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

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SENIOR CLASS Seated on ground (left to right) Margaret Anne Kehoe, Helen Gaynor, Mary Ryan, Dorothy Burns, Helen Maguire, Kathleen McCann, Margaret DeMarco, Elizabeth Lawless, Jane Fincran, Jeanne Malaspina. First Row Annabelle Cullen, Richard Bren-nen, Teresa O'Connor, Emanuel Kelly, Ella Marie Fondots secretary: James Stemple, president: Rita Irwin, treasurer: Harry Cas-scl, vice-president: Doris Reed, Joseph , Reilly, Annette Aigner. x Secorlxl Row—Mary Jane Smith, William Moran. Margaret Mary Kelly, Michael $a-boe, Helen Finerai Francis O'Neill, Anne Irwin, Donald Collins, Mary O'Connor. Th;rd Row George Handrcn, James Kccley, Marie Entcnman, Anne Whalen. James Kelly, Louis Moore, Elizabeth McDonnell, Jean McGrath, John Bolger, Charles Kelly. Fourth Row Francis McGuigan, Anne Pollard, William Casey, Margaret Mary Kehoe, Frederick Delaney, Sylvester Szmigicl, Raymond Craven, Edward Moore, Merrill Jacobs, Francis Daly. Francis Hoy, Mary Hasson, Joseph Shatter, Mary Reilly, William Delaney. Absent—Catherine McGuigan. The Old Mill A silvery stream flows past'the old saw'mill. Once this mill was erect and strong; now it stands weatherbeaten and wearyThe stones of its one'time sturdy walls are crumblirCg to dust, and the winds, li e silver chimes, ring through the empty compart-ments. The aged mill, however, is never lonely, for the birds nesting in its eaves chirp to it all day long, and the broo gliding past its door brings it greetings from the neighboring• countryside. Merrill Jacobs, '42 THE MIRROR Three

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Dedication TT7E DEDICATE the 1942 issue of “The Mirror” to the boys of St. Matthew’s School who are in the service—army, navy, marine corps, and coast guards— defending our country on land and sea and in the air, at home or on far-flung battlefields beneath foreign skies. Not long ago they trudged the familiar paths from home to school, traveled over the lovely lanes and trails of Conshohocken, roamed the fairways of our rolling golf courses, sported in the swimming holes, climbed the hills nearby, fished in the muddy Schuylkill, and hunted and trapped in our ancient forests. In the old classrooms they sat and conned their lessons, dreamed their dreams, and longed for adventure in the glamorous world that lay beyond the encircling hills of home. These boys were our neighbors, our friends, our brothers, our escorts to dances, our teammates on the basketball squads, our opponents on the tennis courts, our gay and debonnair companions of every day. They worked and played and wept and laughed with us, while the happy hours of life’s morning sped past on noiseless feet. Many of them sat here in the “Mirror room” and spent long hours on their prose and poetry striving to make our magazine the expression of their sincerest efforts. As members of the editorial and business staffs and as contributors to the literary and financial departments, they labored unselfishly to give their best to “The Mirror.” From the windows of this little work shop, they watched the fading sunlight on the Conshohocken hills, and drew inspiration for their stories, their essays, and their poems from the lavish beauty about them—the great trees, the shady trails, the woodland streams, the blue skies, and the love and faith of their homes. Today they are far away from this quiet room and, while we sit here writing our themes under the dark clouds of war, our thoughts steal away to the boys who have left us for life's supreme adventure, life’s sternest reality. To them, over the miles of war-torn land and the stormy sweeps of ocean, through bomb-shelled skies and submarine infested seas, we send our prayers for their divine protection and ultimate victory for, “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.” As they were true to the little duties of daily life, we know that they will be faithful to the soul-trying task before them. In this beautiful valley they call home, they learned the lesson of service. Their parents, their teachers, and their priests taught them the great principles of religion that will be their bulwark in their hour of need, will enable them to hold high the torch of courage in strong loyal hands. As they value “the good, the true, and the beautiful,” and love America with all the strength of their young hearts, they will meet danger valiantly, will fight courageously and, if they must, will gladly give “the last full measure of devotion” to preserve this nation “one and indivisible with liberty and justice for all. E. M. Fondots '42 % Two THE MIRROR

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A Letter From a Rookie Dear Mary: A bugle blowing off in the distance awakened me rudely my first day in camp. Our detachment had arrived at Camp Meade at 10: JO p.m. After the commanding officer had given us a short talk, we were taken to the mess hall to rest up after the trip. Our meal consisted of coffee, ham, mashed potatoes, spinach, corn-starch pudding, and the old army stand-by, baked beans. You have to learn to like them or you do not really belong. After our snack we were conducted to temporary barracks, where we slept on army cots. My toes stuck out and were cold until the fellow across from me began to snore and blow his breath on them. I was hardly asleep when I was awakened by the noise that was going to be my daily alarm clock, the bugle. Our detachment was lined up for roll call. It was then that we met the idol of the buck privates, yes, the top sergeant. After roll call we took a shower, and well army soap is surely different from the soap Mom supplies at home. About seven o'clock we had breakfast and spent the rest of the day walking around the camp. In the evening the rookies went to the recreation hall to meet the rest of their company. The whole camp retired about 10: JO. The next morning it happened again—yes—the bugle blew at the awful hour of 6: JO, and we got up. When I think of how Mom always called me five times before I even stirred, I am filled with remorse. We had a fine breakfast and a dinner that wasn't so bad even if we did have beans again. We were then ordered to report to the classification room where we were asked all general information. Then came the much publicized ordeal of giving out uniforms. It wasn't half so bad as the movies make it. The sergeant asked me what size shoes I wore. I replied, “Nine.” He said, Don't worry, twinkle toes, your feet will swell. Take these elevens.” I received the rest of my uniform and reported back to barracks. Here we were shown the little space into which we were supposed to stow our clothes. I didn't think it was possible but soon found that it had to be, or ten hours of “K.P. duty would await me. The following morning we had inspection of barracks and lockers. It would take an army engineer months to fit my uniform into the space allotted to it in my locker. Well, I am no engineer, and I was again threatened with K.P. duty because a shirt was out of place. After a hard struggle, I finally remembered some algebra. So, I just let X equal the shirt, Y, the locker, and N2, the sergeant. I factored X and Y and the sergeant squared the locker, and if you know how my outfit got into the space you're a genius. I hear Taps, so I’ll have to sign off. If you want to send me anything, don't send baked beans. Send a cork for the bugler's bugle. Well so-long, date bait, Bill Mary Anne Ryan, '42 William Johnson, '4J Sunset The sun sm s slowly over the purple hills; its rusty reflection gleams on the drab mills along the river; the water ripples past the old stone walls; fluffy white smo e. ris-ing from the chimneys of homes nearby, disappears into the tinted s y. Soon the streets echo to the footsteps of busy workers hastening home. Another day fades into the misty past. Merrill Jacobs, '42 THE MIRROR Four