St Matthews High School - Samascript Yearbook (Conshohocken, PA)

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Doi n My Homework WHAT can I write about? “Gotta get this homework done or I’ll catch it tomorrow. I think I’ll try poetry first. Maybe this English book can help me. Let me see what it says about poetry. “Form of literature written in rhythmical or metrical language. Well, I’m pretty sure that I gave in plenty of good poetry be-fore—she called it “doggerel,” though. Whew! I can’t even read the stuff she talks about, let alone write it. Well, may as well try a short story while I'm at it. This sounds all right to me ... it has everything but a plot, but that's the first thing she’ll look for. Aw, I can’t do this stuff. I wish I didn’t even have to go to school tomorrow, then I’d . . . say . . . that’s an idea, huh? I was playin’ football this afternoon, maybe I got hurt. Teeth? All there. Not even a loose one. I didn't get as much as a scratch. Just when I need it, too . . . any other time ... Of course, I could always “fake it, but Mom's pretty careful about stuff like that. A pain in the back? . . . and I lie in bed with an electric pad at my sfiinc all day. Sick at the stomach? . . . she gives me some of that poisonous potion “Gram-maw” invented. Oh—I may as well get this done. A fellow has to have some will power. “Gee,” 12:30 already, and I “gotta get up early tomorrow! If I was in bed, I'd prob’ly be fast asleep right now . . . Pillow looks invitin' over there . . . Nice warm blankets, too . . . I’ll just turn them back so it won’t take so long to climb in when I’m done . . . Maybe if I’d lie down, I could think better. It’s worth tryin’ anyway . . . Ah, nothin’ like a good, soft, comfortable bed, I always say. Now I'm able to work better . . . Makes me sorta drowsy . . . The light’s a little strong . . . I’ll put it out for a minute . . . Just a minute. Ah, that’s better; much better . . . Well, “whaddya” know I actually feel sleepy. Maybe if I slept for fifteen minutes I’d feel fresher. Maybe somethin’ will happen and I won’t have to go to school tomorrow. Ah! shucks. If I get up early I can do my homework in a few minutes. I have a pretty good idea of it - - - I hope - - -She’ll be plenty sore - - - if - - - I - - -don’t - - - hand - - - it - - - in - - -. Joseph X. Fondots ’44 Bre r Rabbit, Fugitive THE densely wooded slopes of West Conshohocken are a veritable “rabbit-hunters’ paradise.” Oaks, maples, and elms, combined with a liberal sprinkling of poison ivy and briar bushes furnish a fair semblance of the “forest primeval. Scores of brown-bodied rabbits inhabit the timber land, and, in the fall, amateur hunters seek them. The rabbit’s best means of defense is the briar patch. The mere thought of pursuing a bunny into this barbed inclosure is enough to make the amateur huntsman tremble. Old Cottontail is fully aware of the advantages of his stronghold and, at the least sign of danger, dashes into it, leaving his chagrined pursuer looking ruefully at the bushes. Since the rabbit does not hibernate, he must seek food during the winter, and it is while poor Bre’r Rabbit is on foraging expeditions that he is in the greatest danger. Many a peaceful furry friend just finishing his noonday meal is almost frightened to death by the appearance of a freckle-faced demon with a gun. In the twinkling of an eye, however, the rabbit is off with the hunter in wild pursuit. Hours later the bedraggled, mudspattered sportsman wearily returns, after a steeple-chase through the woods after the wily bunny. Cottontail has once more outwitted his persecutor, who leaves the woodlands meditating morosely on the ways of the rabbit and devising strategy that will end the bunny's friskiness. Edward Fjneran, ’43 THE MIRROR Thirty-one

