The-Rosaverian_1945-06-04_007 |
Previous | 7 of 16 | Next |
|
small (250x250 max)
medium (500x500 max)
Large
Extra Large
large ( > 500x500)
Full Resolution
|
This page
All
|
by Anne Therese Coyle The Amazing Case of Mr. McGillevry Mr. McGillevry was not in a good humor. In fact any candidly honest observer would have said that Mr. McGillevry was “mad.” After fifty-seven years of happy and generally placid existence during which he had acquired I'^llen, his charming wife, three equally charming daughters, Mr. McGillevry had come to the conclusion that he hated women. Unfortunately, Mr. McGillevry had made that decision suddenly and had not yet had time to exclude those women that he didn’t hate. Six hours before, when he had entered his insurance office, Mr. McGillevry had l)een a match in pleasantness for any of the 135,986,472 people that the first edition of Helen Benson’s Studies ill Statistics had declared to be the current |K)pu'lation of the United S ta te s : but the first ten minutes in the office had served to hurl him into a mood of perturljed unhappiness that had readily waxed into anger. Me could yet recall the polite phrases of the i)hone call that had caused that change of mood. He heard the constant echo of the woman’s voice that had uttered a seemingly innojent re- (luest, but a request, however, which one in his position could not refuse, lie was haunted by the memory of his own voice weakly articulating that simple but fatal “Yes” with which he had replied. All through the day that “Yes,” like an ill omen, had shadowed his every action. * * * The phone had rung at the very moment at which he put his hand on the knob of the office door. Two mhi-utes later his secretary had presented him with several policies for immediate study. Anne Weber’s Dance Service, Themes and Decorations, Incorporated, were taking a policy on displays requested for the New Orleans Mardi Gras. To add to his trouble there was a new document for Margaret Murphy’s Museum of Western History to cover a recently accpiired set of ‘six-shooters” and an annotated list of “Cowboys of Today.” In addition, Mr. Mc(iillevry had to study a policy for Lord and Taylor which concerned their new department, directed by Audrey Kiefer, dedidated to exclusive models in nurses’ uniforms and caps. To increase his problems, he had to read one JUNE 4, 1945 for Norine O ’Bryan covering specific materials of National Importers, Limited, and to insert special clauses in a protection policy for the manuscript copy of Helen O ’Connell’s book, “History of Northern New York.” But, in the midst of all these problems, the shadow of that early phone call was darkening almost to a point of eclipse of Mr. McGillevry’s mind. "Women—” he muttered to his secretary, “Women! They drive a man crazy. Look at these cockeyed policies and they’re all for women— !’’ “Women,” at this point that word had the effect of a sword piercing his very brain for he recalled that his wife’s cousins were arriving from the West and that Ellen, at breakfast, had asked him to meet them. Mr. McGillevry was hastily on his way. Entering the elevator, he managed to hit the purses of eight of the feminine employees of Margaret Leonard’s Radio Advertising Agency, of A. T. Coyle Creations, of Decorations by Faith Coss and of Agnes Mullin, Commercial Photograi>her: all of whom were leaving work to attend the weekly publicity forum directed by Stephanie Lisowski of the Magazine Advertising Company. Mr. McGillevry’s sense of justice made him give an even score of two purses pushed out of place per concern. Upon exiting from the elevator, he managed to ram, in order, Betty Kilroy, photogra])her’s model; Marianne Ford, book reviewer of the Nciu York Observer', chemist-cosmetician, Charlotte Bell; Helen Hausmann, editor of Who's Who in American Kindergartens; and Eileen Stiglmeier, the popular “Personal Shopper.” With a “mow ’em down” ability that would have put him on the Notre Dame team, Mr, McGillevry made the street without so much as brushing a Stetson. His dislike of women was growing. In the taxi to the station, he sought distraction via radio and successive clicks of the dial brought the voice of Helen Sherritt in her program of reading, “'I'he Best in Literature,” the news of the day commentary of Ruth Coak-ley, and the announcement by Mary Lou