East High School - Orient Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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A man, gazing intently at a note book, and nibbling a roll, passed me. 'Two men who stood near, smiled. “That’s McKown,” nodded one, “America’s greatest mathematician. Why, man, be can trisect an angle,—but he never takes time to eat.” “Much I care,” retorted the other, whom 1 recognized as Walter Schiebcl. “You undertakers, Edmund Fay lor, will have me in a week. What can a man who’s running for governor do against a fellow like A1 Perry! No woman voter can resist that smile. And this is suffrage!” “Are you a Jenningsite?” queried a voice in my ear. I turned to face OJivc Carman, armed with a package of pink tickets. “Come to the meeting tonight, my friend, and he converted,” she said handing me a ticket. Resolving to visit East High School. I took a car. There I found Eunice Perry, who told me that she was principal of Number Twenty-Three school, where children of several of our schoolmates attended. To further inquiries, she replied that Irma Gibb’s son was just starting in Miss Silvcrstein’s grade, and that the little daughters of those whom I had known as Ollic Killip and Joanna Zielke were in Miss Newcrt’s kindergarten. On entering dear East High once more. I found John Ballard at home in the character of janitor, Letah Blizard and Caroline Foster presiding in the girls’ gymnasium, and Frank Stewart in the boys’. Dorothy Dockstader was piloting an English class through Burke, and Edna Killip was teaching chemistry. I attended assembly and heard Mary Kellogg, a noted member of the Tuesday Musicalc, sing. 1 listened patiently to the speech by Edward Clement, the American ambassador to Japan, till he began “and that reminds me of a little joke about an Irishman,” and then I slipped away. “On the left, you see East High School,” roared a voice, and the sight- seeing auto under the guidance of Harold Mills rolled past. Just outside, I met Frieda Epstein who was running the East High lunch room, assisted by Mattie Gunther, in co-operation with Florence Hartman and Esther Cohen at West High. To my surprise, Frieda told me that Alan Brown was conducting a dancing school and Mary Conley was his pianist. “And do you know that Rutli Thommsen is a gown model in New York s greatest fashion house?” she asked. “Georgia Plummer is head designer there.” “Have you heard anything of my old friend. Ruth Lush? ' I questioned. “Ruth Lush,” she replied, “has just married an eccentric rich man. She is noted for her interest in Free Soup for the poor.” Here, I descried a familiar form approaching. “Why Katherine Becbee!” I cried. “Not Beebec any more.” she reminded me, as we greeted each other. “Come with me to our Political Club luncheon at calc’s, won’t you?” she asked. “No, not Teal's—Veale's. I have a paper on ‘The Franchise.’ We arc all crazy about politics.” At Veale’s 1 found a very select crowd, including Rochester's social leaders, Helen Burrell and Mona Quine, and I heard instructive papers by Helen Owen and Vera Van Arsdale. At the end of the political discussion, 1 discovered that all were happily married. Mrs. Becker had news from Clara Hopkins, who. with her husband, was seeing France, personally conducted by Charles Hawks. Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Gleichauf, Mr. and Mrs. Vincent, Virginia Rice and her husband, and Marjorie David and her husband, were members of the party. Raymond Gleichauf was running Rochester’s largest grocery, in his brother Ralph’s absence. Sara Rosenfcld, President of the club, showed us a picture she had just received, of the wealthy Marjorie Cohn, who was in New York. The photo- graph was marked, “The Cottrell Studio.” When the meeting was over. I decided to visit Adelia Venor, who, I heard, lived near. On my way I saw the young contractor, Charles Aufdcrhar, entering Wronker’s Barber Shop, and I stopped in at DeVita Bondi’s fine fruit store. Isabelle Levy, the cashier, told me that Charles Mondo, Charles Maggio, and Christopher Celano were getting rich from the joint ownership of a Virginia Reel at Charlotte, where Maurice Wiesner owned the hotel. 15

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Class; $ropfjecp IT was while my brother and I were in Egypt, in the year 1930. My brother was making an extensive study of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid. He wished to get photographs from every angle, and to that end we had pitched our tent at the foot of the Sphinx. On this particular night, Henry had taken a moonlight photograph of the Sphinx, and had promptly gone to sleep in the tent. But I lay awake, looking at the great riddle of the ages looming up in the moonlight; and there in the quiet of the desert a feeling of loneliness swept over me, for I had been abroad five years. I began to think of home and of the class of June, 1912. And looking into the impenetrable face of the Sphinx, I sighed, “How I wish I could see all the class now! ' Then something happened. Perhaps it was the flicker of a moonbeam, but I could have sworn that one of those stone eyes winked. Looking down, noticed, for the first time, a tiny door in the front of the Sphinx. At first, I was frightened, and thought to waken Henry. Then I decided to be worthy of June, 12, and to explore for myself, for the moonlight was almost as bright as day. To my surprise the door yielded to my touch. A musty odor greeted me. Within was a small room. Along one side were ancient Egyptian chests, while on the other, were heaps of age-old oriental fabrics. Overcome by the heavy, penetrating odor, I sank down, still thinking of our class of June, 1912. “A wish, a wish, for a dream of friends Granteth the Lord of the Nile, For the mystic maze to thy wond’ring gaze, Opes at the Sphinx’s smile.” A thousand soft voices seemed to be chanting, and I closed my eyes. I awoke with a start, and found myself sitting in a drug store, looking across the street at a shop which bore the sign, Kammon, Cohn Greenberg, Clothiers. “What shall it bc?