St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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struggle and of their children, who now had families of their own, Now, Peter, said Pop, you will begin your first job with me, tomorrow. Peter was thrilled. But, where?l' he asked. At my shoe-repair shop, of course, an- swered Pop. The next day, Peter learned from Pop the art of shoemending, and before long, he was speaking English and mending shoes with equal skill. Peter soon had many friends and was learning to distinguish between the successful people and the unsuccessful. These early ob- servations and his humble past filled him with the determination to be successful himself. Hard work and a frugal life, he thought, were the keys to successf' He practiced this motto and soon he had, with Pop's blessing a shop of his own. In less than a year, Peter had sent home enough money to buy his mother new clothes and his father new farm tools. The little village was buzzing with Peter's success story. Those few who were not convinced had their doubts dispelled when they learned that he had now arranged passage to America for his brother, Nicholas. Before another year had passed, their brother, Anton, was joining his older brothers in KC the travels of . . 14 penny There they all lie in a copper mound. What memories in them are found? See this tarnished one, new in '48. It has seen worry, every form of fate. Bright, new, without any trace of wear, Clutched tightly in a hand, pink and fair. The child watches closely and lets it drop, As the pile mounts higher to the piggy bank's top. The gaunt, old man, tottering and pale, Assured it will clink without fail Into his battered, old metal cup, Knows soon, he'll have a morsel to sup. Carelessly it passes from hand to hand, To some it means less than a grain of sand. Others, it beckons on like a flame, Attaining its grasp is no easy game. So it has traveled among varied and many, This tarnished, this whitened, this tired, old penny. Suzanne Simard, '55 America. By this time, however, Peter was planning new ventures and greater successes. Soon, the three boys were able to move west- ward. Here, Peter's honesty, good judgment and hard work launched -them into a flourishing business, which was to grow and prosper until it became one of the outstanding enterprises in the country. Its founder, the skinny. immigrant boy, became one of America's millionaires. Anyone less sincere might by now have for- gotten his friends, helping hands, and encourag- ing smiles, but not Peter. For, true to his promise of long ago, he brought to America all of his family and any of the townsfolk who wished to come. More than that, he befriended, literally, thousands of people, personally, and later, thousands more, regardless of race, color, or creed. I Peterls only regret was that he could not live long enough to see the whole world recognize and 'appreciate the noble purposes to which the American way of life is dedicated. In his last will, dictated from his death bed, he said, UI leave to the government of my be- loved America, a sanctuary of liberty, all my remaining worldly goods, in appreciation for the good, happy and free life she has given me. May this land never perish from the earthll'-Peter. My qaiencf I have a Friend who walks with me, Down the path of life. He is my Comfort and my Joy, Through gladness and through strife. I always put my hand in His, And let Him lead the way. Soon I find that we grow closer, With each passing day. He kneels beside me when I pray To His Father up above, And helps me ask for many things, To give the ones I love. I guess you know His name by now, His Kingdom has no end. He's Jesus Christ, the Son of God, My Savior and my Friend. Mary Jo Checchia, '55

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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

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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'd 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 rumbustious, to say the least. Well Dennis, or rather Dennis the Menacef' 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 'fThe 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 flnish 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. L1 VOLSI, '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, WEIRD, etc., greeted my eyes. How 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 itls a burglar! Oh, don't be silly! It couldnlt 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 werenlt, he certainly wouldn't 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 th-em off. I jumped almost sky high and then I realized that I knew the voice, It was Dennis. Wi-th 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, 'Tm awfully sorry about changing the comic books. If there really had been a burglar