Horace Mann Lincoln High School - Lincolnian Yearbook (New York, NY)

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It is a sparkling September morning. We rather shly peer through the heavy front doors and see an impressive sign which reads: SEVENTH GRADE -- Room 410. How strange it seems to be no longer children but high school stu- dents! With surer steps we make our way through the throngs of new faces, flounder through introductions and, in 410, finally settle downto Miss Sweeney and China. We get along far better than anyone had expected. Under the influence of Mrs. Thieme's intoxicating smile, we stagger through seventh grade grammar. One of the girls unwittingly admits that she knows parliamentary procedure and is immediately elected president of the seventh grade. High school is won- derful except that no one notices us much. Highlights gives us but a line here and there, and the almighty seniors barely glance our way. Never mind, we have real program cards and a few of us even take foreign languages. Echoes of 'si, si' and 'ou1, oui' float down from the fifth floor, along with the girls' hockey sticks and the boys' newly labeled sweat pants. We boys had thought that high school meant varsity athletics but all we do is run and run and RUN in the park. We have to roll the playground too. At Teachers College we have dancing classes. We sip watery punch, by courtesy of our ever-watchful parents, while romance buds in the five-year- old kindergarden chairs. Our ventures into high society are limited, though, for Miss Reynold's graphs and airplanes occupy the time of many of us, while others visit Dr. Brown up on the fourth floor, or chat cosily with Mr. Elkins about 'our friends the beavers.W At the other end of the fourth floor hall, we prepare for the climax of our year, the great Chinese pageant. As representa- tives of the Orient, we make our high school dramatic debut and a reputation which precedes us into the eighth grade. Back to 410 and the familiar faces of Mrs. Thieme and Miss Sweeney, but instead of China we're going to study our own country this year. Since English is part of the eighth grade core course, we write stories about the Pilgrims, and some of them are actually accepted by the Lorette. While exploring the science laboratory, Rona picks up the soldering iron by the wrong endg but, nmtheamt room, she recovers sufficientlyto throw a mop at unlucky Bob Chabon. The rest of us concentrate on composing variations on NTannenbaum, 0 Tannen- baum'. It is wartime now, and we have 'surprise' air raid drills with NCh1efN and Miss Robins pacing up and down as we welcome the brief rest from our studies. On the fifth floor, we are more actively concerned over our private feud between French and Spanish classes. Plato makes beautiful maps and we all write ten, twenty, thirty, forty, NO! YES! fifty-page reports for social studies. During activities periods we sing, sew, saw, and snore according to our particular whims. Some of us get a little out of hand and flood the girls' locker room, marooning an innocent bystander on top of-the lockers. In spite of the lunch room epidemic, the girls take part in the big modern dance recital in Thompson gym while the boys are put through a rugged course in commando tactics. They will soon be pre- pared to defend the country if a crisis arises. Rifling the girls' precious new pocketbooks gives them ample practice in frisking the enemy. So romantic! So we keep busy until spring, when suddenly the French class claims everyone's attention as over-enthusiastic Luke pushes Senior Richard Ripin overthe footlights with a dramatic sweepcM'her armixxthe production, 'L'0iseau Bleu.' Nevertheless the show is a smash success. Orchids for Madame Browne, and so adieu, adieu, to the eighth grade. We are all a little subdued and ever so much the wiser now. Ninth grade is a 'rush' year, we find, for membership into senior high school. Each girl is secretly dreaming of her smash debut at the Commencement Page 53

