Yeshiva University High School For Boys - Elchanite Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Hello, Docl, that is the usual way my former students reveal themselves to me, as Bill Brickman did the other day in the subway. He is quite an important member on the faculty of New York University. I meet them in parks, on buses, in hotels, in city schools, and in the business world. As I examine the roster of the graduates from Talmudical Academy who now occupy positions of leadership in many fields all over the world, I thrill at the thought that I had a share in preparing them. There was, of course, an ELCHANITE, during all these years. But before the Yeshiva moved uptown, I hardly knew of its existence. As it grew in form and content, my interest in it grew. It was an honor to be mentioned in its columns, even if it was, sometimes, in the form of a ukibbetsf, The Elchanite grew in stature and is still growing- becoming more and more a real mirror which reflects the activities of the entire school. Its pages are now replete with works of art and literature, thus also reflecting the artistic and literary abilities of the students. This issue marks the thirtieth anniversary of the Elchanite. I wish it much success: may it make as great strides in the future as it did in the past. DR. BENJAMIN D. SHAPIRO .14 .ibifkrenf gfag Of all ffae fj'7't1lIlIi6'S of lllllllkillff The zvorsz' is ffm! which pcfrseczzivs fbe nzinrl. Lvf IIS buf cxanzilze af zvfmf Offfllfe we sfrilae. IS iz' bvmzzsc wc' all C'lZlI,f fbiula alike? Bcmzzsr of fbis we ovcrffarozu The laws of lmfiolzs, and of IIHILIIVL' foo? Bvnsfs are flat' mbjeffs of liJ'l'tllIlIfC play, ll7fJw'c' upon fbe zwak, fbe SIil'0IIg07' prey. Man of Il soffvr clay is Illdtfg, Noi for his fvllozcfs' ruin, but for fbcfir aid, Giffcff zvifb fl'Cf'fl,OllI and blllllflll kil1lflI6'SS, Tbv 1101210 image' of G-dlizzess. ARNOLD B. COHEN twelve

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These vicissitudes in the life of the Yeshiva found me right in the middle. I shared in its prosperity and its austerity. But, as I indulge in whimsical reminiscences, what stands out in my mind most are the people I associated with, the students whose lives I helped to mold. Many faces pass in review before me. There were the giants of the faculty of the early twenties, Mr. Lieberman, teacher of Elocution: Mr. I-Iirshberg, teacher of History, then principal of an elementary school: the late Mr. Sachs, the mathematics teacher: Mr. Schwartz, the French teacher, First Assistant in his own high school: Mr. Jackson, teacher of German, under whose guidance I began teaching German in T. A.: Mr. Lucien Lamb, then teacher of Latin, and dozens of others I could name, had I the space. I felt inconspicuous in their presence-they overawed me. The faces of the teachers of Talmudical Academy have changed frequently during the past twenty-seven years, but not their sterling quality. Under the capable leadership of our principal, burdened with the work of organizing and directing a Brooklyn branch and a girls' Yeshiva, and the excellent staff of teachers he has always gathered about him, Talmudical Academy continues to maintain its leadership in the field of scholarship. The other day a lady entered my class. 'I just had to come in and thank you for giving me a wonderful husband, she remarked as she introduced herself. I didn't quite understand what she had in mind so I gazed at her rather quizzingly. She proceeded to tell me that her husband was a former student of mine in the first history class I taught. As a result of your teaching, she continued, he became a history teacher. What is more, my son is in your class this term. I hope you do him as much good as you did my husband. C6 This episode illustrates poignantly another panorama of faces in review, the faces of the countless thousands of students who crossed the threshold of my class room during the years of my association with Talmudical Academy. Many of them have assumed positions of leader- ship in Yeshiva University. There stands before me the cherubic face of Joe Strum, a student in my first Latin class downtown, now a prominent teacher in city high schools and in the Brooklyn branch of T. A. I can recall the registrar of the Yeshiva. the right hand of Dr. Saphire. then the timid, timorous, reticent Norman B. Abrams, a student in mv first civics class CI-Ie can never forget, it seems, the party I promised his class in honor of my marriagef. I can see the I-Iartsteins, shy, reserved. monosyllabic-register in my classes, Jack. Abe, Samf-all prominent in the fields of education and community service. Then came the Lilkers, the Greenbergs, all members of the Talmudical Academy faculty and teachers elsewhere. Then, of course. I always remember the baby , of the faculty, Sonny Sklar, the lovable talented comedian and fine teacher. eleven

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yljlgff Ol' AWA' I guess I must have known it immediately. From the moment I awoke behind the wheel of a '49 sedan, I must have sensed it. But it takes a little while before a man's ready to admit he has amnesia. I took a quick look around and saw that the car was parked in an alley. I was still foggy. I tried to recall something, anything. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a diner drinking a cup of coffee. I looked up from the coffee and found myself staring at the mirror. I was looking at somebody who could have been anybody. but turned out to be me. I was still studying myself when I was interrupted. I heard the radio blasting. I only caught a few fragments, but they were enough. Enough to tell me that john Sloan, President of the Acme Life Insurance Company, was missing. Enough to tell me that john Sloan might be the person I was staring at. Feeling relieved, I put a quarter on the counter and got up. Say Bud, the old man behind the counter said. Is that your car outside? Yeh, sure, I answered. Well, seeing as you acted real good to me just now. I might as well warn you. They say that Price is headed this way. Better not give any stranger a lift. Price, I asked. Wl1o's he? uWho's he? Who's Frank Price? Why he's just about the toughest con in the state. just broke out of the State Pen this week. I mumbled a half-hearted thanks, and rushed out the door. I had to have time to think . . . to ponder. To wonder if in warning me, the old man had actually been warning Frank Price. I jumped into the car and jammed the gas pedal down to the floor. As I rode on, I had plenty of time to think. That was the only thing I dared do. I was stuck, and yet, maybe I had no right to be. It was pretty funny. I might be an arch-criminal, and, then again. maybe I was a Wall Street tycoon. I didn't get much of a chance to think before I realized that I was headed straight for a road-block. As I neared it. I noticed a few troopers in front. I had no time to back out. I was trapped. As a trooper approached., sweat began pouring down my back. and my hands grew cold and clammy. In the eternity of time that it took him to reach the car, I found myself alternately thinking . . . hoping . . . dreading, and finally, I found myself praying. As the trooper opened the door, I sighed. In another second I would know. I would know if I was a respectable citizen. or a number in a prison file. IXIANFRED SAFFERN. thirteen