Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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THE PILGRIM 31 gone from this world. The fog rolls in, lights gleam faintly in the rnurk, sweet, sweet the chimes float on the air, a dog wails, Ave Maria. ALBA MARTINI-JLLI '36 THE ALUMNI DANCE IT seems as if there are hundreds of old grads here, but maybe it's because they are all doing such different steps that they seem so numerous. There is Buddy Martin doing the Mass. Tech. The poor boy, heis having a hard time. Over in the corner Gillie Andrews is teaching Carlo Guidaboni the Tufts Toddfle-tricky trfotting, we'd say. 'Way over on the west side of the hall Cshe runs to western placesl is Ruth Bvuttner demonstrating the Oberlin Arnble. Warren Sampson is doing the Spring- field Sprint diown the center of the hall, and bumping into the Bridgewater Bouncers, Jeanette Martin, Dot Per- kins, and Shirley Dutton. And look at the Proessor ! He's do- ing the Boston University-oh, I beg your pardon, he isn't doing it any more. Marjorie Belcher is conquering the latest of the latest dance steps, The Mount Holyoke Hobble. Just coming on to the floor are Ruth Murphy and Peggy Raymond. They swing into the LaSalle Loop with a grace that only they can attain. Leroy Schrieber has been shuffling around the hall with the Moses Brown Bustle, and he is doing v-ery well for himself. And over in front of the arches, too, there is that shufiiing Simmons' girl, Elizabeth Woioidi, trying to show Florence Armstrong that the New Hampshire Hop doesn't equal Dot Holmes' Vermont State Stamp. Alyce Bussolari and Mary Riley are demonstrating the Chandler version of the Continental. What a dance! But within a few years they'll be dancing more conservative steps to more quiet music. Time does that to all of us. MASSASOIT CHAPTER OF THE NATIONAL HONOR SOCIETY First Row, Dorothy Perkins, Miss Doris Czlrx-y, faculty sponsor, l'luru l'Ol'lllll., NI:11'Joru f.1llill H l X 4 lil I Barbara Mellor, Helen Brower, Lucy o nn -s, 1 nna loc Jvrgi Svrolid Row, Jean Beyies, Jean VVhiting.5, Elivzibf-th Ryan, Elizabeth B4-lvln-r. Ixnllmrinv Luhvy. Elizubeill Mordt, Lucy Mayo, Alba Nllll'llllf'll lf'Zli1l'lL'C Dulu- 'Third Row, Anthony Caramcllo, Vincent Baietti, Charles Maccal'erri. Deane Beytes, Albert Albertini, James Louden, Charles Cooper

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9 r 1 gg gggg AMM? - gEHfIgPILQRIM---g g g g Continued from page 28 seldom mentioned it at home. But one day he was brought hom-e to her riddled with bullets, his handsome, young face smeared with blood and his clothes stained with dark blotches. Knew too much, sympathized the old Irish policeman in his own brusk way. They always get it if they do. It was as though death had come to Mary herself. Her spirit was broken, her cheery smile waned, but even then she was determined to be happy for the sake of her tiny son. The little house was soon taken from her by foreclosure, but undaunted, she kept on, hard work she feared no-t. The baby became a fine strong boy. Mary loved to hav-e him with her. She almost worshipped him-perhaps too much for his own good. After a hard day of scrubbing and cleaning in downtown offices, she was content to sit and watch him. But he was selfish, thought- lessly selfish. He gave less and less of his time to his weary mother, almost shutting her from his life altogether. He seldom stayed at home, became moody, sometimes boisterous an-d gay, more often tired and depressed. When he joined an unprincipled group of boys, advice was not for him, and it was for a second time in Mary's life that her heart bled when her son was brought home to her hopelessly ill from an over- dose of a drug to which he had fallen victim. For a long time after his death noth- ing mattered to Mary. Her soul cried out for revenge on the cruel world which had taken both husband and son, but she was too weary and tired with life to go on. Her faith in mankind was utterly destroyed. God had forsaken h-er. Perhaps a bit of the real Mary showed itself unconquered when she offered herself to the police in the war against the drug traffic. And so for the last twelve years she has been successful in her mission. There's a leak somewhere, the peddlers would say, never suspecting the poor shabby woman standing in the doorway. Someone's in with the cops. JEAN WHITING '36 AVE MARIA AVE Maria, softly intoned the choir from the depths of the great cathedral. Hail Mary, she echoed reverently, remembering another Mary, a Mary who was tall, slim, dauntless, a Mary who had won every battle except the one with death. Dear Mary, she whispered with head bowed on the altar rail, dear Mary, I've tried so hard. Really, I have. I've worked, worked hard, Mary, when I was sick, tired, weary. All for little Joey who kne-els besid-e me, that he, your son, might have the chance denied to you and me. It hasn't been easy. The world is cruel to an old woman. If John had lived, he might have helped us. But he loved you. Better for him that he died bene-ath the wheels of an automobile than to blunder through life without you. Ah, but Mary, when you left this little son in my care-you didn't- know-didn't know that gradually he was becoming deaf. Day by day his hearing fades. Ah, God, that this bright, eager child should some day nev-er hear! And I helpless to save him! My pitiful earnings can never pay for treatments which might save him! I could give him to the stat-e. ,He would be provided for. But I love him so! That bright hair, those blue eyes, they're yours and mine! Without them life has no meaning. While I live, I can not give him up. The gloom is bitter-sweet with incense. Red tapers, like liquid rubies, burn be- neath the huge crucinx. A wandering finger of light reveals a calla lily. Joey, his elfin face alight with eager- ness, drank in the beauty and magnifi- cence of the great church. For the moment, all else sank into oblivion. Tenderly she lifted her hand as if to stroke the y-ellow hair. In mid-air it stopp-ed, dropped to h-er side. With quick resolve sh-e arose sil-ently and swiftly made her way down the dim aisle. Joey gazed enraptured at a massive statue of Mary with the child. H-e had not h-eard her leave. .Straight down the ponderous stone steps she march-ed. N o backward glances, no faltering. Out into the grey street, strangely quiet aft-er the clamor- ous day of business, she went. On she walked rapidly. Mor-e slowly, more slowly now she went. No crying now. No regrets, she ad- monished h-erself. Father Murphy will understand. He'll see that Joey goes to the institution. He'll see that Joey gets his treatments. He'll- The moan of a foghorn interrupts her hysterical thoughts. The wind blows damp across the river where crushed soulsandbroken heartspause for onelast precious moment--then are forever K

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