Morrison of the opening of a Mexican branch of her popular Cai>e Cod “Spanish Colony Resort.” THE ROSAVERIAN “Women!” thundered Mr. McGil-evry. The dial went to “o f f .” He glanced out the window and relis'hed for the moment the masculine granite of the National Bank until he realized that the small placard at the corner of one glass face read “Special women’s service de^xirtnient; Marion Ginecki, Manager.” It would be difficult to determine whether the “Humph” that Mr. Mc- (jillevry next grumbled was aimed at that placard or the several shops he was in rapid sequence ])assing: Rose Al)ernethy’s Business Investigations, Portrait Photography by I'heresa Ro-tundo, the Dolores Budnick Laboratory, Par ty Plans by Peggy Mangan or The Phyllis Lonergan Theater . . . And perhaps he was just remembering the phone call. Mind you, we would severely err to say that any ill will went towards his wife’s cousins. Rememlier the phone call hadn’t been about them. The Shadow? Oh, yes, it was still there. It did not help a certain gentleman’s temper as he reached the station and left the cab to l>e pushed rudely aside by a surging crowd from whose comments he deduced that Connie O’Brien had returned from California where she had l^een lecturing on “The Defense of Benjamin Franklin’s Contribution to the Professions,” that on the same train had arrived Eve Yerkovich, currently associated with the technical direction of the film “The Modern Florence Nightingale,’’ that Mary Renaud’s Newsreel service was recording for the annual publidiition March of Meuiories their arrivals as well as those of Regina Daley, professor of Latin at Notre I3ame of Saskatchewan, and of Beverly St. George in town after a record-breaking singing engagement at the Canadian resort. Lake Louise. In his ordinary spirit of honesty, Mr. McGillevry might have become angry at the crowd but today was the day of the phone call. Mr. Me (lillevry was {Continued on Taye 11, col. 1) . . . being a glimpse into our prophet’s crystal ball
Object Description
Title | Rosaverian, Vol. VIII, Issue 11 |
Date, Original | 1945-06-04 |
Type | Text |
Format, Original | Monograph: 16 pages, b&w, 12.5 x 9.5 in. |
Format, Digital | application/pdf |
Identifier | The-Rosaverian_1945-06-04 |
Source | Student Newspaper Collection |
Language | eng |
Rights | This digital file may be used for educational purposes only. Prior written permission is required for any other use. |
Description
Title | The-Rosaverian_1945-06-04_007 |
Transcript | by Anne Therese Coyle The Amazing Case of Mr. McGillevry Mr. McGillevry was not in a good humor. In fact any candidly honest observer would have said that Mr. McGillevry was “mad.” After fifty-seven years of happy and generally placid existence during which he had acquired I'^llen, his charming wife, three equally charming daughters, Mr. McGillevry had come to the conclusion that he hated women. Unfortunately, Mr. McGillevry had made that decision suddenly and had not yet had time to exclude those women that he didn’t hate. Six hours before, when he had entered his insurance office, Mr. McGillevry had l)een a match in pleasantness for any of the 135,986,472 people that the first edition of Helen Benson’s Studies ill Statistics had declared to be the current |K)pu'lation of the United S ta te s : but the first ten minutes in the office had served to hurl him into a mood of perturljed unhappiness that had readily waxed into anger. Me could yet recall the polite phrases of the i)hone call that had caused that change of mood. He heard the constant echo of the woman’s voice that had uttered a seemingly innojent re- (luest, but a request, however, which one in his position could not refuse, lie was haunted by the memory of his own voice weakly articulating that simple but fatal “Yes” with which he had replied. All through the day that “Yes,” like an ill omen, had shadowed his every action. * * * The phone had rung at the very moment at which he put his hand on the knob of the office door. Two mhi-utes later his secretary had presented him with several policies for immediate study. Anne Weber’s Dance Service, Themes and Decorations, Incorporated, were taking a policy on displays requested for the New Orleans Mardi Gras. To add to his trouble there was a new document for Margaret Murphy’s Museum of Western History to