St Fidelis Seminary - Skullcap Yearbook (Herman, PA)

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Lgli iclelicmj THE STORM BROKE josram-1 KLEBER To all appearances, the night of January twenty-ninth was an ordinary one, but that night will haunt my memory for many days to come. The seven o'clock study hour had passed rather quickly, for I had become engrossed in an interesting survey- ing problem. The spiritual reading before night prayer, from Fr. Cuthbert's Life of St. Francis, related the Seraphic Father's second attempt to reach the Mohammedans. Night prayer was over before I knew it. In the dormitory, I finished brushing my teeth sooner than usual. Then, having attired myself for the night, I stood for a while at my window, wondering what the weather would be on the morrow. There was a brisk wind blowing from the north which chased scattered clouds hurrying southward. And as I watched the sky the clouds seemed to stand still and the stars to move. The stars of Orion's belt seemed to be the navigation lights of a formation of bombers. The stars Betelguese and Bellatrix ahead and Rigel and its companion star behind seemed to form the lights of the bomber escort. This group seemed to be chased by the stars of Lepus, the Hare, as by a squadron of pursuit ships. Now the stars were hidden by clouds, now they emerged again, winging their way Northward. The firm tread of the prefect walking in the corridor brought me back to reality. Reluctantly I crawled under the covers. What a beautiful night thought I as I drew the covers over my shoulders. What a night for an air raid. If I were an attacking pilot. I should want just such a night as this. By heading into the wind I could blend in with the stars on account of the clouds and thus confuse the observer on the ground. Then, too, the wind would help to keep the sound of my approach from any town in mv path until too late. Rather, the sound of my motor would follow in the wake of my plane more so than if I were flying with the wind. I was off on an air raid, following a ribbon like river far below me. Now it was visible, now obscured by fog and clouds. Then, from close by came the violent ringing of the fire alarm bell and I was back in my room at St. Fidelis. I jumped from my bed and dressed hurriedly. It seemed that it took me an hour to lace my shoes. I cast a hasty glance out of my window and saw that Orion was low in the west. In the corridor I saw that about twelve students were already assembled, checking on their partners, seeing that everyone was answering the bell with more than verbiage. When that rotund, iron, ringing messenger of evil finally ceased its warnings, the seniors were all in line. After a final check to insure that no one was missing, we started for the downstairs. Everyone down in the bowling alleys, shouted Fr. Victor who met us on the second floor landing. Will Kato and Walter see to it that all the lights are out in the senior department? The rest of you check on everybody else as you enter the base- ment. When we got downstairs, several priests were already there ahead of us. We

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LQ7l1e gidelianj AN AMERICAN FAD - REGIS WALTER A fad in music has swept over America but the blue-bloods in the world of music have retaliated with violent criticism. Music is an art having live organizing factors which swing distorts, sometimes to such a degree that they can hardly be recognized. Rhythm is the one factor that receives the greatest mutilation. It should be a symmetrical movement, but as presented in swing, it has anything but the beauty of symmetry. In the basic rhythm of music, each measure has a major accent, sometimes lighter accents, and notes with no accent. Syncopation is the factor that distorts basic rhythm. Master composers have used it with moderation to great effect. Swing uses it almost constantly! With true rhythm, great composers have produced works which can create a vivid mental picture of almost any mood of life or nature. From the ordinary jive piece, the only picture which can possibly be formed is turmoil. Melody is ruined by breaks in which an individual player is at liberty to create as he plays. The saxaphone, trombone or trumpet takes the floor as he feels emotionally stirred to originate his own interpolation. Taking swing as it is ex- plained, one can never hear the same piece played twice identically. The soul-touching, almost magical effects of pure harmony are thrown away for dissonant chords. Sometimes two keys are used to produce a decided discord. Muting of the brass instruments creates abnormal sounds, realistically imitating unmusical noises. A final glance at swing reveals that it has no form, because the instrumentalists play what they want when they get that emotional stir. If a structure has no walls, it is no house, and if dough has not been baked, it is not bread. There are basic requirements in every art and craft. Distorted rhythm, melody, form, harmony and tone color can, at most, give us only half-baked music. i 1 fl. if iligi, POLISHING THE MAPLE ALL POLISHED UP

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Lqlie Qiiclelianj were ushered into the clubroom for final instructions. There, in small groups, we discussed the possibility of an air attack. Quiet everybody, called Fr. Victor on entering the clubroom, and a volley of Schhhhh and Quiet swept the room, then silence. About five minutes ago, resumed Fr. Director, I received a telephone call from Butler's air raid warden. He said that a large formation of unidentified heavy aircraft was reported flying toward Pittsburgh. It is possible that Butler and even Herman might get a taste of a raid if they are enemy planes. Butler is blacked out and Herman also is blacked out. You all saw the sandbags packed around the build- ing. They are there to prevent or lessen the chance of a direct hit causing any casualties. Since it will be at least an hour before the all clear comes through, you may bowl. The winner will receive a prize. We will say a prayer for protection first. The names of twenty-four contenders quickly lined the score-sheet. The foul lines were strictly watched by Zivic and Walter. Fr. Victor's strike started the battle. The news of the Battle of Pins spread quickly. Spectators lined the standing room along the alleys, cheering the contestants on. It was anybody's game until the sixth frame except for Brother Augustine, who. though he had several strikes and spares, lost them because of fouls. Ed Curry bowled down nine pins on his first ball nearly every time, but couldn't hit that last, lonely, elusive pin. Frank Moliski was off to a good start, but lost control of his cannon ball and thus lost what chances he had. Scores mounted.- Fr. Victor was leading with only a slight edge over Fr. Guy. Close behind came Kato and Young, trying hard to close the gap. Further behind were Fr. Linus, I-Iobaugh, Hannan, and Farkas. In the ninth frame Fr. Guy passed Fr. Victor. Kato and Young were trailing by about three points. The air was tense. Fr. Victor rolled his last ball-a strikeg two more balls. Another strike and then, only three, for he had slipped. A final score of 197. Fr. Guy arose to roll, calling out as he did so, Come on fellows, make a little noise. I can't bowl without applause. The walls shook with the clamor the spectators made. But in the time Fr. Guy had spoken I discemed a faint drone from without. The joyful shouts that followed Fr. Guy's strike drowned out the sound. Keep it up, fellows, begged Fr. Guy. I'll beat Fr. Victor yet. As he spoke I could hear the hum of a motor more distinctly, not far away. The subsequent cheers of encouragement for Fr. Guy drowned out the sound again. Another strike. Fr. Guy raised his second extra ball. But this time I could hear the motor of a plane above the shouting, and also a piercing whistle. As the ball struck the head pin, something else struck with a deafening roar, hurling me to the floor by its force. I lay there dazed. My head throbbed painfully. I could not see around me for there seemed to be an almost tangible veil of dust, dirt, and smoke everywhere. From far away come the faint tinkle of a bell. Did someone bring that along during the raid? The tinkle came closer. I tried to rouse myself. With my hands I brushed at the dusty veil which gave at my touch. It was all dark around me. I glanced about and saw a bed beside me. Yes, I knew where I was then. I was on the floor in my bedroom shrouded in bedclothes. No one had saved the bell, for it was the prefect waking us. There was no raid, but what I saw that night I will remember as what would probably happen were bombs to rain on St. Fidelis.