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

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Interview With Miss Alice M. O Hall oran “D ESPONSIBILITY is the definition of life. Miss Alice O’Halloran, Director of J-V Public Health Nurses in Pennsylvania, learned the truth of that saying years ago. She has been the living exemplification of Father Faber’s interpretation of life, and her days have been crowded with responsibilities “that have walked hand in hand with capacity and power.” In 1906, the Pennsylvania State Department of Health began to organize its efforts to control tuberculosis. At this period typhoid, pneumonia, and other diseases, prevalent in epidemic form in nearly every county of the state, made it imperative that there should be an organization that could be called upon in case of emergency. Mr. Samuel Dickson, health commissioner, authorized Miss O’Halloran, who had graduated from Philadelphia General Hospital only three years before, to establish a special branch of the Bureau of Public Health. To prepare herself for this project, she took courses at Columbia and Chicago Universities, and then organized the nursing service in conjunction with the tuberculosis work. The society began with one nurse, Miss O'Halloran. In 1918 it was made a bureau. Today it has 211 members. The state is divided into seven districts with a supervised nurse over each district, all directly responsible to Miss O’Halloran. These units conduct a tuberculosis service where persons are interviewed, diagnoses made, and treatment recommended; they care for mothers during pre-natal and post-natal periods, follow up every birth that is registered, keep in touch with children between the ages of two and six, “the forgotten period and supervise medical examination of school children. Slender, gray-eyed, Alice O'Halloran is the guiding genius, the directive force of this organization. Alice O'Halloran was born in Philadelphia, the eldest of eight children. Her dream of becoming a school teacher was never realized, for she was early called upon to share the financial responsibilities at home. Miss Gilloola, a trained nurse, advised her to be a nurse, but it was not until her twelve-year-old sister, Elizabeth, died of diphtheria that Alice decided to study nursing. Her father strongly opposed the idea; he thought that “to be a nurse was by no means elevating.” Alice took her problem to Father Thomas McCarty, then a curate at St. Elizabeth's Church, and only through the persevering efforts of the priest were her father's objections overcome. At Father McCarty’s suggestion, she entered the Philadelphia General Hospital, and on October 10, 1900, began the work to which she has devoted her life. During her stay at the hospital she was supervisor of the surgical ward and the men's nervous ward. In 1904, the directress of nurses asked her to accompany Mrs. Pat Campbell, the celebrated actress, to London. “I felt like a very insignificant person when my two-by-four suitcase was placed beside Mrs. Campbell’s twenty-seven trunks, said Miss O’Halloran. “This was the first time I had ever been more than thirty miles from home,” she continued, “and I was very lonesome. After leaving her charge safely in London, Alice met her uncle in Liverpool, who took her to his home in Queenstown. “My aunt,” said Miss O’Halloran, “immediately tried to arrange 'a match’ for me, for she thought it ‘high time' for me to be married. I firmly resisted all her efforts to marry me off, for I had other plans for my future. “Before leaving America, I had promised to take a certain maternity case. Frantic telegrams from my prospective patient prompted me to return. I would probably still be in Ireland, but for that,” she laughed. Since that first venture in traveling, Miss O’Halloran has traversed the United States from coast to coast, lecturing in colleges, high schools, and clubs. At present, she is giving talks on civilian defense, and on the urgent need for nurses. “Never was there a greater need for public health nurses than there is today, declared Miss O’Halloran. “I would advise every high school girl who is interested in THE MIRROR Seven

