Lincoln School - Lambre Quin Yearbook (Providence, RI)

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ROLLING STONE I rc-memberecl when he had been preju- diced against litanical churches. I remem- bered also when he said, a year later, that it had just been a childish phase. I remem- bered when he had been lor the emotional. clemcmstrative new churches and would listen aviclly to the shouting' ministers ol that type ol' religion over the radio: at that time he was convinced that everyone else was wrong. and this new church was right. 'I'hen I moved away, and during tl1e sum- mer ol' the year belore he started college. when he visited me, he was completely be- yond reason-almost lanatical. Alter that I didn't see him again until his graduation Irom college. He had changed colleges. He hacl begun in a clenominational college ol' his parents' and his own choice: but as he had grown more progressive, he had lelt hemmecl in by tradition. He had lelt lor a large city college. 'I'hc-re he could attend meetings ol' new branches ol' churches, which met in aban- doned auditoriums and old meeting halls. I-Ie tlnew himsell' into his work, until it seemed too tame or as il' it were standing still. 'I'hen he would be restless. and begin to search lor a new sect. I I met him not long agof-Ile was an ex- tremely handsome boy, and a lot ol' lun when not in one ol' his lanatical sprees.-He talked lor awhile. laughing over old times, lfinally. as I knew it would, the conversation centered about his religion. Many people had heard ol him by now. He was endorsing a policy nmch like that ol' the Ku Klux Klan. Re- membering how he used to listen to the radio. I asked him il' he did not still like the man who had then been his idol. He was just a childish phase, he an- swered. He had said that all his lile as an excuse lor himsell. As his mind narrowed. so did his reasoning power. .Xnd alter he had lelt, I sat there thinking. Here was a promising young man. ll' only he did not have to prove to himsell' something sanything. He was still a lost boy, insecure in his beliefs: really, not believing anything. lVhen he stops to think, many years latex. will he realize that all his searching has brought him nothing?-That his c'onsc'ience has been appeased, not satisfied?-'I'hat he has only taken up time, not mind? ll he had only worked at his religion he might have succeeded-I do not mean physis cal work, but mental and spiritual. 'I'he only way to do this is to have lalth, but-he cllcl not have laith. neither laith in I-od nor Ialth in himsell' to believe in Cod. llis laith in hnnsell was sunnned up in Ins own words: lt was just a childish phase. IANIQ IIIIISIIULM. '53 I RIDE THE WIND Lo, bo, Lol Step it up: Iiasy now: Steady it.: lVay downf- 0'ertake what? Your rival-or the wind. I think you can. I know you can do it. Come on, boy. llp, up-and over. You're neck and neck now. Iflyingl 'I'hat's what it is. 'I'he wind is really blowing, Is there any Ieeling Like the lreeness- ,-X Iaithlul servant beneath me. 'I'he Ilying-with the windff- .X servant? Ol' the up and soaring No, my master. -lump over the hurdle? He holds power Such as I could not possess. .X mass ol' power- lform. beauty, and power, Power! Power and beauty beneath me. Ifrom the Ilying Ieet Iiscape lrom all- 'I'o the Ilaming nostrils. 'I'he world, man. lile. and its cares, Mane blowing, streaming in the breeze. Freedom. complete freedom. 0'ertake him. You can do it. I ride the wind, 'l'he wind in the lorm ol' a horse. MARn,vN IIRODI-TN, '55 Sixty-three

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stay in a hotel, but hts mother would not think of it at such a time, with two girls in school and another son in college. 'l'hcy'd come on the live o'clock and arrive in plenty of time. Patil had thought this all out the night be- fore, but now as he stood at the top of the platform he began thinking of the real pur- pose of all this worrying and family reunion. His brother had just been ordained into the priesthood. He had finished his studies with top honors and had been assigned as curate of the Greenwich Village church where he was about to say. for the first time, the holy office of Mass. Patil remembered him as a boy, always his superior in school and always with the deep ambition to become a priest. And now. on this Saturday morning, May I7. I9-17. he was beginning the life that had been his child- hood goal. just then, l'aNul's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill voice calling his name. and he fo- cused his eyes upon the meager crowd ascend- ing the ramp. There he beheld the familiar faces of his two sisters and his mother. .Xl- though the ramp was ditnly lighted, he could make Olll his mother's felt hat, the one she wore in the spring when it started to get warm, and the faded tweed coat covering her shoulders. There was a flowered scarf about her neck. His sisters, he could tell at a glance, were slightly over-dressed as usttal, but very pretty-also, as usual! Soon they were all around his neck. kissing him affectionately. Paul felt a soft feeling of joy surround him and he was glad to be with his family again. After the many greetings had been said and enioved. Paul gathered up his familv and like a protector led his little band out lllttt the street, where they climbed into a yellow cab. After excited exclamations about the big buildings and wide streets-also, what a won- der Paul was to get such a handsome cab- they all settled back and began contemplating the memorable occasion they had come to wit- ness. 'I'he idea of seeing their new priest say his first Mass put many un-said thoughts into the minds of each, and somehow, though it is hard to explain, the traffic noises seemed to take up a softer, even reverent tone. Sooner than expected, the Kerrigan family found thetnselves in front of the church. It was a cement structure, small and dark: in fact, did not look like a church at all. However, the cross on the roof showed Paul that they were at St. Michaels and he led his family inside. Quietly they knelt in a center pew and waited for their priest to enter. They had not long to wait. Soon two altar boys entered, followed by the Young priest. They watched him, as, with lowered eyes he went to the foot of the altar, where he stood for a moment, in silence. The small congregation rose to their feet and the Mass began. From the introit, the gospel, the preface, the canon. and communion, it followed through to the prayers. Then it was over. The priest left the altar with the servers before him. It was a titne again of family reunion. A time for laughter and tears and tender kisses. A time for the blessing of a son and brother upon his family. Deep and humble thoughts had been expressed in the secret of the Mass. There was no need to worry about trains and titnetable-only happy thoughts now. Deep- er ones would come, later. EMILY l.vNcu. '53 SOLITUDE The surf is pounding in my ears. The white spray flying, A lonely seagull crying in the Solitude. The storm approaches with the coming dusk. The waves rise, pounding, There comes a distant foghorn. sounding into the Solitude. The tempest roars with awesome fury In wild abandon, nature beckons And death. many a storm-tossed sailor reckons in the Solit ude. .Sixty-two Music pulses in my heart. .Xnd upward. outward surges. One hundred thousand dirges in the Solitude. The storm passes with abating glory. On tempest's leaden wings. Still Cod sings. and Nature sings in Solitude. The surf still pounding in uty ears. The white spray flying, A lonely seagull crying, ' Remains unchanged in the Solitude. SALLY Haiuusotst, '5-f

