Thinkbacks & Memorials

Throughout it's more than 100 years, Stuyvesant has seen it's share of memorable graduates. This page commemorates and helps us remember those who have made an impact on the school, and our lives. Click the links to the left to navigate this page.

Leo Roon '09

As reported in the June, 1962 SHS Alumni & Scholarship Association Journal (Neal H. Hurwitz '62, Editor-in-Chief)

One of the most notable figures in the field of chemical engineering, Leo Roon attended Columbia and New York Universities. (Master's 1916). For four years prior to his graduation from NYU, he taught at Columbia. In 1916, Leo was appointed Chief of the chemical division of Squibb & Sons.

Roon founded Roxalin Flexible Finishes in 1924. This company, as a result of its many discoveries in the field of industrial surface coatings, received an Army-Navy "E." He established Nuodex Products Co., Inc. in 1932, a company which proved of great value to the war effort. By 1945, Nuodex had participating companies in Canada, England, France, Italy, Holland, Australia, South Africa, and Brazil. In 1954, Mr. Roon sold this corporation to the Heyden Chemical Corp.

He is a Director of five companies as well as the Roon Foundation. He is also Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Columbia University College of Pharmacy.

Mr. Roon is active in many civic projects, such as the Eastern Long Island Hospital, of which he is President. In I960, he awarded a four year $500 per year SASA scholarship; he is a SASA (Stuyvesant Alumni & Scholarship Association) Trustee.

Arnold W. MacKerer '12

From the June, 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

One of the outstanding men in his field, is the recently elected Senior Vice President of Chris Craft Corporation of America. After graduation from a three year industrial course at Stuyvesant, Mr. MacKerer worked as a crewman for several years. He entered Cooper Union Institute of Arts and Sciences in 1919 and graduated in 1922. After graduation, he joined Chris Craft and led early company growth by his designs, manufacturing methods, and lowered costs. Since 1922, Mr. MacKerer has held various positions at Chris Craft—Plant Superintendent, Plant Manager, General Plant Manager, Architect, Vice President in Charge of Manufacturing and Engineering, and presently Senior Vice President. Under his careful supervision, 250,000 boats valued at $2 billion have been built. Mr. MacKerer is also the President of the prestigious American Boat and Yacht Council. He serves as a Director of the National Association of Engine and Boat Manufacturers, and as Vice Commodore of the fashionable Venetian Isles Yacht Club. Mr. MacKerer's war record is also quite notable. During World War I he was a Corporal with New York's 77th Division. He served as boat building consultant to the United States Navy, in World War II, for which he was awarded the Navy Certificate of Commendation for outstanding services.

Charles W. Taussig '13

from the 1913 Indicator, NY Times, and FDR Library

President of the American Molasses Company in 1933, when he became one of the original members of the "brains trust." From 1935 to 1934, he served as Chairman of the National Advisory Committee of the National Youth Administration. Mr. Taussig served on the Anglo-American Caribbean Commission, as co-chairman in 1942, and as chairman of the American delegation from 1946 until his death in 1948. He also served as a member of the President's Council for the Virgin Islands, chairman of the U.S. Commission to study Social and Economic Conditions in the British East Indies, and on the United Nations Conference on International Organization.

At Stuyvesant, he was a swimmer, hockey player, and member of the Wireless club. After graduating Stuyvesant Charles entered the family molasses business, leaving it to become a wireless operator at sea during World War I. After the war, Charles devoted himself to the molasses business until asked by FDR to join the original, pre-inauguration, New Deal team.

Charles was also a successful author, having written 5 books and a number of magazine articles.

My father Dr. Joseph T. Shipley T'14-57

by John Burke Shipley ’40 Professor (retired) University of Illinois (Chicago), from the SHS Centennial Book manuscript.

