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

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THE MIGHTIEST FALL THE winter snows had made the usually quiet Schuylkill a roaring torrent. The trees on the West Consho-hocken hills were showing signs of spring. There was little evidence of activity along the water front, however, except for the white smoke that emerged from “Moe’s Diner”, a ramshackle eating house, at the bend of the river. Doctor Marshall, noted physician and lecturer, entered the small cabin. His coat collar was turned up; his brown fedora pulled low over his eyes. Gone were his usually dignified air and conservative attitude. In fact, he looked exactly as he felt, furtive and nervous. Hesitantly, he surveyed his surroundings; then his eyes fell on a disreputable figure slouching at a table in the center of the smoke-filled room. He walked in that direction. “Howdy, Doc.” drawled ‘Frcnchy’ Durvaine without rising, and dropped on the table the battered hat which he had been slowly twirling in his hand. Doctor Marshall merely nodded acknowledgment of the greeting, and, removing his hat, wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He glanced around at several shabby figures at another table and then seated himself beside the Frenchman. “You know what to do, Durvaine?” he inquired in a low tone. “Sure, Doc,” replied his henchman. “It’s going to be easy.” “Good,” answered Marshall. “Now listen carefully. The store closes at ten. It usually takes the clerk a half hour to go over the books, so I’d say eleven would be the best time.” “Sounds simple enough, Doc, but I don’t see why a man of your position would stoop to—” “Never mind,” snapped Doctor Marshall. “I’m paying you well. Let me do the worrying.” THE MIRROR “All right. Doctor. It’s your money; I guess it’s your worry, too, not mine.” Frenchy left the shack and headed downtown. It was a cool March evening; an evening that made a person forget the evils and hardships of life. As Durvaine trotted along, his thoughts wandered back to the old doctor. The Frenchman could not understand why any consideration would make a man of the physician’s standing engage in a ‘shady’ undertaking. Marshall was a respected member of his community; in fact he was one of the most prominent men in town. Everyone knew, however, that the doctor had grown a bit morose since Mrs. Marshall’s death Jtve months ago. Perhaps that accounted for his strange behavior. Anyway, Durvaine had never been averse to earning a little easy money, and he was sure the Doctor would take good care of him. These thoughts were still running through his mind when he reached his destination. The store lay in the shadow of a warehouse. The whistle from a tug boat on the river sounded in the silence. For a moment the interloper stood still in the shadows to make sure he was alone. Then he cautiously moved toward the rear of the store, Nm«

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dam to the locks between the canal and the river. As a boy, Tom used to hunt in the woods around Conshohocken, and this sport is still his hobby. With Rex, his loyal bird-dog, he and Father O’Donnell, our present beloved pastor, often go on bunting trips, and Uncle Tom always looks forward eagerly to his autumn vacation-time. In all his 81 years Tom Carroll has been respected by the other residents of Conshohocken; his close associates bold him in affection for he has stood the test of years. St. Matthew’s has no more loyal champion than he. His interest in the school and in the achievements of its pupils is deep and sincere. He has never missed a graduation ceremony. St. Matthew’s is proud of him, for through the years he has lived according to the principles taught him within the walls of the old gray schoolhouse. His has been “the noblest contribution which any man can make for the benefit of posterity — that of a good character.” To the youth of his native town he has made a rich bequest — “a shining, spotless example.” Marjorie De Stefano, ’44 Drug Store Clerk WrHEN I went to work at Raf-derty’s Drug Store, my employer, George Rafferty, gave me a few rules of conduct that he wished me to observe. He told me to be courteous, attentive, and accurate; to listen to the customers’ requests, and not to try to tell them what they wanted. “It is a good thing,” said he, “to remember that the customer is always right.” The instructions sounded simple enough and were easily followed while the “boss” was around, but when I was left in charge, things began to get complicated. I soon learned that with my new position I had, apparently, acquired a rather important status and my townsmen had gained a certain amount of confidence in me. In fact, some of them acted as if I had been suddenly endowed with superior knowledge on various subjects. I was consulted in divers cases. I had to know the antidote for an overdose of calomel, the best food for baby, the best nail polish for stopping runs in stockings, a cure for the baby’s colic and for grandpa’s rheumatism, and the advantages and disadvantages of brands of lipstick. No matter how wrong the question was, I had to know the right answer. Eight Just before Christmas, a boy came in and asked for a plaster of Paris set. I gave it to him, and as he left, I envisioned a future sculptor at work. In no time he was hack with a note from Mama condemning all “stupid high school boys,” and ordering a box of “Evening in Paris” perfumes. One man demanded hair thinner; yes, hair thinner. A woman asked for razor blades. “Double, or single edge, please?” I inquired, politely. “Oh! I don’t know,” she sighed. “Just give me a tube of lipstick.” I have become acquainted, also, with the boy who buys a box of Kleenex and a half hour later comes back and indignantly demands Pinex cough syrup; with the girl who is not sure whether it’s “2 in 1 machine oil” or “2 in 1 shoe polish” that she was sent for; and with a host of other absent-minded individuals. But I must not complain. “Remember,” George says regularly, “the customer is always right. Don’t try to be a mind reader. Listen carefully, and you won’t make mistakes.” “All right, George.” Paul Delaney, ’43 THE MIRROR