cover a recently accpiired set of ‘six-shooters” and an annotated list of “Cowboys of Today.” In addition, Mr. Mc(iillevry had to study a policy for Lord and Taylor which concerned their new department, directed by Audrey Kiefer, dedidated to exclusive models in nurses’ uniforms and caps. To increase his problems, he had to read one JUNE 4, 1945 for Norine O ’Bryan covering specific materials of National Importers, Limited, and to insert special clauses in a protection policy for the manuscript copy of Helen O ’Connell’s book, “History of Northern New York.” But, in the midst of all these problems, the shadow of that early phone call was darkening almost to a point of eclipse of Mr. McGillevry’s mind. "Women—” he muttered to his secretary, “Women! They drive a man crazy. Look at these cockeyed policies and they’re all for women— !’’ “Women,” at this point that word had the effect of a sword piercing his very brain for he recalled that his wife’s cousins were arriving from the West and that Ellen, at breakfast, had asked him to meet them. Mr. McGillevry was hastily on his way. Entering the elevator, he managed to hit the purses of eight of the feminine employees of Margaret Leonard’s Radio Advertising Agency, of A. T. Coyle Creations, of Decorations by Faith Coss and of Agnes Mullin, Commercial Photograi>her: all of whom were leaving work to attend the weekly publicity forum directed by Stephanie Lisowski of the Magazine Advertising Company. Mr. McGillevry’s sense of justice made him give an even score of two purses pushed out of place per concern. Upon exiting from the elevator, he managed to ram, in order, Betty Kilroy, photogra])her’s model; Marianne Ford, book reviewer of the Nciu York Observer', chemist-cosmetician, Charlotte Bell; Helen Hausmann, editor of Who's Who in American Kindergartens; and Eileen Stiglmeier, the popular “Personal Shopper.” With a “mow ’em down” ability that would have put him on the Notre Dame team, Mr, McGillevry made the street without so much as brushing a Stetson. His dislike of women was growing. In the taxi to the station, he sought distraction via radio and successive clicks of the dial brought the voice of Helen Sherritt in her program of reading, “'I'he Best in Literature,” the news of the day commentary of Ruth Coak-ley, and the announcement by Mary Lou Morrison of the opening of a Mexican branch of her popular Cai>e Cod “Spanish Colony Resort.” THE ROSAVERIAN “Women!” thundered Mr. McGil-evry. The dial went to “o f f .” He glanced out the window and relis'hed for the moment the masculine granite of the National Bank until he realized that the small placard at the corner of one glass face read “Special women’s service de^xirtnient; Marion Ginecki, Manager.” It would be difficult to determine whether the “Humph” that Mr. Mc- (jillevry next grumbled was aimed at that placard or the several shops he was in rapid sequence ])assing: Rose Al)ernethy’s Business Investigations, Portrait Photography by I'heresa Ro-tundo, the Dolores Budnick Laboratory, Par ty Plans by Peggy Mangan or The Phyllis Lonergan Theater . . . And perhaps he was just remembering the phone call. Mind you, we would severely err to say that any ill will went towards his wife’s cousins. Rememlier the phone call hadn’t been about them. The Shadow? Oh, yes, it was still there. It did not help a certain gentleman’s temper as he reached the station and left the cab to l>e pushed rudely aside by a surging crowd from whose comments he deduced that Connie O’Brien had returned from California where she had l^een lecturing on “The Defense of Benjamin Franklin’s Contribution to the Professions,” that on the same train had arrived Eve Yerkovich, currently associated with the technical direction of the film “The Modern Florence Nightingale,’’ that Mary Renaud’s Newsreel service was recording for the annual publidiition March of Meuiories their arrivals as well as those of Regina Daley, professor of Latin at Notre I3ame of Saskatchewan, and of Beverly St. George in town after a record-breaking singing engagement at the Canadian resort. Lake Louise. In his ordinary spirit of honesty, Mr. McGillevry might have become angry at the crowd but today was the day of the phone call. Mr. Me (lillevry was {Continued on Taye 11, col. 1) . . . being a glimpse into our prophet’s crystal ball |