My father began teaching at Stuyvesant in 1914, at the age of 19 and a half after having graduated from CCNY in 1912. (He would have started teaching immediately after graduating college but at 17 he was considered too young.) While he was still a neophyte teacher, he told me some sixty years ago, his class was especially rowdy. A chief trouble-maker was a big, tough kid. My father dealt with the problem as follows: He appointed the kid class monitor. That took care of it for some while, but one day another student made a big nuisance of himself. So my father said to the class monitor, “Hey, John, we’ll have to chain him down, won’t we?” The next day, in comes “John” with a chain. My father explained to him that, no, we would not really be chaining that boy down. It was a joke. My father then turned to the blackboard and, sensing something, immediately ducked. The chain went sailing over his head out a window. I never did learn what happened to the monitor and the other boy, but this experience apparently led to my father’s teaching from the back of the class. He once showed me the window – in Room 204 or 207 – through which the chain had gone. Matters – at least classroom order –must have turned to normal from that episode on; at least he imparted no more such anecdotes to me.

His teaching career, however, almost came to abrupt ends in 1917 and again in 1919. When we entered World War I, my father signed a petition of protest along with some 200 other high school teachers. He did so as a conscientious objector and Socialist. This public posture almost cost him his job. Whether any of the other signers lost theirs I do not know, but in my father’s case, a letter from the principal, Dr. von Nardroff to the Board of Education apparently enabled my father to retain his post. Two years later, comparable situation occurred. Though this time, he did not make his decision public. New York State had passed a bill requiring teachers to sign a loyalty pledge. “I didn’t like it, and didn’t sign. I made no public protest [unlike others who did and who lost their jobs], but I phrased a statement from words of our Founding Fathers, signed that, and had it attached to the pledges from Stuyvesant.” But “a piece of stupidity . . . . on the part of a Superintendent, who had obviously come to Stuyvesant to ‘get’ me . .. brought my chairman (Dr. Frederick Law) onto my side, and I escaped intact.”

During his career, which ended with his retirement in 1957, he entered richly into the life of the English Department of Stuyvesant. In the Department, he created the honors classes. Among his students, he counted the three Noble Prize winners and four of the five college presidents who graduated from Stuyvesant. As to his after-class life at Stuyvesant, my father was, for 17 years, faculty advisor of Arista and of the senior class. He also presided at 30 of its first 100 graduations.

One particular pleasure for my father, Dr. Joseph Shipley, was coaching the Stuyvesant championship swimming teams over several years. He was actively engaged in sports throughout most of his life, from chess to handball, tennis, racquetball, and squash, to walking in his late 80s into his 90s. But from early boyhood he had always liked swimming. At 13, he swam across the Hudson River near where the 125th Street bridge now is, and during his years at CCNY he earned his letters on its swimming team.

Just what aspect of his career at Stuyvesant my father looked back on with greatest satisfaction isn’t really hard to determine—it is in having given to so many able and intelligent young men a knowledge of our language and its literature. That helped make an education at Stuyvesant the superlative education it was (and is). But surely he counted coaching the championship swimming teams a meaningful part of the educational process.

Joseph T. Shipley was an extraordinary individual who helped Stuyvesant become much more than just a school for training, sciences, and mathematics.

In addition to teaching English at Stuyvesant High School for over 40 years, Joseph was the drama critic for the New Leader, a founding faculty member of Yeshiva College, received a PhD from Columbia in 1931, and was president of the New York Drama Critics Circle. In addition to Stuyvesant and Yeshiva, he taught at City College and Brooklyn College. His legacy included 4 children, 19 grandchildren, 9 great-grand children, and 27 books, the last of which was published when he was 91 years old.

Letter to the Class of January 1949

by Edwin M. Kelly, PhD, T'14-61, from the January 1949 Indicator

"You are now going out into the world and the dominant thought in your mind should be SERVICE. Opportunities for usefulness to the community, to your country, and to mankind have been emphasized in various ways through your high school career.

Stuyvesant is itself an outstanding example of SERVICE. It has taught you the democratic ideals of the American way of life, and has prepared you for good citizenship. The faculty has ever striven toward the accomplishment of the highest good for you spiritually, intellectually and physically. Every school day has been an opportunity for acquiring knowledge, for training the intellect, and for developing moral power. As your high school days are drawing to a close, you should ponder the thought as to what you will do with this training. Do you intend to be selfish with your talents, or to use them beneficially for uplifting those about you and improving the world?

