resumed her playing. This time, however, she didn't play long. She was restless. She gathered up her cards and put them away. From her beach bag she took her bathing cap and began stuffing her soft blond curls up under it. She then walked slowly toward the ocean. The water was cool and refreshing around her ankles. Soon she was floating over the unbroken surface. For a long time she let herself drift. Suddenly the water was freezing cold. It numbed her whole body. She began to tremble. She tried to stand up, but bottom was a long way under. She went down once, twice. VVhen she came up she was powerless. Then a familiar crest of brown ringlets appeared some feet away. What happened after Ronny's arm reached her waist, Susan did not remember. VVhen she opened her eyes she was in the First Aid Station. Ronny was there, too. Finally her mother came and the doctor said she could leave. That evening after a very light din- ner of broth and tea, Susan settled herself in the big, overstuffed rocker to play solitaire. She didn't play long, however, for Ronny dropped in to see her and stayed for a couple of hours. She found him interesting and began to like him. THE 1951 SILVER SANDS The days that followed were glor- ious ones, and Susan and Ronny were together more and more. Their friend- ship grew. Then one Saturday morn- ing when they were going riding on the beach, Ronny said regretfully, Vile leave tomorrow. Leave-good-bye-tomorrow! A dam broke and a flood of thoughts rushed into Susan's mind. She couldnit make herself believe it. It had hap- pened again. But this time it was diiterent. Now she wanted to fight time, the people, the reasons why he he had to go. The day of their departure came. Susan watched it from the porch while warm, silent tears trickled down her face unheeded. Hours became days. Finally it was ten days since Ronny had left, and she had heard not a word from him. Her spirit was broken. It's always the same, she sobbed. The Gremlin OOS are such wonderful places- tlziugsv, as my cousin would say. aunt asked me to take Ricky to the soo. They all say they'1l come back. Oh dear God, please send him back. Her prayer was interrupted by a loud thud. She moved fretfully. Noises annoyed her now. She turned in the direction of the sound, and there in the middle of the lobby floor sat Ronny. Susie! he shouted gleefully. Ronny I she sang and ran. He got to his feet just in time to catch her. I knew you'd come. I knew it ! Gosh, I'm glad to be back. And guess what, Susie. I'm staying. Got a job as lifeguard and 'Mom bought a little house. Susan was overjoyed. She was in another world. She would never have to worry again when the two weeks were over. That night Ronny taught Susan how to play double solitaire. By Rita Rotfer, '54 Sf. Pefer's Annex all the pretty animals and birds and Speaking of cousins, last Saturday my Well, I co'uldu't see 'where he could get into too much trouble th-ere: after all, there are bars on the cages. But as usual I was wrong. No soouer had ree gone through the gate than the talking parrot b-it Ricky's finger, and as a result was minus a few feathers. By the ti-mv we 'went homie ft'weu.ty minutes laterj, Ricky had a marvelous collection: two parrot feathers, one small turtle, one -wet shoe the stepped into the duck pondj, half a soda bottle found just outside the cleplumt pit, a-nd one utterly exhausted cousin. 56 A Cnseof ,,,,,, ,, THE 1951 Sxnvxm SANDS angled erves HE DAY STARTED as usual, or so I thought. I was leisurely reclining with a soft pillow behind my head when suddenly I heard a key turning in the door. Someone was invading the privacy of my little estab- lishment. I didn't moveg I was terri- fied. Then suddenly I was grabbed from behind. I let out two nerve jingling shouts. My captor said not a word. He just tied me roughly to a leather strap and left me dangling in mid-air. When I had recovered my twinkling senses, I looked around but Stepping Stone By Jacqueline Cullen, '54 Sf. Poror's Annex I got no satisfaction. Then it hap- pened. I was traveling through mid- air. What indescribable torture was this monster about to bestow upon me? We came to a jingling stop. I then heard something that soothed my jangled nerves. It was a jolly laugh, one I had heard before. Yes, it was St. Nick. Now I realized why I had been removed from the little box in the closet. Yes, Santa, my old friend, had merely chosen me to liven up his journey from house to house. Imag- ine my joy, for I am a Jingle Bell. By Mary C. Byrne, '54 Sf. Pofor's Annex Y LIFE is not unhappy, nor is it uneventful. Life is rather hard on my structure. I work in an extremly large place, am seen by more than a million people annually, and come in contact with many famous sport figures. Sometimes great quarrels ensue over my possession. When I am left unguarded, I am stolen immediately. However, I am only a necessary stepping stone on the way to greater achievement-a third base bag at Shibe Park. K '5 2 ,ff OU HAVE ALL heard of Mac- beth, for his is a tale of great renown. His was a deep greed for power. I suppose there are many modern Thanes of Glamis, but the one whom I have in mind was no ',pI '-n.,.,..