St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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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!

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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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If. for no ofher reason . . Art for Artis' Sake HE WORD ART comes from the Latin ars meaning, of course, art. That astound- ing piece of information exhausts my entire stock of knowledge concerning the subject. Picasso or Rembrandt, it all means the same to me, that is, nothing. Perhaps my liner sensibilities were dulled by my grammar school course in appreciation of art. Every other Friday, out would come our books and everyone would duly turn to the appointed page only to be greeted by a faint out- line of Millet's Angelus or some similar work. Appropriate questions would accompany the study, such as, Describe the color scheme of the peas- ant's costume. This always stopped me com- pletely, for unless I am color blind, the picture was printed entirely in black and white. Upon reaching high school, I was informed of the glad news that we were to have the oppor- tunity to put our dormant artistic ability to work.- Dormant is a particularly descriptive adjectiveg I might even call it mourant, for my ability failed to wake up at all. However, each Wednesday I dutifully attended the class fno alternative was offered, and attempted to soak up some culture. Alas! to no avail! How could any rational being expect me to draw a proverb in Old English print when I have difficulty writing my own name legibly in Modern American? ' JANE RAFFERTY, '51 Our next assignment was to decorate a small wooden bucket using a Pennsylvania Dutch motif. Daubing a bit of paint here and there, I quickly executed land I use the word advisedlyj the masterpiece. My only hope is that no one from Up-State ever lays eyes on it. Yet, I feel rather safe, for on its arrival home it was soon relegated to the darkest regions of the cellar. Too nice to use, the family said. Sometimes I wonder! By Sophomore year I had perfected a system. Whenever my work was to be examined, I would be engrossed in offering constructive criticism to my classmate's drawing or, better still, by some stroke of luck, my pencil would need sharpening. By the time I came back to my desk, the art instructor would have passed on to the next girl, much to my relief. Then, happy day! junior year came providing blessed relief from that weekly ordeal. For one whole year I was carefree, but the respite was indeed brief for, on becoming a senior, I dis- covered that art was again included in our curricu- lum. Caught unaware, I could only sit back help- lessly, also art-lessly. Yet I feel that my teacher no longer expects much of me for she smiles knowingly as she glances at my feeble attempts, pauwa of ww. On far-flung hattlejieldr of gray, A soldier jqgblf, weuried, Grimy with the ,ilth of war. Shots ring through the day and mighty The Voice of Peare ir heard no more. The wounded moan, and in each moan ir heard The hearthreahr and the pain. A .rentfy ir alertedg That glimmer is moonlight on a hostile gun The enemy approarher, And through the long and hitter night A motheff lonely heart mllr to her ron. joan Gffipp, '51 64