Newark School of Fine and Industrial Art - Fawcett Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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CLASS РКОРНЕСУ On the second floor we found Pauline Sweeney giving advice to the lovelorn in her black and violet Persian room. She told me that Dorothy Gann had long since gone to Africa as a missionary. I remembered then that this must have been her chosen profession—for her father was a minister. At the other end of the floor Elsie Kull was hard at work teaching her class the rudiments of her famous cadenza laugh, which brought her so much fame on Loew's State Circuit. [n the housekeeping department, I found Jean Morris and Peg Kisling exponents of the Gold Dust Twins Cleaning Powder, and we also found Sally Lord in the store demonstrating her side-center back crawl with which she recently won the Trans-Atlantic race. We were a little late after leaving the store building but we stopped for one inute more to pick up a newspaper which told us all about the President of the United States, Lyman Conger— who was also President of the World Court and of the League of Nations. The paper stated that the president was now busily engaged in his trying duty of painting the portraits of all the members in his cabinet. [n the social column we found that Arpad Stanek, that most successful Spanish—Czecko Slavakian German— French painter and his wife, Jean Lauer, the lady who talks most in the whole world, returned from their cruise on the Mediterranean. We dropped the paper and hurried on—but we couldn't help noting a Wrig- ley's Chewing Gum Stand— where Mary Ryan was demonstrating the latest styles of chewing gum. A little later, we noticed a sign painter putting up a poster about “Dives Cure for Hives. It was Gertrude Flory. Another student had reached her goal. A few minutes later, we arrived at a beautiful white building and I was ushered into the Assembly Hall of the Fawcett School. We were told that the meet- ing of the Supreme Jury of the Student Council was called to determine whether fire drills should be held three or four times a week. Before the meeting started, we were entertained by Cleo Garis of the famous Vincent Lopez troupe, who pre- sented all the latest Black Bottom and Charleston dances in tantalizing fashion. As the president began to speak, I must have fallen asleep for, when I awakened, 1 found myself in the middle of Broad and Market Streets lying on top of my broken paint brush. I picked myself up, ran to my easel and, while walking to school, 1 congratulated myself heartily on the fact that all this had been but an absurd dream and I was glad to think how very different the reality would be. D. e

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CLASS PROPHECY Harry and I jumped into the saddle and before we had gone very far I made ] 1 him stop, for the beautiful notes of a street org cache еагз. 1 pushed ту way through the tremendous crowd and 1 saw а tall, mannish-looking woman smok ing a long cigar while turning the crank of the organ. It was Marie Cuozzo. She always was a musician, | thought, as I returned to Harry. While we rode I asked him about his History repeats itself, you know. After all the marvelous ideas about ultra modern warfare, a master mind came along—one “Madame” Claire Weyand- and declared that medieval warfare was the best, so that we are forced to be canned according to her ideas. Ву the way, do you remember Lettie Wissert? She is ош mayor now—elected by unanimous vote of the student council. But do you see that woman passing by? She is Pete Fredericks, our head agitator for the Supremacy of man over matter. And so we talked on—passing many men wearing knee-length skirts and flowered silk socks—and some women all dressed like Pete. We passed many huge buildings— so high that no sky could be seen at All but electric lights hung from the roof of every building—and an aeroplane kept swoop ing down and lighting each one of these with a special attachment. “Who can that daring aviator be? I queried. Why, that's Gladys ack. jut see—that might interest you.” Harry pointed to a giant moving picture palace where huge posters exhibited a play starring May Klespe, the beautiíul blonde, second Mae Murray. I was thrilled, but we hurried on. We had passed a Chinese building an d I told Harry that it must be a laundry shop, but “no,” said he! “Thats an artists’ studio. The great Chinese realist, George Foy, lives there. He's had so many inquiries as to the origin of his name that he was forced to revert to his ancestors and grow a queue and long mustaches. Now Bobby, his son, has taken his father's cue and has become another great artist. But here we are at Kresge's department store—let's go in for a few minutes.” Standing at the broom counter was a stout woman with red hair showing from under her wide hat. “Hello, U. R.,” she said, as she thumped me on the back. “Don't you remem- ber me? I'm Marion Ostermann Niblick. I’m buying a new broom for my house. My husband insists on my doing my own housework. I've decided to buy a broom. For my house? Oh, no! For my husband! Which one did I marry? No— not that one—still another—no—another one—after that —and I could still hear her talk as I walked on over to a counter where Irene Maurer was selling a new hair-curling iron—her own hair being as straight as a stick, you know.

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SONGS SHADOWS FALI 1 Night of 1 REMEMBER í R GRADUATION With downcast eyes—we tread the halls, We take our smocks home every night, With voices pitched quite low, Our bags are taken, too, With shaking hands we touch the walls, We don't throw turps to left and right, We fear to graduate. We think we graduate. We listen to each heeding word, And we may say we're glad to part From teachers grown so dear, With our dear We take advice 'bout bee and bird, But We hopé to graduate. Fawcett School gratitude's in every heart, For we must graduate.