Union Endicott High School - Thesaurus Yearbook (Endicott, NY)

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7 THE UNIO N-E NDICOTT TIGER ON WRITING AN ESSAY Factual Account of a Writer’s Quandary A three-page essay due in class tomorrow. What to write about! We Raze thoughtfully (without reaction, however) at a list of suggested topics. Some- how. they do not seem to stir our soul to literary aspirations. We gaze at the list a while longer, thinking that perhaps if we do so long enough our intellect might he suffi- ciently stimulated. Catching ourself dozing off, we tome to the conclusion that perhaps that idea won’t work so well after all. If we sit and look out the open window a while, surely we shall see or hear something that will provide us with enough enchanting thoughts to set down on paper. We wait. Three screaming children on roller-skates pass; ... a nurse wheeling a perambulator; . . a silver monoplane roars overhead—if it should suddenly burst into flame, we might have an interesting topic. A few people pass: going downtown, we presume. ... a few more people pass in the other direction: going home, we would say. We wipe from our furrowed brow, a few beads of perspiration, and wonder why the teacher couldn’t have waited for a cooler day to have us write a composition. We debate the possibilities of an essay on “heat.” Nc, we decide; our literary power might describe the topic so vividly that we would give the teacher a sunstroke. A familiar rattling and clanking comes up the street, accompanied by an equally familiar aroma of abandoned orange skins, potato peelings, degenerated tomatoes, and what-not. It is the garbage truck making its weekly rounds. We fully appreciate the service of garbage-men to humanity, and we marvel at the faithful and unprejudiced performance of their duty. No doubt they realize their im- portant position. We languidly consider the potentialities of a dissertation on the merits of garbage-men. An enticing subject. It would make an interesting essay; very interesting indeed, and we hope that some day some understanding person will be duly inspired to put into writing the hazardous (think of brav- ing the dangers of banana peels) tale of garbage-men. Still having nothing to write about, we meditate further. We have read that medi- tation is good for the soul, so by deep medi- tation perhaps we shall receive many spiritual benefits. We relax and meditate. In our minds we contemplate various subjects suitable for an essay. About five minutes later we discover we are smilingly meditating upon the lovely time we had at the dance last night, and upon the party w » are going to tomorrow night. As one thought gradually leads to another, we decide that A CAPELLA CHOIR TO ATTEND NATIONAL MUSIC FINALS Music Organizations Successful in Stale Contests Approximately 60 members of the a capella choir of the U-E High School attended the national music contests held in NewT York City, May 26, at the Harrem High School. At the time of writing, results of the con- tests in New York were not known, but it is a feat unusual in the Endicott vocal department that a choral group should attend a national contest regardless of the contest results. The choir received a second division rating in 1938 at the state contests held in Amster- dam. This rating made them eligible for the state contest held this year at Amsterdam where they received a first division rating. First division is equivalent to the 95-100% class of high school music ratings. Instrumental winners in the state music contests which were held in Amsterdam May 5 and 6 were Peter Theodore, piccolo; Leonard Panero, cornet; Donald Frederick, Anthony LaSorte and David Lewis, clarinet trio. All received first division ratings. Second division ratings were wron by the brass quintette composed of Herbert Crumb, Leonard Panaro, Roland Caiozzo, Cedric Ward and Leonard Rivenburg; Merle Diles, baton twirling (no first division ratings were given in this field); Lawrence Wilson, double bass; Ann Gordon, vocal solo. In the local district contests held in U-E High School April 8th, first awards were won by Audrey Loomis, xylophone solo; Leonard Panaro, cornet; the clarinet trio and the brass quintet; Margaret Hanley, Ann Gordon, Alma Johnson and Alice Post, vocal soloists. Second division ratings were received by Leonard Rivenburg, French horn; Peter Theo- dore, piccolo; Lawrence Wilson, string bass; Julia Hickey, vocal solo; and the girls’ quar- tette composed of Margaret