Folio 01 by HFU Folio

the folio Â· I:

the folio The Concert

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A Short Story by Bernice Dombrowski

Balloons in the Park A Woodcut by Constance Lam

By the Sea A Short Story by Helene Haggert" Illustration by Diane Schoeniger

Christmas Eve with Grandmother A n Essay by Bernice Dombrowski

Intrusions on a Journey A Short Story by Patricia Moorhouse

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In Flight Ink and Monoprint by E'lla Kielarska

I Was of Hir Felawshipe Anon

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A Parody by Loretta Cian/rogna Lettering by Diane Schoeniger

Teneor Votis Holy Family College, Torresdale, Philadelphia 14, Pennsylvania

Spring - 1959

The Concert Bernice Dombrowski [Major in Eng/ish -

Class of 1959]

ADDY HAD asked me if I would like to hear a concert in town for my birthday. I remember that the sides of my head suddenly felt hot and heavy-as if there was something inside wanting to come out. Turning toward his smile (I have never seen Daddy's mouth in a straight line) I said "Oh yes" just as quietly and slowly. Afterwards I tried to imagine what it would be like. · All I saw though was a cake with white icing and little yellow candles. And when I closed my eyes the same hot feeling was in them. We left early. But Daddy had to park on a small side street because it was Saturday night. He had no nickels for the meter so we <walked across the 'street to a candy store filled with glass jars and empty boxes and · Daddy bought me a striped . peppermint pillow and a cigar furhim~H. . . We walked slowly because it was early and very warm even though it was almost Thanksgiving. The trees were black against the blue sky ' and -so were the clOlfds -and you would think the moon was an electric sign the way it blinked in and out of the clouds. The lights on the streets were blurry-even with-"my glasses on-as . if they were covered with pieces of gauze, and all the noises seemed · to have wool mufflers around theni. When we had been walking "long enough to tell that the sky was getting blacker;--' Daddy 'showed "me . a gray building a block away with yellow lights and black groups of people going up the steps. It looked like a warehouse. I guess I had expected a birthday cake. We handed our red tickets to a man in a gray cap 2

and . began climbing a . stairway , that Âˇ turned left at each landing like a department store escalator. There were black arrows pointing . up and when I looked up there were patches of red .brick and white ' ceiling. The . backs ..of my knees felt . like. tight rubber bands and then we were at the top. When the stairs ' ended we had to go .outside to a fire escape to reach our seats . . The automobiles through the iron railing looked so . small and stiff you'd think they would bend in the middle when they reached the corner. Inside everything was gold curtains and red squarebacked seats-even in the little balconies near ' the stage. In ' the middle of the ceiling there was' .a . gold ' chandelier with so many tiny lights it seemed to be made of candles and icing. Myhand was cold but it made my cheek feel hotter when I touched it. . Daddy's warm hand touched mine and we climbed down and excused ourselves . across a man with a pink head and very . pink eyelids. The red seats were small and Daddy pulled his knees up . under his chin like a picture I once saw of Abraham Lincoln. A little girl with long yellow hair sat in the seat next to him. During the intermission . we went out to . the fire escape. Daddy took out his cigar -and we watched the lights on the cars going into . the hotel across the street. I wanted to ask where the garage was but Daddy hadn't finished smoking. So I went inside to get a drink instead. When I came back he was talking to the little girl with the Alice-in-Wonderland hair. Her eyes were as big and round as a cocker spaniel's. She began talking very quickly and Daddy listened with his eyes and nodded his head the way he does with me. He had even put out his cigar. I stood close behind him next to the railing although he didn't know it-I was so quiet. But he turned to look at the street and saw me. "Hello, Bonnie," he smiled. "Kathy's been showing me the toy cars in the street. We've decided they're parked undergrolmd in that hotel. What do you think?"