Your ideal of service should be to upraise the race. If each graduate held this thought in his mind as he lived each day, the force for good would be felt ultimately in all fields of endeavor. A little pebble thrown into a large pond produces ripples that extend in ever-increasing circles to all shores

To do this you should seek the truth and abide by it. You should be thorough and accurate in what you do, since only through this procedure will you be able to resist all specious appeals. Be careful of propaganda and its subtle ways. Do not fall in with the majority, if it is wrong, because of lethargic indifference. Likewise, do not be ensnared by the saccharine efforts of a well-organized minority. You should be tolerant and not vindictive. You should not be asleep to what goes on about you in this fast moving and complex world, because the future of our beloved country depends on you and your contemporaries.
In conclusion, I hope that you will always cherish an undiminished ardor in maintaining the ideals learned in your student life at Stuyvesant in whatever service you give to your neighbor and society.

My best wishes for a useful life of SERVICE go with you."

"Doc" Kelly, a formative force for Stuyvesant High School, taught in Stuyvesant High School for 47 years. At the end of the 1961 school year, during which he served as assistant dean of students, he retired from Stuyvesant. Sadly, the next week, on July 4th 1961, he passed.

Dr. Kelly graduated Columbia in 1914, received his PhD in education from Fordham, and was an ensign in the US Navy. Somewhere in there he also pitched minor league baseball!

Ray Arcel '17

from the Wabash Valley Profiles, Terre Haute National Bank

In the rough-and-tumble sport of professional boxing, Terre Haute native Ray Arcel was distinctive.

Articulate and courteous, Arcel carried himself as if an attaché case belonged in his hands. For a while, he wanted to be a physician. Instead, he became one of the most successful trainers in boxing history, producing at least 19 world champions between 1923 and 1982, including Benny Leonard, Frankie Genaro, Abe Goldstein, Charlie Phil Rosenberg, Jackie “Kid” Berg, Lou Brouillard, Teddy Yarosz, Sixto Escobar, James J. Braddock, Tony Marino, Freddie Steele, Ceferino Garcia, Billy Soose, Alfonzo “Peppermint” Frazer, Tony Zale, Ezzard Charles, Kid Gavilan, Roberto Duran and Larry Holmes. Leonard, world lightweight champ from 1917 to 1925, was Ray’s favorite. “He was a master fighter, using brains instead of brawn,” he said. In 1982 Arcel was the first trainer inducted into Ring’s Boxing Hall of Fame. He was enshrined at the new International Boxing Hall of Fame in Canastota, N.Y. in 1990.

The son of David and Rosa Arcel, Ray was born Aug. 30, 1899, at 812 S. Fourth St. His father managed Addie’s Confectionary (named after Ray’s paternal grandmother Adelia) at 113 S. Fourth St., next to Albert Fiess’ harness shop. When Ramel and Adelia Arcel settled in Terre Haute in 1883, the family resided at 102 N. 13th St., operating a fruit concession. Before Ray was a teen, the family moved to East Harlem. His parents enrolled him at Peter Stuyvesant High School in lower Manhattan. He rode a bike to school every day, excelling at cross country and in the classroom. His interest shifted to boxing after a few weekend amateur bouts.

For several years Ray was a purchasing agent for Meehanite Metal Corp., serving as cornerman in his spare time. Eventually, he owned his own gym in Brooklyn. Current Terry Ray trainer Angelo Dundee, who handled Muhammad Ali, was among his many notable pupils. Arcel acquired a reputation as a disciplinarian. Yet he was a genius for concocting a battle plan. Retired fighters recognized him for teaching moral values, too. Twice he came out of retirement. In 1970, at age 71, he began training Roberto Duran and steered the fighter to a world title within two years. On June 11, 1982, he worked his last championship bout in Larry Holmes’ corner, assisting former student Eddie Futch in the successful title defense against heavyweight challenger Gerry Cooney. Not all of the 2,000 fighters Arcel trained during his career — which spanned nearly 70 years — won. Heavyweight champion Joe Louis beat 14 of them. “Louis thought I was ‘The Meat Wagon,’” Arcel once told an amused audience.

