VOLUME ONE
MARCH-
"... Cffu:!J Ca[fd ift ifufand" If inborn feelings could be expressed, if words were adequate or beautiful enough, if hearts could but sing out what is stored within them, then all might know that pride and admiration that swells in the bosom of every person who has the faintest trickle of Celtic blood in his veins, that inexplainable but inherent love and longing for Ireland and her people, that inexplicable tear-drop that is born in the eye of almost every Irishman, be he native or descendant, when the songs of Erin float, ringing on the very wings of air, on their day-St. Patrick's Day. It would make you think that all the angels in heaven were lending their voices to the chorus of a people who love their ancestry-the preserved antiquity and beauty of their traditions. If all these could but be expressed, as they are indelibly present in the very essence of the Irish, it would create one of the most beautiful and poignant love stories of all ages. But this will never happen. Words will never suffice to tell what is in the soul of the Gael. Because the love for their nation and their people is so overwhelming, only the Irish themselves can understand the love that is burning within their hearts. Ireland-the word alone brings into mind the counties, the rivers, the bays, the lakes, the towns of a nation steeped in the legends of the leprechauns, the little people that haunt the glens, the boreens, the hills and dales of Erin, and the folk-lore of her generations. Fairyland for the Celt is nothing but the sunny country of common sense. God is always present, always near. The sprites that are frolicking in the dewy grass as twilight fades and night falls, are God's own manifestations of the nearness of the
1948
NuMBER FouR
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Fifteen hours a week-that's the length of time the average Salve Regina commuter spends on busses. What a way to live! They've almost come to regard the Short Line as their home on wheels. Be that as it may, life is never dull. It may be maddening though-particularly so are the morning trips with the youthful, vociferous, and raucous high-school students. One never knows whether she'll be hit by a flying chemistry book, or have her eardrum shattered by a sudden Tarzan-like yell. There are brawls galore. Madison Square Garden has nothing on the Short Line Arena. Basketball shoes sail through the air, goldfish doomed for the biology laboratories float down the aisle, and when there is snow-beware, for a snowball will hit you, if you don't watch out. Speed? They often wonder what the word means. At least fifteen minutes is consumed waiting for the "younger" teen-agers to complement the bus with their presence. Will they hurry? Not on your life! They board the bus leisurely munching their toast and tucking in their shirt tails. They stop at every seat to hold an unhurried conversation with their long-lost buddies, whom they have not seen since the preceding night. There is one individual who drives up in his car, parks it in the middle of the road, grabs his books, and dashes into the bus. This fascinating and mysterious procedure takes place every morning. The bus passengers are now conjecturing as to whether he is daring to be different, or slightly mad. Sympathy cards are always in order for bus drivers. With some of the passengers they have, it's a wonder they don't all end up in straitjackets. (continued on page 2) ¡on one occasion, two Fall Riverites almost broke up a beautiful friendship over who was going to carry the forsythia bushes that Sister Martha had delegated them to convey to their fair city. In the ensuing argument four of the passengers and one bus driver came to regret the presence of the forsythias almost as much as their bearers. 0n Wednesday, March the seventeenth, at eleven Perhaps they didn't know of the unrealized potentialities o'clock, Salve Regina College was honored by a visit from of those seemingly dead bushes. Believe it or not, they Mrs. Mary Lasswell, author of a best seller. are now in full yellow bloom-no thanks to the passengers Out of her knowledge and experience, Mrs. Lasswell who tried to whither them with freezing glances. gave most valuable advice to the students. Her words According to reports, the non-residents' book, "Charwere followed with strict attention-and many notes were acters We Have Met", is expected to go to press any day taken as she developed her theme--AN AUTHOR SPEAKS now. They've encountered all types including cowboys, TO YOUNG WRITERS. tramps, and an escapee from the Taunton Mental Institute Mrs. Lasswell was the guest of honor at the luncheon who insisted on taking four of the commuters to Coral which followed. (continued on page 4)
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Established December 18, 1947
Published monthly by the students of Salve Regina College Newport, Rhode Island
dared insult his integrity or height of purpose. Perhaps his gentleness was the expression of a loving heart, for he loved Mary with a true, virile, and beautiful love. He thought little of himself, much of others . . . nothing of his own comfort, everything of Mary's. He lost himself and even his identity in the presence of the happiness that was his to care for Mary and Jesus and to consider them only. No wonder this marriage worked out so well. Mary chose a partner who went halfway, who could have gone all the way if necessary . . . an ordinary man of extraordinary God-given strength and virtue. He's my idealthis Carpenter of Nazareth.
