Theodore Roosevelt High School - Saga Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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as Q99 1 9 Q9 p PQH a Q A PQ 'tk ' a A9 fy ,439 iq P09 19 37 vo S Q 9 'o D Q0 'pq PQ dQQPv 9 9 po PQ Qlq DQ pq pq :Q Q pq p9 P99 9 U 0 vantage, and so have fallen by the wayside. Countless numbers have trodden this path to success before us, some of whom had little or no training. We are fortunate in being well armed with superb equipmentfknowledge, and we are, we earnestly hope, about to set out on the road and to use it wisely. With the difficult road in view, our training ready for instant use, and with the thought of other successful graduates in mind, let us set out on this journey resolved: First, that we will set up as a goal an objective worthy of our Alma Mater and of our- selves, second, that we will cease struggling only when we have attained the goal we strove to reach. TOM COUGHLAN A GLANCE TO Tl-IE FUTURE The course of our lives is about to be readjusted. Shedding the responsibilities of high school, we adopt new ones, large in comparison. During those four years of study, we possessed a feeling of security, seeing the path spread before us, knowing that it could be trod with an exertion of a certain amount of effort and perseverance. Now uncertainty visits us. Life con- tains so many paths and by-ways. Which one shall we pursue? Our high school education has helped to a certain extent to show us what course to follow. Success may come to many of us who can confront our problems unflinchingly, treating them for what they are worth. This is the time when the problems which have arisen dur- ing our past school-life will seem mere trivialities to our experi- enced state of mind. lt will seem hardly conceivable that we had attached so much importance to them. Perhaps, our acquaint- ance with these little problems will make us less vulnerable later on. When life grows more and more intricate, we may be likely to repeat that age-old expression, l wish l had my school days back again. In fond regard, we shall endeavor to recall those days. How discomforting it would be if those memories had perished with the years, and nothing was at hand to revive theml That is the time when the Senior Saga will assume in- finite value. A living memorial it will be, where the faces of students, hopeful and happy, look up from the pages, and where the thoughts of seniors are recorded. lt may be of real value in helping us to regain a small part of the confidence that was typical of the high school age. CAROLINE RIEF 6

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PIQESIDEIXITS MESSAGE To All Seniors: The Senior Saga is our book, written and edited by our fellow students who have worked devotedly to make this Ianu- ary 1936 edition an outstanding one for us. The editors have selected material that will be pleasant to read and that will make our book a treasured possession, an almanac of our high school days. lt will bring back memories of the amiable four years spent in Theodore Roosevelt High School, which we may live over again as we turn its pages. During these years, we have practically lived together in a small democracy, intent upon preparing for our future tasks. Some have struggled to go through this democracy and others have gone through easily, but in spite of everything we might say, we have all enjoyed it. Out of these years have grown numerous friendships, some of which, we hope, will continue through the years to come. Others will have to come to an end, but will leave with us fond lasting memories. We have benefited immeasurably through the personal contact with our teachers and advisers who have, by their patience and understanding, instilled in us the respect and admiration they so richly deserve. We shall always cherish the friendship extended to us by them at a time when we needed it, for a Friend in need is a friend indeed. And now, at the end, who knows, there might emerge from among us a business executive, a great politician, an author or a poet? But regardless of what we may turn out to be, we have this to be thankful for, and that is our background provided by Theodore Roosevelt High School. EVELYN IANSSEN A PARTING THOUGHT When the echoes of the glamour and excitement of graduation have died away, we find ourselves at the starting point of a long journey. The lone sign on the narrow road reads To Suc- cess, and as We look down the Winding path, we realize, not without a thrill, that this is the road we have so long sought. A single glance down a short length of the path, however, re- veals only too clearly, that it is fraught with numerous problems, with none of which we have ever before coped. The road, as we look at it, is cluttered on either side with failures who have not learned to utilize their resources to ad-

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LA DEIQNI ERE CLASSE Ting-a ling-a lingl I rolled over and gradually came to the realization that today was Friday and that the final marks were to be computed that afternoon. Well , thought I, if I shine in my lessons today, they'll give me a good mark for the term, maybe. Five seconds later I was gulping scalding cocoa and munch- ing a roll. Ten seconds after that I climbed on a bus to dash to school to do some homework. What earthly good homework at such a time could do, I can't now possibly imagine, but, at any rate, that thought entered my head and stuck. Never before or after have I ridden on such a slow bus, but at last I reached school, raced to my locker, put my coat away, picked up a book and began to study Latin. The bell rang, interrupted my studies and brought back to my mind the fact that we would not have Latin today because of a meeting of the language teachers. With a dejected air I went to my class, took out what was supposed to be my mathematics book, and waited. Benjamin, said Miss Deutelbaum, addressing me, please read the first paragraph on page 287. I opened my book to page 287, glanced at the first paragraph and began, That make the bells of Heaven to peal Round pillows frosty with the feel Of Death's cold finger tips- The laughs of the class and Miss Deutelbaums expression made me turn the book overg I saw the title, Contemporary Poetry, Edited by Marguerite Wilkinson. Well, Benjamin, said Miss Deutelbaum, thank you for the rather flowery mathematics so early in the morning. Louise, will you please read the paragraph? Needless to say, my chances of a passing mark in mathematics were wrecked by that episode. Thoughts of the next period were more cheering. Our art class was going to look at slides of Roman buildings and such, which left me in the dark anyway, so I had a little nap. My glimpses of the Coliseum, Parthenon, and the like helped my appetite and, despite the misfortunes of the day, I ate a hearty meal. With my vocal chords carefully adjusted to the intricate mechanical effects required by him who would converse freely in the French language, I swallowed hastily the last bite of a baked apple and hastened to the French class. There I was called upon to conjugate some French verbs. Perhaps the presence in the room of Mr. Flood, the teacher of that lovely language, Latin, confused me, at any rate I construed some Latin, much to the delight of the class, who thought I was 7