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IN THE WORLD Once in a while there is a day when the sun smiles, the water winks, the people are friendly, and the world and I laugh. 'I'hen life is made for me and I for it. and I am what I want to be. On such a day, a while ago, I was Going Out into the X'Vorld, for I was taking the bus home with money in my pocket to buy a late lunch, as school had let out at one. I climbed aboard, grabbed a pole as the bus charged ahead, and made a graceful and dramatic swoop into the nearest seal. Of course, I tripped over someone's feet. XVhen I and my hooks left the bus, feeling well scrambled, I knew my Adventure had begun. 'I'here were some middle-aged grown-ups in the store who, I fondly hoped. were wondering what on earth I was doing out of school so early. I imagined quite an interesting dialogue around my chicken sandwich with a truant ollieer. 'I'hen, just because I had never seen anyone read anything interesting at a lunch counter before, I absorbed the latest Little I.ulu through a strawberry sundae. .Xlthough my walk home was something of an anti-climax, there were many intriguing things to wonder about. Mainly, what made that gnarled old tree have only two branches, one going up and one going down, like a see- saw, and why would a plane make a turn in mid-air and go back the way it came? As I reached the reservoir, my books hav- ing unaccountably doubled in weight, I stopped to admire the southern view of the ever-present tens of ducks swarming over the water. The slanting stm struck them they looked like penguins against the white ice. It. was getting cold: so, stopping only to chris- ten the southern half of the reservoir Little America , I juggled my books on my arm and continued my merry and deliberate way through the centers of mud-puddles. SANDRA S'l'RA'l lAON, '55 SHOWER A spring rai11 falls to earth, A shining avalanche. Sweeps across luxuriant meadows and fields and then, ls swept on, to lands distant and unknown. By the wind. KIANIQ PIQRKINS, '55 HOME IN SONORA 'l'he Sonora Desert is located in Mexico. just about a hundred miles southwest of No- gales, Arizona. X'Vhen I was first told of So- nora, like most people, I suppose, I pictured a vast expanse of desolate, sandy terrain, oc- casionally spotted by a cactus here or there. How wrong I wasl When I first set eyes on the place in September of ISH9, I experienced a wonderful and new sensation. It is hard to explain the feeling I had when the four-passenger Stinson settled down on the natural landing strip. 'I'he charm and beauty completely took possession of me. On the way to camp I had time to take in all the beauty of the scenery that surrounded me. The small truck wove its way over a self- made road among the towering cacti and in and out of the deep arroyos, that had been chiseled by the heavy rains. During this sea- son not a drop of water remained. There was not only an infinite variety of cacti here, but also small green-barked trees called Palo Verde, multi-colored desert flowers, resem- bling lilies, thistles, and daisies. to mention Sixty-four a few, and other plants that were strange to me. Patches of long grass spotted the sand. The movements of jack rabbits and a balmy breeze animated the scene. 'I'he sky was a heavenly blue, and the radiant sun added its golden touch to this paradise. After a fifteen-minute ride we finally reached camp, where we were welcomed by the combined greeting of several dogs, a group of curious, but shy Mexicans, who watched the spectacle from a short distance, and Mrs. Main, the good-natured wife of my father's partner. Both Mr. and Mrs. Main are fifty or more in age: they are two of the most wonderful people one could ever hope to meet. After getting acquainted, I hnally had a chance to see what our ranch was like. 'I'he camp itself consisted of two one-room adobe houses, the sleeping quarters, a small shed made of ocotillo. a type of cactus with long slender branches, where the saddles, bri- dles, and other equipment is kept, a chicken pen with ocotillo fencing. and, of course our deluxe adobe out-house. Our so-called kitch-