Editor-in-Chief
Ea~dz't
Patricia Byrne '51 Associate Editors
Rita Belanger '51
Catherine Hogan '51
Jean McAuliffe '51
Art Editors
Ann Marie Cotter '51
Norma Haronian '51
Mary Reidy '51
Staff Reporters
Eleanor McGrath '51 Camille Henault '51 Jane Mycroft '51 Theresa Walsh '51 Patricia Whalan '51 Patricia Dooley '51 Joan Danis '51 Jean Judge '51 Circulating Manager
Mary Quinn '51 Typists
Frances Bridgeman '51
Eileen Quinn '51
Saint {Jo6ÂŁph He was definitely not the Gregory Peck type, not at all the Robert Mitchum sort-in fact, you'd never cast your vote in his direction for the "Glamour Boy of the Year". He was a plain, homely man, probably very handy when it came to doing odd jobs around his little cottage in Nazareth. He was a strong man, of sterling character and noble heart. Joseph was, in fact and in reality, a Saint. When it came to choosing a husband, Mary knew what she was doing. Joseph wasn't the best dancer in Israel. I'm sure he couldn't even "rumba" or waltz. But that didn't mean anything to Mary. He didn't have an important position or impressive wealth . . . or a place on the current Social Register . . . or a dimple in his chin . . . or any of the attributes we moderns are so prone to consider as necessary for marital bliss and security. What, then, did Joseph have? And isn't it amazing that so evidently lacking in all of these "important" accessories, Mary and Joseph's marriage never ended in a divorce court? Just what did Mary see in Joseph that made her choose him f.or her husband, " to have and to hold, in sickness and in health . . . "? Of course it was his virtue that first struck Mary's gentle, scrutinizing nature. His heart was pure; and in his purity, his manly virtues weren't weakened at all. Joseph was a man among men, a carpenter who worked hard for his daily bread, who wasn't ashamed of honest labor in the heat of the day, and who probably wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his strong, browned hands. I guess he was what we'd term a "go-getter" in our day. He was energetic and his energy continued to his spirituality. Joseph was eager to save his soul for a better world. His manner was soft-spokep and gentle; he never lost his temper in the passion of anger; but I can almost hear his voice becoming deeper and fuller if any man
Easter means white and gold lilies, new Easter hats, and pretty fresh clothes, heavenly music in the churches, that feeling of joy and peace that comes from a well-spent Lent through a sombre and terrible Passiontide with Mary, His Mother and ours, to the glorious resurrection of Jesus Christ, our Saviour and our Brother. Even the earth sends forth its own kind of rejuvenation. After the desolation of winter, nature rises again in tender young green leaves, crocuses, violets, and lovely sunny days. How can WE resist? We cannot; here we are at Easter Mass clad in the white garment of purity to receive the Host, more precious than gold, in sweet Communion; and the corsage pinned on the garments of our souls, as a sacred amulet against sin, is a garland of Christ's precious Blood, the wine of the sacrifice pressed from the Lamb of God. Easter is a great feast of Christianity. We are all born as Christ was on Christmas, but He only came back as He promised, a foreteller of our final resurrection to the eternal bliss of our Heavenly home.
c:Jl1~dafen A crimson rose of Galilee On Calvary turned white, But Easter morn beneath a tree It bloomed in golden light. " . . . . THEY CALLED IT IRELAND" (continued)
supernatural. Reality is a romance, an amazing romance, and anything can happen and anything is possible, but there is never the shadow of a doubt in the mind of the true Catholic Celt that the romance which is life begins and ends with Him. And now, just about this time, the Irish in America, in Australia, in New Zealand, and in every far :flung mission field, will again celebrate their day-a day in honor of their great saint and leader, Patrick-a day on which one arm of humanity on God's equalized tree of nationalities will express by lilting songs, lively dances, and Irish laughter a hearty tribute to the nation which gave them birth. May "Erin Go Bragh"-the lovely thought of my dark Rosaleen, Acushla-live in the hearts of men now and 'till the end. BARBARA O 'RoURKE
"Dnfy a Sfu[[ of a Cfaft: . .. " I don't know whether you are aware of it or not, but a crayfish has two stomachs. I learned that in Biology lab last Monday. Can you imagine having lived eighteen whole years under the delusion that those miserable "baby lobsters" I used to be so mortally afraid of had only one stomach? Anyway, that's what happened to me. For years, Nature has defrauded me, I've been duped . . . and now I find it out! A crayfish is a hideous animal with a pointed beak, skinny legs, and what looks to be "dish-pan" skin . . . reddish and hard. It has bulging eyes mounted on movable sticks which are terrifying to behold (especially in your fingers) . It reeks of formaldehyde; it drips all over your hands and clothes; it hangs, cold and stiff, like a pair of pajamas from a clothesline in January from your suspended fingers. It is a repulsive thing. Biology lab periods have fascinated me since the new lab opened, but now I don't think I'll ever get over it. Last Monday-ah, that fateful day!