Nottingham High School - Bulldog Yearbook (Syracuse, NY)

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1 . . i.-.. Q-. f -k,.. VK' 'e 'Q 0 o .Lecfzca icon We, the class of 1950, dedicate this edition of our yearbook to Miss Hasbrouck. This Iune marks the end of her years of faithful service at Nottingham. We are sorry to see her leave, although her contributions will remain a part of Nottingham long after she has left us. Her personality, patience, and unfailing interest in Nottingham students have helped build Nottingham into the fine school that it is. To you, Miss Hasbrouck, we express our sincerest appreciation of the fine work you have done, and we extend to you our best wishes for the future. 'z 'lee Stiff ivea There came to my office in the spring of nineteen forty-six, a man who had been, twenty years before, a student in my home-room. ln his hair now were little threads of gray and in his face a wrinkle here and there. But his heart was young and full of loyalty to Nottingham. born of many years. He had come to chat a bit and talk over old times. Suddenly he arose from his chair, went to the window and looked out wistfully. Then came words I shall always remember, I see our tree still lives. Those words carried his love for Nottingham. For in his student days, where now about the school are trees and shrubs and lawns, was nothing except barrenness. But the students graded that barrenness and spread the seeds: they set out shrubs: they planted trees, home- room by home-room. One of those trees was ours. A few weeks later, as we came to school one morning, we saw in our sorrow that our tree was broken from its trunk and lying on the ground. With the spirit, however, which is eternally Nottingham, we bound together the broken parts, tenderly watered the little tree daily throughout the long hot summer months, braced it with supports against the icy blasts of the following winter. The next spring we watched eagerly and anxiously. And lo, when the buds burst forth on the other trees, so did they on ours. Our tree still lived. On its trunk, just below the branches, 'there is a large ugly scar where were the bandages and supports and braces. Alumni love that ugly scar. Twenty-five years is a quarter of a century: a long time measured by man's three score years and ten, a short time measured by the existence of an institution. Yet it is not how long we live but how we live which is the final test. By that standard, Nottingham is old, much older than its years. Graduates of the baby school, as it was called, daily take their places in the affairs of city, state and nation in a proud and lofty way. Their contributions to all fields of human endeavor are beyond comprehension.