East Technical High School - June Bug Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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C11 JUNE 10 “Down through the roses Comes sweet call of the mandolin Nightfall in Granada And the ring of the light guitar. Mr. Dougan down in the orchestra pit is working like a Trojan. Probably it is his last chance to make us work. We'll do anything you want, Roy, only hurry! Man alive, don't you remember how excited you were when you graduated? Do you want us to break down in the middle of the song? If sophomores may act sophisticated, it is the blessed privilege of the seniors to act as childish and excited as possible. Calmly ignoring the repeated requests of the teachers to remember that you are the example of the underclassmen, we dashed about like so many ducks out of water. But then—do you blame us? Every week a perfectly business-like senior meeting did more than anything else to tell us how little time we really had. Then the senior get together” party, which was attended a la hard luck. Jessie Miles and Arline Furgerson made a charming down east couple, Ethel Shipoce looked like the latest importation from the Bower)-, Chuckie Telling seemed like nothing but a hard working family man with the prospect of spring cleaning just around the corner. Then the one glorious week during which even sedate Frank Kowalski paraded the halls, making frantic gestures which might have shamed a member of Mr. Davis’s dramatic classes. Deadly enemies were shaking hands in the effort to display further their rings. The excitement over senior rings had hardly subsided before fevered discussions of orchids, taffetas, silver slippers, and other Senior Prom accessories took the stage. The sole contribution of the boys was, What do we eat?” Of the last crowded days only a hazy impression is left—memories of attending a corking class night play, of autographing our way through Senior Day, of dressing for Commencement—the rushed rehearsal, with Miss Edna Grant promising social excommunication to anyone chewing gum on the platform. Well, it is almost all over. President Bill Mcdesy is introducing the speaker from the Board of Education. A few words— in behalf of the Board of Education”— we do not hear the rest—that is our clue to rise for our diplomas—go easy there. Don’t push—it is not necessary to say “Thank you”—just look intelligent and smile when your diploma is handed to you—(Page Miss Grant). We have our diplomas—time for the march off the stage—no, no. it can't be so soon—Bill Medesy and Mildred Douda, don't lead the line off the platform just yet. You seem anxious to go. Don’t you realize that it is the end of School? Slowly, reluctantly, with eyes just a little blurred, we wind down the steps, slowly across the Aud, to where Miss Ryan and Miss Sampson stand by the door, smiling and understanding what a utterly lost feeling it is to know that by the time you go out the door you are not any longer just a youngster—but a grown-up person. A few crowded moments of farewell after the big show—promises to write— then out the arched doorway of East Tech—A graduate! Betty Biro.

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 L BUG t Bunched together in junior high groups, we spent our energies in admiring those big boys in khaki who helped straighten things. Mr. Bathrick had formerly promised us a good time in Tech if we were good little kids—Nice time? We really hadn’t been so good, but we wish now we hadn’t been so careless with our homework, that we had been more dignified with 'Bill” Fairgrieve, and hadn’t argued so fervently with Daddy Durstine. One consolation—we really had worked as freshmen; brought our homework in on time and everything; plugged away at our math and English, and worked our fingers to the bone at those technicals which are so grandly handed out by the office for the proper education of little underclassmen. To tell the horrible truth, we were too frightened to do otherwise. We made ourselves very scarce, although the sophs insisted we were more bother than we were worth. Funny things, sophs! They expect all little flats to make everlasting fools of themselves, and are disappointed when they don’t! Our sophomore year, however! It was great fun to lord it over the new flats, very good fun to be sophisticated and grown-up, even though musical auds and the inauguration of the Student Council president brought that queer babyish feeling to our throats as though we were going to cry—and goodness, a perfectly good thing like that is nothing to cry about! Under our carefully careless exterior, we were secretly in awe of the teachers. Miss Marcia Henry with her demand for a new alarm clock was a constant terror, while Mr. O. J. Peeling reigned as a frightening Ogre. In our senior year, we learned that O. J. is really a delightful individual, but at the time we were under his thumb, it was impossible to conceive of any math teacher ever qualifying as a good fellow . Daddy Durstine. alone, was unable to frighten us—Honestly, hasn’t that man the most catholic taste on earth? He likes seniors, he likes flats, he likes juniors, and even managed to like us rather snobbish sophomores. Oh well, Daddy knows it’s all in a lifetime—although he did tease us unmercifully when we became juniors. Being a junior, really, is the best part of school. Flats are too dumb, sophs too—too—too—well, honestly, can anyone think of a phrase to fit those lords of creation? Seniors are too busy stretching Uncle Sammy’s one hundred cents on the dollar, but oh the Juniors—! The fascinating prospect of clubs was the problem of the Juniors: The Scara-bean or the Palladium with its crown of intellectual supremacy—the Skaters with their pep, or, better still, the Gym Captains' clubs—! Unwittingly, we Juniors furnished one-half of the problem of clearing the halls promptly after school. At the beginning of the term, serious discussions of what course to take were the rule. The hard and set law of the office in regard to what all must take was forgotten—Most of us ran amuck and let the waters of program-making suck us under. (What an angel of deliverance is Mr. V. D. Hawkins!) And how we Juniors could cut study halls! Miss Parmcnter must have had the patience of Job and that of a flapper waiting for a Saturday night call. There we go—mooning again! It is time to be getting ready for the class song. Push back our chairs without making any noise—(Wonder, is Miss Sampson holding her breath for fear we will crash the gates to doom with a cane-bottomed chair?) Aaah! We’re up. Nel” Mitchell must have had a terrible time: He is blessed with an abundance of leg-length. Thought so— Nel is wiping his face—poor kid! Commencement is the one time when Dad and Mother are forced to sit through a vocal offering of their offsprings and look as though they enjoy it. Oh sweet revenge. Q 09271 E Twelt

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WILLIAM A. MKDKSY 11 »• IS Sinkn Ave. JI• me K««'in Stvrcl.-iiy Banquet Chairman AKKit'. I u ami Secretary Varsity Track It O.T.r. First l,i tin-t :nii Gym Captain February |.i« l r« id«-nl Pivitlkdl Second Kail End Wi-tguma. I’u-Milent and Sitnlwy Ea t End lli-V, President ami Secretary MILDRED MAY DOUDA 15511 Kust Boulevard Dramatic —Class Night Play Aggie February Class Secietary Palladium Nominating Committee Officers' Club Honor Banquet Com. R.O.T.C. Sponsor Friendship President ( rflepc Course, Gym. BERT ABRAHAMS 98n2 Piupont Ave. Scarab Staff «rlirulture PETER L. AMICO 2820 E. 60 St. Home Room President Student Council East End Hi-Y Basketball Gym Captains Football Nominating Committee College Course. ANTHONY AKTNF.K 12109 Woodland Ave. Big Four Secretary Broadway Hi-Y Football Machine Shot. HERBERT H. AVW 3241 E. 137 St. Home Home Club (Tridents) Pres. Freeman Wrecker Dramatics Home Room Secretary R.O.T.C. 1st Lieut. Electrical Construction. JOHN BABER i 1402 Parkview Rd. Freeman Wrecker Student Council Gym Captains President Football East End Hi-Y . Basketball Home Room President Electrical Construction. ANNA C. BANKO 3320 Daleford Rd. Friendship Student Council East Tech Typists President Home Room President Memorial Committee Stenography tZ JUNE |j|- BUS t JOHN BENIS 2970 E. 79 St. R.O.T.C. Officer Alcbemia Chemistry. SOL BERGSTEIN 3252 E. 135 St. Printer's Club Big Four Scarab Printing. Cl H9271 ,-D Fourteen