I didn't say anything. The little girl's mother came and we walked back to our seats. Daddy pulled up his knees again. And the man with the pink eyelids sneezed. The little girl was still talking about cars. When the music began she whispered to him that the singer with her blue hoop gown looked like a bell. I thought so too. But Daddy never turned toward me. My left foot was getting stiff. I shook it a little and accidently bumped the seat in front of me. Daddy turned but didn't smile. My foot began to feel like a pincushion and bumped the seat again as if it was the girl with the yellow hair. I stopped shaking my foot. It wasn't really doing any good. Daddy turned all the way round to me. "Bonnie," he said and his eyes looked very small. The blue bell was singing a slow quiet song. "Do you remember how you used to like talking to gray-haired men when you were little? And how annoyed I was when you laughed so long over that old sailor's stories? I don't think you ever enjoyed mine that much." My coat was folded up in my lap_ I put my hand in the pocket and felt the soft, sticky peppermint I had forgotten to eat. I turned away and pretended I was watching the stage but I couldn't see anything except a blue haze. The man with the pink eyelids had closed his eyes. My eyes burned so much that I had to hold my breath. "Daddy." I really didn't know what to say. He touched my folded-up fingers and his mouth started to make a half-circle. Somebody struck a thousand matches and the chandelier looked like a birthday cake with a thousand candles.

Balloons in the Park Constance Lam [Major ;n Art -

Class of 1959]

His eyes , nnder the dark glasses, opened wide with fear , as the /zdl horror 0/ the situatio n dawned npon him.

By the Sea Helene Haggerty [Major in English -

Class of 1959]

ENRY INGRAM drove his car slowly through the narrow streets of the little resort town toward the beach. Many of the houses he passed still wore the vacant, useless look acquired through the long untenanted months of the offseasons. Their paint, graying in the salt air, and the straggling dirty weeds trailing through the fence palings made him aware again of the throbbing ache in the top of his head. It was all so futile. You worked and sacrificed and planned and talked about the future-where you would go, what you would do, all the things you didn't have the time or money for. The future-his was here now and it was ashes. He had poked among them for a while, hoping to uncover even a small red spark with which to warm himself. For a while he had tried pretending the sparks were there. Then he had stopped and resigned himself to grayness. Perhaps if Rose had cared, he would have gone on looking or pretending; but she seemed perfectly satisfied with things as they were. He knew she had forgotten the way it used to be. They had been married 19 years and they had changed so. Rose looked at him in mild wonderment now when he tried to recapture some of the spirit that had made the old life so _.. well, so livable. They never laughed together any more. Not that he expected her to go off into peals of girlish laughter at his homespun humor. After all, she was middle-aged now, and ... so was he! He saw himself suddenly in a shock of clarity-a slightly ridiculous, youthful success with no place to go and his wedding ring too tight on his fleshy finger. He groaned aloud and pulled up alongside the curb. Illustrated by

Diane Schoeniger [Major in Biology-Class of 1960]

beating ceaselessly against a dike. Panting slightly, he stretched out on the blanket, staring up at the faded orange canvas. There were small red dots peppering its surface that he couldn't remember seeing before. The hot blood in his head was pounding in alternate rhythm with the boom of the surf. The red dots began to move, and their movement caused a spring that had been slowly coiling deep inside him to wind itself tighter and tighter. The spring-of course! It had been there all the time. Why had he never noticed it? His thoughts became jumbled and confusedRose, Penny, the bottle of pills . . . . The spring was coiled now as tight as it could be. There was a moment like the eye of a hurricane when everything stopped and was still. Then, without warning the spring was released, and he was bathed in a white glare of pain. The glare and pain passed as quickly as they had come, and there remained nothing. A cool off-shore breeze blew fitfully over the deserted beach, wafting gently before it a few discarded sandwich papers. One of the papers, propelled toward a lone beach umbrella, became plastered to the wooden handle, where it flapped feebly for a few moments and then dropped to the blanket below. Henry Ingram opened his eyes. The first thing he felt was relief. It was the same kind of feeling he used to have as a boy when the long feared, long brooded-upon visit to the dentist was finally over and done with. He tried to put his finger on the cause of the sensation and knew that he hadn't realized how much it affected him. Then a sense of unreality gripped him. Why was he still here on the beach? He must have fallen asleep. To judge by the gathering dusk, it was getting on toward seven. He had fallen asleep once before on the beach and gotten a bad burn. It was a good thing he had kept his jacket on and brought the umbrella. He remembered dully why he had come. It seemed like a dream now, remote and unimportant. He wanted to get home; Rose would have the dinner waiting. Why didn't he get up? He wanted to, but nothing happened. He made a conscious act of his will to rise, but still nothing happened. His limbs simply refused to obey-he couldn't even tum his head.

