St Gabriels High School - Archangel Yearbook (Hazleton, PA)

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The TRUMPET -'QI' 1 l i 1 Q.. determined to go? Yes , grunted Larry from the recess of a closet. But, man, be reasonable, you know she wants me , protested Guy. Why didn't she say so then? How could she and you standing there. Who invited you anyhow F You did. This from Larry who was now strug- gling with his shirt studs. Well if you're going to make a fool of yourself, I might as well do the same , declared Guy indignantly. NVhereupon he began to dress quickly. At length they came to the door at the same time and glared at each other. For an instant both felt the humor of the situation, and if either had smiled or said a friendly word, the matter, most likely, would have been settled, but neither did. VVhat might have devel- oped into lasting friendship, was turned into lifelong enmity. VVell I intend to take her, that's all , said Guy impatiently, with his hand on the knob. I do, too , insisted Moylan. Oh no, you don't! Don't you think so? I know that you're not. Don't be too sure, declared Larry defiantly. This so enraged Randolph that with no thought for this year during which Moylan had proved a loyal and true friend, and almost without realizing what he was doing. he struck a swift hard blow at Larry's face. If it had been expected Moylan could have defended himself but the blow came suddenly and he fell to the floor with a dull thud. Even then he could have risen and beaten Randolph, being much taller and heavier, hut his head struck a chair in falling and he lay stretched out on the carpet only half-conscious. Randolph calmly crossed to the mirror and smoothed down his disarranged hair, with the feeling that his outraged pride had been satisfied. He glanced down at the prostrate figure of his former friend. Too bad I had to beat him up, the poor fool , he reflected contemptuously, and turned towards the door. Here he was met by a messenger boy bearing a small white envelope. The young man tore it open eagerly and read: Tired of your squabbling. Have decided to go with Edmund. Charm. , NIARY R. lNfIcN1-znrmsv, '26. 6 6 ,fo IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIA uuunmn X Q f . ? - I8ll

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The TRUMPET -n 1 1 l 1 1 1 l Qa- Disillusion UT I can't go with both of you l With these words pretty Charm Bailey stopped and stared helplessly at the two young men before her. It was a warm night in June, the eve of the great Junior Prom at Nevard College. A full moon shone clearly in the quiet sky, and a soft breeze wafted the fra- grance of roses from the flower garden to the three standing on the porch. This t'Prom , being the greatest social event of the season. was eagerly anticipated by the belles of Nevardtown, who made up the majority of female guests. The girls of the town who had not been invited to attend the dance thought that nothing could be as humiliating, but Charm found herself in an equally awkward position, by having an oversupply of escorts. The two young men who had asked her were close friends: indeed, the currents of their lives had run parallel from the time of their birth, within a few months of each other, until the time they left the sleepy little middle western town of Creston and came East to Nevard College. Here they roomed together and remained inseparable through three years of col- lege life. In appearance they were very different, Larry Moylan was a blond young giant somewhat slow in his movements, while Guy Randolph was of a slighter build with the dark coloring .generally attributed to the Latin races. Guy's quick, vivacious manner and fluent speech were also a direct contrast to the more phlegmatic temperament of his companion. They were introduced to Charm while dining at a professor's home and she, as had many young women before, fell under the spell of Guy's winning person- ality, and invited him to visit herself and her mother, much to the chagrin of her former favorite, Edmund Kearney. It did not seem unusual that Larry should go too, but as the visits gradually became weekly he began to be left out on the porch, where he either helped Mrs. Bailey wi11d yarn for her interminable knitting or read extracts from her well loved Pilgrim's Progress , while the two young folks entertained each other in the house. They spent a lot of their time dancing, being a graceful pair whose steps matched perfectly. It was understood between the two that they would go together to the Prom, therefore when Larry said, Come with me to the dance , the shock was startling and unpleasant. For a moment they both gazed at him but Charm recovered her poise quickly and told him that .Q ' Randolph's invitation was understood but it was im- possible to go with both of them. Then, with a tact characteristic of her, she picked up the evening paper from a porch table, and moving to the light, turned the pages at random till she came to the announce- ment that two professional basketball teams, the Scholastic Five and Zaletown All Stars, would play for the championship of the state. t'Pick your teams and I will go with the one whose team wins , she said lightly. They tossed up a coin and Randolph won as usual. He chose the Zaletown All Stars, then they left to await the outcome of the game. As Charm entered the house her mother overheard the half-anxious but wholly self-satisfied exclamation, I hope it's Guy, but anyhow it will give the college something to talk about. When the roommates went back to their dormitory they tried to act as if nothing had come between them, yet in his secret heart each knew that the veil of their friendship had been severed by the keen blade of jealousy. After nervously pacing the fioor for a few minutes Guy went to bed, but Larry studied a short while before retiring. The gay jests that usually passed between the two about the day's events were noticeably missing. Long before the first bell rang for breakfast the following morning they were out of bed and after dressing hastily ran down and bought a morning paper. Guy turned the pages frantically two or three times in an effort to find the desired article. At last Larry, looking less calm than usual, snatched the paper from his hands and discovered the item almost immediatelyg after perusing it quickly they gazed astoundingly into each other's faces. The score was 17-17. We'll have to do something before tonight , put in the dazed Randolph. Yes , agreed Moylan, but, what? The second gong sounded so they went to the dining-room with the question unsolved. Noon came, and although the two literally-racked their brains no solution had as yet presented itself. As the afternoon wore on Randolph became noticeably desperate. The strain was telling even on Larry. It was disclosed by the constant shifting of position as he sat in the classroom and by the jerkiness of his voice and the hesitancy of his manner when he at- tempted to recite. When Larry came in from classes and started to lay out his tuxedo, Guy inquired irritably, Still E801

