Lincoln High School - Quill Yearbook (Jersey City, NJ)

Page 259 text:

What Now? On or about the thirtieth of June, a large number of seventeen and eighteenfyearfolds are going to be ejected from schools all over the country with rolls of paper in their hands which will certify that they have received an education. We of the class of June, 1935, will be of this number. Some of us will spend four years in what pass for institutions of higher educaf tion, but at the end of that time we still shall be faced with the question, 'sWhat now? We shall be entering a world which apparently has no use for us, a world which can not or will not make use of even experienced people, a world in which even now those students who have gone before are unsucf cessfully looking for jobs. What chance have we to get work, to support ourselves? In this country onefsixth of the population are in part or in whole on relief. There aren't enough jobs to go around, and what jobs there are are only for those who have had experience. Statesmen and politicians are running hither and thither like decapitated fowl. Bankers walk around in a jittery daze. The Whole system's crazy, but nobody wants to change it. The only hope for us young people to get anywhere seems to be to rear up on our hind legs, rip open the existing system, see what makes it act so queerly, and fix the blasted thing. It may no-t be necessary to scrap the present system, it may not indeed be necessary to change the system to the degree that our radical friends vvishg but something must be done, and it seems that the only ones willing or able to do it are the youngsters with the chalkfdust still under their fingerfnails. And that means us. We must find out why people can starve and freeze in the same counf try that ploughs under its corn and cotton. We shall have to discover how a group of men can get so much power that they can plunge a country into war just so that they can sell their steel and powder. We shall have to find out why competent men who want to work have to go on relief rolls. We must determine the why, the where, the who of graft. We shall have to know the whys of all the other peculiar things in this country. Then, after we've found out all about these things, it's up to us to fix the works. We'll have a harder time correcting the abuses. It'll be a tough job. We'll have some setbacks before we're through. It won't be a job for softies or loafersg but it's a job that has to be done and done soon, or the jig's up for the whole system. T America depends on us! A

Page 258 text:

IEDITUIRHAL Ideals We are told by Stevenson that L'To be truly happy is a question of how we begin and not of how we end, of what we want and not of what we have. It would seem that we have to have an ideal in order to sucf ceed to the best of our ability. Idealism is the quest of perfection. Being mortals, we cannot, of course, attain perfection in any field, but the desire and effort to attain perfection are spiritual foods without which we cannot live happily. The body needs food to replace and strengthen its parts, the spirit needs interests, ideals, to keep alive. He who attains his ideal, he who is completely satisfied with his work, is doomed. It is said that when a great Danish sculptor unveiled his mas' terpiece, he was seen to weep. His friends, who had come to praise and congratulate him, were surprised to hear him say: My genius is decay' ing. When asked for an explanation of this strange remark, he replied: This statue is the first of my works that I have ever felt completely satis' fied with. Till now my ideal has always been far beyond what I could execute, but it is so no longer. I can never create a great work of art again. This man realized that he was not able to climb higher, for he could not imagine a height beyond that which he had attained. Let us think of the scientist as an idealist, as an example of a man whose vision is always growing. Michael Pupin said: The worship of the eternal truth and the burning desire to seek an everfbroadening revelation of it conf stitute the mental attitude which I call 'idealism in science'. Thus, we see that the aspiration of the scientist is to interpret and understand the ideal works ofthe Divine. Everywhere the scientist looks he can observe those mysterious manifestations. At dawn, the sunrise, heralded by long white streamers spreading in the eastern sky, he feels to be the Divine command, Let there be light. Everywhere he encounters sound, which, with light, he associates with the Divine operation by means of which man communif cates with his Creator. How can there be any higher ideal than the infinite desire for understanding, which is closely linked with the relationship be' tween man and his Creator. Ideals make one spiritually rich. They keep before us visions of goals which are a little beyond attainment. If a man catches up with his ideal, he cannot imagine anything further for which he can work, and so must stand still or descend. Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?

Page 260 text:

The Letter Mrs. Johnson flashed me a friendly smile as she opened the door. L'Hello, Mrs. Johnson, I said. L'Is Ed at home? l'Why, yes, Frank. He's down in the cellar puttering around his shop as usual. Go on downf' Thanks, I replied, and I went down the ramshackle cellar stairs of the young machinists home. Ed, at the lathefbench of his hardfearned cellar workshop, looked up with a cheery Hello, and then resumed his work. As he set the lathe, he began to talk enthusiastically. Say, Frank, have you seen that new kind of carburetor that they have in the 'Popular Mechanics' this month? 'LSure, what about it? I replied. Well, nothing much, only it gave me an idea that I've since worked out. Take a look at these plans. He held out the bluefprints for me to see, his blue eyes twinkling under his rather bushy brows. Well, what do you think of that for a new kind of gas feeder? he Vqusetioned me, after I had looked over the bluefprints for a moment or two. I was amazed by what I saw on those sheets of paper. Why, it's great! I told him. You're a made man if you can patent that. But a moment later all my enthusiasm deserted me as I saw the twinkle go out of my friend's eyes and give way to a wistful frown. Fat chance of my doing any patenting, and you know it. Me, a twentyfdollarfafweek machinist. Why, it'd take me fifty years to get enough money. What do you mean, Ed? You can borrow some money on the house, can't you? I haven't a thin dime or I'd back you in a flash. All you need is five hundred dollars, and you can borrow that at the bankf' Say, listen, -he fairly jumped on me. Have you ever tried to get money out of that old chiselfface down at the bank? You might as well try to chew nails as try to get money from the great Phelpsville National Bank. Well, that isn't the only place, is it? I asked him. There are plenty of other sources from which you could get capital. He seemed for a few moments to be sunk in reflection. Ii think I'll try it, he cried suddenly, and then he jumped to his feet. But say, let's go upstairs and have a little game of checkers. I feel in a winning mood.