DeWitt Clinton High School - Clintonian Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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Senior Class Council JOSEPH H. TEPERMAN . .,.........,.............. President DAVID GLASSER ..... DEAN EDMUND NV. FOOTE, . . CHAIRMEN, SENIOR C JEROME WEISS .A.. MORRIS LEVINE ,... MORTIMER J. PROPP. ..........Seci'etary . . .Faculty Adviser OMMITTEES . . . . . .Dance Committee . . . .Memorial Committee . . . ...A..... Hat Committee J OSEPH CARDILLO, JR ..... ..,. C lass Night Committee ABRAHAM S. J AEEE. LEONARD HOFFBIAN, ROBERT KENNELLY. . J ACK BLUME ,...... JOHN SCHWEIGER. . . . . . .Publicity Committee .i.,..,...Senioi' Band . . . ...,.. Dimiefr Committee . . .Senior WVeek Committee , . ...... Athletic Committee sl -.452 -lit fill-I ': -f fi!-f ': - 'iii-f fix-f fx -gi -41'2'N CCLINTONIAN R319

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IX Teachers are discomforted and aroused by ungodly and non-conforming stu- dents who wish to bend ideas, art, and society until they break or snap back. The student body itself is as conservative as the N. Y. Times. X Such forces as these, although they tend to embitter the artistic mind, are not to be criticised for their existence in a high school, since they flourish so heartily throughout the civilized world. They may even be a good thing for us, for we young iconoclasts, with blood and gall and salt burning within our spindly frames, expect and demand a good measure of oratorical castigation from the faculty. Already we are developing rheumatism and incredibly bad stomachs, now, if ever, we must exhibit the ist's impact that will justify our intellectual existence. Hence, the value of opposition to us. XI Of the four teachers to whose conversation I can listen longest without fContinued on page 951 'lllcom the Qllass of June, 119330 ZIFAREVVELL! For some of us the word is symbolic of wild relief after four years of sometimes useless and standardized drudgery and of sometimes brilliant and inspiring contacts. For all of us, however, it means fare thee well --a prayer of happy wayfaring for those of us who go and those of us who stay. To the many who in all sincerity feel the imminent breaking of close ties, remember we all stand at the frontier of a strange land when the old must give way to the new, when accustomed ways depart and strange ways come to replace them, when even our old selves will be discarded for new selves, young, and yet a bit older and possibly wiser. Very soon we shallihave forgotten much of what was supposedly important to us as members of a high school. But there are things deeper, clearer, sharper, which all of us will long remember. They may be the gaiety of the Prom, experiences with the Dotey Squad, the fun in the lunchroom, the wit of certain instructors, a senior7s pessimism, friendship gained and kept. Insofar as these thoughts and feelings have become interwoven with the fabric of our lives, that far has Clinton entered into and become a part of us, a working force for a fuller, deeper, richer future. Then does not farewell become rather hail and farewell-farewell to the past, hail to the future! J osEPH TEPERMAN, Senior President. ,452.f1s,.4yf1sffQi..f:ixs.f:i.,f:Qi.fiixyfiwl-aw's.1Qs.awrs lglgem- Th6CLINTONIAN

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The Senior Celebs QN hot summer days like this, they come dashing down the pathway, peeling off their overalls and sneakers as they run forward to the comfort of the old swimming hole. The afternoon is heavy, the bees lie sleepily on the bosoms of motionless flowers, and here our senior celebrities dangle their toes in the soothing water, grab for fleeting bullfrogs, and playfully drown each other. Then suddenly the foreign tread of your gloomy reporters freights the sullen breeze. Twenty hard heads disappear modestly under the waters of the creek. But who is this twenty-first, this swarthy youth with a moustache like a pencil stroke gone wrong, this valiant shepherd who rushes manfully to protect the gang's clothing? Ah! It is Joe Teperman, class president and most popular senior, the first defender of the holy Triangle Party. Joe snaps his suspenders, shifts his hickory gum to the starboard side of his jaw, and whistles twice over his shoulder. Your reporters peer around anxiously. - A head pops out of the liquid fastness of the swimming hole: Jerry Rumaner, henchman of the president and vice-president in his own right. Jerry dashes to the nearest spruce tree, pulls his clothes from a limb, and fumbles ener- getically in his breeches pocket. Your reporters look longingly at the path behind. Has he a gun, or- There! lt's an Ingersoll watch! Well, pipes Jerry, you weren't supposed to' be here any particular time, but I guess you're late. And thus Jerry proves-as who shouldn't on Squad B?-that the best kind of pop is Pop Freynick. The ear-splitting clatter of Jerry's ticking watch has aroused from the bottom of the friendly creek a dazzling golden vision which proves to be Omcer Dave Glasser's only dome, But the face of one of your reporters is too familiar to Dave, who invented that agonizing tale, De Wit of Clinton, and he soon falls back into the old swimming hole. NVary and well-trained though their eyes may be, your reporters cannot make out the features of a swift-stepping figure that blazes past them in nude glory toward the propriety of a great oak tree. But then a familiar face peers from behind two and a half acorns: Morty'Silverman, captain of the relay team that won the championship of the United States. Morty is about to explain his great success in terms of heredity Chis uncle always had runs in his stockingsj when Administrator Vincent O'Connor steps to the allegorical bar, officiating in this sylvan glade as class rabbi, chief drummer in the orchestra and band, and drummer-up of G. O. trade. And now they hop from the creek in bunches. VVait1 Three handsome athletes drip water onto the notes of the reporters: Jerry Weiss, the organizer, Lloyd Hirschhorn, varsity fullback, and Fred Holz, who Holz his own on ,.1f.y1s.4yLse.41,f1vfa-efflifeilfimfiifei-.nws.nws,41y-s ZOEEQ- TheCL1N'roN1AN