St Thomas More High School - Utopian Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

Page 74 text:

HAT A SPOT! Here it was, the night before one of the biggest nights in my life, yet, in my heart there was no enthusiasm for it. The following evening, Saturday, I would have a date with Debbie, that new little hunk of heaven I had met a few weeks beforeg but without even six cents to buy her a coke what reason had I to be enthusiastic? What could I do? I didn't dare call Debbie and post- pone the date. That would be akin to asking Joe Stalin to drop the Iron Curtain. I could, perhaps, suggest that we just stay home and view the TV. No, that wouldn't do, eitherg she would surely label me cheapskate and erase me from her life completely. What a discouraging situa- tion, no money, no date, no date, no Debbie, no Debbie, no- Well, one just doesn't think of such things. So, as I dejectedy made my way toward The Ranch that spring Friday night, I racked my brain to think of some way to gather 34.00, the cost of a decent date. Soon I arrived at The Ranch, as our crowd customarily called their favorite street corner. Its title was not the least appropriate imaginable, for there one could find the most varied conglom- eration of characters ever huddled in one group. For all that, they were my friends, and I liked them. ' As I found myself a step to sit on, each of the crowd greeted me in his own inimitable way. Further deliberation of my problem was next to impossible, a half-dozen boisterous conversa- tions, ranging from baseball to Boy is she nice! saw to that. At that moment Chet Sarato's grulf voice drowned out all other topics of discussion. Though Chet was actually a congenial fellow, one would never suspect it from the rasping sound of his truck-driver pronouncements. I'l1 bet a buck, he announced, that any one of you guys is chicken! The first four of his defiant words echoed in my ears. Mention of money made me spring to my feet and elbow my way past the others to the side of the challenging Chet. What'll you bet? I demanded excitedly, and followed up a moment later with For what? What's the angle? Before you came along, continued Chet, I was telling these birds they would be chicken to 70 . do something I think pretty dangerous! Dangerous or no dangerous, I thought to my- self-a dollar's a dollar. So what? I enjoined. Well, you see, it's like this. My Uncle Chas is a mighty sharp characterg he has a lot of 'businesses' in this town. Yeh, we know! replied some of the boys. He's the hottest bookie from here to Mifflin Street. Don't mess around or you'l1 get wrecked, sparked Chet belligerently. As I was sayin' a moment ago, he continued somewhat more calmly, Uncle Chas knows a lot of shady guys in this town, and I happen to know that he does business with a guy who knows a goofer who Ilillll Ili BY RUDOLPH MEGARO, '51 runs a real opium den. Furthermore, my Uncle Chas knows the password to get into this place, and I kin easily get it, if not from him, then through my aunt, who's dumb enough to think the place Chas talks about is a wholesale fumi- ture joint. So, I'm willing to bet a buck you won't go there and stay inside for one full hour! There was a murmur, then finally Hank Carpenter spoke out: I'm not goin', but I'll put up two bucks that sez nobody'll do it! As though eager to buy their way out of a tight spot, two others followed Hank's proposal. Said Ike Miller: Me, too! I'll stake a buck! To which Redhead Ronnie added a quarter. Ronnie was a born gambler. Ideas began to take shape in my head. Here at my fingertips was 34.25 of certified govern- ment currency, much needed to date the delect- able Debbie. On the instant I decided that I would be the brave fool. O.K., my bountiful ones! Let's have the cash. Most of the crowd were amazed, for never before had I shown any inclination to encourage . THE UTOPIAN

Page 73 text:

