Passaic High School - Echo Yearbook (Passaic, NJ)

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JUNE HISTORY Most classes start high school by going to high school. But we, the june class of 1946, were dif- ferent. We started our higher education with a vaca- tion. The Board of Education kept school closed ten days longer in 1943. The members claimed that it was because of the polio epidemic, but we knew better. They were just scared of us, and they had good cause for their fright. After discovering that there was no legal way to send us to Garfield, Fort Dix, or the Rahway Re- formatory, the Board broke down and reluctantly let us enter the hallowed halls of PHS and even per- mitted a select group to inhabit Passaic's great his- torical site of Revolutionary Days-the Annex. Some of us lost our sense of direction that first day of school and never did arrive at our home rooms. We couldn't find our classes, we explained to Mr. Kennedy. Every time we set out for class, we wound up in the Sweet Shop! We weren't so dumb. Others forgot to take lunch that memorable first day. They tried Buck Siegel's sandwiches. After that we all remembered to take lunch. The 4-2's told us about the long forty-minute lunch periods which they had for their 2-1 term. Then they showed us how to eat two sandwiches and fruit in ten minutes so we could have the other ten to roam the halls, making noise and dropping the chocolate coating of our ice cream pops all over the joint,-oops! We mean school. ' Leon Auerbach mastered the art. He ate three sandwiches in ten minutes and made more noise than anyone else during the other ten. What a man! The upper classmen showed us other things, too. They showed us how to go from the Ofhce to 105. just go to B9 and take a short-cut through the gym. Otzi Watchman never wanted to get to Mr. Ander- son's geometry class anyway. But we learned a great deal without the aid of the juniors and seniors. Nobody had to tell the fel- lows that there were several interesting female speci- mens from the other junior highs. Unfortunately for the men of the '46 class, the juniors and seniors no- ticed that too. The boys never could understand why the girls of the '46 class preferred seniors-at least not until they became seniors. Ah, that first term. Don Lichtenberg ran JV Cross Country. Fred Shiber finally bought a pair of glasses and brushed the hair out of his eyes so he might see those pretty girls everyone was talking about. Chippy La Placa was sick with a serious dis- ease--he was sick of school. How he ever contracted the illness nobody knew. After all, he had never tried coming to school. Al Vargo was disappointed. He discovered that he could not become president of the senior class as long as he remained a soph. jack Gruss was disappointed, too. He had lost his fourth love in three weeks. We also mastered the art of Latin prose. Jeanne Small and Roz Slaff found that the Art's last name was Okun. We were happy to see promotions making us exalted 2-2's. We treated the neophytes with tradi- tional kindness. We split up in pairs. The girls dropped half dollars along the halls and the fellows kicked the sophs as they bent down to pick them up. The 2-2 term flew by, presenting us with a sum- mer vacation. But Bull Fortgang loved education so much that he decided to continue his studies with a summer course at Hackensack. Through his dili- gence, in the heat of July, Bull became recognized as one of the intelligentsia. After all, very few peo- ple made the honor roll in the fifth quarter of the school year. At the start of our junior year in PHS, love en- tered Doris Oshinski's life. Doris got that sad look in her eyes and suddenly lost her appetite. For months, we knew only that the boy's name was Ed. But the whole truth finally was revealed, Mr. Clark really had something that Sinatra could never match. Did Frank know that atomic bomb as the up and coming thing? No, but did Mr. Clark? The junior year proved that history repeats itself and some people repeat history. We just kept rolling along. Mr. Blakeslee retired and went back to Cape Cod, taking along his signpost which said, 2 miles to Passaic. Miss Grace Randall was in difficulty. She could not decide whether to award the title of Chief Sinner of A 7 to Danny Piekarsky or Roslyn Slaff. Danny became one of the few four-letter men in the annals of Passaic High. He got a P for basketball, football, track, and conduct. We ran our Junior Prom in May and crowned Carol Sidlovsky queen of the female juniors. The eight runners-up, maids of honor, agreed that the crowd had made a wise choice, after Carol pulled their hair a little bit. Dick Arnold was not taking chances about Al Vargo's hair-pulling abilities. Dick ordered a short, short haircut from his barber. Another summer brought another vacation. The war ended and we returned as seniors ready for the great reconversion. We were really very erudite by this time. Using a specially built slide rule and a vast mathematical knowledge, john Potter and Harold Small computed the vital statistics of our three years on the Hilltop. In these three years, Harry Kwartler ran around the block during gym period 139 times, stopping at the Sweet Shop 139 times. Also, Harry winked 9,863 times at 616 girls in PHS. Leon Auerbach consumed 1,629 peanut butter sandwiches, which might explain his nutty mental state. Teddy Adamcik closed his mouth exactly twice. Don Lichtenberg ran 194.58 miles on the JV cross country squad to get excused from gym for 177 days. There must have been an easier way, Don. Ronald Ruby banged the 88 keys an average of 1,019.4 times apiece. Ruth Cross spent 12.36 of the time in her high school career stand- ing on her head. Mildred Saks spelled every word in the English language incorrectly at least once. But the most important calculation of all reveals that ap- proximately 281 of us received our diplomas on the night of june 21, 1946.

