Regis College - Mount Regis Yearbook (Weston, MA)

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His slender fingers brushed the silver strands from his temples. A twinkle came into his staring eyes and he smiled. So you’re Miss Regis 1946! Yes, I think I have your Freshman Diary on file. He turned and slowly surveyed the well- stocked shelves. His forehead furrowed into deep wrinkles as he realized that the volume he sought was far above his im- mediate reach. With reluctance, he climbed up the library ladder. The feather duster in his hand quickly erased the veil in which time had clothed the mantel. Ah, there it is! he chuckled heartily and descended from his ladder perch. This is really a happy book. Shall we read right from the beginning? Miss ' 46 nodded agreeably. September 15, 1942, he stopped. You don’t have to read that entry. He was interrupted by the reminiscent Miss. I remember clearly that day. September 15 — I registered as a Freshman at Regis. We Freshmen were the main at- traction. We met our Junior Sisters and like heavenly appointed Guardian Angels they presented us to the new rulers of our scholastic fate. . the Faculty. You soon lost the center of the stage though. Here read this. October 2 — Founders’ Day. The Sen- iors reign as Campus Queens, she began. And that they were in their new caps and gowns; if you could see the gowns beneath those beautiful corsages! Eek, why did I ever put that in there? asked Miss ' 46 as she glanced at the photo pasted beneath October 8, 1942. O ho! Quite a picture. There’s no use in denying it, that is you — that large name card around your neck identifies you. The rain boots, bathing cap, and those inflated balloons on your knees belie the rubber shortage that year. But what do my black stockings and inside out dress show?” she queried. Only that on Initiation Day you were under a cruel Sophomore whip. However, you soon recovered from the wounds they inflicted on your pride. The applause that the red-headed sweetheart of your Class won for her professional-like praise of a well-known soap product pleased you. Super-Suds was your healing salve. October 31 — I made my debut into Regis social life, the young lady sighed happily. While the Jack-o-lanterns were grinning and the ghosts walking, I was dancing gayly at the Harvest Hop. That was only the beginning of my good times at Regis. Here is another happy day. November 25 — Mid-Semesters over and Thanksgiving vacation begins. You had not been back at school long when you assumed a more serious aspect. It was a blessed day when the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary received you into its fold.” Yes, that was December 10, mused the Child of Mary. The next week we left classes for our Christmas vacation. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can almost hear the Seniors caroling on the Parterre under a shower of confetti. Christmas has always been my favorite season of the year.” I can understand that. Now let’s see what was waiting for you when you re- turned from your vacation. The trusted librarian slowly flicked the Diary pages. He chuckled and started to hum a tuneful melody. Remember that? You sang it January 11 when your College Glee Club entertained another famed group of chor- isters. But B.C. loved it, though. Don’t for- get, Miss, that I have a duplicate of their diary, too. They have that evening well recorded even to the singing of farewells. This flattery brought a crimson flush to [ 132 ]

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First Row : M. Murphy, H. Cooney, M. L. Hession, E. O’Leary, A. Dubois, C. Hurley. Second Row: H. Murphy, T. Zernitz, J. Gosselm, D. Bolio, T. Hennessey, E. Connolly. Third Row: M. Gardner, M. Hintlian,J. Griffin, M. Hickey, J. Hennebery, P. Mitchell. Fourth Row: S. MacLellan, D. Shea, D. Atanasio, H. McLaughlin, A. Coyle, A. Wade. Fifth Row: M. Como, M. Egan, R. Murphy, E. Galleni, A. Birmingham, R. Dooley. Since soldiers must learn that obedience is one of their important requirements, girls at Regis study their Rule Book, obey the hell system, and attend class regularly. Discipline, however, is tempered with walks on the Campus with its panoramic views of surrounding towns, with strolls to Weston for cokes, interclass athletic meets, dances in the Foyer, lectures in the Auditorium, and long awaited furloughs at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. As the end of the Freshman year draws near, the selectees, now privates first class since Mid-Year Examinations, begin to plan for specialization courses for the coming year. Another set of tests at the end of May when Spring fever is rampant makes Freshmen eligible for another promotion. With the coming of June, all bid goodbye to their buddies and journey to their homes in the various places of the United States for a furlough of three months. Just Making the 4:30 [ 131 ]

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the Regisite’s cheek. Pleasantly embar- rassed, she sought to change the subject. “What is this?” questioned the silver- haired gentleman. “The entries are grow- ing smaller and smaller.” “Not being quite so wise and experi- enced as you, Sir, I had to neglect my so- cial activities and lengthy recordings to hibernate behind a textbook. Mid-Year Examinations began January 18.” “You all survived, though, and I didn’t notice any grey hair because of your ef- forts,” retorted the aged one. “No, we were granted a pleasant leave of absence from our books. None of us ob- jected to conserving heat and staying home bookless.” “You came back to find new subjects and classes awaiting you. But give credit where it is due, you put your shoulder to the wheel and soon had it rolling.” “It still was a bumpy test-strewn road,” groaned the girl. “No doubt; but, what are a few bumps to Freshmen? Here you are on Valentine’s Day stealing the show again. You defeated der Fuehrer that night and secured laurels in your own right when you introduced your catchy Class Song.” The ancient trustee sauntered towards the window. He drew back the faded curtains and gazed at the horizon. Pulling himself back from a rem- iniscent world of days gone by, he turned again to the girl. “The lion of your suc- cess was overcome by the Juniors’ lamb of leisure — recall how proud you were of your ’Big Sister’ that week?” The Regisite rested her chin in the palm of her white hand. Her eyes wandered in joyful reverie. “They were wonderful,” she finally said. “And remember how they let us share their spotlight on March 6? That was the night of their Prom and our Class President crowned their Queen. Yes; you were always more or less in the limelight. Here, you are in green for St. Patrick; here, displaying pride in the cleverness of Clare Garrity at the I.R.C. meeting on March 28; here, wearing the smile that says, ' I’ve passed my Mid- Semesters’; and here, garbed in sneakers and blue gym suits. You certainly ‘April Fooled’ the Juniors with your agile guard- ing and clever passing on the Basketball Court.” “Our gym garb was cast aside for the silent robe of Retreat though,” reminded the Regis heroine. “And then I got that bad case of Spring Fever! I’ll never forget how hard it was to get back to work after the Easter vacation. I think study is a Freshman’s greatest curse in Springtime.” The Elder saw the futility of denial and so nodded agreeably. He rested the book on the window ledge and beckoned to the girl. “Come and see the pictures of the May Procession. It is truly a spectral ar- ray. The Upperclassmen made a lovely rainbow Court for the May Queen as she crowned our heavenly Queen, Mary. You were a proud spectator that day.” Miss 1946 walked to the sill and lifted the book. “The Processional bouquets were scarcely wilted when Examination time was upon me again!” she exclaimed. “No cause for worrying though,” said the Aged Master. “You had studied hard all semester and were prepared to meet this final test. Needless to say. . . ’you passed’ !” “It all seems so unbelievable — my Freshman year is over!” The old man closed the book and pointed out the window. The Freshman’s eyes followed his finger. She looked across the darkened starlit Campus. “Keep it that way, Miss,” said Father Time, his voice catching in his throat, “and never forget your Freshman year.” The moon streamed in through the win- dow. The dusty library disappeared into oblivion. The room became fresh and clean. The Regis girl stirred in her bed. “What a strange dream! No, Father Time, I’ll never forget my Freshman days.” Frances M. McFarlane, ' 46 [ 133 ]