St Ignatius High School - Ignatius Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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DE by GERALD FOLEY. '50 Silhouetted in the cold, gray light of the evil, forboding, silver moon, a man and a loaded pack horse, followed by two dogs that appeared to be half-wolf, moved slowly across the barren stretch of desert. They traveled at a steady, determined pace away from the small town of Sagebrush, Arizona. Ever since the inhabitants could remem- ber, Old l'Nugget Ed had been prospect- ing in the Blue Mountains. These small but treacherous peaks looked down on the fee- ble old man who once more was venturing to uncover the jealously guarded secret of the hills-gold! The mysterious legends of these moun- tains had always been a challenge to the spirit of the old prospector. For twenty years now he had been unsuccessful in at- tempting to hit a vein of the yellow ore. Lately, rumors had been whispered that Ed was getting very close to the gold. He kept his two dogs away from most people and actually spoke to just one man in Sagebrush, This friend was the only hon- est man in town, Roger C. Marshall, M. D. Ed's two wolf-hounds became friendly with the doctor, and would even sniff very po- litely at his boots, instead of leaping for his throat with dripping fangs as was their usual greeting to any other citizen of the community. Nugget Ed had recently confided to the doctor the secret that he was very near the gold he was seeking. Equipment, costing one hundred and fifty dollars, was needed, so Doctor Marshall consented to finance Old Ed's last trip. As the weary prospectors form wcs swal- lowed up by the black night, Roger Marshall suddenly regretted that he had sent the old man on such a fool's errand. Turning away, he shivered as the lonesome wail of a coy- ote shattered the still, evening air ..... Some three hours later, leaping from bed, the doctor rushed for the front door at the sound of gunfire in his front yard. As he threw open the door, his gaze fell upon one of Ed's wolf-hounds lying dead on the ground. The other snarling demon was at the throat of a very hysterical sheriff. Shoot him! The dog's mad! The sher- iff's face, scratched and bleeding, was dis- torted in utter fear. The doctor drew his .44 and shot the dog between the eyes, killing the animal in- stantly. The sheriff, who was badly shaken up, stammered out a confused explanation. I-l was just walkin' through th-the street, when l cum across these two wolves a-howlin' on yer front porch. When they seen me . . . He stopped for a second to regain his breath and rubbed his neck ten- derly. When they seen me, he repeated, they both come a-leapin' fur muh throat. I plugged one, but the other wuz too fast fer me. An' that's when you came out and finished him off. He stood there stupidly, with his bloody shirt half torn open, and one arm badly mangled. Suddenly the doctor spied a leather pouch attached to the neck of one of the dogs. He brushed the sheriff aside and rushed over to examine it. Furnbling with the sealed string, he finally succeeded in opening the folder. From it, he pulled a piece of paper with a few scrawled words. lt read: Please follow the dogs. They will show you where l am. My leg is broke. Doc- l've found the gold at last. Please hurry. l can't last only a few more hours. Only the dogs can find me. Hurry! Ed

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his head to find standing in the road-a leper. What should l do? Shall I ride hur- riedly away? Look at those filthy, draining sores all over his body. What shall l do? Suddenly Francis finds the leper in his arms, Francis tenderly kisses his sores, bestowing his money and garments upon this wretched soul of God. ls this Francis Bernardone, the poetic minstrel of Assisi, the imitater of the Province Troubadors? Yes, this is Francis Bernardone, a new Francis Bernardone, ar- dent lover of Christ. Francis turns to look once again upon this bundle of carrion flesh -the leper has vanished! With the speed and brilliance of a light- ning flash the cloud disappears from Fran- cis' mind. This leper whom he embraced was Christ! and Christ he would continue to embrace, to love the rest of his life. Privi- leged was he to give the world a genuine romance. Assisi would still know him as a troubador, but now he would be the trouba- dor of Christ. To Christ would Francis sing his love. But love is expressed in deeds. So he zealously undertakes the rebuilding of a ru- ined church. ln his need for funds Francis sells goods from his father's storehouse. The enraged father violently disowns his son be- fore the bishop. What was Francis' reply to this cruel treatment? '!Father, Francis ut- tered, Father, l give you more even than you desire. Then removing his garments, Francis casts them at the old man's feet, and strode forth into the cold night wrapped only in a cloth. So blazing was his love for lesus!! Assisi's love constantly exulted in the beauties of Gods nature. The troubador of Christ spent his life singing of Gods love. He sang of Christ in the canticle of the ris- ing sun. He sang of Christ in the lullaby of the still water. He sang of Christ whispering in the rolling clouds. He sang of Christ sing- ing in the blazing fire. He sang of Christ in the peace and tranquility of the flowers and trees. He even sang of Christ to the carefree birds in the forests. But Francis' greatest song of love was in his treatment of men, for there his love of Christ glowed white hot. Consuming him- self in loving each man, each individual person, whether it be the Saracen Sultan or the lean, care-worn beggar, the joyful Sa- maritan assisting a neighbor or the ragged robber stripping his victim, Francis com- pletely disarmed him. Each man was a king, Francis his servant. Each man an- other Christ, an exciting personality to be understood, respected, and loved. His con- stant chant was: Your pain is my pain and your joy is my joy. Timidly approaching Francis on the road, a horribly mutilated leper endeavored to kiss the foot of Francis. Francis lovingly lifted the face, almost entirely eaten away by leprosy and kissed it. Behold! standing before Francis was a cleansed, handsome man, a God-like human being. Francis' lov- ing song pierced the silence! My God and My I-Xll !! This was the love of which Francis sang, this the romance which he taught. Christ was in everyone and everyone was loved. Loving Francis, Troubador of Christ, help us to love as you loved, to love every crea- ture for love of Christ. Help us to raise our love to the pinnacle of spiritual purity and not to drag it down to the depths of selfish lusts. St. Francis, help us to share in your ro- mance.

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N ANTI-RUSS AN CHRI TMA by GERALD SBARBORO, '51 It is a cold Christmas in the year l946 in a small Polish village near Warsaw. Walk- ing down the coblestone street is a white- haired, stooped-shouldered Polish peasant. Years in a Russian slave camp brought this condition about, for you see this man is but 32 years old. The peaceful Christmas day is pierced by the shout of a sentry, x'Who goes there? Slowly in a broken voice the peasant re- plies, A Polanderf' The sentry questions him, then finally satisfied, lets him continue on his way. Arriving home, he greets all the family and together they sit down to their rationed Christmas dinner. At the end of the meal the children call for the age-old story of Christmas. The smil- ing-faced father tells of the trials and birth of Christ. Then according to an Old Polish custom the mother of the family brings in oplalitki, a bread made by the church, that is passed out on Christmas. Then all make a wish. The trembling father says, Mama, we are not supposed to have this. The Russian Communists will send us to a prison camp. At that second a hard knock at the door rings through the small house. Fear clutches the hearts of the little family. A Russian voice sounds, Open the door. Une of the children slowly obeys the command and a hard-faced gorilla-like Russian enters. ln a cold voice he asks: What are you doing with that bread? Without waiting for an answer he marches the family to the com- mandant. At the commandant's office a stern-faced Russian officer looks up at the poor family, asks the charges, and then says: 'll want them sent to a slave camp at once as an example for those who do not obey us. So, on this Christmas day of '46 this small Polish family spends it's sacred Christmas in a Rus- sian slave camp, praying for strength to keep their faith.