St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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But the thing that stands out most in my mem- anyone mentions the Amish or Lancaster County, ory is the old brown mill, and nowadays when my mind always reverts to that scene. MISTAKEN IDENTITY HELENE WALKED SLOWLY up the narrow gravel path toward Saint Rita's High on that fateful day upon which, she felt, her next four years depended. She was to be a Freshman and Helene hoped that she would make a good impres- sion on her classmates when she met them for the first time. Helene, a very pretty girl with a rosy com- plexion topped off by golden hair, had but one defect--a slight scar over her right eyebrow. A slight shyness did not prevent her from getting along well with everybody. Helene had many friends back in St. Louis from which she had moved two weeks ago. These, however, did not ease the loneliness she felt in this strange new city. As she drew nearer to the gray stone building, she could hear the chatting and laughing of the girls who were gathered in groups on the campus. Hi, my name's Carrie. What's yours? She turned around and saw a girl of her own age with curly black hair and twinkling brown eyes, smiling at her. I'm Helene Morris. Are you a freshman, too? she asked. That's right, and we might as well get acquainted now, answered Carrie. I don't remember you from grammar school. No, l just moved here from St. Louis two weeks ago. Well, in that case, how about letting me show you the sights this week? said Carrie. Carrie introduced Helene to some of her friends 'and by the end of the week she was popular among all of the girls except one, julia Gordon. Julia jealously thought that Helene Morris was much too pretty and popular and intended to do something about it. For two weeks everything was wonderful for Helene. But, one day when she came to school, she was ignored by most of her newly-made friends. Although she hadn't seen Carrie yet that day, she knew that when she did, Carrie, at least, wouldn't ignore her. A few days later she saw her in the corridor. Carrie asked Helene to meet her outside at three o'clock. CLAIRE KNAPP, '5 3 To Helene the hands of the clock seemed to take a Century to travel around. Finally, the bell rang, and at three o'clock she stood waiting for Carrie at the bottom of the steps. I've come to explain, Helene, said Carrie. You mean about everyone's ignoring me? asked Helene. At that Carrie thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out a clipping from a newspaper. julia Gordon brought this in and showed it to a few of the girls. I took it from her before she could show it to anyone else but, 1 supose, news travels. It didn't bother the girls but when their mothers heard it they told them to stay away from you. We didn't believe it was your father, but then you must admit it seems strange, since you moved here from St. Louis with your mother. You can see that all evidence points to him and, well, here, read this, said Carrie. Helene took the clipping and read: Henry Morris Found Guilty of the Murder- of john Partley. She didn't wait to read the rest but immediately invited Carrie to dinner. The invitation puzzled Carrie, nevertheless, she accepted it. When dinner was over, Helene took Carrie up to her room. She opened a drawer, took out a box and looked through the many papers that were in it. Finally, she picked out one and handed it to Carrie. This was also a news clipping but it was ten years old. After reading it, Carrie dropped the clipping and, as she threw her arms about Helene, a tear trickled down her cheek. Can you ever forgive us, Helene Of course, I can, said Helene, and as she said it her eyes fell on the piece of paper and the well-known words glared up at her. an Henry Morris was fatally burned yesterday while saving his four-year-old daughter, Helene, from a raging fre in their laome. Helene escaped wills minor burn: and a :harp cut over ber right eye.

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Rah IN MANY OF OUR present day sports, the color that accompanies the activity has come to be almost as important as the game itself. On the football field the school band and cheerleaders add to the support of the players, while on the basketball court the morale boosting rests solely in the hands of the cheerleader. Let me tell you some of the trials and triumphs that become the lot of a cheerleader. To start with, the cheerleader must be chosen. Since you are interested you begin to review the actions and the cheers in your mind until you finally put them into practice. You can hardly wait for the great day of the selection and when it arrives, you usually nnd yourself the sole com- petitor. Yes, you and you alone are there to repre- sent your class. Oh, well, you say, I made it, so what am I complaining about? Once chosen, the tedious job of urging your classmates to bring in cheers falls on your shoulders. At every opportunity the students can no doubt hear a voice raised above the others, Girls, did you bring in any cheers? If they could read the ah .V NANCY O,CONNOR, '51 questioner's mind, the thought could be seen, Oh well, I'll try again. Third in the line of supporting a team is mak- ing actions to the new cheers and going over the old stand-bys. On the day after the first practice the local drug stores do a booming busi- ness on rubbing alcohol. Strange, how easy it is to find new muscles. Finally the day of the first game arrives. You are starched and ironed within an inch of your life and are anxious to get out on the floor and show that you have been practicing. Then sud- denly, you stand and face the girls for the first time and the strangest feeling comes over you. You break out in goose bumps, your mind goes blank, your