East New York Vocational High School - Crossroads Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

Page 13 text:

eager, ambitious boys arrived at the main building of East New York with but one desire-to become expert aviation mechanics and perhaps eventually pilots. '-IVHREE LONG YEARS AGO, a group of lt took us a few days to find our way around the building and to learn all the tricks of the trade. Soon, however, we felt like old timers, and when we entered the fourth term, we were able to look down on the new comers from our superior heights. The engine work we encountered in fifth term seemed at first fairly simple. We hadn't realized how our appearance would suffer as a result of the grease. But speaking of appearance, we weren't allowed to forget it for a moment when we met Mr. Migge in the sixth tterm welding shop. Woe betide any of us who appeared without a tiel Our last summer vacation ended in a happy note, surprisingly enough, for our hopes of years were at length realized and we were returning as seniors. Seventh class history I I termers, it's true, but entitled to wear the buttons of our rank and feeling terribly sorry for ourselves when we weren't able to buy the huge ones because of the shortage of metal. This term, we again worked on fittings with varying degrees of success until finally lanuary thirtieth arrived and we reached the last milestone. Of course, at that stage of our careers, we felt that our diplomas were practically in our hands and that we could just sail along blithely, concentrating on the social rather than the scholastic aspects of life. What a rude awakeningl Probably never in our high school years did we work so hard. Theres no question now about our diplomas being hard earned. But it wasn't all grind and there were plenty of funny episodes to break the monotony. Oh, well, it's all but over nowl ln a few short weeks, we'll be taking our places in the world and, we hope, filling them compe- tently and happily because of our experi- ence and training at East New York. -.ii S DOJSSOJO Q.

Page 12 text:

'U - -i CFOSSFOCI S A 0 S1 EE --6 22 ff! 9.3 'QS '7 3 S X H 51-1, 2-- . -2.- .QE 3 X 7 9,0 x . ig. gk: M N 4

Page 14 text:

UST three short years ago, in September of '42, East New York was blessed with the arrival of the zaniest, wittiest and cleverest class ever to enter its portals. lt seems like yesterday that we first entered this mighty structure, where knowledge and contentment revolve like the ever-moving hands of a grandfather's clock. When we came, others went, and as we go, others will come to take our places. But we are content with the knowledge that we have left our mark. East New York will never forget us. Our championship teams, cheered on to victory by enthusiastic crowds of solid supporters, will always linger in the memory of those who knew us. Often did we taste defeat, but never were we humbled. Always we Came back fighting, and never for a moment did our opponents lack respect for us. Each term, our teams brought added glory to East New York. Our trophies in the hall showcases are proof of that. Scholastically we also led the pack. Never for an instant did we falter on the road to class history knowledge. No field was too vast to conquer, no task too difficult to perform. Our member- ship in the Honor Society is a shining exam- ple of our success in academic ways. Per- fection is their aim, and work is a joy rather than a burden. Of course, there were many times when school was pretty difficult and when the teachers seemed to get a bit out of hand, despite our best efforts to manage them. Homework and marks were their weapons, and they were experts with them. But, to be honest, we also remember the days when the teachers showed themselves to be pretty good guys. Those were the days when school was a joy and the hours flew by. But the hours turned into months and the months into years, and here we are, ready to leave. We all stand on the threshold of days more significant than school days can ever be. Nevertheless, we shall never forget our Alma Mater and everything that she signifies in our lives. The poet never said truer words than, Parting is such sweet sorrowl GERALD ROSENTHAL, 8El2 l