Panic cleared his mind completely and the memory of what he realized must have been an "attack" of some sort, what they called a stroke, came back to him; and there wasn't a human being within a qualter of a mile to help. He opened his mouth to yell and found that even his vocal chords had joined the mutiny. "There's nothing for it," he told himself, "but to lie here till someone comes down to the beach. My God, I might be here all night!" At the thought, a little chill shivered down his spine, as though he had touched Âˇ a warm, Âˇ furry, unfamiliar something in a dark room, and he hoped fervently that whatever ailed him would leave during the night. He thanked heaven that he was far enough back to be out of reach of the tide. Morning came much more quickly than he had anticipated. He was surprised when the dim shape of the umbrella overhead became more clearly defined and again took on its familiar orange. It must have been 10 o'clock before the first people arrived. He saw them out of the corner of his eye, coming up over a sand dune-two little boys and their parents, the mother carrying an infant in her arms. The boys ran ahead, heading for the surf. As the couple approached, Ingram had a hollow sinking feeling in his chest, and his eyes, under the dark glasses, opened wide with fear, as the full horror of the situation dawned upon him. He was completely powerless to signal for help in any way whatever, and what was Âˇthere in the spectacle of one more human supposedly relaxing on the beach to arouse anyone's curiosity or concern? He was completely depelldent upon the off-chance that they would think it odd that one should arrive so early after having remained so late the day before. It was no chance at all and he knew it. As they walked toward him, his heart pounded crazily and the cords of his neck stood out like lead pipes in his effOl"t to speak. They passed him without a glance, arguing over whose fault -it was that they had forgotten to bring along the diaper bag. His only hope now lay in the people who would arrive later. As each new group rose up over the dunes, he -concentrated all his powers in willing that they should look his way. He had heard of mental telepathy-a drowning man clutching at a straw. Nothing happened; everyone was too

busy watching the children or listening to the baseball game, or doing a hundred other things that people do on the beach. He writhed inwardly in an agony of frustration; but somehow he couldn't feel as worried as his reason told him he should be. Sooner or later someone had to notice. Meanwhile, the sun was warm after the cool night, and he was entirely comfortable-not an ache or pain or even an unpleasant sensation; in faCt, no sensation at all. He dozed off, wondering drowsily why he wasn't hungry or thirsty. The long sleep did him no good. It merely refreshed his mind so that he woke again with a sharp appreciation of his dilemma. At once, he was aware of something bounding across the sand straight toward him. He thought it was a dog until it came to a stop at the edge of his blanket and he saw that it was a large beach ball. Joy welled up within him and was replaced by a calm satisfaction. Why had he gotten so worked up when . common sense should have assured him of the inevitability of rescue? He had only to wait for the oWner of the ball to retrieve it. At such close range, surely.... A child had run up and was standing by the beach ball. Only its legs were in his line of vision, but he could sense that it was staring down at him. "Carol Anne," called a woman's voice. "Come away from there this minute and bring that ball with you! Carol Anne, do you hear me?" A moment later the woman ran over, swooped up the ball, and jerked the child away with her. "What did I tell you?" he heard her scolding as they walked Âˇ off. Tears of protest and disappointment blurred his vision so he couldn't see that the late-afternoon exodus was again in progress; but he heard the characteristic sounds and knew what they signified-the baseball game on the portable radios growing fainter and fainter-the tired whimpering . of the children as they clambered over the dunes. In a short while he was alone again, except for a flock of little, brown, long-legged birds running back and forth along the shore line. When he closed his eyes they became vultures, slyly eyeing him with obscene patience. He won" dered how long it would be before he died, and longed to see the stars again. He didn't want to die staring up at