On March 7, 1994, Arcel died at Beth Israel Medical Center in New York. He was
94. He was survived by his second wife Stephanie, son-in-law Clement Bloch and
two granddaughters. Honors continue to come his way. On March 28, 1999, Arcel
was posthumously inducted into the New York Jewish Sports Hall of Fame. Sarah
and Ramel Arcel, an aunt and uncle, are buried at Highland Lawn Cemetery.

Abraham Taub '18

from the 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

In the news recently for his bequest of one million dollars to his alma mater, Columbia College of Pharmacy. Professor Taub attended Columbia, from which he graduated in 1920, and upon receipt of his degree he remained at the college as a teacher. He served first as a chemist, and then as instructor in chemistry and physics. He progressed in his field until 1948, when he became a professor and chairman of the division of chemistry.

In 1923 he received the American Pharmaceutical Association's Ebert Medal for pharmaceutical research. He also was the recipient of the Columbia Alumni Federation Medal for Conspicuous Service in 1954, as a result of his outstanding service in the activities of the University. He is extremely active in the Columbia College of Pharmacy Alumni Association, and has established several scholarships. Professor Taub has published over twenty scientific papers, has co-authored two texts, has served as a consultant to the pharmaceutical industry for many years, and has been granted a number of patents. He has membership in the Association of Consulting Chemists and Chemical Engineers, American Chemical Society, the Parentaeral Drug Association, the New York Academy of Science, and the Pharmaceutical Society of New York. He is a Fellow of the American Institute of Chemists, and of the American Association for the Advancement of Science.

Professor Taub was recently honored at the Columbia College of Pharmacy's Alumni Association Dinner by the receipt of the Henry Hurd Rusby Award. It was at this time that he announced his bequest of $1,000,000 to the School.

"The Stuyvesant Training Corps"

...by Thomas Marshall Davidson, Sr. S'23

The Stuyvesant Training Corps was organized as a military instruction unit in December 1915. Captain Henry F. Davidson, father of Garrison Davidson of the Class of 1923 (who was the mascot of the STC growing up), was the Drill Instructor. Henry Davidson fought at the Battle of San Juan Hill where a large drinking cup in his hand diverted a large enemy bullet aimed at his head. Henry and son General Garrison Davidson are shown here in a 1958 photograph, with a hat of the type Henry wore at San Juan Hill.

Many members of the STC fought in World War Two, a number at very high rank, and the bonds developed at Stuyvesant and in the war enabled these men to meet on a regular basis over the years until many were well into their 80s. A regular newsletter connected the group all those years. The STC was renamed “The Last Man’s Club” and lasted until virtually the last man passed on.

For example, for the 1974 meeting, members included Bernard Miemann, Edgar Chapman, George Ellner, Vincent Federici, Walter Wood, Harry Isaacson, Fred Marsh, J. Florian Mitchell, Richard Mugler, Theodore Novak, Alfred Reutershan, Hugo Rogers, Arthur Sanfillippo, Alois Scharf, Kenneth Spear, George Titus, Harry (Red) Freedman, Peter Hahn, Sidney Wilde, Arnold Hanson, Bill Tannhauser, Charles Gillhaus, Bill Sands, David Newberger, Richard Leslie, Lee Kramer, Alfred Hausrath, Sidney Berliner, Joe Hasto, Sidney Tobias, Jerry Turner, Ken Morton, Elmer Rogers and Joe Rizzuto.

The institution of the Stuyvesant Training Corps lasted almost an entire century.

"Class of '23 City Champion Football Team"

by Thomas Marshall Davidson, Sr. S'23

Stuyvesant’s First Championship Football Team, the Class of 1923, went undefeated in City play, beating DeWitt Clinton 14-0 in the Championship game. Three team members went on to become captains of their college teams. The team included Captain William Adler, Garrison Davidson, Michael DiVirgilio, Bernard Feurer, Harold Hockelman, Abraham Kaplan, William Koselink, Ernest Rehm, John Shaw, Clarence Taylor, William Timm and Abraham Zahn. The December 8, 1922 Banquet, held at the West Side YMCA, also listed “Eddie the Water Boy” and “M. Slavin, first aid.”