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and with practised hands, jimmied a small window open. With the slyness of a eat, he entered the store. Yes, there was the package jnst where Doc had said it would he. under a small table beside the safe. With the precious parcel in his possession, Durvainc left the building and disappeared into the shadow of the adjacent warehouse. Back at the cafe, Marshall paced the floor impatiently. The ash tray gave evidence of his nervousness. “That fool should be hack by now,’’ he muttered to himself. Sundae “T guess I’ll finish these glasses and dishes,” muttered Ted, the soda-jcrkcr. For two years this had been the tedious task of Ted Price, son of the proprietor of the “Sweete Shoppe,” the favorite high school haunt of the neighborhood. Most of the “dates” ended at the “Shoppe.” Indeed, it served as a part-time residence for the young folks, who liked “to trip the light fantastic” and enjoy the chatter of their crowd. Every week there was an ice cream specialty. This week it was the sundae-special. and its popularity kept Ted behind a mountain of dishes that seemed never to diminish. “Another order for a snndae-speeial.” he groaned, “and I’ll collapse. I must have made a thousand of them tonight.” As he was polishing some glasses. Ted caught sight of a suspicious-looking man approaching. “Tough looking character,” he said to himself. “I wonder if he could be a member of the gang that’s been staging the holdup parties about town.” The newcomer walked slowly to one of the rear booths, seated himself, studied the menu carefully, and gave his order tersely. Then his small, heady eyes darted furtively about as he inspected all parts of the store within his range of vision. In a few minutes, Ten At that instant Durvainc walked in. “Well, Doc, here’s your loot. I don’t know why a man like you wants to rob a store. Hope it’s worth the trouble.” “It is,” retorted the Doctor. “That, my friend, is a rare and valuable parcel — not money — not jewels — but a pound of honcst-to-goodncss coffee — my favorite brand. I haven’t had a good cup of coffee since the rationing started, and I can’t stand it any longer.” John Edmund Crawford, ’43 Special Ted brought his order, and hurried back to his mountain of dishes. On the wall were mirrors in which the boy could watch his customers. While apparently absorbed in his dish-washing activities, Ted's attention was fixed on the back booth. Now and then, he and the stranger would exchange glances in the mirror. Ted grew nervous as he noticed that the customer glared at his plate but did not eat. Suddenly, the man arose and approached the counter. Ted warily watched his movements, and inwardly grew tense. “This is it,” he decided. “Maybe he will make the usual approach; ask change for five dollars and then request the contents of the cash register.” With this, the hoy reached for an empty bottle that was standing near the register and waited for action. The man was now beside him and the clerk asked, “Do you wish something else, sir?” “Yes, I do, and I want it right now. Put down that bottle, too, and listen to me! I ordered a sundae-special and you gave me a banana split. What kind of store is this?” With a sigh of relief, Ted hastened to fill the order, muttering to himself: “Boy, I never thought I’d really get a kick out of making a sundae-special.” Theresa Poysden, ’4i THE MIRROR