St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED I CAN REMEMBER PLAINLY the day they moved into the big white house next door to me. And I never, until this day, realized why they left. I suppose they had a good enough reason. It was stupid of me not to notice, not to know. The Jacksons arrived shortly after 1:00 P. M. on that particular Saturday. It was one of those cold, dreary days when the biting winds would pierce one's body like a newly-sharpened knife. The furious winds, combined with the constant banging of the screens, caused a howling and screeching sound. As I sat sewing the final hem on the altar cloth, I felt that this was a sign, a warning. The neighborhood has changed quite a bit in the past years. Most of my friends have moved to the city and some of them have even passed away. No, there's not too much left for a woman who has grown old. The things that meant so much to me in my youth are now re- placed by the new and modern. We see the old movie house as an elaborate night club. Even Eddie's Candy Shop is now a famous restaurant. These young folks have really taken over the town, but I imagine they are entitled to their own life. I know none of them yet, for they have never spoken -to me. Several times, I've passed the children playing in the lot. They have fun there by themselves. I only pray that they don't grow up to be as hard and malicious as some of the parents. How cruel can they be? Do they treat others the way they treated the Jacksons? Mrs. Jackson made her acquaintance with me a short time after moving into her new home. She was a polite, well-spoken woman who, I imagine, through our conversation, was about thirty. Her husband, a laborer, worked for the railroad in the nearby town. In hopes of some- day being a physician, he would stay in town three nights a week to attend school. Those nights, when her husband would stay in town, EILEEN CLEARKIN, '55 Mrs. Jackson would sometimes visit me. We would talk about the usual -things, all the trouble moving entails and how hard it is to get settled in a new town and make friends. But Mrs. Jackson had more than just the usual troubles, she was not accepted by the community. They wanted no part of her or her family, and they showed her this in every way possible. Night after night, she would cry and tell me what they had done to her that day. Monday, it was broken windows. Tuesday, the car was spattered with paint, Wednesday, threatening 'phone calls at all hours of -the night. Every day there was something new, something more malicious and hateful. This went on for two months. They would not stop! They did not care whom they hurt. The Jacksons could not be accepted. Why? Mrs. Jackson and I helped each other in various ways. I gave her some slight consola- tion, and she, in return, gave me pleasant com- pany. I rarely had company. Once in a while an old friend would drop by, but this did not happen often. Starry, my dog, has been my steady companion for almost a year now, watch- ing constantly every step I take, each thing I touch. The mind does not work so quickly when it grows old. Each thought must be concentrated on, taken apart and placed together again. Slowly the pieces fall into place and the puzzle forms a picture. And the picture which is the Jackson's story, I shall carry to my grave. Yes, the Jacksons wanted to stay, they niade untold efforts to do so. They ignored the names people shouted at them, the stones they threw, the damage they had done. But, in order to protect their lives, they had to leave. As I said, an old woman's mind is slow. 1 have just realized something I should have reali- zed six months ago. If only I had had Starry's eyes. But how was I to know they were black, when I myself, am blind?

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dwelt on the situation in which they had just been involved. Without voicing it, each one feared that disqualification in -the extempore event would ruin their school's chances for the cup. Yet, if they had it to repeat, Peg and her friends realized that their course of action would have been the same. Leaving the chapel several minutes later, the girls met the other students of St. Margaret's. Mary began to relate their story. Gee, I wouldn't have known what to do and I'm sure I'd have been scared to death! ex- claimed Joyce, breathlessly. I hope our chances won't be ruined by your disqualification, interjected Gail, realistically. We're hoping that, also, said Peg, although we will just have to leave it up to Godf' Hurrying back to the announcement room, the contingent from Saint Margaretls exchanged greetings with the other ora-tors, returning from the last scheduled event. All faces were alight with eager anticipation. Finally, after weeks of preparation, their toil was to be rewarded with success-all hoped. Silence prevailed as Dr. Hostler began to speak. We realize that this has been a long and tedious day for you competitors, and I know that you are all eagerly awaiting the name of the winner. After carefully tabulating the points, we find the winner to be Cathedral High, scoring 94 points. In second place, St. Margaret's, with 93 points, and third, St. Joachim's with 80 points. On the basis of this, the trophy will be aaa ,uma 12011 Children, be kind to your neighbors, just bid them the time of the day, A smile won't cost you a penny, But a kind word will go a long way. Be kind to the homeless, the blind and the poor, God loves them dearly, you know. just lend a hand when it's needed, You reap only what you sow. Don't let this vast world fool you, Do things for the good of your soul. The kind deeds you do in this world, Will put you on God's Honor Roll. Ann Gallagher, '56 retired to Cathedral High with our sincerest compliments. Thank you all for making this tournament at Forrest College a success. 