St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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rrllfr Exeerpfs from . . . 'ik ' x MEMOIRS 0FA HOC.KEY PLAYER AT THE BEGINNING of the term, Sister announced that those who wished to play hockey must come to her and sign up. I, ardent freshman that I was, knowing nothing minus about hockey, decided I would like to join. So, I did. It was as simple as that! Sister informed us that the hockey clinic was to be held that very week. That, I thought brightly, was a physical examination for the hockey players. When we left QI had learned what a hockey clinic wasj, Sister lent me one of the school's sticks. Bewil- dered, I asked one of the older girls why I would need it. After all, didn't we all use the same stick? The girl looked at me as if I were a combination idiot and freshman, so I decided to keep my intelligence to myself thereafter. One term, how- ever, that completely confused me was the junior varsity. Seniority is so important in high school that it seemed strange to have a junior varsity and not to have one for the seniors too. Finally, everything had been explained to me fnot that I understood, howeverl. When we got to the hockey clinic and I had watched the first game I had ever seen, I decided then and there that I liked it. And though I have found that you have to have either the skin of an elephant or the luck of the Irish to come out with what you took in ftwo 0102 'newmt The St. Mary's emblem over the door, The front stairs that lead to the seeond floor, We cherish these things in a special way Because they belong to our S.M.A. 1--... The North Porch on which there are many chairs, That Freshmen must learn to rarry in pairs. Their faithful duty from September to May- 'Tis an honored tradition at S.M.A. BETTY PEILEKE, '54 arms, ten lingers, two legs, one head, etc.j, I still like it. As much as we have diligently practiced f?j, we still have the marvelous record of winning exactly no games. The secret of our success is our wonderful teamwork. For instance, at one game our junior varsity's left inner drove the ball all the way down the field. It was an excellent play, except that she was going in the wrong direction. Another example is our list of injuries, which goes something like this: one goalie ............ a muscle-crushed hand one left wing . . . ........ a very sore toe one right inner .... .. .a skinned finger one center forward . . . .... a sprained ankle one right wing ............ banged-up shins fThis applies, though less seriously, to most of the players.j one left halfback . . . . . .a compound fracture of the finger one goalie .................. a bruised ankle one left inner .................. a black eye So you see, this is no game for weak people or those who cannot stand the sight of blood. But seriously, it's a grand sport. And so ends the tale of a freshman who will never forget her first hockey season. The driveway that leads right up to the school, The grandfather cloth in the hig front hall, These treasures one sees here every day Are a part of our own dear S.M.A. The hright, cheery classrooms that rhase all gloom, The rooms we so eagerly leave when it's noon, The girls that are with us at work and at play, Our wonderful classmates at S.M.A. just like the freshmen this year, so hrand new, Our huilding at llffl will he strange to us, too, But we welcome its presenee and gayly say, HeIlo. ' to the youngest at S.M.A. Claire Knapp, '53

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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.

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ut of a Single Combat IN ALL WARS, heroes have arisen to write their names down in history. In this last World War there were almost three hundred winners of the Medal of Honor and many of these awards were given posthumously. But in the fight for souls which the Church is constantly waging, I think that Father Damien de Veuster stands out before all others for his fight against leprosy and for the lepers. Father Damien was a Belgian priest in the order, Society of the Sacred Heart. His very first mission was Puna in the Sandwich Islands. Often during his nine years there he had seen some of his people depart for the leper colony after they had contracted the dreaded disease. As he watched them wailing and saying good-bye to their families, he determined that someday he would go to the lonely outpost where these poor creatures were segregated from society. Now he was with the Bishop in a small out- rigger canoe which was taking them to the dock at Molokai. The Bishop was visibly disturbed. In his heart he wondered if he had done right in permitting Damien to stay with the lepers. At the dock, after a few fond goodbyes, the Bishop told Damien that he could stay for a week and if he didn't like it he could come back home to Puna. Then he left. As Damien watched the canoe depart, a sudden wave of loneliness and despair swept over him. He turned away and faced his flock who were wait- ing there for him. Many of them wore the grass skirts of the nativesg a few wore filthy and torn cotton garments. The bodies of the older men were rotting away, some who had the use of only one leg walked awkwardly on the stumps, others were without arms, others without lingers. The horrible purple-colored ulcers gave off sickening odors. There was curious loneliness in their eyes as they stood gazing at the newcomer. A young leper who was a little stronger than MARIE Louise Rrrcnorre, '51 the others led the way back to the settlement of Kalawao. When they reached the village, Father Damien surveyed the surrounding country won- dering how anyone could live in such a wild savage place. He went swiftly from one hut to another. The crude grass shelters were steaming with dampness and were charged with putrid air from the foul bodies of the lepers. On a rush mat in each hut, lay one or more lepers who were unable to move. In many of the shelters, men and women were dancing wildly after having drunk an alcoholic beverage from the ki. As the priest looked at the unfortunate crea- tures he realized that the Bishop had not exag- gerated in his description of the place. Many of the men and women had forgotten the moral law. The spiritual corruption oppressed him far more than the physical. He found the same condition in the other village of Kalaupapa, but there he found a church which probably had been built by some travelling missioner who stopped there. This he fixed up and he said Mass in it daily for the beneht of the lepers. His next big problem was the water supply. The spring which the lepers used was too far away for the more seriously ill. So he begged some piping from the Hawaiian government and with the aid of the stronger lepers whom he had to cajole into working, he built an aqueduct for the colonies. During all this time he had no place to sleep except under a convenient palm tree. He learned how to care for the sick by watching the visiting doctor who stopped at Molokai regu- larly. He washed the wounds, bandaged them, and sometimes operated on the lepers when necessary. He built a hospital capable of housing one hun- dred of the sickest lepers. Father Damien really worked wonders on the island and made known to the whole world the situation of the lepers. He himself died of leprosy on April 15, 1889, but his work lives on.