St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

Page 91 text:

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

Page 90 text:

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

Page 92 text:

down the cellar, he wouldn't have surprised me as much as those words did. More surprising were his following words. Ulf you want me to, Illl wait up with you, so you wonlt be so afraidf' That coming from HThe Menace was something to hear. Although I wanted him to stay with me, I realized my responsibilities and thanked him and sent him up to bed. Growing Pains bs UT, DAD, Suzie is still a babylll Mom exclaimed, 'fShe's growing up entirely too fast. Faster than I can believe. She will be thir- teen her next birthday, but to think she has come to this already, Dad said. f'Maybe, we're just plain old-fashioned! Suzie was upstairs finishing some of her home- work when she overheard what her parents had said. One word stuck in her brain. Old-fashioned! They certainly are. Here I am practically a mature young lady and not allowed to do anythingf' Suzie came downstairs to the living-room to champion her cause. She arrived just in time to hear her Mother say, UI don't want to hear another Word about it, at least, not 'til next year. She is still too young. Dennis had done much to alleviate my fears and soon after that his parents came home. To say that I was glad to see them, was putting it mildly. I was really overjoyed. I would have been a nervous wreck if it hadnlt been for guess who? You guessed it. My darling Dennis. I need not tell you that he is nicknamed THE MENACEW no longer. A BARBARA JARDEL, '55 LORRAINE CUMMINGS, '55 DOLORES GALE, '55 ffTo think I'll have to wait another year! Suzie thought, feeling sorry for herself. She could restrain herself no longer. Mother, everyone else in school is allowed but me, I'm-.H H 'fSuzie, please go to your room until you can learn a little self-control. As she climbed the stairs to her room, the sad, young lady realized she needed someone to help her, someone to tell her troubles to, someone to intercede for her.. After she had finished her homework, she knelt down to say her night prayers: UGod bless Mommy, Daddy, Granny, Bobby and Dixie, and please donft forget to talk to them about a pair of high heels. Our Lady Cf The litany HROUGHOUT THE CENTURIES Our Lady has been known to be a Source of Help to those in distress, a Haven midst the Tempest, and a Refuge of the Oppressed. But to me, she is more than any of these. To me, she is the lighthouse on the shore, guiding those souls who have lost their way in the storm of sin. Mary is my Ivory Tower of Hope. As I journey across the sea of life, her noble counte- nance beckons me ever onward. Many, many times I have been overcome by waves of hatred and sin, but always she has come to my aid and, with her help, I have been able to combat these snares of the devil. No matter how lost and bewildered my soul may become, it will always find an abundance of light and hope within her ever Pure and Immaculate Heart. This heart, ' SHEILA ANN MACKIE, '55 so saturated with love for all mankind! If I always turn my eyes toward her lovable image that stands on the shores of eternity, what graces and favors I shall obtain through her in- tercession! Her love leaps out to all who call on her for assistance. And when at last the tide of life ebbs away and I find myself a stranger in that new life, it is she who will come forth to meet me. Taking me by the hand, she will lead me to her Son, and He will smile on me as one of His favored children, Then, Mary and I shall wait for others who will arrive in that life after death. For Mary will always be' standing on the shores of eternity to help those who need her. She is our Hope, our Refuge and our Strength.