the ugly old umbrella. It was incredible to think that only-how long was it? Saturday morning he left home. Had he been here one night .or two? He didn't know and it was too much of an effort to try to remember. Only a day or two ago he had wanted to die, looked forward to it with anticipation! Why? In the name of heaven, why? What a smug idiot he had been, planning death as he had planned the trip to Nassau last winter. The thought occurred to him that this awful thing had happened as a punishment for his presumption, but his common sense immediately rejected that. Presumption against whom? If there were a God (and his former notions on the subject began to . look as arrogant as his previous thoughts on death ) and He used sickness or death to punish transgressors of His law, Henry Ingram would long since have been either an invalid or a corpse. He knew that the approved procedure in this situation was to resort to prayer, and he considered it seriously. So many people had a religion, mightn't there be something to it after all? In all fairness he had to admit that he had never really bothered to investigate. But he would-oh, if he ever got out of this he would. He couldn't make wild vows, or "pray" to someone he wasn't even sure existed. He only knew that he would try to find out if he ever again was able. Rose always thought they should go to church together on Sundays, but she never went much herself. Basically though, he knew she believed in God, though she probably couldn't tell why. He had a sudden familiar image of her, sitting in a corner of the sofa with her feet tucked up, an unopened book on her lap, listening rather unsympathetically to his everlasting complaints. With self-disgust he remembered that he had blamed Rose for his own childish petulance and boredom. No wonder she had stopped laughing. He had taken all the laughter out of their lives. If only he could make it up to her; but it was too late. At the office, they were used to his taking off a few days now and then in the slack season. They would remember his headache, and not bother to make inqmrIes. He discouraged calls to his home.

With the onset of darkness, the predictably unpredictable weather that makes early June unpopular with vacationers decided to indulge one of its more unpleasant whims. A chill wind, dank and heavy with moisture, wheezed across the sand, exhaling a thick penetrating dampness as it came. It did not bother Henry Ingram. He lay with closed eyes, breathing quickly with little gasps. Faint bluish patches appeared here and there on his arms and . legs. The night passed without his knowledge. By morning the wind had died down somewhat, and wellmeaning rays of sunlight, trying their Âˇbest to be waTm, cleared .. little paths through the rude, jostling crowd of leaden clouds. It was not a day most people would choose to . spend at the beach. This was precisely what an exasperated young husband was explaining to his wife in no . ullcertain terms as he grumblingly spread a blanket for .her to sit on while she gave the baby its bottle. Their two little boys were working very conscientiously at digging up as much sand as they could, grimly determined to cram enough pleasure into this last day at the seashore to last them until next year. . "It would have been a shame not to let them have their la.st day," remarked the mother. "Especially when we promised. And besides, we're not the only ones here. There's our friend with the orange umbrella back by the dunes again." "Doesn't that fellow ever have enough?" said her husband glancing in the direction of the dunes. "I thought we were overdoing it a little,getting here so early every morning, but he beats uS every time." "He's always one of the last to go, too," replied his wife. "He never leaves before we do." She broke off to laugh at the squeals of the boys who had uncovered a sand crab . . The angry, shoving clouds had finally succeeded in trampling the life out of the weakening sun rays, and were brooding with dark satisfaction over their triumph when a sharp stab of lightning split their ranks, sending them

scattering in panic across the sky. With the first roll of thunder the children's actIvIty had been cut short, and now they were scampering off towards the dunes, in front of their blanket-laden father. Their mother followed more slowly carrying the baby. Big hard drops of rain plopped onto the sand, making little indentations where they fell. "Joe," she called, "hold a blanket over the boys and get them back to the car; I'll ask the man if he'll let me wait under his umbrella till you come back for us." She ran under the umbrella and looked at the man lying there. The rain was coming faster now, sometimes splashing in on him. He never moved. III

Henry Ingram dreamed that he was alone on an interminably long flight of stairs leading upward from a deep black subway pit. He had to stop and rest on almost every step, and this vexed him, because he knew that Rose was waiting at the top, talking to someone-a stranger. The stranger's words came floating down to him, and he str~tched his neck to read them as they were wafted by. The ones he managed to see didn't make any sense-hypertension-cerebral apoplexy-eventual normalcy. For some reason, his inability to understand worried him, and he tried to run, taking two steps at a time. He gave it up and sank to a sitting position, gathering his strength for another try. A sound made him look up, and he saw that Rose was coming down to him. "Thank you, Doctor," she was saying inappropriately. "If it's all right, I'd like to stay with him for a little while." She had reached him now, and she sat down too, taking his hand in hers. He heaved a sigh of great content. They both stood then, and turning, walked up together toward the light. [Reprinted from Aye Maria]

Christmas Eve With Grandmother Bernice Dombrowski [Major in English -

Class of 1959]

