St Stephens Academy - Academician Yearbook (Port Huron, MI)

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Prophecy It was a sultry day in June. The air was heavy with the odor of roses and everything invited to rest and quiet. I had seated myself under a tree in the corner of the yard, and for the hundredth time at least I had invoked the spirit of prophecy in behalf of the Clas sof 1919 but without success. My thoughts refused to assume any definite shape and my mind seemed to be in a daze. My attention was unconsciously absorbed by a busy little bee that seem- ed to be the only bit of animation in the immediate neighborhood ; it darted here and there from blossom to blossom, buzzing softly all the while as if to reproach me for my laziness when suddenly it lighted on a clover blossom at my feet and then the queerest thing happened. Folding its silky wings behind its back and facing me, it said in a tiny voice which startled me: “What a poor memory you have.” I tried to look indignant but the creature had suddenly grown so large and important that 1 simply said: “Pray why did you think so?” “Because,” said the bee, “those people whom you consider children have been men and women for years and doing for themselves. “Oh,” I cried, “I shall be delighted for any information you can give me concerning them.” “Come and see for yourself,” and without waiting for my consent he folded his wings around me and away we went soaring higher and higher until the trees below seemed like little bushes. Finally we began to descend and I saw we were about to enter a great city. Down we came and found ourselves in a large and commodious tent which I learned was on the Wallace-Hagenbeck circus grounds. I heard a familiar voice and turning I saw Edna Krafft in all her glory with her trained dogs. We did not tarry long but traveled on to a school which I was told was a finishing school for girls. Entering the building whom should I see but Bergetta Cox in the office of principal. She had Marguerite Tynan for one of her best mathematics teachers. She greeted me most pleasantly, introduc- ed me to her class and pressed me to accompany her on an auto ride at four to see the city’s great library. Thanking Marguerite for the invitation so kindly extended I awaited her free time in the class room and marveled at the wonderful tact, talent, end energy displayed by my classmate of yore. Soon the gong sounded for dismissal and w e were on our way to the library. Lost in the admiration of its literary and artistic features, we were departing when we noticed a maga- zine with the heading stating that Leo Trese had some articles and short stcries which were to play a prominent part in the publication. “There he is,” said my companion and imagine my surprise when I saw approaching us

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Valedictory As our last year within the walls of old St. Stephen’s draws to a close, we realize only too well the truth of the saying that every joy is inter- mixed with pain For the sadness of parting makes “graduation” a bitter sweet indeed. We look back upon the years spent beneath these sheltering walls, and cannot but feel as though the happiest days of our existence were near- ing their close. For our carefree hours are numbered, and the time ap- proaches when we too, must take up arms in the turbulent battle of life. But, pausing on the threshold of departure, it is with inexpressible gratitude that we realize the value of our Christian education and training, — a training that will enable us to face the difficulties, endure he combats, and conquer the temptaions of life. Under he firm and kindly guidance of our Sisters and Pastor, we have learned the real purpose of our education, namely, to make of us keen and effective instruments for good in a world whose greatest need is strong, generous, and noble minded citizens. Whatever questions may be agitated, the influence exerted by our Catholic school will enable us to stand for what is truest, highest, best. With fearless and unassailable courage, we will be true to the teachings of our Alma Mater, and gladden her heart by the strength of our achieve- ments. And whatever our ultimate destiny in this world may be, let our loyalty to ourselves, to our school and to our God never be questioned. The bonds of friendship which we have formed with you, our underclass- mates, are strong. Although when September rolls around once more, we will not be with you, yet it will always be with greatest happiness we recall our school days among you. And now, as we approach the milestone which marks the first epoch of our lives, we renew our sentiments of sincerest gratitude to you Reverend Fathers, and to the Sisters, whose ceaseless efforts in our behalf have made possible for us the hour of graduation. LEO TRESE ' 19.

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none other than Leo, the author on wl.cm Fortune as well as Fate now seem- ed to smile. Congratulating my associates on their success in life, I inquired — “What has become of the other four classmates?” They responded, “Come and see.” We all rede at a rapid rate to the city hall and there was Lucile Welch per- forming all the duties of mayor, while Robert Meehan holds a place of trust as her private secretary and interpreter. After renewing old acquaintances I was informed that Celestine O’Rourke was making a tour of the State of California on a Chautauqua circuit. As we left the hall we saw a crowd quickly gathering. Upon closer in- vestigation we found it to be no other than Eugene McCafferty being rescued by the police from a mob of anti-suffragettes who had become enraged at some remarks he had passed in an address to a crowd on the “Benefits of Woman Suffrage.” Seeing him safely in the hands of the police we moved on after a very successful outing. Thus closed a momentous day for me — a buzz! buzz! !buzz! I glanced around for the bee with the confused idea that 1 might be enlightened in regard to mv own future but alas ! it had flown and in blissful ignorance I await my fate. —MARGARET WARD, ’ 19 . GRADUATION (Dedicated to the Class of 1919) Of late I sat beneath a maple tree And watched a caterpillar at his toil ; I saw him in his shrewd dexterity Define his silvery webbing, coil for coil. And when again I wandered to that spot A funnel-shaped cocoon was all I found. Apparent death was but its cunning plot, For in that shell a nobler life was crowned. But soon triumphantly that cell unfurled — In spite of every shrill wind’s requiem — A life that added beauty to the world, A precious jewel to Nature’s diadem. And thus in life the faithful student weaves A web of hope and bravely makes his way Into the molding shell and then conceives A nobler manhood on Commencement Day.