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The TRUMPET --C i l- - Emily Dickinson: New England Authoress Morns like these we parted: Noohs like these she rose Flutteriug first, then firmer, To her fair repose. There has been a great deal of adverse criticism about Emily Dickinson-as, perhaps, is bound to be written about any artist whose achievement is revealed too early or too late. Nobody, at first encounter, can judge coolly of work that is not revealed until after the worker's death and which bursts then upon the world in a most amazing fashion. And then, nobody, at any time, can judge very coolly of a woman, whose claim upon the world's memory-a claim she herself so protestingly denied, is not merely for long hidden genius, but also the long hidden mystery and sorrow, the fulfillment and frustration of her quiet life. If she were not the supreme artist maintained by her enthusiasts, she remains one of the most arresting discoveries of recent literary decades. She had the incomparable gift of the fresh mind, to which every- thing that came at all, came at first hand-and the gift, too, of the greatly loving heart to whom the perennial price of loving was never too high. She came from a family dignfied and devoted, and intensely distrnstful of emotionalism. The Dickinsons were of good English descent, and settled at Hadley. Massachusetts, early enough to be mentioned in the Indian grants in 1659. Our poet's grandfather, Samuel Fowler Dickinson, was one of the founders of Amherst -Town, Church, and College. It was he who wrote to his son Edward, then a student at Yale, urging him to direct his attention to the moral and religious training of the school. Edward grew up with the equal high seriousness of his fatherg and when he was about to marry the shy, self-effacing, little Emily Norcross, he asked her to prepare for a life of rational happiness rather than a life of pleasure. Verily, the family tree is not always known by its fruitsg for from that edifying, but somewhat rigid union came the exquisite, unrestrained creature, half ecstasy, half inhibition, known as Emily Dickinson. The Amherst where she was born, 1830, was a center of reasonably high thinking and reasonably plain liv- ing. Her home was a genial one for New England, dtllmut far from gay. .Q .- As a matter of fact, nothing was spectacular about her childhoodg she did not even write, or, like the infantine Edgar Poe, recite poetry, but reveled in the sensuous beauty of God's earth. Quite literally she was standing upon the threshold of life up to the momentous year 1854. The preceding winter she had spent rather gayly in Washington, and when spring came, she decided to visit relatives in Philadelphia. There she learned that the only man she had ever loved was already a husband and a fatherg all too obviously it was one of those problems incapable of any human solution, since she was the last creature to stoop to the compromise of a divorce. She seemed to have felt both the sacramental possi- bility of love and the impossibility of achieving this through the destruction of other lives. The two went their separate ways-he to exile and an early death, she to the harder path of everyday duties of her hidden art: on this occasion she wrote: That I did always love, I bring thee proof, That till I loved I did not love enough. That I shall love al'ways,' I ofer thee That love is life, And life hath immortality. Gradually, then, the life of Emily Dickinson became that of an anchoress with a few rapturous windows in her little cell, one of which looked upon nature. During the last decade of her life, Emily never passed beyond the family grounds and her slight figure, always in white, stealing out to water the Howers at dusk became a legend through the countryside. Those hidden fiowers and still more jealousy hidden poems were the visible symbols of her life's dual paradox: its hunger for experience, for adventure, and its equally acute hunger for home. Neither one was satisfied during the earthly transit, since both the fiight and the rest of her heart met frustration. But one loves to believe that both came to her at last- when after two years of a partial paralysis, she died in the May of 1886. i821 in- --Q..