“ said a voice. “The Wisner store carries every dessert.” An 1 looked up, Edwin Claudius and I recognized each other. “Welcome to Rochester!” he cried. Suddenly there was the clatter of hoofs and a shout. I ran out and almost knocked down a stout gentleman who was rushing by. “M daughter!” cried Stuart Colvin, for it was he. Elmer Pammenter, the hero of the hour, stood holding the runaway horse, while a small girl stood unhurt by the carriage. “1 just stopped at Crump’s to get a cigar.” Colvin was saying to the crowd which had quickly collected. “Here’s the doctor!” shouted the mob and parted to let Harry Burrell through. I lu nurse is coming! was the next cry, and Catherine Combs appeared. She isn t hurt at all, ’ said Stuart, and drove quickly away. As soon as the crowd had dispersed, I wandered into Hawkins Adams’, Rochester’s largest department store. The floor walker, I found to be Sidney Lightstonc. He had just told me that P arl Hodges and Warner Martin were successful architects, when a familiar voice hailed me. There stood Mabel Hewlett. In my short chat, I learned that she and Plora Hockenbergcr were happily married and living on adjoining farms. She had come in to have a suit fitted by Kurtz, the noted tailor, and to have I)r. Ross, the dentist, attend to her teeth. My surprise at seeing so many friends had not died down as I went out into the autumn air. 14

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As I proceeded, I perceived the familiar figure of George Augustus Haskins swinging quickly into a building. Over the entrance I read, Matrimonial Agency.” “Has Gus come to this?” I sighed. As I passed by, Anna Newman at the door gave me a card. My hands were limp with astonishment, as I saw thereon the face of my old friend Ethel West, and read, “I GUARANTEE TO FIND YOUR AFFINITY, Chaperonage, Encouragement, Poems to Order.” When I reached Adelias I was shown in, and told that she was out in the new auto her husband had bought from the Garson Lo. While awaiting her, I picked up the World's Work, and found Abe Gins- burg’s picture among the rich men of Wall Street, and also the life of Sadie H. Rose, the great worker among the poor, by Cornelia Evans, the noted novelist. Adelia had returned, and we had just greeted each other, when Lela Brown and Winifred Rauschenbusch, who were electioneering, were shown in. They had no sooner gone, than the bell rang again. This time it was Harold MacCallum as an agent of Goo-inc, a new breakfast food. On the sample package we found that Ward Gerber was inventor and manufacturer. At Last we began to talk, and Adelia told me that Valma Clark was the founder of a girls’ seminary, on the Hudson. Grace Worthington was principal there, and Myrtle Bittner was teacher of mathematics, though she wore a diamond. Isabel Wallace, happily married, lived nearby. When 1 enquired after Hazel Wundcr, I learned that she was dean of Mt. Holyoke, where Eleanor Lerner was a foreign language teacher. Our conversation passed to Gcrritt Weston, the artist of the day, whose portrait of Augusta Miller. New York’s social leader, had won him fame. I left Adelia’s and took a car. There whom should I meet but Russell West who, he told me, was doing solo work in a large church. When I enquired about Ralph Armstrong, Russell laughed. “Armstrong works,” he said, “in a hammock factory. His job is to lie in the hammocks to test them.” As I looked out of the window I saw Robert Barnes bossing a gang of laborers in fine style. Russell informed me that Charles Heath and Walter Attridgc were enjoying country life as scientific farmers. We passed Linda Schneider’s bird store, and Paul Brown 5c Co., Florists, quickly'. 1 had time only to glance at one ad. in the car, which ran, “Mint-O Gum, Hughes Smith Co.,” before I got off. Outside the court house among an unusual crowd, 1 recognized Louis Foulkes. the rich coffee man, and member of the Chamber of Commerce. “It’s a great day for Ezra!” he cried, and explained, “Hale is the lawyer on the defense.” “Defense? Of whom?” I asked. “Why Silvcrnail, America’s great author and humorist! On trial for breach of promise. A fine case! Rexford Morris is judge, and Edwin Costich clerk. The court is packed.” When Louis told me that Louise McCarthy was his secretary, I asked him if he had any more news of the class of June, 12. Only that Arthur Gosnell makes another Might in his aero’ tonight,” he answered. “If Frank is convicted Art will take him straight to Australia.” By this time I was so used to surprises that I took it as a matter of course when Marian Phelps hailed me from her waiting auto, and bade me enter. Marian had come from calling on Margaret Cox, an old friend of hers, and was going to the Walden School to bring her young son home. We passed Hammele’s moving picture show, and DeNeve’s shoe store, where Mary Poliakoff was book-keeper, and sped into the suburbs. Through the window of a fine home I caught a glimpse of Victor Roberts, applying the 16