FTER SUPPER on Christmas Eve Grandmother, with damp hair and cheeks warm with anticipation and crinkled with life, waits in the kitchen for us. Each member of Âˇ her family, carrying some special gift-freshly iced cookies, a bouquet of winter flowers, a gilded "madonna" card-stops in "for only a moment" to stay for an hour. Looking like Lady Botmtiful in a flower-printed blue dress, Grandmother receives the homage and the harvest, giving in return her hundredfold of warmth and joy and affection. . The kitchen smells of a far-away, long-ago, stilllonged-for Polish farm. Even though Grandmother bakes very little now, something always seems to be warming in the oven. On Christmas Eve, especially, the Christmas day supper with its never-changing menu is fragra~tly anticipated: one of Grandmother's favored cream soups; warm pink ham with hot red horseradish sauce; sweet raisin toast and sour rye bread spread thickly with soft dark butter; sugar-powdered dough cookies twisted like bow ties; deep white cups of creamy brown coffee; and always, cold apples and honeyed milk "because it is good for you." With Grandmother, theories about food, although unscientific, are emphatically biblical. Celery tea, made with her own grown herbs, is the nectar of God. Milk is good for everything; honey, even better. And bread covered with any kind of cheese is better than bread alone. Although she now keeps few old-country customs, Grandmother still passes around the unleavened embossed wafer, wishing each person, as he snaps off a hard translucent piece, health and happiness in two languages. When

the wafer has reached Grandmother again (we always leave the Infant's halo for her) and the embossed Christ Child has become a physical palt of each of us, her cheeks are warmer and brighter than ever. After most of the family has left, the two or three of us remaining decorate the small tree between the parlor windows. While Grandmother describes bilingually the trees once suspended from the kitchen ceiling that she trimmed with small wax-white candles and hand-made sugar toys, we carefully unwrap the old and much-used but still shining ornaments: the fading gold bells with beaded clappers that really tinkle; the metal birds on springs with shivering tails and mirroring eyes; the tarnished tinsel, wrinkled and spotted but saved from tree to tree; the heavy strings of irridescent beads that weigh down the fragile branches so quickly. Someone turns on the radio, and the static unreality of Polish Carols surrounds us. Recalling syllables and inflections we learned phonetically as children we sing with the radio. But only Grandmother knows the meaning of all the words. We hurry to finish decorating (filling wide vases with the. winter bouquets, and cold windows with velvety cloth poinsettias) before one of Grandmother's thirteen clocks (each having its own peculiar tick, no two telling the same time and none telling the correct time) sings out nine. The iron-weighted clock has always been called "Grandfather's Clock" because Grandfather, whom we remember only as an invincible fear and a reverential kiss, wound it every evening after supper. As children we wanted very much to touch the cigar-shaped weights, the four metal chains, the carved wooden bird; but the reverential fear intervened. Last Christmas Eve I held the ridges and heaviness in my own hands for the first time but the singing bird is too high to touch. It is on Christmas Eve that Grandmother's home becomes for herself part of another time, another world, auother spirit, and for us a cornucopia of experiences, emotions and traditions that have meaning nowhere else.

Intrusions on a Journey Patricia Moorhouse [Major in English -

Class of 1959]

NE MINUTE the darkness of a late, gusty winter afternoon, the next minute the amazing light and movement of the station. The express steamed into the station and scraped to a halt. A small, weary-eyed group was waiting to board the train. The disheveled passengers rose to leave, bundling into their coats, seeing the frosty breath of those outside Beverly pulled her scarf tighter and buttoned the top of her coat when she saw them, and straining under the weight of the suitcase, left the train. She shivered as the cold air of the platform cut through her coat; she shivered, too, with the expectation of what was to come during this holiday in the city. She hurried to the waiting room, amazed that any ceiling could be so high, or people could walk so fast-that so few could look happy. They appeared so harried-it took the edge off her enthusiasm. Her reflection in a window reminded her to smooth her hair, and raising her eyebrow she assumed the bored expression she had been practicing . for days. With her remaining energy she carried her suitcase toward the exit, having no idea where it would bring her. She rested midway at the information desk to ask for directions, and a weary, brusk voice delivered them. The exit hadn't seemed so far a short time ago, and now she had to add the distance to the bus stop to her walk_ Four blocks. How could she ever do it? Her arm grew more tired, weaker by the minute. Her forehead was moist despite the damp cold of the station. Beverly paused, fingered the change in her purse, and dragged her bag toward the taxi stand. She pushed to the

