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

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might see the red light of his lantern in spite of the terrible blizzard that swept crazily through- out the deserted area. It was now 12:49. As the old man glanced at his watch, he saw that only three minutes had passedg three minutes that seemed at least an hour each. Any second now he would hear the train's shrieking whistle as it came racing down the long, narrow tracks. Faster and faster he pumped. He felt as though he had been pumping the handle up and down all his life, and his heart seemed to agree. The snow was falling harder now, and his thoughts were swirling as quickly as the snow flakes beating against his face, raw from the merciless wind. My eyes are failing me, he said to him- self 3 'Tll have to depend on hearing the train whistle, he cautioned. He had no idea how far he had traveled from the disabled truck, but he hoped it would be enough for the big, gray 12:50 to bring her- self to a safe halt. Suddenly he heard the voice of the on- coming train. It seemed to be miles away. Was it a train whistle or just the wind playing tricks on me? thought Pop. Again he heard the long shrill sound, and he was sure it was the 12:50, now. 1'll see the big head-light soon, he thought happily. He reached with his numbed hand to grasp the bright lantern. As he raised it high above his head, he saw the first flickering sign of the big train light through the driving snow. Up in the engine of the big train, Tim Con- nelly, the engineer, was speaking to his assistant, Bob Wagman. We're three minutes behind schedule, Bob. Watch me make them three minutes up right now, Tim said, as he pulled the throttle out. The big engine let out a roar as it obeyed, and the train increased her speed. Bob was leaning out of the side when he reached over and grasped Tim's shoulder and shouted to him over the noise of the wind, 6'Do you see that down the track? I sure do, responded Tim. '6Who is that crazy fool?,' Tim pulled the whistle-cord hard. He's still coming this way, said Bob. 64... Why doesn't that . . . fool jump? Tim said, as he grasped the emergency brake cord. The sound of the shrieking brakes and the sparks from the wheels filled the air. We're going to hit! cried Tim over the noise of the shrieking wheels. On the handcar, Pop Mullin stood frozen. He wanted to jump, but his legs just wouldn't move. It was too late now. The big, gray train was on him. Yet he knew before he went that his death would not be in vain, for all the passengers on the 12:50 Express had been saved. There were loud congratulationsg the big banquet in his honor, the new watch with the proper inscription given him by the President of the company. Pop had made the first page of every newspaper in the country. Why did you do it? he was asked again and again. 1 had to. It was my job, he had answered simply. And he meant it. Pop sighed in his sleepg and as his heart stood still, he heard Him say: I gave you one talent, you have given Me two. Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the Kingdom of the Lordf Pop,' had retired in truth, and his pension was eternal. It wasn't until the next morning that Pop's body was found. The dream had been too much, too real, for his ailing heart. The repairman, who had come to put in the new equipment, found Pop Mullin lying on his bed. On his face was an expression of complete peace. Pop,' Mullin, for all his earthly suffering, had at last found the peace for which he had yearned so long. It welled up in his heart and burst, flooding his body with a peace and repose that reflected the happiness of a soul that had done all things well. The coroner said that old Pop had died from a disease very common to people of his age-heart trouble. As he pulled the white sheet over Pop's head, he said, He probably never knew that death was on its way. Better call his priest. He will want to knowf' He began to put away his things. Still looking at the old manis form beneath the sheet, he mused, Tough to be an old man like that and die--alone. Yet, somehow, he doesn't look -alone, does he? Too bad, he didn't get to enjoy his pension. Oh well, that's life, 1 guessf' The others nodded in solemn agreement, and silently they walked out. . THE CHELSEA REVIEW

