Girard College - Corinthian Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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‘My deeds must be my life, when I am dead my actions must speak for me.” 5 Uj? (Hartttllnan [ 6 ] 3Januarg

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To the boys of January, 1942: In a few days you young men will be standing on the Chapel plat¬ form singing The Farewell Song.” You will all be happy at the consum¬ mation of your years of study; many of you are eagerly looking forward to a job, to further study, to a greater degree of self-direction; most of you will sing dear temple on the hill” with a lump in your throats and a nostalgic sigh of regret as the signif¬ icance of the word “farewell” takes on new meaning. Yes, it is a farewell to certain ma¬ terial realities—buildings, centers of group activities, members of the staff, and as¬ sociates. But, in a larger sense, I wonder whether you really ever do say farewell to Girard College! I wonder whether you can ever disassociate yourselves from this school and this home by saying “farewell” or by any other means! Girard College has become a part of you, and you just can’t say “goodbye” to a part of your very selves. Your health habits, your speech, your hobby interests, your appreciations, your ideas about social, religious, economic, and political standards, your recrea¬ tional activities have their origins here; and, though you may modify them consid¬ erably in the years to come, you never entirely say farewell to Girard College. When you need a job, want a change of position, or seek advice and judgment in the days ahead, you will come back to the College; when you find yourself in a dif¬ ficult situation, need help, or are discouraged, you’ll turn once more to the “temple on the hill”; when you win promotion and success or achieve distinction and pub¬ lic recognition, you’ll see to it that the College knows of it; when you marry, one of the first places you’ll show your bride is the old home at Girard; when you proudly lead your own son by the hand, you’ll bring him to this school and regale him with tales of your youthful exploits and schoolboy pranks. Do you not think, then, that your “farewell” is just a goodbye to the tangible, the material, the visible Girard College rather than the Girard College that is truly a part of it? Likewise, young men, we say “farewell” to you as eighteen year old youths —you of curly black hair or of soft blond hair; you of six feet three or five feet six; you of quiet, reitiring disposition, or you of strong, aggressive personality but we do not say goodbye” to you completely. We follow you with our faith, our trust, our confidence —truly we believe that a part of ourselves leaves this school with you. We just can’t let you go willy-nilly. With keen interest, with jealous and watchful eye and with affectionate solicitude we follow you into office or factory or college, and into your communities and homes and churches. With a tear-dimmed eye, as you leave the College, then, you will say“farewell” — but you will add, with a smile, I’ll be seeing you.” Affectionately and sincerely yours, D. MONTFORT MELCHIOR 1942 0 Ijr fflmintljiatt [ 5 ]

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A Word to the Founder As each class leaves this wonderful school, Girard College, they can’t refrain from expressing their thanks and appreciation for all that has been done for them. One must realize that we aren’t just leaving high school, but our home of the past ten cherished years. Some tackle this pleasurable task of expressing their apprecia¬ tion with long words and eloquent language. They do a fine job. But suppose that we tell you rather informally and confidentially what someone probably said be¬ tween the lines long ago. We’re proud to be “Hummers.” We are grateful for the education that we have received and for the patient instruction given us in preparation for a career. Beauti¬ ful memories of the Chapel, the Library, Founder’s Hall, and the whole campus will never fade from our minds. And so we could carry on but there is one memory and joy for which we are most thankful. We have lived together for nine or ten years and have grown to know each other as no one else does. We understand each other’s likes and dislikes. We have been as closely bonded together as brothers might be. It is this companionship that we appreciate more than anything else, more than all the money and marble in the College. It is this for which we are most thankful. We were faltering young children when we left our homes to enter this haven. Many of us were removed from the intimate domestic ties that we held so dearly, and were dropped into a mass of 1700 boys, all strange, all new. It was not an easy proposition to adjust ourselves to this rather frightening environment, but when we did, our worries were over and our fears were forgotten. We plugged along to gether, scrapping and arguing, loving and respecting. We confided in each other and conversed with those older than us about our troubles. Each growing day we unconsciously tightened a precious packet of friendship. Now on Commencement Day we realize this perhaps all too late. It is not just a governess or a teacher that is passing from our lives, but a counsellor and an aid in time of need. It is not only another “swell bunch of Hummers” that we will long for, but classmates—real friends and companions. What awaits us after we leave here is doubtful and uncer¬ tain. Perplexing problems will confront us; entangling situations will arise; we may be called to make a great sacrifice. Whatever it is, we will not shirk. And through this turmoil, we, like anyone else, will need the comfort and aid of those whom we can trust, friends who will help us. Yes, it gives one a sense of security to know that there will be those enduring friendships without which life is empty indeed. And so, we say again, thank you, Stephen Girard, for everything, and most of all for the friends we made. 1942 [ 7 ] fflormtljtan