Hanley, Alma Johnson, Rita Mastrangelo and Alice Post. maybe we ought to go for a spin on out bicycle to refresh our wearied nerves. Surely we would pass innumerable things that would undoubtedly inspire our uninspired mind to achieve a great literary masterpiece. As we climb on the trusty bike, however, we abandon our good intentions in favor of really enjoying our ride; we could not possibly do so if our thoughts were burdened with cares of the day. It is best that ut wait until another time to brood upon our essay. Our teacher, of course, will sympathize with our fruitless labors, and forgive us upon our coming to class in the morning, unpre- pared. —Bette Lou McCoy English JA

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6 THE UNION-ENDICOTT TIGER A CYNIC’S PHILOSOPHY You can speak in words so wise When no trouble clouds your eyes, But just try it when ill-fate has got you down; For when a man is lucky, You’ll find him twice as plucky. And he’s set to fight the world without a frown. You can sit and give advice In a manner cold as ice, But there’s no advice can pull you from despair; Life’ll kick you all around Ti! you grovel in the ground Then leave you, licked and helpless, lying there When you think you’re down and out, Then just take a look about And you’ll see you’re not alone in woe and care; For no matter what your trouble, There’s some one who has double And with his, your plight has nothing to compare. —Harry Love FRIENDSHIPS I want to laugh when I know you’re gay And smile at the funny things you say; I want to rejoice at your victory As though you did it all for me. That’s the kind of friend I would be to you. I want you to know when I take your hand That here’s a friend wrho will understand. Who will feel the throb of your heart in pain And long for the time when it’s healed again, Who will know when shadow’s come your way And watch with you till the dawn of day. If others scoff as they sometimes do, Remember a friend who will pull you through; If you travel the world over, no matter w’here There is one who will follow you in prayer. Why, there’s hardly a thing I wouldn’t do Because, my friend, 1 believe in you. —Marion Sickler NIGHTMARES All those young souls who live on schemes, Whose days are spent in trances, Whose nights are filled with hopeful dreams Of beautiful romances Car. tell the yet unstricken one, “No use to run away, For Cupid’s dart will find your heart Though ’gainst your will, some day. And then you, too, will live in trances, Build up schemes, and hope for chances; And if your dreams to nightmares turn, Well—that’s the way it goes, you’ll learn.” —Bette McCoy TWO BEGGERS A begger lay beside the gate, A thing in rags, a pawn of fate, And no man there who passed him by Would drop a coin in warm reply To his plea—“Give alms for Allah’s sake.” Another sat within the town; Unlike the first, he wore no frown; Loud was the ring of coin in cup And with each coin his face lit up As men gave “alms for Allah’s sake.” So sat the two, one sad, one glad: No stronger proof could there be had That when no one will give or lend, A cheerful smile will win a friend, And men give “alms for Allah’s sake.” —Harry Love AN ANALYSIS OF BITTER MEDICINE Little drops of something, Little grains of stuff, Make a mighty bottleful— For me, that’s quite enough. —Bette McCoy THE MOON The moon Is one lone gold sequin Hung with bits of frothy lace Upon the dark blue velvet skirt Of night. —Bette McCoy ETERNITY The question which has always puzzled me Is the subject of eternity, Tis said that someday, none knows when, This world will come to an end, and then There will be a reckoning. The good above, the bad below, Each their separate ways will go; There forever and ever to stay, Not for just a year and a day, After the day of reckoning. It seems impossible that time will wend On forever without end, The good to be glad; the bad to be sad After the day of reckoning. I just can’t seem to realize, There’ll be sunrise after sunrise, With never, never any end To this eternal path we wend, After the day of reckoning. —Marjorie McWilliams

