St Peters Academy - Veritas Yearbook (Saratoga Springs, NY)

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Guy, Jerry and the others took the hint, and gathered up their helmets, lunch pails and lights. While they were parading toward the shaft, Stan joined them. Beneath two miles of earth four men, including Stan, were digging coal, not far from the shaft. Occasionally, one of them would start a conversation, but it would end abruptly. Once they began to kid Stan about his nice, clean overhauls but Stan just said, 'lSo what if they are clean? lym the one who washed Him! That was the end of their joking. It got awfully quiet, so Guy mentioned a few minutes rest. All agreed, even Stan. As they made their way to a spot near the shaft, one of the planks on the roof of the mine sud- denly became loosened. Immediately, Jerry, who was the nearest to it, tried to halt its descent. The plank, however, was determined. It fell to the ground. Just as it did, the other planks came down, too. NIasses of coal, slate and rocks came following them! The four miners were entombed! One of the fellows, Harry Wilson, who had been shoveling coal in a nearby spot, heard the noise and came running. However, by the time he was a few yards away from Stan and the others, the planks had formed an impenetrable door. Realizing that the men were trapped, he hurried to report the accident to the foreman, Mike. Klike gave out all the instructons he could think of. Everything and everyone would be used in an attempt to save the four miners. As Harry was dashing away, Mike yelled, HAnd get Father Paul as soon as possible. Right , yelled back Harry. When the debris had ceased to fall, the four miners stood still in terrified silence. They were entrapped, and only God or some miracle from the Almighty could save them! Was the dust which filled' their tomb, the incense of their last benediction. Was the air of their death chamber aire-or methane, that deadly gas which creates explosions? Or was it pure air, but the last they were ever to breathe? No one knew'olr dared to guess the answers, but questions such as these were running through the minds of each coal digger. Five minutes passed, tthey seemed like yearsl. Then Stan cautiously approached the inclosing door. He hesitated, slowly raising his right hand up to one of the planks. A few pieces of coal fell down upon his helmet. Stan wasn,t aware of the falling debris, however; for he had discovered that this spot was vulnerable. By this time, a gang of miners was working on the other side of the fallen planks. The families of the entrapped men had been notified of the accident, and they and their friends were flocking around the entrance of the mine. Father Paul, the new assistant of St. Johns Church, had arrived in the meantime. At this time, he was nervously pacing up and down, sending his petitions up to God for consideration. Although he had been in Lesterville only two months, he knew about the public enemy number one-Stan. Father Paul wanted, desperately, to go down there and give Stan the spiritual help he needed most. Stan had not been to Mass in seven years, although he was a Catholic. A man who hasn,t set foot in a church within such a span of time must have help-the kind of help that would straighten him out with God. oThe other three men mattered all right, but Stan mattered even more. In the trap, Stan was thinkingethinking deeply. If something or even some one could be forced against the planks, an opening might be made, thought Stan, an opening which would lead to the shaft-and safety. The other miners were staring at him, wondering if he were losing his mind or even despairing. As Stan backed up, Guy grabbed ahold of his shirt and shook him. HHey Stan! What the devils the matter with ya? Quit aetiny so queer, boy, or welll all be goin, nuts. uLet go of my shirt, Guy, if ya know whats good fer ya! So I,m queer, ITm nuts, heh? Yalll see who's the crazy one. Ya'll see! came back Stan.