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Z f 2,4 ?. 'q-173: .ri-iiiglyl' . W: A I ? 2 2 '51?5fi-3Y2fF1i-551, ' .:.j'.7ffiiEL.,?,, f' rg 73? - . V If QL'-QTY L... -A: It S-LT.-ix, X f EF , -- -fw '-1l.E--- .-Y--ff: ' - him at least fifteen minutes to get there, and he had only about five minutes before the loud, long whistle of the speeding train would be heard. His mind, trained to the hazards of his job, told him that in a blizzard like this, the engineer of the train could not possibly see the oil truck until it was too late. Something had to be done, and it had to be done quickly, else the catastrophe would be inevitable. His mind, working feverishly, suddenly rewarded him with an idea. 4'It's got to work, 4'Pop muttered to himself. Hustling into his little house, he grabbed the red lantern, ever ready for emergencies, that was hanging on the wall. The lantern slipped from Pop's moist hand and fell to the ground THE CHELSEA REVIEW . . ,',,, J K' X 2 X as he hurried out the door. He picked it up and dashed toward the handcar that was stationed on a side track, just past the oil truck, it lead into the main-road track. He quickly boarded it and started up the tracks in the direc- tion of the on-coming 12:50 Express. If the Express were on schedule, he would have four minutes in which to get far enough up the tracks to signal the engineer so that he would be sure to stop a safe distance from the truck. Pumping the handle desperately, he slowly made his way up the tracks. With the snow blowing in his eyes, he could just about see six feet ahead. Praying earnestly as he travelled farther and farther from the big oil truck, he dedicated his thoughts to God that the engineer .63

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MERMAIII 0 E Illustrated by ALFRED PEPINO, '54 HE ADMIRAL looked about the table at the circle of high-ranking ollicers present. He had waited until everyone had seated himself, and then he removed a stack of papers from his briefcase, all of which were marked Secret or Top Secret. He looked through them and placed them in some sort of order. Then he slowly rose and faced his board. Gentlemen A hush ensued where whis- pering and laughing had prevailed. As you know, I called this emergency meeting to dis- cuss with you a very serious problem. Last Saturday-well-I'll read you the report by General Broltonf' The Admiral picked up the top piece of paper and began to read. 'Saturday, 20 November, 1943, Tarawa, American I..CI's and LCT's concluded grouping runs and proceeded to Blue Beach. The landing went according to schedule until the landing crafts hit a point approximately one hundred yards from the shore. At this point they struck not only the natural formations of coral reef but also man-made obstructions placed there by the Japanese High Command on the island. 'The smaller craft passed through said ob- structions with slight or no damage. The larger craft, however, especially the heavier LCI's, suffered severe damage. The LCT's also endured heavy losses. Armor for establishing the beach- head could not be procured until said obstruc- tions were cleared. Naval demolition teams executed the task under fire within five hours. 'Those men who reached the island were held down by heavy machine-gun and mortar fire until the armor arrived . . .' Gentlemen, it goes on, but we have placed our point. It was a costly mistake on our part allowing those impediments to be present. A costly operationg too costly. He placed the paper face down and picked up the second sheet. Here is an estimate and breakdown on our casualty report. This report was received THE CHELSEA REVIEW . BY JULIUS A. OLITA, '54- only last night. It was Bled by General Reefer, Acting Commander. General Brolton was killed in the ensuing battle. Immediately the room was filled with whis- pers of surprise and cries of anguish. General Thomas E. Brolton had sat at that very table with them only one month ago when prepara- tions were being made for that very invasion. He had been jovial at times, but he was mostly serious. He was a favorite speaker for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Gentlemen, please. He died because of our blunder. That shall never happen again. Others died also. Here, listen to this: 'The forces of the United States Marines suffered the following casualties in their in- vasion of and establishment on the island of Tarawa: 'Dead-1,0265 wounded-2,5573 missing in action-none. The .lapanese Army suffered the loss of their entire defense force, which consisted of 5,700 men, except for a few prisoners? These figures speak for themselves. Our casualties could have been much lower if we had only provided for the elimination of those coral formations and impediments. The other men began to question among themselves. When? How? By whom? Ayoung Colonel rose and smiling, spoke in a very South- ern drawl rather to the group than to the Admiral. Now here, Admiral. Are yo' a-praposing that we'ins should go ,en ask them there Jap- paneys to let us sorta' mosey up to them there formahtions and let us evict 'em. Sir, you'r for- getting that thereis a wahr on. The other men burst into a light laughter. The Colonel seated himself and awaited the Ad- miral's reply. Obviously, the Admiral did not think him very funny. This was evident in the redness that appeared in his cheeks, and his grip 466 ..65