-. ., 'U-an 1 , By Jane Morris, 'SI Illustrated by Elouiso Thomas, 'SI ordinary Macbeth. This one had four feet instead of the usual two. How- ever, this was in his favor. We all seem to think of animals as being dumbg but believe me, if you knew Macbeth, you would no longer use the term dumb animal . There's no art to show the mind's construction in the face. Macbeth understood this line as he sat and stared into space, his face a perfect specimen of tranquility. These composed moments of his never lasted long. In fact, I've decided that they were a special mischief-making recess, thought up by Macbeth himself. Our Macbeth didn't want to be King of Scotland. He just wanted to be king of the block , and therein lay the diliference. Scotland's Macbeth was weak in character, but not ours. Tm: 1951 SILVER Sums He had just about the boldest charac- ter a rat terrier could have. He barked and whined, tackled every would-be king on the block, and always came out victorious. Here again, we realize the value of his four legs to our two, because he could also run-and fast. But, like the Scottish Macbeth, he slipped up, as all criminals eventually will, and that was the sad ending of Macbeth. The dog catcher didn't make a very dramatic Macduff, but he played his part well. Farewell, Mac- beth. CAME HOME from a dance one Saturday night to find my grandmother sitting in the living room hufling and pufiing. I was disturbed because her heart isn't as strong as it used to be. She was saying 771 '7an-hand over and over, It's a disgrace! At first I thought it was her way of saying that I had come in too late. But then she went on: They have no consideration for the human body. I thought maybe she was a little hysterical, till looking across the room I spied the root of her delirium. Grandmom, I fairly shouted, you promised never to do that again! You know what the doctor said. It's the same thing every week. I don't know why you do it because you don't like them. At least, that's what you always tell Uncle Bill. Going over I turned oil' the television. That put an end to the wrestling match on Channel 10 for that weekend anyway. MARYANN ANDERSON, '51 THE 1951 SILVER Sanus FAMILY 0F THE BRIDE By Marlo Quinn, '51 Illustrated by Dolores Clements, 'Sl 'Y fl -gi, . - f ,- ' .Q .1. ,, t, .759 5 m ' '1 f- C ' Q ' '7,i f J' 12 . cw- 'A ' W Y - 2 'Agia , 1 'r ' -ff' 5 .' ' - Hire? If if' -f 1' N 'dl A ,af 4- 'xiii f 5 T W - - ,q,p'fi':'?1--v.- 1151.4-A h , 1 I f fq 'I Q AWN- ' lvl , ' .' D . . -gc- .uk J: 1 'jg 1: I QFAJFIQ: i' qi, . I-4. 4-al.. J. ., . , - f 1 ' S Qui JT, 'lfil : ,, 5-4534 ' ' -- , '-Fit ag! - ., --- f V K Y . 'V . ...S-s.i.'uW qn 'Pf's -- A, 1. 5' . . ,ua . 11:49-57' :' ' - Q fri- lQZ'.i?fi:,QQ,Q, gf: '- , U., .55-,z 5 -I 1.5 assi' a s f fr' 1 '- 4-we-N'f 's ' ' ff-if-' 2-3. 1 2 ' -K,-,rs-ef-:fre-2-,ow,.,., Q 1, ,W ' J ' -' - .jf 194 fi 1 - 'i1 .i'5f'z-1-. ' --0-fmm. s. 'W' . . fp x. -I . .13 U -M61 N . gsm.. Nur, Lwuuasclh H A . li N h h 'fun-p ' 6:i?5Aa?ewN-fr,T '.fi.'L,:'.3q:.:',G.. . . e s...,,. .' v-.--'-K' ,,1 ' ,al I '1 ' ' - wr. 3, ERE IT WAS-the twenty- fourth of june! That long- awaited day had finally come. The sun was shining brightly at seven o'clock, and everybody in the Quinn household was up except our five- year-old baby. Why? It happened to be the day when the oldest Quinn was getting married. Now if you have ever had a wed- ding at your house, you know what a strange place you home is transformed into at a time like this. About a month before the wedding, it begins. There are showers to attend and invitations to write. Presents pour in and you frantically ask, Where can we put them? Boxes and packages arrive every day. Then all the wedding gifts have to be set up. The family moves into the kitchen for meals for the week preceding and following the happy day. But we Quinus, we're a smart bunch! We were going to arrange things so that nobody would have to do a thing on the wedding day. We were all going to relax until four o'clock. Yes, everything was going to be as smooth as ice-until complica- tions set