William Howard Taft High School - Senior Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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THE TAET SENRTR-RURETSHED BY THE SENRJR CLASS OF JUNE 1948, XVILLIABI HOWARD TAFT mcu SCHOOL, 170 STREET AND lX1ORRIS AVENUE, BRONX, N. Y. ROBERT R. BRODIE, PR1NC1PAL.

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IS DEVOTED TO THE TESTING OF PERSONALITY AND INIENTAL BE' TEST E RORSCHACII TH IXIANUFACTURED OF PIECE A IS ATERIAL NI REQUIRED . THE TS Y PS YCHIATRIS RB IIAVIO PULP, AND A LEAKY PEN THAT BLOTS IN A SCIENTIFIC IXIANNER. BLOTTED INK SPOTS CRE' D IXIIND. TE YXIEN DE 'S ENIOR AS N S I VIVID IIXIACE TE A XPLORI G T

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THE SENIOR COMPLEX AND ITS DEVELOPMENT INTO THE GRADUATION STAGE Developing a senior complex is an extraordinarily simple process. One day a student is one of the ordinary mediocre brand of book carriers and note studiers, but the next day hats and buttons arrive from some place down in the cellar where the senior room is, and he becomes one of the elite, a special personage to be looked on with awe, with respect. Little first termers go out of their way to insult him in the halls, teachers tell him Iaughingly as they scribble red spherical zeros on the Delaney cards, that they fail more seniors than any other kind of students. In a short time the complex has grown to such tremendous pro- portions that the seniors sit with seniors only, and break bread only with the other initiated in the cafeteria. But, lest they become cynical and feel that being a senior is a stage in which they must seem dignified, while the rest of the school continues to laugh at and make fun of them. they are awakened out of this amorphous stage. and thrown headlong into the road to a diploma, namely the center aisle in the assembly hall. At this point, the thoughts in a seniors head begin to get jumbled, and closely resembles the incoherent thinking of a five year old. or as it is known in literary-circles, stream of con- sciousness. Gotta, better, need to, run, run, run, Hy, like a pigeon, to school. Better stop, better think, noI, better not think, its bad for you, gives me indigestion of the brain, last time I thought it hurt me. I bet I wore out a good pair of soles, and I been singing so much my throat hurts, wish I could whistle, instead of singin', I whistle better, Hal that would be bunny whistling at an' assembly instead a singinf bet the teachers wouldnt like it though, no, Id better not, look at that door, same door, big door, cold door, even in the summer its a cold door, been open- ing and shutting every day of the term for so many terms. This is the last term, soon I won't have to open the door any more, bet Ill feel funny gettin' up every day and thinkin' I don't have to get up and go open the big door at Taft. Thatll be funny all right. Im senior now, got ll hat and button to prove it, gee, its nice to be a senior: boy, I wish the guys I used to know in public school could see mc now, singing and walking up the aisle like a real adult-almost. Better run to my class, don't want to be late, gotta keep on the ball, just a few more weeks, then Im through, Hooray! And this keeps up until graduation day. ISIDORE COHEN