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r r v r: e are t THE DRIER CATH ERIN E USCAVITCH Swiftly, Stan,s calloused hand swept down, and snatched a glass from the bar. Within a second, the glass was up to his lips, emptying itself of itsfoamy content. When the brew was gone, Stan smacked his lips with satisfaction, and slammed a dime on the bar. As he made his way to the door, he muffled a So long Joe, to the bartender. iNight, Stan, shouted Joe over the grile swinging door. There, thought Joe, goes a swell fellow. Of course, the town doesn't think hes much. But why should it? Hels always quarreling with the men, frightening the women with his loud talk and chasing the kids away. Heis nervous all-right. NIaybe the mines have something to do with it. I've ' seen a lot of steady fellows go down in those mines, and come up nervous wrecks. Oh well, nervous or not, I like him. llining is a job that takes guts. Plenty of guts! As Joe was attempting to psychoanalyse him, Stan was walking ,down the dim street of Lester- ville, the little town in Pennsylvania that feared and hated him. Passing under a lamp post, he stopped to light a cigarette. His brief pause, at this particular spot, put him in an angle for description. He was tall in stature, with shoulders slightly bent for- ward over his physique. His complexion was a soft grey, miner's grey. His features were clear and prominent. An aquiline nose protruded from his firm set cheek bones, and bushytblack eye- brows shadowed his dark, piercing eyes. His face had the distinct lines of a man who was a hard drinker. The ebony hair which trimmed his face was course and thick, and several grey hairs sat like a wave upon his head. Heiresumed his journey, and a few minutes later, was approaching his home, a beaten old shack on the outskirts of the town. 13:: it ever so humble, there is no place like home. Poverty, in some cases, would look like wealth compared to Stan's little old shack. The boards were loose and squeaky, the screen door, which was really more door than screen, slammed in rhythm with the squeaks, and the posts in the front of the house occasionally swayed the small porch. Such was the exterior of this place. How- ever, in spite of the outside appearance of the shack, the interior, bare except for a cot, stove and chair, was immaculate. It was in such a setting as this that Stan ate, slep and drank. The door was hardly shut behind him when he plunged into bed, clothes and all, for a few hours rest. Shortly after, a loud snore filled the room with its bizarre melody. The next morning was just like all other mornings in Lesterville-dark, damp and dreary. When Stan arrived at the mine a few minutes late, Charlie King, his boss, didnTt say a word to him. This was the first time that Stan had ever been late, which was a bit unusual for a man who habitually stayed up to all hours of the early morning drinking and arguing. The morning passed swiftly and the men were soon eating their lunch. The fellow that worked with Stan sat around an open fire, discussing everything from the popular subject of the weather, to the unpopular subject, Stan. Whenever iStan was the topic of conversation, the fellows were tense. Although he always ate by himself, yards away from his eo-workers, they still felt that he might pop up any minute. Guy, who had been working with Stan for almost five years, started the conversation with, uDid ya notice how clean Stan looked this morning? He even shaved' sdclhse' he cut himself. TlYa, and his overhauls were clean fer a change, added Jerry. Then, Guy spoke up again saying, uYa know fellas, mebbe hes got a girl. uBut she ain't down in these mines, joked lVIike, the foreman. HAnd if you expect to get any work done this afternoon, ya'd better get down there yourselves.

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Jerry rushed to separate the two men, but there was no need for separation. Guy,s irascible op- ponent was running-but not away. He ran right toward the planks. 'IStan, ya fool! screeched Jerry, uWhat are ya doing? His reply came quickly. Stan was unsealing their tomb. I It was a neat job. An opening, although small, had been made. As Guy was squeezing through it, his foot came down upon something soft. It was Stan. Ex- amining the body closer, Guy saw the splinter from one of the larger planks which had pierced Stan's heart. Soon ,his ear was next to the chest of the man he had just been arguing with; however, not a single beat could he heard. Stan was dead! It wasnIt long before the three men were up on. No one could speak or move when they first heard the news. Approximately fifty people stood in silence, ashamed of themselves, but proud of Stan the ground giving an account of Stan's heroism. As the crowd began to break up Father Paul went over to Guy in hopes of more information. Guy told the whole incident over again just to please the priest. He ended it by saying, uFather Paul, that is the price of coal. One man today, another one or two tomorrow. The young priest thanked him for retelling the story, and then, was on his way to the rectory. Before he arrived at his destination, he stopped in at the church to say a prayer for Stan. It' went as follows: uDear God, all merciful and just, do not condemn Stan. You saw what he did today. You, Yourself, laid down Your life for Your friends. I have no knowledge of his many offenses against You. I do not know in what way You are punishing him for his sins. But I do know that You, in Your mercy will reward him somehow, for what he did today. When he reached the rectory, he immediately went to see the pastor, Father Corey. Are you busy, Father? he asked. uNo, not at all. Sit down Father Paul , was his reply. Then, the assistant went into a lengthy description of the accident. Father Corey smiled when he had finished, saying, Paul, when you are as old as I, you won't worry as much, at least I hope you won't. Stan lost his life, that's true, but what is even truer, he saved his soul. I'm pastor of a small church. I know each member of my congregation personally. I recognize them at diEerent devo- tions, some at Mass, some at the stations and others at novena. It so happens that I said the six o'clock Ma5s this morning, and it so happens that Stan was there and received Communion. Here, he paused to enahle Father Paul to get over the shock. Then he resumed his discussion, saying: Unknown to you, Father, Stan came to request this morningIs Mass for his wife. She has been dead seven years now Without one Mass being said for her. Grace must have been pulling strings in heaven; for Stan came here three nights ago to have a Mass said for her. He knew the town wouldn't be interested in him or his wife, so he asked me not to announce it. I couldn't stand in the way of Gods providence, so I agreed to keep it a secret. VVhat Guy said is true. -Stan did pay the price of coal, but he payed an even greater price, the price of love. THE END.