him, and even now he could recall exactly what she had said and the peculiar mist in her eyes as she spoke very firmly. I'm going to give you back your class ring. This is the last time I can go out with you, Matt. We've had wonderful times together, and you're . . . well, you're a swell fellow . . . But I've thought and prayed a lot, and I think God wants me. I'm going into the convent in September. Stunned, he had sat their with his mouth agape and his eyes fixed on her. The first emotion to seize hold of him was one of sadness. Knowing that she was awaiting some response he had said, Gee, that's swell. This had brought a smile to her face, and she clasped his hand. But as they walked silently towards her home, the realization of her loss became a gnawing ang- uish. It wasn't swell at all, and God or Joan or somebody was playing him a double deal. He had never thought of her as a nun. True, she was a good girl, but she seemed regular and with- out any fits of piety. Besides, they had simply taken each other for granted, had gone steady, and he, at least, had quietly assumed that their being together would one day achieve the happy permanency of marriage. By the time they had reached the Jennings' house, resentment had yielded to an angry self- pity. He told her that she was just putting on an act, that she had deliberately chosen this means to hurt him, and that she had probably grown tired of him and just wanted to dump him. That she was very patient with him had not helped matters at all, and he remembered how- when, she had said Remember, Matt, God al- ways comes first. Please pray for me, and I'l1 say a rosary for you every day of my life -he remembered how for the first time in his life he had sneered at religion. joan did go away, and the btitemess of what he considered her betrayal never left him. He had enlisted in they marines to get away from his parents, who continually questioned him and scolded him about his laxity in attending the Sacraments. Once away from home he had cut THE U TOPIAIV himself off from religion altogether. He ceased to pray. He did not go to Mass. He carefully avoided the chaplain. Piece by piece he had con- structed for himself a shell within which he shut himself. For Matt Keenan, every form of friend- ship had ceased. And now, while some loony doctor and some meddling old priest were trying to find out some- thing about his past, he, the only one who could tell them about it, was dying. Death? Who was afraid to die? just something that has to happen to everybody-sometime. But was it? Slowly, from his confused and cobwebbed memory, he seemed to have drawn an incident. He saw him- self in the fourth-grdae classroom at St. Michael's school, and heard with startling distinctness the voice of Sister Assumpta. If you die in mortal sin . . .if you die in mortal sin and are not sorry . . . if you die in mortal sin you will lose God forever . . . For you know, children, death is not the end . . . God made us for Himself. A hand upon his shoulder interrupted his troubled thoughts. Hello, Matt. I'm Father Kelly. Would you like to go to confession? He tumed slowly towards the priest, but said nothing. He was surprised to find himself softly sobbing. He knew now that he was no longer Private Matthew Keenan, U.S.M.C. He was just a tired kid in the fourth grade of St. Michael's School. A very tired kid who had been bad and was now sorry, sorrry because God loved him very much and had died for him. God must come first . . . The priest was bending over him. He had to strain a bit to hear the words. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned . . . And some five thousand miles away, in the chapel of the Immaculate Heart Nuns in San Salvador, Peru, Sister Mary john fborn jen- ningsj fingered the crucifix of her rosary as she concluded her fifth decade . . . Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost . . . .69

Page 75 text:

questionable activities, let alone engage in what all agreed was unquestionably a shady deal. Chet especially seemed concerned, he studied me intently. You sure you want to do this? he exacted. Right now, I flashed back with bravado, for 34.25 I would walk a tight rope across the Atlantic Ocean with three million hungry sharks looking up at mel Chet reflected a few moments longer, then concluded: All right. You asked for it. I'll call Uncle Chas for the password, assure him it's for some guy who can be trusted, and be back with my buck. You get the money when you come out-or should I say IF you come out? l5lllMAIll. Chet's parting words loosened my knees. Still, I had to go through with the attempt. The picture of Debbie's soft smile floated across my brain. My will grew stronger. Gosh, what won't a guy do for a girl!! Nearly twenty minutes elapsed before Chet returned, mumbling to himself about all the cussin' he had to listen to and all the pleading he had to do before he managed to pry the coveted term out of the elder Sarato. Four-fifths-filled! he imparted. That's what you say to the old guy behind the counter. And be careful no one else's in the shop at the time, or Uncle Chas will be signed up for a one-way ride to Lawnhurst Memorial Park. The den, I leamed in cofidence from Chet, as we piled into his aching Ford V-8 and headed for 725 Mole Street, was located underneath a half- deserted antique shop. My reference to myself as a Mole Street mole failed to amuse the others. I wasn't feeling funny myself. Twenty minutes and eighty jolts and jounces later, we arrived at the designated neighborhood. What a place! The poorly-lighted street was any- thing but quiet. Even above the clatter of Chet's idling motor I could hear the mingled cries of a baby or two, the struggle of a drunk either THE U TOPIAN . beating his wife or taking a beating from her, and further down the block, the combined cacophony of assorted radios and cheap phono- graphs. I was almost surprised that there was no gunfire. Nervously I got out of the car and began to cross the street. In my wake, followed a few tremulous and half-hearted calls of Good luck! You'l1 need it! I passed several dilapidated, unnumbered buildings before I gained the un- wonted assurance that I was on the right side of the street. 713 stared down at me from a dirty transom. 717 . . . 719 went by. A few more steps . . . Whether from regret or from sympathy, Chet pulled up beside me as I reached 723. Still want to do it? he asked almost apologetically. So intent was I in sizing up the grubby-looking antique shop whose windows read Old World Curiosities. 725 that I don't remember exactly what I replied. My heart pounded against my ribs, making breathing difficult. While I hesi- tated on the steps, rehearsing the password, and trying to calm myself into the belief that no real harm would come to me, I heard the car pulling away. Someone said: It's just 10:30. We'l1 be at the corner. Maybe it was this parting com- ment that suplied the necessary impetus that pushed me through the doorway. Anyway, scarcely had I entered the musty shop when a little, white-haired man in shabby clothes con- fronted me with: Are you looking for something special? Can I help you? Trying my utmost to conceal my sheer fright, I struggled to clear my throat. I swallowed hard, then managed to gulp, Four-fifths-filled! The little man glared at me through eyes that narrowed to slits. I felt doomed. If only he would stop thinking and say something! Finally he commented: You're pretty young looking to be interested in antiques! Nobody said anything about antiques, I heard myself proclaiming in the deepest, most convincing voice I could summon. I said 'Four- fifths-iilled.' Fortunately, the repetition of the password must have satisfied him, for, with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, he beckoned me with a nod. I followed him through a curtained doorway, then through a back door and down a long, . 71