-we actually had to cut those creatures open and examine their creamy, gooey, white insides . . . only mine wasn't white. It had turned grey with age. I believe I felt a pang of remorse. Dissecting a poor, defenseless, old crayfish . . . maybe it was some baby crayfish's grandmother. I put such "chickenhearted" thoughts out of my mind and proceeded to cut deeper with the assertive, steel-nerved indifference of a surgeon. Ah ha-the gills-feathery, wild little plumes, the organs through which grandmother crayfish had drawn her last breath. I felt almost sadistic. Then I heard the excited, gasping voice of the girl who sits next to me at the table calling madly, so I put my mangled specimen back on the dissecting pan with a pin stuck cruelly through one of its stomachs. Perhaps I visioned it would try to escape its heartless fate. I don't remember. I turned to see my friend's animal. I couldn't look-! had to shield my tear-filled eyes. Ye gods and little crayfishes! She waved her specimen gaily before me. "I found the heart", she bellowed, "I found the heart!" The shell hung limply pealed from its little body . . . (if I say "body" it is merely because I have a limited vocabulary and cannot think of a suitable term) . There WAS no body! The heart might very possibly have been in the mashed mass . . . who am I to say? I merely say I left my microscope-lensed glasses upstairs with my cranberry pealer. She had riddled the insides with her dissecting pin and disfigured it beyond recognition. What a horrible way to die, I winced, not stopping to realize these things had probably been dead for eons. "Can y<:m see it?" she urged. I laughed hideously. I don't know why except perhaps because it looked more like a stuffed chicken than a Biology specimen. She laughed a little prettier (she has a prettier laugh) and then we both rocked hilariously on our squeaky lab stools. It must have been the formaldehyde. Sister distinctly told us NOT to drink it . . . The period passed slowly and we made our subsequent discoveries even more slowly, until finally the sound of the bell seemed to spring from the clock. Just when the room was beginning to smell something like perfume . . . (true, an odd fragrance-Crayfish Number Five, no doubt) . . . I was just getting ( continued on page 4 )
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DRAMATICS CLUB
The Crown of Thorns, a Religious Drama in three acts, was presented on March 18 by the Regina Players under the direction of Mrs. Gardner Dunton, and our production manager, Florence McLaughlin. The members of the cast include: Patricia Byrnes, Jane Mycroft, Frances Bridgeman, Eleanor Testa, Patricia Whalan and Eleanor McGrath. Members of committees were, Costumes: Anne Cotter, Mary Reidy, Beverly Missirlian and Mary Cahill; Properties and sound effects: Grace Woods and Mary Sullivan and Barbara O'Rourke; Make-up Department: Eileen Schwenk and Frances McGuiness. The interest of the audience was held throughout the play, and at the final curtain everyone realized the Regina Players had successfully lived the parts they played so well. INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS CLUB
Boston College, Emmanuel College, and the Copley Plaza Hotel will be the scenes for the forthcoming Second Annual Congress of the New England Region of the National Federation of Catholic College Students to be held April 9-11, 1948. The theme of the congress is "The Duties of the Catholic Graduate in the Community". Reservations have been made at the Copley Plaza Hotel for a delegation of twenty I. R. C. members of Salve Regina who plan to attend this convention. Federation Work Groups on Publicity, Catholic Action, Liturgy, Student Government, and International Relations will constitute the nucleus of the three-day program. His Excellency, Most Reverend Richard J. Cushing, D. D., Archbishop of Boston, will be host to the congress. DISCUSSION CLUB
"It is"! "It is not"! These are some of the remarks one may hear in passing the room where the members of the "Discussion Club" meet. And they are the retorts given concerning the present topic "Equal Education as a Basis for Marriage". Yes, the subject is so broad and elusive it is still under excited discussion. Interesting as this subject may be, however, it can't go on forever. The next question on which members will give their controversial opinions will be "Education in Catholic Schools". President, Eleanor Testa, has appointed Mary Reidy and Susie Price to do some research in preparation for papers concerning this absorbing subject. GLEE CLUB
"When Irish Eyes Are Smiling", and when one sees the "Wearing of the Green", "Believe Me", you are looking at a "Little Bit of Heaven". Sure and isn't it the truth? Well, it was March 17 at Salve Regina College, and time for the St. Patrick Day's Concert. Before the footlights appeared the featured soloists: Frances Bridgeman, Geraldine Walsh, and Norma Haronian. The lilt and the subtle spirit which naturally permeated the hearts of the choristers overflowed to the enthusiastic audience. Congratulations are due to Geraldine Walsh and Mary Quinn for their united efforts in making this program one of the most successful and enjoyable events of the year.
