St Bernards School - Crusader Yearbook (Gladstone, NJ)

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VINCENT TELESCO Main Street Peapack, New Jersey Bernardsville High School l, 2, 3, 4 Varsity Football 5 Varsity Baseball 5 1 -5 .:?,3jV'!,'W ' jfv' 'fa -- 1---ff-ww'- f?1!Wl!1 'S ' 24 ' . l if r 3 3 'i it fi s 4 MR. HAROLD D. Nici-ions Q il Sixth Form Class Adviser 5 1 .nl 1 V, ,- V4 ti S +1 ei 9 ll - J .ssl fi ,il

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WILLIAM BOOTH TAGGART 572 Ridge Avenue Newark, New Jersey School Choir 3, 4 Forum Club 3, 4 Rifle Club 1, 2 Glee Club 3, 4 Mathematics Club 3 J. V. Football I Varsity Football 2, 3, 4B Tennis 1, 2, 3, 4 Yearbook 4 - Treasurer DAVID DAVENPORT WARD 448 Prospect Street East Orange, New Jersey Etobicoke Collegiate Institute 'l, 2 Choir 4 Chess Club 3, 4 Glee Club 4 Mathematics Club 4 Science Club 4 Drama Club 4 Tennis and Track 4 - Manager Library Committee 4 J. V. Football 3, 4 - Manager Yearbook 4 - Advertising Manager rm , , I, ...I -. , ,e ii.LEin:q..,..- I sr L. me af, c...4Qa-g.2:4ishi.3fI .,,5L.' .L.. ft...

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0112155 Hrnphrrg ln Saudi Arabia there lies a desert whose name is an absolute mistake. By some hideous twist of mind this arid expanse was called Sandy Desert. lt is not the name, however, which is important, but the location, which was the scene of a great event. Back in the summer of 1960, a cloud of dust was moving along the floor of the Sandy Desert in the direction of lndia, where the moon was sinking beyond the Ganges in retreat from the dawn of a new day. The cloud of dust was the spray of sand being kicked up by the wheels of an army jeep as it careened across the desert toward the sound of distant gunfire. Sitting in the driver's seat of this sandblaster on wheels was Lieutenant Kit Southward of the United States Army. Suddenly, as he headed the strugg- ling vehicle up a long sand dune, he heard a loud screech beneath him, whereupon the ieep began traveling north and west at the same time. lt suffered a broken tie rod and a neat split down the middle. The Lieutenant got out of both halves of the machine and muttered, Pull yourself together, Kit. You've got a battle to fight before this day is over . As he stood there wondering what to do, a second army vehicle of new design and construction swerved over a neighboring dune and pulled up alongside him. A man leaned out of the window and said in what was once a Vermont accent, Hullo soldier! See you had some trouble here. Hop in, 'n l'll give 'e a lift. lt was only after the two had driven a mile or so that Kit, whose memory was still clogged with sand, recognized the driver. Why, if it isn't good old Don Ripley! he exclaimed. You wouldn't be kitting me now, would you? Fancy meeting you here, replied Ripley. Don went on to explain that he was a mechanical engineer who had come to Arabia to see some of his army trucks of a new construction in action against the Com- munist-incited Arabs and Ethiopians. Kit related that he was a platoon leader in the 2nd Regiment of the Far East Command. l was separated from my unit during a sandstorm, he said, and I .... Just at that moment the truck's engine sputtered and died out. Sand-clogged fuel line, frowned Ripley. Guess you'll have to walk the last ten miles while I clean out the motor. So Southward ascended the next sand dune and began plodding along toward the scene of the coming battle. At the same moment, every platoon and company leader in the regiment was gazing intently at his watch as the hands moved ever closer to zero hour for the attack. The watches, made of titanium, were shock-proof, water-proof, rust-proof, and time- proof, and had a compass, a small telescope, and a looking glass attached. inscribed on the back of them were the words: Designed by the fabulous David Ward. Good old Wardie, said Admiral Ed Simpson, as he too gazed at one of the miraculous watches. Admiral Simpson, commander of the combined Far East merchant marine and naval fleets, was at that moment aboard his flagship in the Arabian Sea, iust offshore from where the 2nd Regiment was camped. His vessel and fifty converted PT boats had been lent to the government by the Chris-Cross Yacht Company, owned by one Keith Hyer, who was himself just cruising by the fleet in his yacht. Although the noise of the big navy guns was almost deafening, Admiral Simpson still thought he heard the smooth purr of his ship's twin engines in the stern below him, and he turned to look fondly in their direction. The purr, however, was not coming from the engines, but from two old cats that were chewing contentedly on the Admiral's shoes. He quickly shook them off, and assuming his former dignity, waved smartly to Hyer, who was iust passing under- neath the flagship in his submergeable yacht. Meanwhile, on land a man was standing on the crest of a hill by the Arabian E201