door in her lopsided walk, the bag tipping her to one side, her other arm stuck out in the air. She manipulated the suitcase through the door; and, coming into the street,she dropped her bag-startled to see the monkey. He was perched on top of a hand organ, begging for coins. In the background, the organ grinder rhythmically pumped the handle around and around. As she rested and stared at the monkey he tilted his head, sadly beseeching her. His outstretched paw trembling with the cold, the twitching nostrils of a tight-skinned face, the chain around his neck compelled her to turn away. In revulsion she quickened her step toward the cab stand-shouts of "Taxi" sounded around her as she was jostled by the hurrying commuters. Cab after cab stopped, filled with people and pulled away. When the crowd dispersed, she discovered she was alone on the sidewalk, watching countless occupied vehicles passing. At last she saw a Gab up the street. She waved tentatively to the driver, who started the motor, bolted forward, and stopped short in front of her. She climbed in awkwardly and struggled to pull the suitcase through the door. "Want that in the trunk?" he asked, motioning toward the bag. "Oh, no, it's quite alright. I'll pull it in with me,if you don't mind." "You're the boss," he shrugged and grinned as the bag bumped both sides of the door before it was firially in and dropped on her foot. She could hear the grind organ's wail until the door slammed out the noise. The ticking of the meter stirred one uneasy thought that she might have given something to the beggar and his monkey-unpleasant though they were-until it lulled her to sleep while the car maneuvered through the uptown traffic. They lurched at a red . light and she was shaken from her dozing. The driver had turned smilingly to explain the disturbance. But she wasn't listening, only looking at him for the first time, noticing the peculiar shine in his eyes, the whiskey smell reminding her of the school janitor on Monday mornings. The dusty boiler room and the cluttered

workroom with calendar prints on the walls were his domain; and there he would sit, his chair propped against the wall, a fearful sight to the children who sneaked down just to spy on him_ Before she could say a word, the light changed and once again they surged forward weaving from side to side. Every few minutes his attention turned from the road to her. "Say, this is your first time here, isn't it?" "Yes, but I didn't know it was so obvious." "Cabbies can spot your kind a mile away. We get so used to seeing a city girl that anyone else stands out like a painted doorknob." "I never realized ... " "Sure honey, it's obvious." Half leaning against the door he was able to watch her more intently. His eyes shifted from the road to her continuously, beginning with her face and progressing downward to her cros~ed legs. Back to the road then. He pushed fast on the brakes as ,the line in front came to a halt. Beverly had been thrown forward and when she resumed her position she uncrossed her legs and tried to pull her coat further over her knees. He continued. "You women don't understand much about guys like me, do you?" His hand brushed her skirt as he gestured over the back of the seat. "You know it said right in the book-you can't blame human weakness on the individual." The clasp of her pocketbook clicked open and closed, open and closed as the car's speed imprisoned her. "Picked that up in Columbia. It was only an evening course, though. Well, anyway; you know about the weakness of human nature-all victims of our environment. Now look at me ... " The cab shifted nervously from lane to lane until, swerving sharply to the right to pass, the driver found a florist's truck double-parked for a delivery. Beverly banged against the door as he was forced to make a sharp turn into .a one-way street. "Look at that guy; will you, those lousy truck drivers.