'KI wonlt cry, thought Peg. HI won't look silly in front of all these people. After all, we're second. Despite her brave front, Peg felt weighed down by a heart of lead. The sickening reali- zation that her disqualification meant the cup, dwelt with Peg. She couldn't justify her con- science with the knowledge that an elderly woman had been aided. All that she could see was the brilliant, gleaming, gold trophy permanently placed in the hall of her arch-rivals. No words of consolation from her chums could help, it seemed. Sensing the tears beginning to well up, Peggy decided to bring her troubled mind to God. Only He could console her now. Upon reaching the chapel, she sank down in one of the pews. A sense of complete rest crept over Peg as she quietly knelt in this serene, tranquil abode. Fumbling in her purse, Peg found what she was looking for. It was the prayer that Father Cartwright had given her last week. Ah, here are -the words I want, thought Peggy. 'Q . . Help me, O Lord, to accept Thy Will. Even though what we desire may seem meet and just to our finite minds, aid us to realize Thy infinite wisdom . . f' Yes, Peg realized that inner peace and the realization that what we have done is right is far greater and more precious than a thousand trophies of pure, solid gold. p t.t. Dear Mother, my guide to Heaven be, May the light of God's love shine upon me. Show my faltering steps the way, Help me to do God's will this day. In death's last agony, Mother dear, Then, above all, oh, please, be near. That forever in Heaven I may rest, With your Son and you in eternity blest. Elizabeth Zanine, '57

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to sit or not to sit?-that was the question . . . Babysitting ID YOU EVER BABY-SIT? Perhaps the the experience I will now relate has hap- pened to you. When Mr. and Mrs. Girard 'phoned and asked me if I would baby sit on Saturday night with their seven-year-old son, Dennis, I accepted eagerly, for it would be the first baby-sitting job I id ever had. Soon Saturday night rolled around and I ar- rived at the Girard home, armed with comic books and a new, exciting novel. After receiving me graciously and giving last minute instruc- tions, the Girards left and I was alone with Dennis. As you might well imagine, a growing, healthy seven-year-old boy can be very ener- getic and a bit rumbus-tious, to say the least. Well Dennis, or rather Dennis the Menace,'i as I later nicknamed him, was no exception. At least I learned that much after a few unusual occurrences. Since Mrs. Girard had said that Dennis might stay up for another hour, I gave my permission when he asked if he could eat something in the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later he returned, eating a banana. I certainly didn't mind his eating the banana, but when I fell with a thud on the skin which he had tossed on the floor, I drew the line. Suppressing my anger, I asked if he wanted me to read him a story. Having assented, Dennis brought me The Tiger and the Monkey. During the reading I was assailed with about fifty questions, ranging from What's a monkey? to How many tigers are in the zoo? After struggling through that, I was all 'too happy to put The Menace to bed. Sleep not only would do him good, but in bed he couldn't plague me. Or, so I thought. My thoughts, however, were doomed to disap- pointment. Dennis arose about half a dozen times on various pretenses and I could not con- centrate on my interesting novel. Finally he dozed off and I crept downstairs determined to finish the book in peace. With Dennis asleep, the house was deathly still. Since there was no television, I was content to read The Ghost in the Cemetery. It was a spine-chilling novel, grotesque and suspenseful, Soon I was com- pletely lost in it. Outside, the wind howled and - 1 PHYLLIS A. LI VoLsr, '55 the windows rattled, providing a perfect setting for my murder story. As I neared the end, the plot drew to a climax and the murderer was hanged. However, on the last page, I read that his accomplice was still on the lurk. Closing the book, I was left with a cold, clammy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn't have read that book here alone, I told myself. I'l1 read a comic to take my mind from that silly nonsense. The names on the comic books served only to intensify my discomfort. These names, HOR- ROR, 'tWEIRD, etc., greeted my eyes. I-Iow did they get there? I didn't bring them. Sud- denly, I knew. Dennis had switched them. He knew I was here all alone and he wanted to scare me. Well, I'd show him. What was that! I distinctly heard footsteps slowly climbing the cellar steps. I began to shiver. What shall I do? Suppose it's a burglar! Oh, donlt be silly! It couldn't be. Or could it? Am I sure? What if it is someone? Here I am all alone. The silence began taking the shape of a menacing monster, waiting to catch me. It began to close in all around me. Suddenly, the footsteps stop- ped. Good! The Girards will be home soon. It was probably a figment of my imagination. As I sat in the chair, I could feel someone behind me. Oh God, please help me! Should I look? Suddenly I jerked around and nothing more ominous than blank space greeted me. Was that a face in the window? I could feel myself developing into a bundle of nerves. If there were only someone with me to take my mind off all this. Dennis was upstairs asleep and, even if he weren't, he certainly wouldnit be much help. As I sat there alone, how I longed for company. Suddenly, I heard a voice. Since my nerves were on edge already, all I needed was something as unexpected as that to set them off. I jumped almost sky high and then I realized that I knew the voice, It was Dennis. With a petulent ex- pression on his face, he slowly came down the steps. As devilish as he was, his was a welcome face at that moment. Anyone was better than that terrible silence. Much to my surprise, Den- nis said, I'm awfully sorry about changing the comic books. If there really had been a burglar