Brooklyn Technical High School - Blueprint Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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Q. E. D. Tech’s fourth anniversary has come. For the eighth time her portals will open and a new class of young men will go forth to take up their chosen work. They will be scattered abroad; some will continue at college while others will gain their experience at work. Possibly some will find their way to foreign lands. But wherever they go, the members of the Class of June, 1926, will carry with them memories and traditions of Brooklyn Technical High School. In our short existence we have established an enviable athletic and scholastic record. Graduates of former classes are out in the world making fine progress at university and work. Fair play has become a synonym for Tech teams ; win or lose, they are there to fight hard and fair. A Tech man is loyal, honest and progres¬ sive. Numerous letters have come to Mr. Colston commending him on the fine type of young men of this school who obtain posi¬ tions after graduation. In one particular instance, a business man wrote in saying that if there were any more students in Tech of the type already employed by him, he would employ the entire graduating class. Such is the position held by Tech men in the minds of others. In geometry we have a symbol, Q. E. D., which means “that which was to be proved.’’ It is used at the close of a problem to denote the desired result has been worked out. Since in geometry we are given certain material to work with and a definite conclu¬ sion to arrive at, we can take any theorem and use it, as an illus¬ tration of our school careers. When we enter high school we are given several things, the oppor¬ tunity to succeed, the eight years of elementary training, and the will to work. The desired conclu¬ sion is a graduate who is a credit to the school and all those con¬ nected with him. It is the desire of the Principal to be able to stamp Q. E. D. next to the name of every Tech graduate, that is, to be able to vouch for the ability, loyalty and honesty of every member of this and succeeding classes. For you, old classmates, tried and true, Your days together now are through; But if out in the world we meet, I say, old pals, let’s always greet. Without Exaggeration Behold these future engineers, The builders of the nation! Result of careful grooming, they. No rash precipitation. They’ll tackle any task you say— No slightest hesitation— And cause, to many a female heart. Much anxious palpitation. Not finished, they, but just begun Their lengthy education. The years ahead will call for much Of careful concentration. But who would steal their joy in this Successful culmination? And who withh Id from them their due, Sincere congratulation ? June ’26 here’s luck to you Upon your graduation! —Hal. 20

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®I?i Egtj tit tfje Btyll It has been said by the Highest of Authority that greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friend. But after what The Egg did in the Poughkeepsie race the time I rowed for old Sumner, I’ll match him against any fellow who mere¬ ly dies to help a pal. The Egg was rowing at number six position, and you may remem¬ ber that we changed strokes three times during training. We had two coaches, started with an Eng¬ lish stroke, changed to a short chop stroke, ancT finally finished with a fast stroke. During train¬ ing we rowed four miles a day. Barney we called {him Barnev because his right name was Ber¬ nard Wattfield—was a great oarsman, one of the best sports¬ men that ever rowed for our col¬ lege. Pie had set his heart on win¬ ning the race. We didn’t know at the time just why, but we learned later, just in time for The Egg to save him. Everything that could happen to a crew happened to us that spring. Barney had been work¬ ing us like slaves all winter at the machines. For football men it may be all right to stand the pounding and the smashing of the scrimmage; they have the sat¬ isfaction at least of relieving their feelings by smashing the other fellow and there are usually on¬ lookers around to appreciate -By Basil Crocillo them. But the crew man just sits there on an incline, pulling his heart out against the springs, hour after hour, until his back and arms and legs ache, and his head swims, seeing only the back of another sufferer in front of him and a couple of coaches walking up and down the floor bawling him out and telling him how rot¬ ten he is. Four months of that, a month or more of drudgery after the shell gets into the river, and if lucky, a couple of minutes of tri¬ umph at the end of twenty-odd minutes of pulling his heart out by the roots! And even when he wins he is too far gone to know ' whether the cheers and the whis¬ tles and the waving flags are for his crew or for the other fellows. Well, that spring Barney had worked harder than anyone else. He was a big, good looking fel¬ low, with a splendid pair of shoulders. Rather serious-minded fellow-, too, trying to win high merits during his college career and stroke a crew at the same time. He had one purpose, too, as he proved by falling in love with Pauline Ainross in his sopho¬ more year and never changing. Pauline was known as the pret¬ tiest and the most popular girl among the co-eds. She always had the big parts in the play and half the fellows in school were (Continued on page S3) 19

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fonm of ti|F Pithltr —By Charles G. Slater FOREWORD Most people who are acquainted with the Spanish bull-fight also have an idea that a toreador’s life is one of sunshine and glory. Those people judge by the ac¬ counts of the tremendous ovations tendered a toreador by the fren¬ zied audience in appreciation of a thrilling performance. But oft- times the gay jacket of an out¬ wardly cool torero enfolds a heart burdened with fatal sorrow. Fatal sorrow is the word that must be used, for few sons of blood and sand who enter a ring depressed live through the com¬ bat. “Buenas noches, querida mia. Tomorrow’s success will bring the golden opportunity—the privilege to fight in the Corrida at Seville, and then—.” These words Miguel whispered to Conchita and then, gently releasing her from his em¬ brace, he departed through the dark winding streets of Cordoba to his home. Rounding a sharp turn, the young matador, for such his conversation proclaimed him to be, bumped into a disheveled- looking mass. Without waiting for an explanation on Miguel’s part, the mass broke out in a tor¬ rent of abuse. “Que tel lleve el diablo (May the devil take you) ! You blundering idiot! A few less hours of this carousing might send you home in a condition that would not be dangerous to an old man like me. Who are you ?” “Why—Pablo do you not rec¬ ognize your friend Miguel Pera- da?” “Santa Maria, Senor Perada, forgive an old man for his weak¬ ness. This job as sereno (night watchman) has dulled my senses. It was I who was to blame for the collision.” “No, no, Pablo, I fancy I was too engrossed in my thoughts to avoid running into you.” “Well, let us forget it. But tell me, Senor Perada, what brings you abroad at this hour? Surely a matador should retire early on the night before a fight. For is not tomorrow the dia de toros, the day of the bull-fight?” “It is as you say, Pablo, but I had much happy news to impart to Senorita Conchita.” Here the old man sighed as if in recollection of his own youth. “Dame Fortune has smiled on me,” continued Mig¬ uel. “Yesterday, Don Estranza, the presidente of the Cordoba cor¬ rida, came to me with the mes¬ sage that Reveri, the great mata¬ dor, is touring the country incog¬ nito to find a torero worthy of performing with him. Reveri will be here tomorrow, Pablo, and Don Estranza as much as said that I was sure to be chosen. Dios! but I have prayed for the opportun¬ ity to fight in Seville. But, amigo, (Continued on page 62 ) 21