Like I was saying, look at me, I tried to be something better than the other guys, even went to college, but then I married that woman, God knows why, I wasn't even sure the kid was mine. Now look at me, stuck in this rotten cab with that one at home." She inched fearfully away, closer to the door as he went on. "She's just like these streets, all one-way. I oughta keep my mouth shut, but when I meet a nice girl like you, I can't help myself. You know how men are ... " . His face reflected in the rear-view mirror was tense, the muscles tight, except for the Âˇnervous quiver around his mouth. "Dear God," she thought, "What do Âˇ I do now." ~} They reached another red light and as the bag bumped . ;:\' against her leg she seized it, pushed open the door an ~ ,t. stumbled out of the cab. He called after her-"Hey you, .y:. what the-" She ignored his shouts, and, as the horn blasts " became more impatient, he was impelled to move on. Car after car regularly filled and vacated the spot he had been ,in as she stood there, staring. She pulled herself away and in faltering steps half-ran to the corner, seeking help, almost tripping over the bag as it thumped and bruised her leg. There was no one-except in the incessant line of cars coming toward her. The sound was as frightening as the driver had been-a regular throb as each car passedit was the pulse not of a man but of a machine. The late afternoon fog moved restlessly on the street, blun'ed the neon signs, clouded the apartment houses. The pungent combination of street dust, car exhaust, and fog burned in her nose. Frantically she signalled an approaching taxi, prepared to get in-but slammed the door as she saw his face grimacing at her still. As she turned to run away, her purse strap caught on the door handle, holding her back. In her confusion she pulled it; the strap broke, and the open purse was torn from her hand. Her compact splashed in a puddle-the circles in the water she saw as the car wheels revolving around and around, as the beggar's hand turning

the grind organ's handle, feeling them in her body as fear, spreading wider and wider. It moved from her trembling knees, to her sweaty hands, to the crushing tension in her lungs. The traffic pressed him on again. When he was gone she retrieved her compact and purse, almost falling as her legs quivered under her. Once more she sought help, looking about her in bewilderment. She turned around, frantic, saw. him round the corner and come toward her. It was incomprehensible; he had appeared from nowhere. With jerking uncoordinated movements, she tried to run but could ilOt control the trembling of her legs. Desperately she looked about her. The walls of the city surrounded her, the mobility of Âˇ the cab and the immobility of her body held her captive. The flux of the traffic ignored her. She was abandoned by all except the driver. . He passed, the traffic absorbed him; and turning about, she tried carefully to return to the corner-each moment brought her hope that he would not reappear, and apprehension of what would happen if he did. A few men came out of a subway carrying their black lunch pails. But before she could advance toward them she was startled by a horn blasting behind her. He was back! The fear that had been ebbing returned, jolted her body. "Hey, how about my fare?" he yelled. "I can't afford to have my customers jumping out like that. Don't I have enough ti:ouble already?" "What?" she said. "My fare, my fare, what's the matter with you? Think I enjoy riding around the block all night? God, what a nutty kid." With trembling hands she searched for the money; but her fingers wouldn't hold it, her mind wouldn't count. She thrust the purse into the cab and withdrew her hand as from a scorching flame. The cabbie counted out 85Â˘ patiently and replaced the surplus. . His hand remained outstretched after she took the pi.tr~e from him. What mOl:e could he want-she had given him his fare. But still it remained. For a moment she could

see the need in his eyes, the unhappiness, beseeching her for something. The hand went back into the car and grasped the steering wheel- his eyes turned away. " This as far as you're goin? You know what you're doing 1 guess. God if you're not a nutty kid ." The motor whined as he raced it. He pulled hastily into the line of traffic and was carried along by it. "God, what a nutty kid," she thought, "I guess 1 am . Gosh, I'm sorry. 1 didn't know .. ." Her voice came weakly, sadly-but who was there to hear her, except the men passing? They were not listening. The cab tail lights were growing dimmer. She had the dish'essing knowledge of something irretrievably lost. Painfully she picked up the suitcase and began walking ... '-.---~-

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In Flight Eva Kielarska [Major in Art -

C Lass of 1960]

I Was of Hir Felawshipe Anon Loretta Cianfrogna [M ajor ill En glish -

Class of 1959]

Lettering by Diane Schoeniger

HEN IN Springtim e the sweet shower s fall And pierce the hard-packed tennis courts, and all Th e veins of students feel such power flow As maketh flowers, trees, and wild oats grow ; When Zephyrus eek with his sweet breath To camel's hair and knit has whispered d eath ; When Sol has halved th e pathway of th e Ram (With Lunik heeling close as any lamb ) Th en legates long to go upon convencioLlns And everichoon longs to give attenciouns To sundry speakers, conclaves, and th e r es t That goon to tell him how to get the bes t From all his speakers, conclaves and the h che And maken well what oftentimes is sick. And specially from every campus' end To N.F .* Con gresses th ese pilgrim s wend. Bifel th at, in that season on a day, Before the Howa rd Johnson's where I lay Rea dy to go a-wander ing and sta rt For Wilkes-Barre, most enthused at hea rt, Th ere drove up to that joly hosteh ye A band of legates in a com panye. ';'Commonly glossed as th e N atiollal Federation of Catholic College Stlldents [d . Wise, Thomas ]., Th e N.F.C .C.S . M),th Revisited (Dartmoor , 1934)]. The re may b e som e relation betwee n th ese congresses and th e "wandering scholar" tradition. It is a matte r of conj ectu re as to whether the author a ctually attended any of th ese conv entions.