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“Talk is cheap enough, answered Casey, “but 'twill take more nor lock to fool the 'Little People’.’’ So feeling that he had, at least, warned his neighbor he departed for his own home. All went well for the next few days. Each night the people placed their choicest wares on the kitchen tables for their fairy visitors, and each morning found the tables empty and all else untouched. O’Connell left nought on his table and his cows, also, were left untouched. He laughed aloud each day, deriding his friends for their foolishness in wasting good food on the “thievin’ elves” as he called the “Wee Folk.” Now every good Irishman knows that the “Little People” will find a way to repay evil as well as good, so the fanners talked among themselves saying, ” 'Tis sorry O’Connell will be one of these days. No good comes from laughin' at the 'Little People'.’’ And right they were, for the evening before market day, after O’Connell had milked his cows and carried the milk to the spring house to be locked away, he found his butter trampled on and his morning milk spilled into the spring. Shouting in rage, he rushed back to the bam to lock in his cows only to see the last cow disappearing down the land toward the bog. Stopping only to get a stick and a lantern, as it was growing dark, he rushed wildly down the land to bring them back. Not a sign of the cows could he see, but just out of sight, he could hear the tinkle of the bells around their necks. So, following the sound of the bells, he rushed now here, now there—all the night calling “Co-ee, co-ee” to the cows, but never a sign of them did he perceive. Down the bog land he went following the tinkle of the bells, and when morning came, Mrs. O'Connell found the cows safe in the meadow, though O'Connell himself never returned. And to this day you can hear his “Co-ee, co-ee” come faintly over the bog land, and at nights the light of his lantern can be seen flitting hither and yon, following the ever elusive tinkle of the cow bells. “Will o’ the Wisp” the light is now called and 'tis a warning to all to deal kindly with the Little People.” Teresa Marie O’Connor, '42 My First Fishing Excursion I HAVE been happy many times in my life, but never more so than when I received my first fishing pole from my Uncle Paul and trudged off with him through the woods and meadows to the creek. Uncle, who knew where the best haunts of the pickerel were, placed me at a good point and I threw out my line and waited anxiously for a bite. Suddenly the bait sank out of sight. “Now for it,” thought I. “Here is a fish at last. I gave a strong pull and brought up a tangle of weeds! Again and again I cast my line and drew it back empty. Finally something tugged at my hook and swept off with it into deep water. Jerking it up, I saw a fine pickerel wriggling in the sun. “Uncle,” I cried, 'Tve got a fish! “Not yet,” said he. As he spoke there was a splash, and I caught the gleam of a frightened fish shooting off through the water. My line hung empty. Overcome by disappointment, I sat down on a log and wept. Finally, however, my uncle rebaited my hook, put the pole in my hands, and encouraged me to try my luck once more. “But remember, girl,” he said with his shrewd smile, “never brag of your fish until you have him on dry land.” From that day I heeded his words. Though fishing is supposed to be a boy’s hobby, it is the sport I like best. Elizabeth Lawless, ’42 Six THE MIRROR

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nursing to get some college work. The student who has college work will be called first. In the future I think nursing will require a college degree.” When Miss O’Halloran leaves her office in the State Capitol Building at Harrisburg she returns to the charming home in Overbrook which she shares with her dead brother's three children to whom she has been father and mother for years. Her gracious manner and sense of humor have contributed in no small way to her success in this role. Her house is a real home with an air of informality and hospitality about it, and is alive with the laughter and activities of the young. She is a splendid housekeeper and bakes very good cakes. Though she loves gardening, her hobby is art needlework. The state nurses’ becoming blue silk uniform which she designed is a tribute to her good taste and interest in all details relating to her work. On the mantel piece, in her comfortable living room, is a picture or herself in her robes of doctor of law. She has the distinction of being the only woman on whom La Salle College has conferred this degree. Alice O'Halloran is a woman without “the small jealousies of command”; one who would never ask of a subordinate what she herself would not do. She has the discovering eye, the ready hand, the inspirational force of the born leader. Her life has been “rich with human significance.” To broken, diseased bodies she has seen health restored through her untiring efforts. For herself she asks nothing but the opportunity for service. Her accurate mind, strong will, and generous heart make her the sort of person to whom the suffering and the poor can turn in their hour of need. Her gift for organization and administration, her unselfish devotion to duty, and her comprehensive humanitarian interests place her in the foremost rank of the great army of her profession. Margaret Mary Kelly '42 Margaret Anne Kehoe '42 1 he Perfect Crime THE farm house kitchen was in darkness, when Bob Morris entered. He hesitated a moment to get his bearings. The old stove was in the corner to his right; the table, in the center of the room, directly before him. The other objects were hidden in the shadows, but he tried to remember the position of each of them as he had last seen it. As he stood behind the door he recalled his father’s warning about bad beginnings, but tonight Bob was desperate. He had spent hours plotting, until he was sure that his plans were perfect. Mother would be sewing in the living room. Dad would go upstairs in search of the evening paper which Bob had purposely left in his father's room earlier in the evening. The boy waited in silence; minutes seemed like hours. He began to feel nervous, but it was too late to retreat now. He prayed that nothing would go wrong. One slip and all his scheming would be useless. The clock was ticking the seconds away with an unusually loud and rhythmic count as if trying to warn Mr. and Mrs. Morris of what their son was about to do. Suddenly footsteps came in Bob’s direction. Was Dad coming to the kitchen? The lad hardly breathed. His knees, knocking together, kept time with the clock on the wall. The footsteps turned towards the stairs. Yes, Dad was going for his paper. It was time for Bob to put his strategy to the test. Slowly he crossed the room until he reached the stove; carefully he ran his hand along the shelf. Without warning a box of matches tumbled to the floor. The young thief froze with fright. Then his mother called quietly, “Bob, the cookies are in the cabinet, not on the stove.” But Bob had lost his appetite. John E. Crawford, '43 THE MIRROR Eight