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

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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

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the track team. Although Lloyd's football and baseball efforts were very Lloyd- able indeed, Fred was elected the handsomest senior. Jerry Weiss loves noodles with tomato sauce, but that is too lengthy a matter to go into here. Hold back there, gents, or Iill toss one of Senator Borah's rubbers over your heads! Now, then, who 's monopolizing the moss at the'side of this here creek? Ain't there no game laws, or is this Blue Sunday? Make way for the willowy 'dgure of George Kerwin as he treads from stone to stone and at last gains the right bank of the swimming hole at QLMQZQ. Gorgeous the editor of the News and leader of Arista. Can this be Joe Adamo who 's been displacing so much water, what with his muscles and all? Indeed! As captain of the boxing team, Adamo has become especially interested in bird-life, particularly flying fists. Donit blame it on Joe, but the heat is unbearable in these dang woods. Oh, for a cooling drink! Thirsty? Just Gristle. Murray Gristle, captain of the Dotey Squad, has caught many a communist Red-handed. How the ,lads giggle when Patrolman Gristle begs to be called Major, just because he likes the name. Ask him what we mean. When he explained it, we didn't get it either. Plop, crash, splash. What was that noise in the swimming hole just now? Who fell in? Donlt budge, Ptolemy, it was only Morris Toporovsky dropping his monicker overboard: he uses it for bait. Despite the last syllable, he's going to Fordham. How could anyone who pronounces that name all day be voted the laziest senior? No offense, Morris, and not in de head. From oak to spruce and back again resound a pretty jumble of honeyed words. From what Delphic cave do they issue? Try again, Cleopatra, you didn't ring the bell that time! It's only Julius Weidman, orator for Douglas Fairbanks and the New York Times. With ready ear for J ulian's words, Joseph Cardillo poses by the springboard. Joe belongs to so many squads he must believe in squatter sovereignty. As for henchman Zissu, who holds the towel for the two swimming stars of the gang, he's only the fellow who managed Senior VVeek. His claim to fame is that he managed to keep Johnny Schweiger and Chet Cummings out of the water for five whole days. And what a mighty splash they make! Chet, varsity swimmer for three years, is one of the Cumming swimmers of the world. As for Johnny, besides managing the swimmers, he sports a real middle-name. lltfs only Henry, but we 'll fordgive him. On the log by the swimming hole, they're tolling a cow-bell for Robert Kennelly, intimately labeled Nelly Nelly manages the ,track team and captains the General Office Squad. Cn the latter job, he's made many a record, heh, heh! Put down that shovel, Harold, and come over and say howdy to Mrs. McGovern. Harold Posner has been over there digging under the log for -Ax -mi ---Avis FN, ,,--, F-, , F-, fn-- ,,, 22f?f-0-- The CLINTONIAN