Renault and Jaguar hadde they, and Isetta, And on each driver's head flapped a biretta. In felaweshipe they were and legates aI, For everich of them, both large and smal Bore notebooks filled with pages white as snow -Enough to bear the Odyssey, I trow. They rested easy, all was of the best. And shortly, when the TV went to rest, By bandying of names and comments flip I soon was one of them in felaweshipe And promised to rise early and take way To WilkesÂˇBarre, as you heard me say. But natheless, while I have time and space, Before my story takes another pace, It seems a reasonable thing to say What their condition was, the full array Of each of them, as it appeared to me, And sundry quirks of personality.

N IVY LEAGUER in the group was ther, Bold of tweed and eek quite short of hair, With elbows patched and of tanned hide, And unlit pipe to twist his mouth aside. And he was not too fat, I do recall, But kept a calory chart hung on the wall Of every Inn at which he chanced to stop. Since he had found preferment at no shop Where he applied for semely employment His art was tax'd to seek funds for enjoyment. Ful oft he'd write home for a goodlich stipend, And oft an LO.U. he'd give a friend.

COLLEGE GIRL of Philadelphia city Was with us, and she was verray pretty. Nowherin N.F. does a meeting stir Which is not known and heralded by her. Her kneesocks did enchant in gawdy red, A pony tail hung featly from her head And quivered when she handed forth decree On horoscopes, or men, or history. For she was full of life and of opinion . And sought to' prove that she was no one's minion. She'd sit at coffee houses and sip tea And ponder Life and its philosophy. Five prom-dates hadde she and I do not mention The friends she made while reaching the convencioun. She was no Jack all dull from lack of play But knew the worth of wandering by the way .

. ...,..,y.~!iiii. HER WAS a MAN OF IDEAS, so intense That he did speak but in the future tense. His hair was blond and hung down in his eyen, His words were mich and flowed as free as wme. His mind trapped plans as flame doth trap the moth; At dinner he would sketch upon the cloth. "Per se" he'd chant, and "a posteriori," He'd ne'er let pass a chance to tell a story Of how the world cOllld change through group dynamics. -Aye, that would raise the sluggards from their hammocks! Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas And yet he semed bisier than he was.

-MIDDE THIS group ther were two moderators Two bisy folk who'd act as gladiators And, armed with sword of right and spear of truth, Uphold Authoritee 'gainst rebel Youth. a PREEST ther was, one of the finest sort, And he was liked and cIept a parfit sport. He could expound on student leadership, And knew exactly when to spring a quip Therby to prove he was not in decay . But knew the modern world's new-fangled way. For things of yesterday he'd give loud hoots; Âˇ As for his garb, he wore three button suits.

~~""'~~~ HER ALSO was a NONNE, a Dean of

Women, With smiling ways, but withal very prim in Checking everything against the Rule Book; I ti.-ow she used it more than any school book. She spoke quite easily of world-wide woe After the school of Newsweek-at-Elbow. And by her side she carried bookes three, Two volumes treating group psychology; The third was scriven with a crowned A And lower, Amor vincit omnia . ..

Heer Endeth in a Fit

Retraction And now I beg all those who read this work To weigh not heavily upon my head, For what I did not say I did not shirk But rather felt it has been often said (For oft has N.F. had its merits pled.) My verse does not propose to quicken rumor, But to explore the N.F. sense of humor. And so I beg the deity of CollegeCommittee chairmen, legates, and the rest; And faculty, stern guardians of knowledge, To pardon this sow's ear, ne'er silk at best. To Heaven's court I pray, make one behestWhen judging 'pon my fate at Death's chill greeting For me no damn'd eternal N.F. meeting.