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'Jfot1am and :Jet1.am March is already well started and St. Patrick's Day is just around the corner after the usual celebration. Not so welcome were the quarterly examinations. However, our welcome Easter vacation lies in the future, though very near, so let us turn back to the past few weeks.
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"Atomize the iron curtain by Fatimizing your life; then in God's own time, the iron curtain will be dissolved into Our Lady's Blue Mantle." These words spoken by Monsignor Fulton Sheen help to recall to our minds the apparitions of Our Blessed Lady in which she revealed to us the world's need for prayer.
Several of the girls spent a recent weekend in Boston and came back· drenched with rain but radiant' with tales The apparitions of Our Lady and th etr · s1·0om'fi cance · T · was rna de t h e top1C o£ of thetr excurs10n. he · of ten wh o went attended the soda1·tty Meetmg P, · Jane a tea an E-LL'TE."an""c March, over whiCh "f d a. concert. . , .All a ascmatmg ttme, ...,, ·" """"' · hasadAnn Do ld Murphy, VICe-Prefect, re wou say. Oh-I would like to be out there where sand presided. The Sodalists who spoke on various And rock all coated with the ice of Winter's Speaking of Ann to phases of the apparitions Touch now hold themselves resistant Dare, in case anyone The Breakers. Chilled blue now and not the shallow were Harriet Atamian, has any original or revobe when warmness brought Mary Sullivan, Eileen Blue they used to lutionary entrees in reThe life to make them loose and wild, they press Schwenk, Camille Hegard to current radio Their foaming might with the bound look of a struggling n~ult, and Barbara programs, I suggest that Hound held leashed; and whipped by hoary winds, 0 Rourke. you consult the above They leap and seem frozen into the scene The Rev. Doctor mentioned. Ann has a Of all th~t ti?ht white that is the season's way. Dillon a~ the clo~e of strange phobia which T?e rest ts sttll and trapped by unrelenting the meeu.ng, remmded prevents her listening Fmgers, cold and colorless, laying a puff the S~daltsts of the soto any contest offers Of ice and snow parfait on every grain lemntty of Passion without attempting to Of sand that should be silver, gold--oh, any Week and Holy Week. obtain a prize. InciHe asked them to reHue the sun might fancy to paint there when dentally, after a recent It is King of this loved place. But no-it has given new their Lenten resotrip to the local swimUp its crown and sceptre to a crueler lutions with reference ming pool, she declared Monarch; and for a little while the earth to daily Mass, the rethat she would also like ' . Must bear his heavy rule. But soon, oh I ceptton of Holy Comto become a life-guard. Can see it! earth will soften and relax munion, and fidelity to New Haven ought to To be the subject of the royal sun the Rosary. be proud of its contriAnd play unchained again. The Breakers will bution to posterity. The reasonable man Be free to take the shape the gentle hand adapts himself to the Margy Feye seemOf Spring allows. The Golden Globe will hurl world; the unreasonable ingly does enough talkBaked shafts of warm light, tasty to the sea one persists in trying to ing during the day to And sand, as its Master pours the nourishment adopt the world to himlast for the required Of His Own Love upon the souls released self. Therefore all progeight hours of sleep. But From sin. ress depends upon the evidently, the habit has CATHERINE HOGAN '51 unreasonable man. become so well devel-G. B.S. oped she unconsciously speaks out during the night. Better be careful, Margy, the next week we shall dissect starfish. I can feel it coming on again . . . that "old feeling" . . . if that stupid starfish walls may have ears. ever has two stomachs. Oh no-what's that you say?On a recent weekend, one of our students and a close it has FIVE arms? friend spent an evening at the home of Frances Alcarez. A DAY IN A COMMUTER'S LIFE Apparently the visit was a bit prolonged, for as the mid(continued) night hour drew near, Mr. Alcarez arose and disconcertedly began to wind alarm clocks. I've read about it in cartoons, Gables in a sail boat with wings. The consensus of opinion is that the only way to do these individuals justice is either but I didn't believe it actually ever happened. to put them in a joke book, or to incorporate them into Another month, another farewell. Be back again "True Confessions". after vacation with fables of the same. See you then. The predicaments of Penrod are nothing compared "ONLY A SHELL OF A TALE . . ." to the chaotic lives of the commuters. They're seriously (continued) considering offering their services to the commission on used to it and my utter disgust, my repugnance at the "Ways and Means to Lead an Exciting Life". If experience "thing" were all wearing off and my disallusionment at means anything, they should be accepted. However, as finding two stomachs was not half so keen. I had almost the situation now stands, travel-scarred and weary they forgotten about it, in fact, until today when I learned that triumphantly return home after each "eventful" day.
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