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

Page 14 text:

FRANK BOYI-AN WILLIAM P. ZINGARO Administrative Assistant Administrative Assistant 2 ANTOINETTE L. I-IERRBIANN DOROTHY R. LEWIS Chairman, Honor School Chairman, Program Committee

Page 13 text:

TO THE MEN OF THE CLASS OF JANUARY 1959: You liave novv come not to tlne end but to tbe beginning of tlie road. Tbe time tbat you bave spent witb us bas been a period of preparation, and it is our fondest bope tbat it bas been a period of preparation for lite. Tbe tbings tbat you bave learned liere, you will not long remember. Tlie liabits tbat you bave acquired bere will probably survive tbrougbout your lifetime. It is, tlderelore, important to you and in no small degree to us tbat tbese babits be good ones. Yve bope tbat we bave taugbt you to stand upon your own two feet and to talce wbatever comes witb courage in your bearts and no wliining on your lips. Vxfe bope tbat we bave somebow trained you to see tlie trutb and to lcnovv its value. Above tlciings, We desire tbat you liave learned liere to sl'1un cbicanery and to despise it. XV e want you always to be intelligent, free souls, advocating and carrying on tbrougli successive stages of improvement tbe practical application ot tlie ideals ol American democracy. Xwe bope tliat you are leaving us reasonable beings, not men swayed by passion. VVe liope tbat you are a peace-loving group but ready to ligbt in tbe cause ot rigbteousness. Xwberever you may go and wbatever may fall to your bands to do, we of tbe faculty extend to you our best wislies. Xve bave faitb tbat in tbe struggle Wliicli confronts you, your clriaracters will grow. Xve believe tl'1at eventually you will 'find lwappiness.

Page 15 text:

AMG MY QU E IR Red and htack. It hes on the hed, stuffed high upon the sheit of a musty closet, hanging in gtory from the watt of a room, perched on the head of any senior through the years. it is only a hat you say. Qniy a hat. Forty-Five cents of corduroy with smau hiacic numerals 159 sewn on a red hacicgroundg yet this hat has woven ahout it an epic of spirit, pathos'-life. Through four Putt and hearty years you worked and laughed and felt hitter sorrow, Five hours a day. Day after day, stopiess hut for holidays and week- ends, you lived here and stamped an imprint that the years will never wipe away. it was yours. You saw the green grass, and the massive grey waits, and you heard the echoes in the hausg you grew into a part of every grass hiade, every piece of granite, and the wood and steel of this schooi pieced together and you knew them to he in your hones. You might have sneered ahout spirit as a thing that never existed. Qn top you did. A smooth show of maturity and maniinessg heiow this top layer, though, every last one of us feeis the tingle piercing our spines, when a dis- jointed strain of Alma hftater quivers through the air, and rous into the depths of the auditorium, across the far-Hung halts, or across the hrown turf of the foothau stadia. Vxfe stop as though shotg thousands of hoys feet the huge spirit, and are wrapped into it as one, moiding unspoken words in a throhhing union. The crumpled hat hes on the hed. Red and hiacic. It is ci living, eternal symhol of De Vviti Clinton.