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

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THE CLASS PROPHECY EVENING SCHOOL—1928 PB, RING the long-to-be-remembered storm of the spring of 1950, I was crossing from France to the on United States. A strong wind was blowing, and our ship, the New Jersey Air Express “NEWARK,” was rolled and pitched as a mere bit of chaff from one current to another by the angry elements. It was during one of the wildest moments of the storm that I perceived a gentleman carefully treading his way in my direction. The plane slanted suddenly the better to accelerate progress so that he lurched toward me at the rail. It was William Leonard, now a well-to-do illustrator of California. He had been successful in more ways than one, for he was accompanied by his wife, Ellen Cloves. As William and I were chatting over old times, the Cap- tain strolled up to us. Simultaneously we both cried “Tom Masterson!” Sure enough; it was our old friend Tom. He had commenced his aeronautic career shortly after leaving “Old Fawcett.” The surprise of this reunion was wearing off when we drifted into Port Newark. A huge crowd had gathered for the landing. I thought it was a demonstration in honor of some personage aboard the “NEWARK,” but soon perceived my error, for Bill called my attention to a gaily decorated grandstand in the center of the crowd. ‘“Let’s see if we can force our way up there and get the ‘low down’ on what it’s all about!” After about fifteen min- utes of battling and elbowing we found ourselves in front of a large grandstand. We were informed that the cause of the mon- strous assemblage was the unveiling of a statue of Mayor Raymond, President of the United States, through whose keen foresight and untiring zeal Port Newark was developed into one of the leading ports of the world. Hark! The bugle sounds. The act of unveiling is about to proceed. A tense feeling comes over me. My gaze becomes fixed on the covered statue. There is a heavy silken cord attached to the covering. My eyes slowly follow along till they come to the other end of the cord, which is held by Miss Marguerite Marquart, who had the honor of unveiling. Hastily, I made my way to her. She told me that she had just arrived on the ship previous to mine. She had made an extended trip on the continent and visited the Louvre in Paris, the Pitti Galleries of Florence, and other famous art centers. The sculptor of the now unveiled statue of Mayor Raymond was none other than our own affable and care-free Giuseppe Naselli, [17]

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JEWELRY J. MORDWA os ay . SWEZEY E GUSTAFSON WOR REO. eet IeN DN Gap Ue DENS [ 16 ]

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The crowd slowly dispersed, and I found myself separated from those I was with and wandering aimlessly alone, when I was suddenly awakened from my musings by the loud honking of a horn and the crunching grinding of brakes. I looked up startled and beheld the most beautiful car I had ever seen. A liveried chauffeur and assistant sat in front. I wondered who the owner might be of such a high-class car, when lo! and behold! as I looked there sat Gerard W. Hesselgren and his wife, the former Marie Fiorito. After much rejoicing at seeing these old friends they told me they had a studio in New York and had just arrived from a trip around the world. A magnificent granite structure next caught my gaze. What can this building be? ‘The Fawcett School of Industrial Arts! —now the outstanding art school of the entire country. Turning around I beheld our genial Mr. Philip Wagner. We chatted together in front of the school. Along came Steve Hanratty, now a distinguished citizen of great wealth. Another surprise was in store for me. Along came Sid Knoller and Mrs. Knoller, who had lots of news for me. They told me that Irma Losi was now editor of “Vogu e” and although she retained her maiden name for business purposes, she was happily married, and the lucky man was Leo Kabis, a successful architect. Regina Shillcock was now Mrs. Thomas Jones, both successful in their respective lines, she as a costume designer and Tom as a poster artist. Dorothy S. Breman was now a great portrait painter and the wife of Frankie DePaulo, automobile racer. Miss Lietta Troiani had married a millionaire, and occasionally visited Fawcett. And the smiling Mabel Reisig married a sculptor of national reputation. After listening to all these pleasant surprises, I expressed a desire to see the interior of Fawcett. From classroom to classroom I went. My admiration for Miss Marguerite Marquart became more pro- found, because it was mainly through her untiring efforts that the new school became a realization. I expressed a desire to be alone. I wanted to dream about my old classrooms and hear Mr. Klein- feldt say, “You must learn to see,” and Mr. Gussow impress upon me the importance of using reds and greens—and the smiling Mr. Brown tell me to get more action in my drawing. As I mounted the elevated monorail on the way to my little suburban home, I thought of the various pleasing events that had happened during the last few days. Surely it was something that will be remem- bered; something that will leave an impression which time alone can efface. With thoughts of fervent love for my old classmates and of deep gratitude to my teachers welling up in my bosom I was about to step from the— “Cyril, this is the third time I’ve called, do you hear?” And I heard. CyriL A. Horn, ’28 [ 18 ]