in. Well-intentioned people were drifting in and out of the house all day. The bride? Oh, she looked charming sitting in the kitchen with her hair up and in dungarees, still writing thank-you notes. And there she stayed until three o'clock! The Bower girl? As soon as she woke up, she wanted to get dressed in the long blue organdy she was to wear in the wedding party. We had a. harrowing time convincing her that she should wait at least for a while. The father of the bride? He was tearing around making sure that everything was set up for the reception. The 'phone rang for the-how many times? The wed- ding cake couldn't be delivered. Some- one would have to pick it up. And now it was three o'clock. The 61 THE 1951 SILVER SANDS photographer arrived to take some candid shots. Where was the bride? Why, still in pin curlers and dunga- rees. At that point, however, she did tear herself away from her corres- sopndence and dashed upstairs to dress. Everybody else was all ready. We sat down for a few minutes. Then someone jumped as if struck. The flowers! Where are the Bowers? Three-thirty and no flowers! Maybe the Horist didn't have the right ad- dress. Then a street watcher was hastily appointed to be on the alert for the truck. After a few endless minutes they arrived, and there was now only the confusion of who was to get which corsage. Finally the bride was ready to leave for church, and in a trail of glory departed in the first car. Mother and the rest of us were pushed into another one. All day long the sun had been shin- ing brightly. But at three-thirty p.m.? Yes, it happened. The sky darkened and with a clap of thunder the rain poured and poured. It poured when we arrived at the church, it poured all during the ceremony 3 it still poured as we hurried out to go to the recep- tion. Oh yes, it was a wild day but a grand one, too. After the happy couple had left for their honeymoon in New York, my mother and father sat talking together. I can still hear them saying, There'll be no more weddings around here for ten years at least. Oh, I groaned, I hope I don't have to wait that long l naw., 'ls It ' 1 W-an One clear, cool day, An autumn mom, To Joachim and Anne A child was born. This child of grace Was like no other. Who could have dreamed She would be Goff: mother! Rrra LAVERY, '52 Continued from Page 48 hot cereal down their protesting throats, helping them make beds, and taking them on a short hike-only live miles! The time in between was oc- cupied in typing shoe laces, taking care of bee stings, and warning the children that our tame goat, Wilhel- mina, could use her horns if certain little boys didn't let her alone. I needed the rest period after lunch to recuperate from the rnorning's labors and to prepare myself for screams and splashes at the pool. That night, besides microbes and chilling atmosphere, visions of little boys with dirty faces and uncombed THE 1951 SILVER SANDS hair, asking the eternal When are we going to eat? whirled through my worn-out brain. Days followed days in the usual order, and by the end of the week, I had become so accustomed to rising at seven, sixty-degree temperatures, and other lesser evils, that I actually be- gan enjoying myself. Two lovely sun- baked hours down at the pool each day became a precious compensation. Would I go through it again? Oh yesl Next year I'm going back be- cause, strange creature that I am, I've learned to like mischievous little boys and troublesome little bugs. Mama 4 seam 'X i' Mary M other Without stain, Had to See her Dear Son's pain. Seven Sorrows Were her cross. She, the Pure one, Bore great loss. MARGARET A. HARVEY, '52 63 , I 'A 1 Q 41 y 2 ,,, by . . HE -Q D -- A 5 5 -- headacrowno tw . st? ,' ' J h Q a A it Punh 1 ' z ., l -P M if to - ',', ' f '::'A - Pra If-: :'gf1 I. I b ' .51 4. gf , f l1t1nuclggf Gggion 4 - f the ato fp ig lfl 1 'E o o ' htg for hearts gripped 71.1 by fear 1 'Y f p Q Rgmgf -if Mqgh bib' ary, H 11 S -' - ' rthly light, is bill I cloak .T in i .':l A V. e a o I I o - -X stars are precious . g 'ste 3 y it-3 t 1 1 -p Q at gleaming cir ,,,.- of silver -A you xA- q': e f ' I ' . ' if Tell us A- .QQQ ' . e A- lg 5 , la -' f of the pr 4 ' Q dimmed by your if :pl T1 -Zi 5 ' o wp, u, Mary, w -, son held me wholf .,,,,,p,i pV-1 1 ,gn ,epu A, infant ima. 3 !! Humanity must iplq Zzxq Z 5fQ lQQffi t' 1 eir so t culate Mother, or Cfushed by es F 1 r -- ' e f the world looks to u for you are truly ligj, t. . q .4 Clothe us, then, -5, , ith I - ms-from yo , b e r X . feet, your heart. er s i p. nee, rays of the gl of you Son, as you illumina e th. 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