Columbia High School - Mirror Yearbook (Maplewood, NJ)

Page 12 text:

Wirror Editors — JUi uiSor3 FRANCESCA A. PALMINTERI Editorial Advisor THOMAS WEISMAN Editor-in-Chief EDWIN FAUST Business Advisor Page 8 MARY E. DERIEG Assistant Editorial Advisor AUDREY SCHOTTENFELD Associate Editor MARVIN ISRAELOW Business Manager

Page 14 text:

1965 1962-63 The year of awe. O Columbia, thou shalt teach us, finally were in high school, Hail Sopho- mores” and the frantic search begins: the new wing, yes, you’re in it, a swimming pool, yea! ugh! and told from the beginning that we’re the class of ’65. The cougar roars and the football team is good, very good, top in the state, only to bow to Montclair after being demoralized by the Cuban missile crisis. The cougar bloody, but unbowed; and basketball even brings a crack in the solid wall of school policy, and now the new cry, Let’s go, Cougars.” The year of biology. Scrounging through mountains of earth worms living or dead, the deep freeze of the winter, books, books, winter softens and the Hub brings his new administration wheel- ing in on a jeep. John Ciardi comes to Columbia and with him Spring, the bright green salvation of weary students. Columbia ceases to hang bulkily about us now, it fits, and we fit, and the near- ing summer gives tell-tale signs of the year’s end. End it does, seniors outward, juniors onward, and we sophomores, up one rung, vacating the bottom of the ladder. 1963-64 The year of planning. Juniors, juniors, ecstasy and PSAT’s, a fresh new outlook, looking down as well as up, spirit boils, and The Crucible explodes, a Junior Play with meaning and impact. The Junior Class wears black, Mr. Woudenberg tells his story about rabbits, and the day ends in dis- belief and agony. JFK snatched from our sight and placed on an eternal pedestal so near and yet so far. The painful murmur of drums, John-John salutes, and we the class of ’65 move forward, knowing only too well that something irrevocable has been left behind. The year of the license. Jim Beatty runs and speaks, college time stalks slowly around us, and the Joff ends the second winter with Let them come to Columbia.” And come they do: SAT’s, Achievements, Merits, and college interviewers. A message from the Peace Corps and from New Jersey’s Senators. The beginnings of the Presidential campaign and the Republican primaries in New Hampshire and California. Barry’ll never make it. Our two days of Spring vacation given back and added on to the end of the year. The warmth of summer and another graduation, close, but still not ours. 1964-65 The year of anxiety. It’s our turn, and we don’t seem so big or so terribly wonderful. The year starts with a suntan, but is soon paled by the humiliating realization that IBM efficiency has given each of us a number. Almost the year of numbers, 00035, 310-750, and for some, even Avogadro’s number. Seniors now, the reward for spending two years down under: yearbook pictures, college applications, interviews, Boards again and again. Hectic days, but still the routine of tempered normalcy: a good football team, and the Student Talent Assembly reveals to us what we have in our own school. Election tempo catches us up in its fury, (we’ll vote next election), cries of immor- ality and who is William E. Miller? The half-year. January and it’s over except for minor details: classes and exams. Rest, relax. April, yag, and our residences for the next few years are decided. May, June, and swirls of memory. The year of reflection. O Columbia, hast thou taught us? We and no one can judge, not now, but later, next year, the year after. All of us on different roads, all the roads endless, but all starting at Columbia. Can we do it, can we be what is expected and more? The three years swarm before us in a frenzy of melancholy and bliss, the class, the game, the bell, a teacher’s face, peering from the onrushing waters of memory. Here then the pride, the joy, the distinction, and the firmest knowledge: If we can’t do it, nobody can. Page 10