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

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'Say, you can't go through that door! Oh, I'm sorry-I didn't recognize you. VS-'hat do you know! A senior . . . already? My, my, how time does fly! You look up at the mighty walls of the yellow-brick building. It's been ages since those first few days . . . Gee, an auditorium bigger than the neighborhood movie. You wrestled with the problems and were sure you got at least six wrong, but you passed-you were going to Brooklyn Tech. Can I have your autograph? Mr. Pabst welcomed the class of june '5l. You added quickly-1947 plus four, he's right, 1951. You can do it! You walked through the halls, peeping through the windows into the shops and walking about in circles trying to find the room. North, South . . . it wasn't so, hard after you learned to use a compass. lt's all coming back to you now, isn't it? asked the building. 4'You got writer's cramp from filling out the envelopes, book cards, and that horror of horrors, the delaney card, upon which life histories were crammed in a hieroglyphic code. Civics, hygiene, foundry, I.P., the Survey, Horizons. football, basketball, track . . . all flash before your eyes, bringing with them all sorts of memories. There was the indoctrination to the lunchroom, the scramble for the lunch line, the drawing boards with the million holes and gashes, and the clubs, and the squads, and . . .there was lEl9f' Still the building continued. The lunchroom was theoretically soundproofed, the gymnasium floor was scraped and polished, then repolished, and the rooms were painted. Remember, classes in the auditorium for a week! And the assemblies- the VVorld Series, a tiny bulb that lit up the entire auditorium, and the elections C are they promising that againj-were just a few of the many. Presto! You became a Senior in the building near the park. You were at the top of the heap, lord in a castle of six thousand, worshipped by freshmen and envied by juniors. At home you wrote letters . . . some to universities, others to future employers. There were a million notices to be read, you tried to figure out a system for the State Scholarship exam, and every once in a while you were called down to the Group Adviser's. You were amazed to see how much the teachers understood and tried to help. The center-west doors were yours now, too. You paid your dues, bought your ring, took your graduation pictures, complained, and anticipated that approaching day. They C0lllCll'l,t stop you in gym now, your medical and dental were in, you passed all your subjects . . . the time was ripe, it was the end of june! Then you leave Brooklyn Tech with that last backward glance. The stairwell calls, You're taking a lot of memories with you. And the slamming door resounds to, Good luck, come back and visit us sometimes. CUQCQ lg

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