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ful woodwork, mellowed by age, and wooden benches used by generations of worshippers add distinction to the interior. Its history dates back to the time of William Penn. In 1686 James Fox, who came from Plymouth, Devonshire, Eng' land, on the ship Desire, purchased 5327 acres of land from Penn, and named the settlement Plymouth, after the example of the Pilgrims. The settlement was of sufficient importance by 1691 to attract the notice of Penn who wrote from London, “commend me to my friends at Plymouth.” The first meeting of the Plymouth Friends was held at the home of Fox. Although there are no historical records to show the exact date of the building of the chapel, it must have been erected in the early part of the 18th century. The Radnor and Haverford records of the ninth month 1701 bear testimony to its existence. The first deed to the Meeting House property was given on October 6, 1700. During the Revolutionary period, when Washington's army, under Lafayette, was retreating from Germantown to Valley Forge, the meeting house was used as a camp and hospital for the soldiers. There is still preserved a letter from an officer in the American army, headed “Camp at Plymouth Meeting, the thirteenth day, the twelfth month, 1777.” It begins, “I have these two nights past taken up my quarters in the ‘House of Contemplation.’ ” About 1780, one end of the Meeting House was used for school facilities. Tradition says that David Rittenhouse, the great astronomer, attended this school. Friends were always opposed to human slavery and headquarters for the Abolition agitators was at Plymouth Meeting. A well-known station of the underground railway was at the home of George Corson, opposite the Meeting House. On the ground of the old church is the William Jeanes Memorial Library, built in 1935. Although the interior is a very modern library, the exterior follows the same Colonial style as the church and preserves the note of durability and simplicity. Today the Plymouth Meeting House stands stately and aloof, as if aware of the prestige its history gives to it. Stamped with enduring beauty and rugged honesty it is reminiscent of the integrity and sincerity of the sturdy pioneers who crossed the seas to find in the wilderness of America a place where they could worship God according to their conscience. Guarded by century-old trees, many of these pioneers are sleeping in the graveyard behind the Meeting House. Their gentle spirits seem to hover about their beloved house of worship as they keep faith with those who have followed in the paths they blazoned so long ago. Francis McGuigan '42 Indian House “Indian House” was the name of the colonial mansion in which my mother lived when she was a little girl. It stood on Conshohocken Road between Villa-nova and West Conshohocken, and was a typical two-story colonial structure surrounded by spacious grounds. On a huge marble inset between the windows on the second floor were carved two Indians. This tablet gave the house its name. Just outside the kitchen door was a deep well valuable to the household for its lime water. At the rear of the house stood a big rambling barn in which cattle were slaughtered. The grounds were almost surrounded by a stream over which an old arch-bridge, built low, cast shadows on spots where the ducks swam and the frogs croaked in the bushes. The interior of “Indian House consisted of nine large low-ceilinged rooms each furnished in colonial style. For some reason stories began to be circulated about mysterious noises that were heard in the house and a ghostly visitor who appeared at the windows. After a while, no one dared to live in the house, and it was torn down. My mother often talks about “Indian House and I wish that I could have lived there. It would have been an experience worth treasuring. Robert Wesley '43 Thirty THE MIRROR

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Knights BROADWAY'S great “White Way is the center of night life in New York, but this brilliantly illuminated thoroughfare is no more attractive to its habitues than is the sketchily lighted depths of K. of C. Hall, the heart of Knight” life in Conshohocken. The main attraction in this rendezvous of the local playboys is the assembly of pool tables that are arranged in a straight line parallel to the bowling alleys. Deadly combats take place over such prizes as a bar of candy or a soda, and the participants bring to their games the intensity of knights of old jousting for a priceless trophy. Even the “heat customers, who loll on the benches around the battleground, give rapt attention to the tussles and no sound save the familiar click of the billiard tells breaks the silence during a tournament. At other times, the noise sounds like a traffic jam on the main street of a big city just at the rush hours; for the tumult of the tumbling bowling pins, the clicking of the pool balls, the raucous voices of debaters arguing about the merits of the shot just accomplished by one of the players, and the blare of the radio, form a wildly discordant chorus. Though the outside world is ever changing, the only noticeable alteration in the Knights is the disappearance of many of the familiar faces of the former frequenters of the hall. These young men have answered our country’s call to arms and are now seeing parts of the world that they never dreamed of viewing. Occasionally, some of the boys get home on leave of absence. Invariably, they stroll down to the old haunt for a friendly little “get-together. At such times amusements are forgotten and admirers gather around, listening intently to tales of life in the service. James P. Stemple, '42 Cosmopolite of the Month CORNELIA OTIS SKINNER, Broadway star of the legitimate stage; Oscar Levant, talented pianist and composer; Pearl Buck, world famous depictcr of Chinese domestic life and Nobel Prize Winner; Donald Nelson, czar of the War Production Board, and countless other celebrities have been brought before the public eye by the Cosmopolitan magazine, under the caption, “The Cosmopolite of the Month.” The interviewers present these distinguished personalities to readers in a manner fascinating and delightful, yet cleverly informal. Each person discussed is shown not only in the spotlight of his achievements but also in his everyday struggle along life's path. The skillful pens of the authors transform the world's great men and women into real people in a style that makes these biographies one of the most popular forms of literature today. Richard Brennen, 42 The Leaves The leaves Came tumbling down Mid rain and steady sleet; And as they fled into the night I heard Them laugh. Annabelle Cullen '42 Thirty-two Sunlight The sun Comes shining down Upon the mosquito Gayly loitering atop the man's Bald head. Mike Saboe '42 THE MIRROR