St Anthony High School - Antonia Yearbook (New Bedford, MA)

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. s 9 4 O O'O' 'lf .24 page Lam my ibiary . . . February Z9 1948 Much to the disappointment of the Senior Class, February 29th, the day set aside to visit Boston and attend a performance of Pilate's Daughter was spoiled by rain and snow. Despite the bad weather, thirty-two elated students accompanied by Father Boisvert were ready and waiting at twelve sharp, on o 4 9 0 O F 'OO' O. nnrqorx 5 F ,o:o 9,9 ff' ov: 0: 9 .4 1 3 .Q Q1 ss Q 5 .5 Q1 n ,Q V N Q0 I . I . 5:0 O the corner of Bullard and the Boulevard, to board a chartered bus for their destination. For the first few miles, Father attempted to read his breviaryp however, he soon put it away, unable to resist enjoying the exiemporaneous entertain- ment provided by a few good sports. Cecilia Mattos started the ball rolling by singing the most suitable Cecilia Next, Priscilla Hose sang her well-known version of Hugging and a-Chalkingf' Much to everyone's amazement, Doris Dube then serenaded the bus driver with Embraceable You. fHe kept his eyes on the roadll Laurette Nolan provided a wonderful imitation of Al Iolson with her picturesque Mammy and California, Here I Come. No show could have been complete unless Vivian Michaud gave her rendition of Vio-vio-vio-Lin, . . . need I say more? The time flew so rapidly amid the singing and the joking, that the first thing we knew Franklin Park came into view. What fond memories! And before we could say lack Robinson, why Roxbury Mission Church loomed in front of us. On entering the vast church, we gasped at the beauty of a shrine to Our Mother of Perpetual Help. Here, numerous crutches on display testify to the miraculous character of the shrine. Unable to linger in church any longer, the group proceded to St. Alphonsus Hall. Usherettes costumed in black and white ballerina dresses graciously led us to our places in the fifth, sixth and seventh rows. Within a few moments, the purple velvet curtain was raised and at last we were witnessing New England's famous Passion Play. The miracles apparently performed before our very eyes left us glued to the chairs. Claudia, Pilate's daughter, has in her possession a miraculous rose which touched the robe of Our Lord on his march to Calvary. At different intervals, a dead child is resurrected, l..eah's arm crippled, a spring of water made to flow from the rocky walls of a prison, a luminous cross appears in this same wall, a statue of Iupiter crumbles, and Leah's sanity is brought back, all because of the mysterious powers of Claudia's mystic rose. The scene that left the most vivid and most enduring impression on the group came at the end of the first act. With perfect timing, the lights went out, the music was intensified thunder crashed, lightning flashed across the stage and the Crucifixion scene appeared. Christ's figure was the personification of agony and resignation Slowly, the light got dimmer and dimmer until all that remained visible was His Divine Facel This created in our souls a spirit of reverence and brought about a most ardent love of our Saviour. Awed by such happenings, we did not notice the time flying. Five o'clock and the final drop of the curtain warned us that time to leave had come. By this time we were famished, and when the bus stopped at the foot of the Blue Hills in front of a Howard Iohnson, we gave a yell of delight. A most delicious supper was eaten wholeheartedly and positively appreciated, we had waited so long for itl boarded the bus and again sang, and joked, and laughed. Somehow, we felt that we had spent one of the most enjoyable days of our life and wished that such red letter events would repeat themselves weekly. And suddenly to our dismay, we found ourselves home! Lucille Pimentle '48 Sooooooootvv' ,W o'o'o'o's'o'0'o'o I sl - - ' ' nf f ?o' K4 ' 91 i . . :Ie Then, happy as larks and without a care in the world, we once more ::+ . ' i Fi ' -'if 66 .2........f'Zs

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Q 1 5.1 1 3 a 5 .4 ss, 9 .Q 0 , O .:,:, sw 5 ,s 's Rv' V 4 O o io ot QC 'co 30 90' n'a, h 1 alma Wodfrae oaafifiae ra ro Woeifi A cette epoque, plus qu'en aucune autre peut-etre, nous vivons des heures critiques. Les temps, assure-t-on, sont mauvais. Ijhorizon est sombre et de tous cotes, l'on entend la plainte que jette aux echos la souffrance universe-lie. Le chretien voit son cceur s'emouvoir devant les tristesses du present et les menaces de 1'avenir. Il est tente de se dire: De quoi, demain sera-t-il fait? Mais jetant son reqard plus haut, il s'ecrie: Marie, cause de notre joie, priez pour nous. Que penser de la veri- table entant de Marie? Au sein de la desolation la plus prctonde, elle con- serve sa sereine confiance. Si noir que soit le ciel, une lueur rnysterieuse et douce y brille toujours. Sans doute, c'est Marie. C'est la devotion envers Celle que l'Eqlise nomme Causa nostrae laetitiae, ora pro nobis. Vierqe sans tache, si tu me pro- teqes, ie ne crains pas: si tu me soutiens, je ne tombe pas: si tu me conduis, je ne me-gore pas. Dans tous les temps Marie a paru et parait en core comme la messaqere de la ioie celeste Elle n a cesse d etre pour l humani te une source de bon heurs 1nf1n1s Vieillards homrnes faits, vierqes des mcnasteres, meres de fa FI11ll9S adolescents,tous ont trouve en Marie le secret de ce contentement inte- rieur qui emane de Dieu et 'Gt 68 v,v,.,.,...,.,,,., , , 1f0f+fvfvf0fvfvfof'f0f'A qui n'est que le rayonne- ment de la grace sancti- fiante en lame du vrai chretien. Oui, comme en- tant de Marie c'est peut- etre pour cela que cette pieuse invocation m'est de- venue si chere. Que la Vierqe Marie, cause de notre joie, conserve mon ame rayonnante a travers les heures tristes de cette vie, car ie n'iqnore pas le mct du poete: Nul n'a jarnais vecu s'il n'a pas soui-fert. Ie veux qarder intacte au fond de mon arne la ioie proionde de savoir qu'en pleurant, en sout- trant, en travaillant, en aimant, je deviens plus sernblable a 1'1deQ1 de mes revesy Elle, la Vierqe que j'aime et que ie veux aimer eternellement. Ie sais, 6 douce Reine, que vous etes le plus pur sourire de la misericorde du bon Dieu. Vous airner, c'est le bonheur: vous irniter, c'est la saintete. Cecile Chandler '48