St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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Finally, the day of the ceremony arrived. Standing in the vestry, Dick could see the altar beckoning with white flowers. Slowly he approached it and took his place. Raising his eyes he saw her, dressed in white, delicately beautiful. She gazed into his loving eyes and Dick felt unbelievably happy. At that moment any doubt was swept from his mind. He knew that his choice was the best. The organ and choir united in the strains of Ave Maria and Our Blessed Lady from her throne seemed to smile sweetly at her young seminarian kneeling reverently at her feet. Vicar of Christ BAGGAGE STORED BELOW, last minute remembrances, the usual tearful goodbyes and off we sailed on an unforgettable trip to Europe. Our luxury liner docked at Naples where our party of six ventured into the fabulous Holy City to visit the many beautiful churches and scenic places. We made the famous pilgrimage twice, witnessed the canonization of a Spanish saint and were present for a public audience. But even though we were stirred by these spectacles, deep in our hearts we anxiously awaited that special invitation to a private audience with our Holy Father. I had endlessly planned what I was going to say and how I would compose myself. But all my practice at poise seemed in vain, since it was only two days before we were to leave Rome and still no invitation had arrived. Then that bright Friday morning there stood the messenger at our door. Our faces lit up like candles. The following day we arose bright and early, eager to start. After breakfast, we dressed for the spirit- ual occasion. Mother and Mrs. Gibbons wore long, black dresses with a black veil covering their heads while Dad wore the regular black dress suit. Since I was younger, I had to wear a white dress and white veil. On our way to St. Peter's Basilica, I nervously JEANINE PASQUARIELLO, '52 rehearsed my lines as if I were about to play the most important role in my life. We were well examined and checked by several guards and then we entered one of the buildings of the Vatican. After fearfully mounting the glorious, white marble staircase, we were ushered through a series of beautifully decorated rooms and requested to remain in the last. After waiting several minutes, which seemed like hours, the people began to whisper, He's coming, the Pope is coming! Suddenly His Holiness, noted for his quickness, came rushing through the doorway. Pius XII was dressed as usual, in a white robe and skull cap and slippers of red velvet, a glorious sight to behold. He began to talk to the pilgrims and finally came to me. My mind went blank, my tongue refused to move, I couldn't remember anything I had prepared and I was petrified. After I had kissed his ring, he began to speak to me in that gentle, peaceful voice. My tongue remained adamant, so my mother kindly offered a few words for me. I didn't realize what had happened until it was over and too late to do anything, for our Holy Father went as quickly as he had come. Nevertheless, the meeting of this magnetic servant of God will ever stand out as the most unforgettable experience of my life. .Sbncn 'Monks dwarf! The .fun doem't make the world .vo bright, . Nor ihe moon doe.: it Jhed lovely light, Since you're away, The dayr are longer: the nights are blue. Our hearlr are heavy, our joker are few. Since you're away. God harlen you home, for .rufely He knows, We mix: you much, as our lonelinefr xhawx, Sinre you're away. joan Smith, '51

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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.

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Read fhis and learn why . . . I Believe In Ghosts A FEW WEEKS AGO during the baseball season, something happened to me which changed my whole concept of the world of spirits. I was returning from a night game via a 53 trolley at about twelve-thirty. I was engrossed in a newspaper column which told about a supposed suicide on my street only a few houses away from my home. The car was deserted except for the conductor and me when a stranger boarded, walked back, sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. It seemed that he was also particularly interested in this suicide He insisted that the victim had really been murdered by a gangster called Louis Matteroni, and said he would like to get revenge. This struck me as a peculiar thing for a stranger to say, queerer still because he put it so person- ally as if he had been wronged. Somehow we switched to other topics and as we were getting off the trolley-he got off at the same stop as I did-we found ourselves on the subject of ghosts. If there is any other kind of story that can keep you on edge especially when walking down a dark, uninhabited street, I wouldn't like to hear it. It would be a little too powerful. I asked him if he believed in ghosts and I shall MARIE Louise R11'cHoTTE, '51 never forget his answer. Yes, I do, he said, and then disappeared. I stod there and then, trembling, I looked around. Imagine your own feelings if you were suddenly brought face to face with the bald fact that you have been walking and talking with a real live ghost. I must have looked as if I wasn't all there as I walked down the street to my house. Behind every tree I fancied there was someone lurking, waiting to pounce on me, to kill me. My brain conjured up all sorts of gruesome things until at last I broke into a run all the rest of the way home. I was never so frightened in my life. When I got home and told my mother that I had seen a ghost and told her of the details, she looked at me skeptically. Then she asked me if I actually expected her to believe that story. But when I described the ghost to her, she turned white as a sheet and gasped for air. I thought she was going to faint. But she struggled and man- aged to whisper, It was he, it was the man who died. Well it's up to you. You may believe it or not, but in the next day's Bulletin there was a big spread about Louis Matteroni. He had been found dead, frightened to death, in the victim's house. WHO 'WAS SHE? - Sl-IE WAS A STRANGE little woman, as insig- nificant as those three-letter words which fill in the corners of crossword puzzles. Her wispy grey hair straggled down her neck. She wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses which, perched half- way down her nose, gave her a perpetually quizzi- cal look. Every morning we watched her as she boarded the 8:15 bus, extracted her fare from the shabby purse and paid the driver. Perhaps it was her very insigniiicance that attracted people but anyhow, everyone gave her a cheery hello or a smile, once they got to know her. Despite the fact that we greeted her every morning for two years, she never told her name and skillfully avoided all questions concerning her identity. At the end of JANE RAFFERTY, '51 the line she left with a warm God bless you. Yes, for twenty-four months our Mystery Lady followed this routine until one morning, she didn't appear. Like all curious people, we dis- cussed the strange incident loud and long. Then, happening to glance at the morning paper, I saw at the very bottom of the last page an obscure news item, Unidentified Woman Stricken Fatally on Market Street. Yes, I thought this must be our Mystery Lady, for reading on I found that the description fit her perfectly. No clue to her indentity the story read. Who was she? To this day we have never found out and every once in a while, the conversation on the 8:15 bus somehow turns to her and we like to speculate as to who she could have been.