Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 31 text:

LAURENT TOUPIN (Gen. Sc. Pre-Med.), Val Marie, Sask. ROBERT WICKHAM (Arts), Loyola, Montreal. IRVING YACHNIN (Gen. Sc. Chemistry), Baron Byng, Montreal. Missing FRANCIS MAGUIRE (Gen. Sc. Physics), Catholic High, Montreal. 9 His Excellency G. MURRAY, C.SS.R., D.D. Born at Montreal, P.Q., December 26, 1885; Graduate, Loyola, June, 1905; Ordained September 4, 1910; Consecrated Bishop of Victoria, May 7, 1930; Transferred to Saskatoon, April 18, 1934; Transferred to Winnipeg as Coadjutor Archbishop, January, 1944; Appointed Apostolic Administrator, May, 1946; Died at Montreal, June 3, 1951. May his soul rest in peace.

Page 30 text:

H. GRAHAM PETTAPIECE (Gen. Sc. pre-Med.), Westhill, Montreal. DeENIs ANDRE PILON (Gen. Sc. Chemistry), St. Henri High, Montreal. PHILIP RENAUD (Arts), Loyola, Montreal. GARLAND SHERIDAN (Mining Engineering), Loyola, Mont- real, ZYGMUNT SOSNKOWSKI (Gen. Sc. Physics), Loyola, Arundel, P.Q. g

Page 32 text:

$80 FOR A PARENT HH. was standing in front of the pin-ball machine, just playing, shot after shot, like he was thinking of something else. Course, I don’t mind a guy playing the machine; if I did, I wouldn’t keep it around. But for a kid of sixteen or so to look that serious, and watch the customers, and me behind the counter, especially when the clock is saying it’s too close to midnight to be minding about a pin-ball score, means more than a teen-ager just hanging around. The last customer, a workman about forty, put out a cigarette in his coffee cup and relaxed to get a better angle for reading his newspaper. “Would you care for something else, sir?” “No.” I saw the kid put his ear to this talk. He was well dressed, a lounge suit, an open beltless trench- coat, snappy shoes, he came from a good family; most of the bunch that hang around here come from good families. But they'd rather be here, drinking cokes, and talking sports, and trying to act like the tough guys in the latest movies. They like to pretend they’re not schoolboys; some- times I think they’d pretend to be anything as long as they thought it was better than what they were. Don’t get me wrong, they're not too proud to be sixteen and in school and reading comics and having dates and wondering about life, no they’re not too proud for that—they’re . . . well, it seems they're just tired. Yeah tired—tired of having nothing to be brave about, so they act tough like some guy they saw in the movies who was brave about something. The worker at the counter folded his paper and walked out. I cleared the bar, put his cup and saucer and spoon in the dish water. As I washed them, I heard the pin-ball machine ring in spurts and stop. I didn’t look up, but the kid’s footsteps and shadow told me he was at the bar. ‘More nickels?”’ I said. “Not exactly,” he said, ‘‘what...” I waited for the rest of it, but his face was full of sweat, his eyes wide and heavy, muscles loose, and I knew he had lots more to say. “|. . what I want,” he said, “ is the money in your cash.” He had his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He wasn’t doing any posing with a gun, he wasn’t trying to act like a thriller. “Why?” I said. “Don’t start making a fuss. I just need it.” “Sure you need it. So do I. But I'll just phone the cops when you leave, and that’s going to lead to a lot of trouble.” “I’ve thought it all out.”’ “You’ve thought what all out?’ “Look,” he said, ‘‘stop asking questions. I know what I want to do.” “Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?” “Let’s have the money.”’ ‘You must have a decent home to go to: good food and clean beds and spending money.” Yes!’ he shouted, almost crying. “But something’s not right with everything. Come on, come on, give me that money.”’ I went to the cash and rung it open. I keep a shiny .38 at the back of the drawer, for hold-ups. I didn’t touch it. I took out the five’s and two’s and one’s, perhaps eighty dollars’ worth. I gave ip to him. . He took it and put it in his pocket. He didn’t leave. His face was wet with heat and tears. “There’s not much.” “That's right. About two weeks’ rent, a few meals; or a one-way fare for a couple of hundred miles; then you'll have to drop in to another store and collect all over again. What's eating you?” ‘They don’t talk about things at home. I’m not bad, am I, just because I think about the things they don’t talk about? Come on, tell me. They want me to be nice and holy, to get up on time, and study, and get the teachers to say I’m a good boy. All over the place people come one better, they 20 ¢