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

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DISCOURSE ON GRAVITY By HOWARD BERNSTEIN, css Dear Diary, X 11 .,., . ERSONALLY I l'l3VC al- , QA' gi ways thought that the sup- gliyll ply of gravity that the 'V' jill. earth holds would some gf jg, day run short. Yesterday this tragic event occurred. About twelve o'clock noon people noticed that they were getting lighter and lighter. In three hours there was absolutely no gravity whatsoever. Walking down the street, I saw a car hurtling towards a man. Instinctively I shut my eyes. When I opened them, I saw the oddest sight I ever hope to see. The car had hit the man but since it had no weight it had not hurt him. But the car! It had used the man as a springboard and was hurtling towards the outer strato- sphere. Because it no longer had any weight it could not get hack to earth. The man in the car was doomed to go flying around the stratosphere till he died of old age. Everywhere I went I saw similar tragedies happening. It does not do any good to put lead in your pockets because lead is now no heavier than feathers used to be. The subways are full because the people think that is the only place where they are safe. I am now prac- tically the only person on earth who is above the surface. I saw a child throw a ball attached to a string into the air. When the ball came to the end of the string the child left the ground and went flying after it. It is getting pretty dark and I'll have to close this page. My keep- er says that if I don't go right to bed, he will put one of those uncomfortable jackets on me. Good night, dear Diary. MACHINE SHOP MONOLOGUE , , By JERRY GREENBERG, A43 AY, SAM, just look at those lathes! We'll have some I bet. And say, look at that big machine over there. I .H-H M wonder if we'll ever get to use thai. Those pulleys up there look complicated! Oh, well, I guess we'll learn all about this stuff sooner or later. Boy, I just can't wait 'til we start working those lathes! . . . How do you like that? Two weeks gone, and the motors haven't even been started yet! I'm sick of writing and draw- ing . . . Hey, fellows, didja hear what the teacher just said? We start work today! il q ' fun when we get started, I P I O Here are the assignments . . . Whoopee! I'm on the engine lathe. just let me at it! I-Im! Pretty complicated apparatus, if you ask me! Let's see. First, I gotta clamp on the lathe dog, then put the stock be- tween the centers . . . Oh, oh. It doesn't go. Hey, Mr. Blenderman, my work's too big for the lathe! Oh, I see. just move the tail stock back. Smart man, that Mr. Blenderman. There! All set up. Now to start the thing. I wonder which lever he said to use. That one doesn't work. This one didn't start it either. Ah, there it goes! That's funny. Nothing happened. 15

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W CHALLENGE ACCEPTED By HERBERT E. LOWE, ss, scribe 2 -jr VERY EVENING at Liber- 'r V ty Lake, to the strains of classical music, 'the colored 2-ll fire would supplement the A , . Q :QQ I lltl, . ',f1 . I A M U vt f orchestral arrangement and 1 2 I rifilill ri, I tual: spectators would sigh en- raptured. That was at the World's Fair and in 1940. The colored fire was combusting chemicals carried to their peak above the tumbling fountains by rockets. Rockets are containers which are propelled by the generation of gases of high pressure and these gases are in turn generated by combusting material . . . rocket fuel. Man grabs a box and cries, I have a rocket! How shall I send it soaring into the sky ? The doors of the laboratory fly open and fling a challenging invitation, I am the way. Come! Man enters and gropes. In time the delicate glistening tubes contain sulphur, charcoal, zinc dust, potassium nitrate or chlorate, and salts of barium and strontium, Why has he chosen these from the thousands of avail- able compounds? Come! Let's see. There, the sulphur bubbles and burns with a slow steady blue flame, He adds this to the potassium chlorate. A hammer descends! . . . the explosion leaves par- ticles of burning sulphur. Now, throw in the zinc dust, the charcoal. Good, we have the noise, the explosion, and also . . . a flash of flame. The strontium! The barium! And sodium! Don't hit it. Touch a match. Ah, Man has burned his 14 hand. That sudden flare! The roar! See? Smoke has billowed forth. Did he feel the air rush past? He did. He's reaching for the mortar. Water! Pestle! Nitrate, not chlorate-chlorate explodes! Zinc dust! Then the rest! I have it now. Watch, soon it will dry. Sun it! Dry it! Grind it! Wet it! Mould it! Now! The tube! The head! The stabilizer! Shaky hands! Flickering lights! Man is at the climax of his search. He mumbles, have a rocket. This fuel will make it 'fly. I light the match, the fuse. Point it up. This way, not that, for it will hit the house! Up, not down! The noise! The swish! Do you hear it? It's working. The gases pour out. The rocket rises. Up, high up! Fifty feet! One hundred feet! Two hundred feet! The secondary fuse is burn- ing. It has burned to the explosives' chamber. The rocket blows up and col- ored lights fly in all directions. Are there tears in Man's eyes? Does he rejoice in his creation? No, he is a brute. An un- feeling, senseless brute! And so, Man, as in his other fields, has groped his way through the darkness to his present height of knowledge. Many believe that in rocketry he has but reached his first step, that in the future better fuels will be discovered and instead of colored lights, the chamber will carry powders of war and destruction. Maybe. Later they will carry men-to the planets -to the stars. Man will once more enter the laboratory doors and accept the chal- lenge of the unknown.

