Elmira Catholic High School - Victorian Yearbook (Elmira, NY)

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being used to playing there. I surprised everyone, most of all myself. I worked very hard but it was fun. T'here were some other kids there from our school. VVe tried to see who could work the fastest and the best. Nobody could agree who it was because each one thinks he was the best. But personally, I feel that no one could hold a candle to me. Jackie was feeling very misused because he couldnlt go to Hogan's too. And, of course, it didn't help any when Uncle Steve said they wanted someone who would be a help not a bother. June 6-We got a cable from Jerry today. Guess what! IIe's coming home. I didn 't think he could come so soon. Nothing else important happen- ed today, dear diary, or if it did, it seemed unimportant along side of Jerry's news. June 14-VVe had a letter from Jerry. Ile will arrive the twentieth. His letter was typewritten and he certainly has lost his touch. About every other word was misspelled. I guess thatls what comes of not practicing. The kids are having a picnic tonight and I have to make some sandwiches. I can hardly wait to see Jerry. 2 June 20-This morning it was beautiful out. It was Jerry's favorite kind of day-just right for his homecoming. The sky was a deep deep blue with puffy white clouds. Our rose bushes were bursting with color and all the trees and lawns were a fresh bright green after last eveningls rain. The sun was shining harder than ever before, making everything golden with light. I couldn't help feeling that the old world had done itself proud for Jerry. I was upstairs when a car drew up and Jerry got out. He was pale and he came up the walk very slowly. But I knew nothing was wrong because on his face was that same old Jerry-smile. I nearly fell downstairs in my rush to see him. And now, dear diary, I won't be writing in you anymore. You See- J erry's blind- Eleanor Maloney '43 paiceafaaeecfom I shall walk in the fields today, Over the wide brown plain, I shall feel the chill swift wind- Hear its lone refrain. I shall run through the fields today. Breathe the cold, clear air, And Illl lift up my face to the sky, Feel a swift, sweet prayer. I must go from these fields today T'o a far-off shoreg I must torture and slaughter men In a cruel war. As I pull forth a bloody sword From a dead man's breast, I must forfeit these fields of mine. No more will I rest. Eleanor Maloney '43 Page Fifty

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My Kinqcfam 404 14 flag One of his classmates had had a dog when he was promoted from the fifth grade. Buddy had wanted one ever since. His mother had said no quite firmly the last time. Buddy didn't blame her. There were enough mouths to feed without some cur hanging around with his Stomach in his eyes all the time. If you wanted to buy one, they cost so much any way, and they had to be looked after. That took time which he didn't have. With school work and helping at the mill with Dad, he hardly had time to sleep. Maybe Mom was right after all, But, gee, a fella oughta have someone to play with besides five sisters and a twoamonth old brother. None of his friends lived near him. Working at the paper mill was dangerous. One false step with those cruel machines and you would be minus an arm or leg or maybe even your head. His job didn't worry him. All he had to do was oil odd partg for machines and keep the racks filled up. Once in a While he got kinda nervous about Dad. Lately, with money so scarce he'd been getting odd jobs around town besides his regular one. As a result, he'd been losing some much-needed sleep. Buddy didn't see how he stood it. But he did, bringing in only a few miserable dollars compared to the injury to his health. On a machine like that one Dad worked, you had to be extra careful and alert. He hated to think what would happen if Dad fell asleep on his job. But a more immediate worry was what on earth could he write for that literary contest! Some club or other, in the same district as his school, put up a prize of S25-an enormous prize it seemed to Buddy for just writing something. The principal said everyone would enter something. He hadn't the slightest idea what he could write. Say, the teacher had said just put down your thoughts, what he wanted most in the world was a dog. He 'd begin tonight and get it all done. Buddy hadnlt told the family about what he was going to send in. He hadn't wanted anyone to know about what he would write. Like as not they would give all sorts of suggestions which would only confuse him. That night he gathered pencil and paper and the cherished picture of The Dog , which he kept under his pillow and retired to a quiet room. It took him about three hours. Many beginnings, crossings-out, new attempts. Then there were long moments when he just sat, chin in hand, looking at The Dog . Finally he picked up the pencil and began: t'My dear Dog, You are only a picture now . . . . He wrote steadily for twenty minutes. Then, he laid down the pencil with a sigh. He could hardly keep awake. He hesitated: was it too long? He shrugged, it would have to do. Signing his name, he folded the paper quickly and put it in his English book. Golly, but it was late! He got into bed with The Dog and soon was sound asleep. Dad had an awful cold the next day and couldn't go to work. He got a couple days off so he could stay home and doctor up. But his cold lingered for a couple of weeks, and he was no better. In fact, he seemed worse. Bufddy hated to see his mother's face so thin and haggard. The kids were thin and haggard, too. There was more than one night they had gone to bed hungry. If only Dad could get back to work. The boss had just given him a raise. He wouldnlt be paid for the time he was sick. They had to get money for food and medicine, somehow. Only wishful thinking, his mother told him with a sad smile. Dully, Buddy wondered what all the excitement was about at school. Slowly it came to him. The winner of the contest would be awarded the prize today. There had been an element of surprise introduced about this prize. No one knew just what it was. He didn't care about any contest. All he could think of was poor Dad-he looked so shrunken or something. Mom said they couldnlt get any more medicine. No money. If I had somc, she said, I could get him well in no time. Page Fifty-two