St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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Your specs can be your . . . WINDOWS 0F THE WDRLD NOW, YOU PROBABLY don't know me. I'm just an old country gent spending my life, what's left of it for me to spend, right here in Countrydell. And I've a little something I'd like to mention after a bit. Nothing special, mind you, but pull up a chair, and you might get interested. Folks around these parts are right nice. just plain, ordinary folks who live day after day, through sunshine and shower, but they mean well and usually manage to keep on the right of the Lord. We take great pride in our town. It's not very bigg I guess the population isn't any more than a hundred, if it's that much. We haven't any skyscrapers or big department stores, but jim Collins' General store suits us and we're happy with what we have. That jim Collins is a nice chap. He lets me set my rocking chair on the porch of the store and never bothers me-just lets me sit there all day a-smoking my old briar and dreaming, or else talking to the townfolk. There aren't many people in town today: they all went to Matt Rochson's place. He's going to demon- strate a new electric machine he got for milking his cows. I stayed right here on the porch. I figure that those new fangled ideas will bring city ways to our little town fast enough and I don't aim to rush out and meet them halfway. I prefer the country myself. That clean, fresh feeling in the air, a little brook a-gurgling somewhere near, and birds chirping in the trees on a still summer dayw yes-I guess that's as close to heaven as we'll get in this world and I don't like the idea of letting some giant of a locomotive come snorting in and spoil the dream. Well, that kind of takes me away from what I planned to say- I'm no philosopher but I've seen enough and heard enough in my life to help formulate a little common sense. There's no fool like an old fool, they say. Well, I am old, I've seen seventy-three summers already, but I like to think that I'm not a fool. Now I sit here every day looking out at the passing world through these glasses of mine and I see all kinds of folks--skinny, fat, tall, short, some happy, some sad. Some folks look a little worried, others look so serene you'd think that no matter what happened, they wouldn't blink an eyelash. What is it that makes people so different? Why do some always look so worried and fretful? JOAN GREIPP, '51 How can others go through life looking like they hadn't a worry in the world? Well, like I said before, I'm no philosopher, but I think I know the answers to these questions. I think that the biggest difference is sight. Now don't get me wrong-I don't mean that Hattie Frick is crabby because she needs glasses, or that the wrinkles between young Hank Jessup's eyes are from squint- ing and not from fretting over last month's chicken feed bill, no, I don't mean that. And I don't mean that a cheerful person is s'happy because he happens to have 20120 vision. Take me for instance. I wear glasses, I have to-can't see a thing without them-but still I'm happy. No, I don't mean eyesight when I say sight is the big- gest differenceg no sir, I mean something different. You take these people that have a kind of hind- sight. They're usually moaning about some drought or flood that happened years ago. These poor people look so far back to the past they forget the present and there is no future for them. These are the people that are always troubled. They just let life slip through their fingers. You might say their glasses are clouded with the things of the past and they can't look through them to see the sunshine of today. Next-are you still listening? I get to talking like this and just keep right on going. Light up a smoke if you wantg I always say a smoke helps a feller relax. Well, like I was saying--next are the people who always look happy. Now these are the folks with foresight. They get set for their tomorrows by doing today's job with a smile. That's good advice you know-take care of every today and you won't have to spend time worrying about the future. If something unexpected hap- pens, like as not they're ready to change their plans to fit the need. These people maybe don't have perfect eyesight but leastways they have their glasses on straight and clean 'n they get a good look at the world. Can't help wishin' more folks would use foresight 'stead of hindsight. Might make for a better world to live in. Funny isn't it, how you can take something like a pair of glasses and moralize on them? I wou1dn't be without my glasses though, no sir. I depend on them, you bet-I call them my windows of the world. I '

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bered among her ranks many fine writers since early times. Who is going to retrace this path and rid the world of its chaos? There are few well- known Catholic authors today. Those most widely read are G. K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc. Thomas Merton, a young Catholic author, is not only gaining great prominence in literary circles but at the same time, is bringing Christian ideals to light. These are the people to watch so that we may follow in their footsteps. Through them, the young journalist will learn how to herald the cry for Catholic Action through the pen. From the condition of the world today, it is obvious that there are no real leaders, merely politicians. Without competent men to guide us, progress is at a standstill. The biggest mistake our leaders are making is leaving out the One through Whose help, we can win the peace. Without God we can do nothing. Only when the nation is led by able men who give due credit to God, can there be peace and unity among all peoples. Again, we use Webster to define the word unity , He says that it is the state of oneness or singleness. One is very small, but not an easy number to achieve. 