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me zz an az ima... UQ' W: .f Q '19 xl gxq-.1N,B E K' N EH E J.. E L. r X xx. S. .SQ N' 'E N 'E iN tw la f 5' - x ::::n X' xggg-S Q 5 . 'N par H s Qll b r sl - Q --4 'S . I 5 I I Q Y x I g Q I q x .1 I N , -S - E : 'N N. x 1 'TT-' 'S' lf' w fs, . Y . P.. if .. Gil ., 67 Jig ...5- ba I '.V2fL X X 5? it XL 4., - ,L..,. ', , '- A-. n S x- 'X W1 'V mtv? i 'WP-. 5' f I 'T :E f X Once upon a time, long enough ago so that most of us do not remember it very well, thirty- six chubby little boys and girls were being hurried to their first day of school. Some of them were reluctant, some eager for new adven- ture, but none of them could foresee the varied experiences that would unfold in the years ahead. Twelve of these kindergarteners entered the hallowed halls of a brownstone building on 120th Street and Broadway, the other twenty-four were led or pulled toward an impressive school three blocks away on 123rd Street, and the fact that one was the Horace Mann School and the other the Lincoln School made little difference to these young scholars. They played andlearned, skipped and squabbled, Wexperimentingn and Ndemonstrating' with equal ease and equanimity. That was the beginning of the class of 1948. At Lincoln and at Horace Mann, the young members of this class grew and learned. Before they knew it, they were facing long division and the big responsibilities of sixth grade, but there was something even more important than school work to concern them. At home their parents were discussing a lawsuit with Teachers College, a case that if won by Teachers College would bring about the merger of the Horace Mann and Lincoln Schools. What would happen to these aspiring sixth graders? Where would they go to high school? Rivalry had been keen between the two sister schools, and when the court decision on the lawsuit came in favor ofTeachers College, everyone wondered what would happen on the heights above the Hudson when seventh grade met the next fall. Of the thirty-six original cherubs who had braved the portals of progressive education eight or nine years before, many had joined another Alma Mater, but those who remained were loyal to their respective schools and awaited with some trepidation the beginning of a new era. Page 52

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EW 3 Z., Zmgjll ' 1 . 1 , . f. ' . L. , A E ,- , - ,sq ' .f .-,, :- . - ,Q ',. . u. W . -. ,. rv . . . We pause for intellectual enrichment. ' ' Z .0 dance and the boys fancy that they are destined soon to be covered witlxvarsity letters. We are quite convinced by Miss Stewart that the only way to learn is by doing. Consequently we spend a great deal of time visiting valve, ball bearing, and woven label factories, exploring breweries and bakeries, and get- ting lost in the subway. Spoils from our academic plundering include strings of labels, no beeror valves or bearings but lots of chocolate ice cream, chew- ing gum, half a doughnut, and sheaves of notes! We thoroughly explore an auto- mobile chassis with Mr. Walters and, under Mrs. Wood's able eye, write tremen- dously long accounts of our comparatively short lives. Life has, indeed, taken on more serious proportions. ' This seems to be the season for astronomical feats, for no sooner do we put the finishing touches on our autobiographies than we are plunged into the uncertain task of writing and producing our own version of John Brown's Body. If the song, N0 Lordy Jesusn, isrunzdestinedfku'posterity, the stubborn traces of shoe polish and Whitney's precocious beard are sure to be. In the meantime, Levon, stricken with amnesiais seen wandering aboutthe halls asking people who he is. Miss Logan is pleasantly surprised on her birthday by our gift of a chartreuse fher favorite color! birthday cake, and our algebra teacher, Mr. Narotsky, is discovered selling apples at a Columbia football game. However, the most livid scandal of the year is the sudden, but not very mysterious, appearance of lipstick traces all over the lockers, heralding Miss Stewart's love for Mr. Walters. A fairly large proportion of the class is reprimanded and we prepare to settle down to some studious conduct. During the lull that that results, Dotty Lieber silently slips out of our ranks and into the Uni- versity of Chicago. This is a year of high ups and subterranean downs. Not only will this year be memorable to us as ninth graders at Horace Mann-Lincoln, but it will be remembered by people all over the world as the end of an era. The death of President Roosevelt early in the spring makes us very conscious of the fact that we have never known any other president. Few of us will be able to forget the strangely silent assemblyijlwhich Jay Meltzerread.NO Captain, My Captain.N We put new energy into our service drives and devote long hours to work at the Manhattanville nursery. The new additions to the class have proved themselves to be invaluable assets. After planting our Manhattanville garden, we crash the gates of senior high at our first Commencement dance, where we dutifully shed a few tears forthe departing seniors. We have at last succumbed Page 54