St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

Page 81 text:

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.

Page 80 text:

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

Page 82 text:

lthhtea The run that brief December day Rose rheerlerr over hill: of gray. -john Greenleaf Whittier DECEMBER IS THE CUE for Lady Winter to don her cloak of shimmering silver and travel across the unsuspecting earth. Wherever she walks, life, with all its warmth, takes a leave of' absence, for the touch of Lady Winter is like the touch of Death. Lakes that once rippled in the gentle spring breezes stiffen at her touch and remain silent examples of her chilling powers. But, Lady Winter, though cold and heartless, is not entirely without beauty. There is something truly majestic in the still quiet of her reign. It is in the country that her majesty rules supreme. The No spring nor summer beauty hath meh grace, A5 I have seen in one autumnal face. --john Donne AUTUMN TO THE FARMER' means the harvest. lt is a very joyful occasion when he beholds the fruit of all his earlier labors fall under the sharp edge of the reaper, for he knows that it will 'assure him a new and better year to come. To the city dweller it brings a chance for renewed labor, a time to make up for all the opportunities he has missed during the past sea- sons: Rejuvenated after the warm summer, he takes up his appointed tasks with a determination todo better. Perhaps he will fail again, or maybe he will succeed. The important thing is that he will try. Books and teacher's dirty looks is how the school child interprets this season. A child's thirst for knowledge is easily satiatedg nevertheless, on he must plod until the very end, and paradoxi- cally enough, he is sorry when the spring -or the end of his school days approaches. Autumn is JOAN GREIPP, '51 roadsides, once covered with the fallen leaves of Autumn, are now buried under the soft blanket of snow that Lady Winter provides for her sub- jects. The rolling hills' green carpets are hidden beneath Winter's mantle, here and there a tree deprived of its foliage stands tall and alone with its leafless arms outstretched toward the heavens, beseeching the Snow Queen to surrenderi het throne to gentle Spring. The sun, startled by the white brilliance of the world below it, withdraws into the recesses of the hazy sky. All nature bows in mute subservience to her winter sovereign. Winter, Winter! The interlude of quiet peace among all the seasons. The death scene of the four act drama of the year. JANE RAFFERTY, '51 not without its recompenses. Witches and goblins combine to terrify eager chidren every Hallowe'en. Each November the family unfailingly marvels at how Junior can possibly consume so much turkey. 1 Autumn, besides being a division of the seasons, is likened in the above poem to a dividing time in our lives. The autumnal period of our existence marks our entrance into old age. During this season of our earthly stay we, like the farmer, should sit back and reflect over the good for evil, that we have sown during the past seasons--the spring, our youthg and the summer, our maturity. We should also be looking to the future-the winter, which is the last stop on our long journey home. Autumn is the time of dying in nature. The bright leaves are dropping lifeless to the ground, abandoning the trees which will soon be the bar- ren sentinels of the stormy winter. We mortals should not regard the autumnal period of our lives thus, but rather as a period of awakening. It is then that we realize how empty the pleasures seem from which we derived so much enjoyment