St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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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

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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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A Soldier 's Prayer T HE ROARING, CRACKLING sound of guns and cannons ceased at last. The night was calm and as a soldier relaxed, he cast his eyes toward the heavens. The sky seemed especially radiant with twinkling Stars and well it should be, for tonight was Christmas Eve. How different it was from the happy hours which his family had spent together each December 24th! As he regarded the grim faces of his comrades, he could not help wonder- ing if they all missed home as much as he. Rever- ently, he bent his head and prayed to God that he would soon be reunited with his family. At this moment a dispatch was sent out that his division was to return to the camp to rest after the many days of hard fighting. The soldiers gladly obeyed but almost all found it impossible to rest- Christmas Eve and so many miles from home. The barracks were located near a small town and the soldier, not being able to sleep, arose and wandered toward the village. As he strolled through the deserted streets, he suddenly heard faint strains of heaven-like music. Following the sound, he came upon the shattered remains of what must have been, at one time, a small cottage. The lonely soldier crept up and peered through a window. He was startled by what he saw taking place before his weary but hopeful eyes. There appeared a tiny room dimly lit by the flicker of a candle. This light revealed a man, woman and two children. He watched as they MARY Lou BRANN, '51 raised their voices in chant and then knelt in solemn prayer. The room was cold and bare, there was no Christmas tree with gayly colored balls or lights nor brightly wrapped presents to be found, nevertheless, an air of perfect peace and calmness reigned within. How different this was from his memory of Christmas Eve at home and yet, as he gazed at this humble family, he suddenly realized how very much like his own family they were. The woman's tired though kind face, outlined by soft brown hair, much resembled the picture he held so dear in his wallet, Then there was that characteristic anxious expression of the man that reminded the soldier so much of the day his father had come home after losing his job. And the pious little girl looked quite a bit like Sally, espe- cially when his younger sister opportunely acquired that angelic countenance after having done some- thing wrong. Picturing himself as the young boy in the scene, the soldier intently observed the family and imagined he was reliving a Christmas Eve at home. He must have remained for an hour or more, just standing there, in the cold of the night. Finally, the small candle was snuffed out and the little family went to rest their tired heads for the night. The soldier whispered good-night and lifting his eyes toward heaven, thanked God for this answer to a soldier's prayer. THE TYPICAL TRAMP IN ANY CITY PARK, along the streets, or near the railroad tracks one can find the shabby tramp. His favorite position is sitting, and near him usually are the newspapers he has used dur- ing the night as insulation. It's cheaper to sleep outside, he thinks. If you want to hear his story he will charge different rates. For twenty-five, fifty cents, or a dollar, he gives three different stories of his fall to ruin. He will panhandle on MARIE LOUISE RITCHOTTE, '51 street corners or in front of restaurants, beg from door to door, and in cold weather he will allow himself to be arrested for vagrancy and spend his thirty days in a nice, warm cell. He will steal and ride the rails to avoid the gendarmes. He is chased by dogs, sworn at by men, and ill-used in many ways, but he will go to any extreme to avoid gainful labor even though he has a twelve- hour day to do it.