Jersey Shore High School - Orange and Black Yearbook (Jersey Shore, PA)

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JERSEY SHORE HIGH SCHOOL ll influence of a skirt. May this incident forever be a lesson to you. And so it was, boys. Now let this little story also be a lesson to you- keep the women out of your school affairs. So-long, boys! Wishing you the best of luck. I am, Always ready to give you any advice. Jack Methuslam Callahan. DISGUSTANCY, REGUSTANCY, AND DARN WELL DISGUSTED ET it be understood that fishing is to me a thing of great joy. It brings sweet contentment to my soul and soothes my weary brain. However, there are times when, to admit this causes me no little pain, times when I am tempted to forsake my soul, to abandon my brain to the Draculas and Frankensteins of modern fiction, to the maddening systems and devilish figures and counting of bridge, to the haunting and hateful rhythm of Swing Music - in short, to desert to that sport of kings and presidents, Hshing. The reader must realize that before the ardent fisherman reaches this momentous decision several stages must be reached. This rule ap- plies to both fly and bait fishermen, although the fly fishermen's faith is somewhat harder to shake. These forementioned stages consist of disgustancy, regustancy, and darn well disgusted. I will illustrate these three preceding stages so that the reader can form a vivid mental picture of each. These pictures may become useful to him in the future discussions of this nature. The man who buys a dozen dry flies and cancels a good golf date, so that he may get up at three the next morning and Without waiting to eat breakfast, drive twenty miles to a trout stream in hopes of a good catch can, after fishing for three hours without a strike, remark to him- self as one gentleman to another, this is disgusting. Then, however, after the gentleman has fished for another hour and succeeded in losing most of his flies and breaking the tip of his rod, he may murmer to himself that he is regusted , but. remembering the code of a sportsman, he laughs at his joke, but very faintly. Now, my friends, consider the gentleman fishing despondently during the fifth hour, when, it begins to rain as if the very heavens were bathing, when he snags one of his boots, and it promptly fills with water, when he realizes that he is five miles from his car, and he is wet and hungry, then, and, only then, do the woods ring with provocations, and darn well disgusted resounds in the ears of all those within a two mile radius of the spot. As we take one last look at the gentleman he is vowing never again. Truly is it said, never is a long time, and in this case it is about three weeks. I say this with a sound knowledge of such experiences to back my statements. I have endured ordeals such as these in the past and now call them fun. I undoubtedly will endure many more of them in the future and when they too have faded into the past they will be remembered as, fun. Edward Schmidt '38,

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I0 THE ORANGE AND BLACK A STORY, NOT A LIE DEAR FRESI-IMENI It was yesterday, if I remember correctly, that Professor P. I. Oggledorf of the Jersey Shore Institute for Numbskulls, came to me and asked very humbly if I could spare a few moments of my precious time to write a little story for you Freshmen. I grew very angry at this request. I-Ie knew every minute of my time squandered was a dollar out of my pocket. I flatly refused. Then seeing as how he had his heart set on it, I asked him what kind of a yarn these little boys would enjoy. His face brightened up at once - Oh, make up a lie about Clark Gable or some other De Vine person. Well, now first of all, I want you Freshmen to understand that I am a man of sterling character, and naturally took the make up a lie statement as a little joke. Yes, never tell a lie, boys - especially to Mr. Grugan. There is another little point I wish to make clear before I pro- ceed -- don't get the impression that I am a braggart or blow-horn. The last thing I'd do would be to fill you boys with something that wasn't the gospel. The story I'm going to tell you today is a little incident in my life which I shall always remember. During my Senior year at the Institute - That was back in '37, shortly after the big flood - I was nominated and elected the President of Room 14 -- a worthy honor as some of you might know. Well, boys, the first semester, executive duties were performed with much satisfaction, and the room, as a whole. was well pleased. But as time elapsed. different students began to com- plain: some said I was becoming too powerful - which I was: I had demoted Mr. Noll, our home room professor, to chief-pencil-sharpener. Others claimed I was being bribed: this, of course, was false. Still others said I was not executing my duties faithfully, and was not show- ing proper conduct for one in such a dignified position. Then I began to hear rumors for my impeachment. I knew that something must be done, and done quickly! But before I had my wits collected, I was subject to a very degrading disgrace. Mitchael Sebas- tian Wolf, a hated enemy of mine, because I beat his time with a girl. drew up a bill of impeachment which he surrendered to the mercy of the students. I was ousted immediately, and a new president set up in my place. Many disparaging remarks were said then and there, one of which I remember very distinctly. Dwight Cable arose from his seat, drew himself to his full height, and said, Gentlemen, I was in a restaurant the other night, and our President came in asking me where my wife was. That wasn't so bad but my lady friend was there. Well, Gentlemen, you can imagine my embarrassment. Next, George Porter, who later became the new home room President, staggered to his feet. and revealed something to this effect, Gentlemen, of all these mis- demeanors committed by our President, there is one that is unpardon- able'-- pilfering another man's woman. So, Mr. Callahan, let me in- form you that your whole downfall was brought about by the severe

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I2 THE ORANGE AND BLACK FACE TO FACE N the wide tractless desert of Sahara, where for miles and miles there is nothing but sand and shifting dunes, Ahmor Maden and his great herds of swaying camels pace slowly on to the next oasis, approximately 50 miles forward. There they will meet the rest of their tribe and together journey on to the nearest border town, where the camel trading will begin. Ahmor and his son Ahmorduo ride along side by side. They talk only at intervals because the whirling sand from an approaching storm chokes them. At last Ahmorduo speaks: There is a caravan approaching, father. Perchance it is some of our family come to meet us. Or maybe 'tis a caravan of thieves. The news that you are bringing in your best camels has no doubt been told for miles around. Your eyes are well trained, my son. One less skilled than you would think it only the dunes shifting. But we must act quickly. l fear it is a band of lawless Arabs, no doubt, working for our crafty Maharajah. Lest we hurry our friends will wait for us in vain. Ride quickly and tell Matush to unpack the guns and fill our belts with ammunition. Then herd the camels together and we shall try to beat the thieves to Kotums Pass. Once we are there at least our lives are safe. Quickly! Omar get out the chains. When we reach the pass we shall fasten the camels together. The thieves are approaching rapidly- Ohl No wonder they do. Not mounted on camels but horses. Hurry! Ahmourduo the pass is yet 300 feet away. At last the Pass is reached, camels are chained together only a moment before a thundering herd of horses and men sweep down upon them. Their steeds flying over the ground at lightning speed. As is the custom the riders dismount and descend upon the kneeling camels so stealthily that for several minutes the air hangs heavy and tense. Then the report of many rifles pierces the air and sends their blood curdeling cries resounding across the ocean sand. And as quickly as they came the thieves are gone taking with them 40 of Ahmor's best camels. Among them, Cofran, Ahmor's pride and joy, but he will never know, for he lies buried in the sand. Face down - dead! Many years pass. The high sand dunes melt slowly away and fashion themselves into all skyscrapers. The penetrating quiet of the desert changes into the ceaseless din of the city. The desert heat be- comes the suffocating warmth of a metropolis. A tramp freighter charges into New York harbor. Aboard are many rough looking men and scores of starved and hungry looking camels. Whatcha' gonna' do with them things? Ya' can't eat 'em, ya' know, and it ain't sa' easy findin' grub in dis joint. Didjo' ever hear of de zoo ? Zoo? Think any zoo'd want dem starved lookin' tings ? Ya' and what's more dey bring a high price. Some fellah out here to see you, Jim. Got about 20 camels with him. Pretty starved looking but they're a good breed. 14 44