heart thumps like a drum, and your knees knock to such an extent that 'you feel you will never be able to walk again. But gradually that conglomerate mass of faces before you stops whirl- ing. You recognize your friends. Almost incred- ibly you hear your own voice announcing: Razzle dazzle sizzle zip-. The cheering squad is in action! THE 0LD BROWN MILL IT WAS EARLY SUMMER and we were riding through Lancaster County, Pennsylvania when I saw the old mill. It was weatherbeaten and worm-rotted to a sort of brownish gray. Its design was in the best Dutch tradition. Its long, brown, bare arms creaked com- plainingly as the gentle wind moved them. The mill was obviously kept only as a relic of the old days, for the clean, white house with green shut- ters belied the fact that a thing so old would still be used on that farm. Besides, there was a newer type of windmill up near the house. The scene was quiet and impressive, for it reminded one strongly of Holland, and the sun just rising gave the scene a picturesque touch. Situated on the bank of a clear, swift stream, the mill cast a long, queer-shaped shadow over the rippling water and shaded much of the bank. MARY Louise RITCHOTTE, '51 Down by the creek, kneeling in the shadow of the mill, were some women taking advantage of the cool, early morning to get their washing done. Dressed in the plain, gray dresses and white bon- nets of their sect, those Amish women had prob- ably never heard of a washing machine. They were doing the wash in the same manner as their grandmothers had done before them. Behind his mother, a boy stood watching the water and listening to her as she assigned him his chores. Probably he was wishing with all his heart that he could be fishing on this fine morning. The lad was barefoot, dressed in the Amish style of knickers and shirt, with his hair cut short. The farm itself was large and prosperous and the fields beyond the house were abundant with various crops. Fat cows contentedly chewed cuds in the shade of nearby trees.

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To Buy 01' Not To Bug THERE IS NOTHING quite like a television set! It is one of the few things which gives both trouble and pleasure. Take our set for instance, that is, you could have taken it until a few days ago. It had become the source of nightly entertainment for our family. Then something happened, something which shattered our whole evening routine and which left a lasting impres- sion on me. Because of use, rather than old age, this mixture of mineral and vegetable broke down completely. We had trouble many times before with the contraption-and I say contraption in the true sense of the word-but, this was by far the worst. It was so badly damaged that it was foolish to have it repaired since it would be more economical to buy a new set. Not that it would cost less, but the price for the necessary parts would be almost the price of the set itself. It is so much trouble to keep a television set, I told myself, that it would be a good idea if we didn't buy a new one. ' I imagined I was but echoing the thought of If is dlfficulf fo make . . . THE FIRST FAINT rays of warm sun were beginning to mellow the cool, crisp air of an autumn day-the dawn of Navy Day, 1948. The friendly waters about Pier 48, Brooklyn Dock, seemed to whisper All's well. The local band, dressed in the city colors, was proudly pre- paring to welcome the troopship, U.S.S. Nep- tune, as she came into port, her sides bulging with human cargo. The waves gently caressed the hull with a fond welcome and the ship rapidly eased into place as if to murmur Home Sweet Home. , Among the first to leave ship was a young naval ofiicer, Richard Carr. He sprang down the gangplank and made his way into the loud but very happy crowd and into the arms of his family. fAll the pent-up emotions of those who now saw the answer to four years of constant prayer and waiting were let loose.j The next few weeks brought a big change from navy blue and gold + T1-IEiu5sA SMITH, '54 the whole family, but finally my father brought up the subject of getting a new set. Immediately I spoke up, Remember all the trouble we had with the last one? We don't want that to happen again. Do we? Everyone agreed for a time, then some began to weaken, pointing out that it was a good thing to have and very enjoyable entertainment. I am still holding my ground though, with an opposition so reasonable and determined, that I am fully convinced that I will finally sway the combined opinions of the entire family at the next conference on the subject. Now, as I confi- dently relax in Dad's favorite easy chair, my thoughts turn to my arguments which I plan to open by saying-But wait, who's calling me? Theresa, why are you sitting there dreaming? Don't you hear the doorbell ringing? Is it the man delivering our new television set? Yes, it is, mother. I reply weakly as my hand falls limply on the doorknob. Tim cllolcls JOAN DONNELLY, '53 to white tie and tails as Dick was wined and dined, in a manner befitting the conquering hero. In the days and weeks that followed, Dick received many letters from his shipmates who joy- fully wrote of their newly-launched careers. Dick realized that he, too, must make some definite plans for the future. On December 8th, his twenty-first birthday, Dick announced his choice of a life partner. He had known her all his life, yet those many nights on ship, when he was so homesick and longing to see someone from home, were signs that made him realize how comforting the thought of her could be and how much he needed and depended upon her. His family and friends were delighted with his choice and the date was set for Feb- ruary 2nd. Every moment was spent in busy preparation of flowers, invitations, and the music arrangement.