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LAST WILL and TLSTAMLNT The rosy hue of a Saturday dawn splattered itself against the everbeckoning motherly face of Passaic High School. I stumbled up the steps that were mark- ed with the imprint of untold thousands of happy C ?j feet fulfilling the famous, I go to the Annex-and sometimes, the Sweet Shoppe excursion. The strain of those early openings had broken me, the call I had answered for six weary months I instinctively an- swered again today. The inside of this massive-let us not say institution, was still dark and murky, and the deep, menacing shadows lurking in the corners seemed almost human in the dull light. I pushed open the door of the auditorium and peered in. Discerned through the half gloom were the sprawling-graduation stageg programs from that great event of the night before, broken palms, torn no doubt, in a frenzy of sadness at the departure of that fine, noble class of june '46, and a strange package perched on the piano. I went up to investi- gate further. I tore off the bow and red paper and found within the box: A profusion of directions for fire drills at the beginning of every second period P.A.D. class- A set of golden voices and quiet feet to thrill Mr. Stevens at Senior Chorus- And the best wishes for success, happiness, and continued courage-- All for the junior Class from the dear, departed Seniors. I crossed the auditorium and ventured out in the opposite hall. In front of that famous hall, I found another package, just like the first. It contained a permit for Miss Cunningham to use the auditorium for a home room so that she can seat each student all by himself with six empty places in front, to each side, and in back of him. Also tucked in the corner was a Cohen-just to replenish the stock. In front of Miss McCann's room was a new tele- phone booth, all wrapped up. This one had a set of wheels and springs so that when students try bravely to make lunch-time telephone calls, those amusing fellows can push them around and tip them over with the smallest degree of effort. Awaiting Miss Card was no package, but Russell La Placa with a red and blue bow in his hair, clutch- ing various Spanish books. Seems he was her favorite pupil and he couldn't bear to leave that much-at- tended room. Up on the second floor the sun was just climbing through the windows of Miss Manley's room. Her present was a class that had never yet heard of the town I come from. The box left at 203, on Miss Hall's desk, con- tained an assorted list of maps and directions so that future Debating Club members won't get lost while traveling to contests. Spread over Miss Schooley's desk with best wishes of many a senior, were Library book overdue- please return slips made out of dainty shell-rose and daffodil-yellow paper so as not to frighten the poor harassed students who receive them. Miss Caskey's diminutive package contained a whistle that swears-she may get better attention from Dramatics Play casts with it. The sun was wide awake on the dizzy heights of the third floor-it spread lazily along the hall on the gleaming lockers, the shining, swept floor, and the glowing, immaculate walls, It lighted on the gift outside of 309. It was a victrola addressed to Miss Messinger. The record attached to it was to play during lunch times-a soft, cajoling voice repeated and repeated, 'iVisitors-GET OUT! ! 3 As I walked down the stairs again and wandered through the old familiar paths, I bumped into various hastily-tied bundles. Being of a curious nature, as you might have already noticed, I opened these too. Eleanor Maroney and Marilyn Holdsworth left a box of suggestions of where to go and what to do for those who play the old hook-and don't get caught!!! To anyone who wants it, Richard Arnold left his rather inexhaustible knowledge of Greenwich Vil- lage. He thinks that the Manhattan bus line is the best method of getting there-in condition????? To Frank Colletti the Class left the wish that he play better football next year, and make the second team, at least. Carol Sidlovsky left her quiet, demure ways and seldom heard voice to Nonny Sadler-so silent those two!!! Worn at last, and weary, I noted these things and scratched them down upon a scrap of my lunch bag. I called this document the very Last Will and Testament of the june, 1946, graduating class-then fell sleepily behind Buck Siegel's gleaming-counter, to await the awakening of the world. Page 71