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8 T II E U N I 0 N-E N D ICOTT TIGER $100,000 Fire Damages U-E Annex 1912 Addition Harmed by Fire of Mysterious Origin Screaming fire s:rens cut through the foggy night. Hurrying figures push their way through the thick fog. Ghostly shadows ami fantastic figure pattern themselves on the faces of the small crowd that have gathered in front of the Union-Endicott High School before the fire trucks screech to a full stop. Flames are leaping from the entire roof of the new addition on the southeast corner, built in 1042. A dull red glow appears at the windows of the second story. By the time the firemen have begun thcii play of water upon the licking tongues of flame crowds are milling about watching the firefighters do their stuff. The thrill of seeing their school books and daily cares go up in smoke has attracted hundreds of students i:i addition to many an alumnus of old U-E. But it isn’t merely to thrill at the thought that there will be no school tomorrow; it’s also to cheer the firemen on in their hazardous task of fighting the leaping, red hot flames, for these alumni have been thinking of the fun they had in that jail, as students so often had called it. Pressed against the ropes that hold the crowd at bay stands Raleigh Estrada, already the eminent author of a best seller, “The Essence of Writing (or How It Smells) ' talk- ing with James English, prominent man about town. “I hate to see anything like this happen,” laments Estrada. “Nine or ten years ago 1 would have enjoyed it hugely.” “As who of us wouldn’t have,” asks Eng- lish. “In those days luck like this could never have come our way. Nothing ever happened. Say, isn’t that Grant Johnson over there, taking pictures for the Binghamton Press? I wonder how he ever learned to take a picture ’ “Here he comes now. Hi, old Man!” calls Estrada. Press reporter Johnson climbs over the rope behind which the two stand. “Hello, where have you. been keeping yourselves? I just saw Ira Kerschner somewhere in this mob. They tell me he’s been promoted to consulting engineer for the I. B. M.’s factories overseas. “Strange, isn’t it, what a good fire will bring out!” observes Estrada. “I just saw Pauline Tras. She’s come up in the world since I saw her last. She’s treasurer now at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York.” “Well I’m not surprised. You remember she was treasurer of our graduating class,” answers Johnson. “Be seeing you guys again. Duty calls me elsewhere at the moment. Givi my regards if you see anyone else from ou- class.” By this time the fire had progressed so rapidly that in spite of all efforts to control it, flames are now leaping from the roof of the new section to the old building. People are still milling around the rope-protectcd areas, the lurid flames plying weird shadows on their faces. At the back of the building stand two young women. If we scramble through the crowd and approach a little nearer; we shall find two inseparables, Barbara and Alma Johnson. “Beautiful fire, this,” says Alma. “Yet, somehow, I hate to see the hallowed oid place burn. 1 wonder if any of the plurts arc here. They tell me at the office that scores of U-E alumni are in town this week-end.” Ami Barbara scanned the crowd to single out her old friends. Let us leave these friends while they discuss old times and draw a little closer to the crowd where we find Maurice Arthur and James Atkinson standing together. The orange light from the brilliant flames lights up their glossy red hair shedding a warm glow over their countenances. “You’d be surprised,” says James, “at the old friends that came into my restaurant last night! Practically the entire class of ’3!) is in town this week-end.” “ 'Member Herb Crumb?” asks Arthur. “I fixed his Ford at the garage last night. He says he’s been busy showing off his pure-bred Gumseys. One of them won an international blue ribbon at the Binghamton International Fair last month.” “I'm beginning to think that our entire class is here,” exclaims Janies. “I see Lillian Dunlap and Ellen Dcpew over there!” “And Mearle Diles with them. It must be a convention!” adds Arthur. Let’s leave these two now and push our way through the crowd and listen to the new group of the class of ’39. “My, what a fire!” exclaims Ellen. “Isn’t it thrilling, Lillian?” “Yes and I’m hoping Leonard is around someplace. He loves to watch fires.” “Leonard Panaro ?” inquires Mearle. “What’s he doing here in Endicott?” “Why, he’s playing in the same orchestra as I am. In fact, he’s the star soloist. Haven’t you heard that new song of his?” “Leonard, a composer?” exclaims Ellen. “Hi, kids!” calls a voice in the crowd near the ropes. “Speak of the devil and he’s sure to ap- pear! says Mearle. “We just were hearing about your new song. If we knew what it was, I’d know whether we like it or not.” “It’s called ‘Fiddlin’ in the Night! II