'To begin with we must have unity of the family. If there is oneness in the family, the state will be as one and it will build itself into a single nation. We cannot expect other nations to have unity until we ourselves have attained it. This is the year of decision. This is the time when we must decide what we are going to do and how we are going to do it. We can reach a verdict only by uniting into a peaceful, God-loving body and by deciding on certain principles that must be carried outg also by building up men who can bear the brunt with courageous souls, men who turn to God when they know they need Him. We cannot count time by years but by progress. Let this be the year of construction rather than destruction. Let us tear down the foundation of the past year and begin to rebuild with God's help. Unless the Lord buildeth the house, they labor in vain that buildeth it. WHA T! Not Again WHAT A FASCINATING TITLE! And how well it fits into the woeful tale I have to tell of my own dear family and our hopes. What are they? Ah, dear reader, that is the trouble. We're beginning to wonder ourselves. You see, it all started last February when the moving bug bit us--as he so villainously does every two or three-years. But this time it was going to be different, so we thought! Our latest tactics called for an entirely new house. After all, there were certainly enough new houses being built and somebody had to buy them, so-why not us? fLater we were to say, But why us? j After dis- cussing the matter thoroughly, it was brought to a vote and unanimously agreed that we launch a search for a modern dwelling. We then set out. The search which followed is something I would rather not discuss, if you don't mind. Indeed, if any of you have ever gone through the same experience, I'm sure you'll understand. As PHYLLIS BEGGIN, '52 usually happens, after persevering efforts, we found our dream house -well anyway, a plot of land situated on Cottman Street, in the residential section of Mayfair. We stood around ecstatically when told that it would be constructed by june at the very latest--Hmn! Here is a brief summary of what has happened since that time. March-You'll be in by June. April- We'll start digging any day now. May- A period of damp, rainy weather which lasts until-. july- Hurrah, they've started! Our abode is a pile of dirt. ' ' August- Things are looking up. It's now a pile of rocks. i ' ' ' September- Almost finished and we should be in next month. . ' October-!S'till waiting, but they said we'll be in by November for sure. ' But ' ' 'I wonder ?

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Well, it's getting late. I see some of the folks ask for me. The name's Tom Awl, yes sir, Tom coming back from Matt's. It was nice of you to C. Awl, stop over. If you're ever in Countrydell again- IMP 011 ANGEL ? JULY 16, 1940 dawned, joyous and eventful. To an excited seven-year-old girl it was the most wonderful day in the world. Yes, she felt her infant sister was perfect. Alas, if she could only have foreseen the havoc this minx would wreak! I-Ier name, of course, had to be Eleanore Rose. Why did they give a tiny infant such a long name? They tell me my mother went to school with a very charming girl named Rose Eleanor. She was a quiet girl, very sweet and patient. Mother thought this sleeping babe resembled this same angelic friend and thus our baby inherited the name. At times I wonder how appearances could have been so deceiving. My theory is that when the name was reversed, the character reversed it- self also. I recall her days at Nursery school, especially when Sister related the tale of the archangel Gabriel. You can picture the family sitting up all night in dire fear! Eleanor Rose had misunder- stood Sister's explanation and tearfully told every- one that Gabriel would blow his horn and take her to heaven that very evening. Then came the Christmas pageant. 'W e were all bursting with pride because our baby was chosen to recite a poem. just why did she take hysterics before the grand opening? What was this non- sense about losing her heart? After many a coax- ing inquiry, we discovered that the poem she was to recite read thus: What can I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I'd give Him a lamb, If I were a wise man I'd do my part. I know what I'll give Him, I'll give Him my heart. Those were the dark ages but alas, only a prep- aration for the years to come. First, it was my favorite tube of lipstick which, to my distress, also became ber favorite. One day, on returning home from school I found half of it gone. Who did it? Need I think twice? When approached about the subject, she nonchalantly replied that she had eaten it. This question, undoubtedly, will continue to stump my children's children until it has become a traditional tale. KATHLEEN T. BRANCO, '52 Oh, my scintillating Blue Waltz! Eleanor Rose felt the odor of our kitten was most unpleasant and set out to remedy the situation by bathing it in my most expensive scent. What could I say when she employed that famed expression of innocence? With the advance of years her brilliance increased. At the age of seven she could swing on the sub- way poles very professionally. By the time she was eignt, she decided the buses made comfort- able picnic grounds and saved her lunches to munch while riding. Embarrassing? Well, just put yourself in my shoes! Then came the year! Eleanor decided she would have a surprise party. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that, but the hitch was, it surprised my mother, too. Can you picture the bewildered faces of the family when twenty-six mischievous children crashed through the door! But, of course, she was too young to realize what she had done fat least, that's what they sayj. Now, at last she is ten, and what a sophisticated ten! She has perfected her English to such an extent that only she can interpret the words she uses. Her magnetic personality has changed to one of wittiness. Take, for example, the month of the suffering souls during which Eleanor Rose bicycled to church and prayed for Grandmother. When Grandmother explained in her most patient way that she should pray for the dead throughout this month-not the living, she replied brilliantly, that she had prayed for her in advance. Now don't think I'm complaining or criticizing because I am really very fond of her. But when I very gently explain that she has done the wrong thing, should she tell me I have no respect for her? To be sure, we all have our crosses, some heavier than others, and it so happens that mine is in the form of an adorable eighty-pound ten- year-old. Perhaps she does wangle me into many embarrassing situations but then, what would I do without her? I have often wondered!