St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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.

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 93 text:

PETER'S GIFTS FROM AMERICA ANY PEOPLE CAME to pay their re- spects to Peter. He had a host of friends because during his life, this generous German had befriended his fellow man whenever pos- sible. His love of humanity was nurtured by the memory of his humble beginning with its poverty and hardships. His family had been good and holy, and long ago, they had prayed for deliverance from their difficult life. One day, Peteris mother had said, t'Let us all sacrifice and save every bit of money possible, so that we can send our eldest son, Peter, to America, that he may have an oppor- tunity to rise above the poverty in which he has been reared. After many months of hard work and self- sacrifice, the ambitious family had saved enough money to send Peter on his great adventure. His father had contacted an old friend in the New World who would gladly welcome and pro- vide a home for his son. Nearly everybody in the village knew of Peter's forthcoming journey, and when the day arrived for his departure, all the villagers ac- companied the traveler to the station, where, after kissing and embracing all, our young ad- venturer boarded the train. There was scarcely a dry eye in the crowd as the small train pulled away from the platform. The excited Peter enjoyed the new experience of riding in this strange vehicle. As mile added to mile between him and his home, his joy changed to sorrow at the thought of leaving his family and friends, and he became fearful of the task confronting him-that of making his own way in a country far from his family. Is it any wonder, for our young traveler was but twelve years of age? The little train rolled along and after a day and a night, Peter arrived in a great city, with its large station, great buildings and wide streets. All of this Peter greeted with astonishment and curiosity, for he had read of such places, but had never imagined they could possibly be so magnificent. As instructed by his parents, he went to the information desk in the station and inquired ADRIENNE M. DONAGHUE, '58 where and how he could reach the port from which his boat would sail that evening. Follow- ing the directions given, he walked along, en- joying the shop windows and the busy, crowded streets. Finally, arriving at the proper pier, he was more astonished than ever when he sighted the huge ship. He boarded the vessel and was simply amazed at its wonders. After much excitement and many questions, Peter was shown to his fourth-class quarters which made little difference to him because each new step of his journey became more revealing. Peter was to spend many days in crossing the Atlantic Ocean, and, except for two spells of sea sickness, he enjoyed it more than anything else in his life. Finally, he sighted that wondrous land he had read about-that land called America. It was as he had heard, a country with many tall buildings, a huge harbor and most important, a Statue of Liberty, which seemed to express the many freedoms of his new home. As his boat drew alongside the dock, Peter anxiously sought Pop Zeitsinger, wondering all the time whether the old gentleman would recognize him. All of a sudden, he heard a deep, German voice calling to him, t'Peter, Peter, over here, mein liebchenf' The boy's attention was drawn to a rotund man, hurrying -to embrace the little foreigner. Peter, with tears in his eyes, put his arms around Popls neck and sobbed, You are Poppa's friend, no? 77 f'Ya! Ya! Welcome to America!'i greeted his friend. 'fDry your eyes, you shall come home with me to Anna and have a good supper. Away they went, arm in arm, each carrying one of Peter's old bags. Anna beamed when she met Peter and pressed him to her bosom. Then she took his bags and showed him to his room. His foster mother filled a basin so that he might wash his hands and face. Then, all sat down to supper. When the meal was finished, they went into the parlor and listened to Peter's tale of Germany and of his family. Then, Pop Zeitsinger told of his long-ago voyage to America, of their early