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What's that, Sam? I forgot to put my tool bit in? Thanks. What's that you say? My automatic feed lever is in reverse? Whaddya mean? Watch, I'll show-. I guess you were right. Maybe I'd better get a new center. That one's no good any- more. ' At last! There it goes-not a bad cut, either, even if I do say so myself. How're you making out, Pete? What, you're fin- ished already? Here, let me measure it. Say, you're six thousandths off! Whaddya mean? My mike's just as good as yours. I paid sixty cents for it, it oughta be good. just take that job up to the teacher, and see what he says. Oh, he has marked MEMOIRS OF A LATHE it already. What did-Oh, 95? Pretty good job. I expect to get only about 90. There! The cut's finished. Now to stop the automatic feed. Hey! It doesn't stop! Cmere, Pete, quick! How do you shut it off? Say, you're turning the wrong knob! Oh. It stopped. Maybe you were right. Mr. Blenderman, will you work this, please? Yes, I know it's a little long, you see, I-What? Six thousandths undersize? But it's just right according to my micrometer! Look-! Er, did you say 65? Oh, you did. What, Sam? No, 65. Oh, well, we all can't get good marks, I guess. But I still think his micrometer is wrong! By HARRY BROWN, D51 MACHINE shop on the second floor of the Brook- Q A c lyn Technical High School X was my home for nine long H ' H I years. I belonged to a fam- - ily of twelve engine lathes. There I stood looking out over Fort Greene Park while class after class went by, each heaping abuses on me. At first I was happy. All this was new to me. The clamoring, the excitement, the rush and hubbub fascinated me. But after a few years the clamoring irritated me, the excitement unnerved me, and the tumult and chaos tired me so that I was exhausted when night came. During the day some of the definitely not-mechanically-inclined boys cursed me, flooded me with oil, threw my gears in while I was in motion, and strained my every bolt by forcing me to do impossible tasks. After a few years of this, I was worn out. I wished then that I could have been left to rest in the ground next to that little piece of copper. My gears were 16 half-stripped for the third time and I moved with a clank and a groan in every part of me, but there was no relief. Class after class came and went, each mistreat- ing me more than the last and still I looked over Fort Greene Park and longed for that bit of red-headed copper. Finally my plight was realized. I was taken out and sold for junk. Here I am now waiting my turn to be reborn. I had heard of this place from some of the older lathes in the room. They had told me that a great future awaited me here, that I would thrill to new experiences just as I had when I first arrived at Tech. What my future will be, I have no idea. Perhaps I shall be part of a battleship for the Navy, or a part of a bridge, or an automobile, or a dozen other different things. All I know is that it will be thrill- ing to find out. Here comes the crane,- I am up in the air-now over the fur- nace-the jaw is opening-down, down, down-the fire is rushing up towards me -I Wonder if I will ever see that piece of copper again-Goodbye.