Officers of the Stuyvesant Club in attendance at the football banquet included President Thomas Hession, Vice President William Adler, Secretary Leo Kramer and Treasurer Bernard Feurer. Speakers included Principal Ernest R. Von Nardroff and Coach Joseph Saltman.

In his autobiography, Gar Davidson wrote: “In 1919 there was only one technical high school in the New York school system, Stuyvesant… I traveled by subway from the upper Bronx to lower Manhattan for four years and was never late for my first class, a distinct tribute to the reliability of the New York subway system.”

“The school was not a neighborhood institution as far as I was concerned. The student body was a polyglot group coming from a great variety of ethnic backgrounds; sons of Jewish, Polish, Ukrainian and Italian immigrants who lived nearby, Irish from Hell’s Kitchen, Germans, Hungarians and Czechs from uptown and Greeks from Brooklyn. Most kids being poor headed for work soon as school was out...

In 1921, I decided to try out for the football team… I was successful and played right end for two years. In 1921 we just missed winning the championship but in 1922 our team brought Stuyvesant its first championship.”

William Canton '23

From the 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

After graduating from Stuyvesant, continued his education at New York University, Fordham College and Fordham Law School. Following his admission to the bar, he engaged in Bar Association activities, and for several years conducted a series of radio programs sponsored by the American Citizenship Committee of the New York County Lawyers Association. At the same time, he became affiliated with various civic organizations devoted to the furtherance of good government.

Shortly after this country was involved in the war, he was selected by the United States Navy for training as a civilian instructor in the aviation branch of the Navy. Mr. Canton believes that the Stuyvesant technical background was of inestimable value in aiding his naval aviation course since he was trained intensively and comprehensively as an aero-nautical engineer in a matter of months, after which he was assigned to a naval air station as an instructor. He considers this entire experience a very gratifying phase of his life and then resumed the practice of law after the war. Shortly after the formation of the Alumni Association, he was elected Secretary-Treasurer and has continued as such till the present.

Mr. Canton feels that his duties and activities for the Association are in a measure a recompense for the debt due Stuyvesant, not only for the fine schooling acquired, but for the friends he made and the grand teachers under whom he studied and who influenced him in many ways in the most formative years of his life. He is continually attempting to imbue this attitude in other alumni so that the Association may benefit and prosper.

Jack Pelz Jan ’30

by Dan Steinbach '84

Jack Pelz (Jacob Cohen when he was at Stuyvesant), my grandfather-in-law, was born in 1912 and passed away at the age of 93, leaving his wife of 62 years.

Jack's father and mother both passed away at a young age. At 16 while attending Stuyvesant High School, he went to live with his older sister. His two younger siblings went to orphanages. Upon graduating from Stuyvesant, he had no money for college. Times were different back then and with no source of money, he went to work. He worked most of his life in the subways as a conductor at first and then as an engineer.

However his life was not about his career, it was about his family. Whenever the family would come over for Passover, he would always kiss all the grandkids and say they are his millions. Hilda, his wife, and Jack had 4 daughters each about 4 years apart. My mother-in-law is the oldest causing my father-in-law to call her the pick of the litter. They also have 10 grandchildren which includes my wife and currently have 6 great-grandchildren.

When I first started dating my wife, her parents were on vacation overseas so she stayed with her grandparents in Forest Hills about a mile or so from my father's house. We were both camp counselors with the Flushing YM/WHA, Cindy was 16 and I was 18. I went jogging with her after dinner for several nights and then decided that I should at least say hello to her grandparents. I wasn't sure what to expect from her grandparents. Just in those first few moments I was taken in by their warmth. We seemed to get along fine from the start. I guess they knew.

When my older son Zack was 2.5 years old, we visited them in their winter residence in Century Village in West Palm Beach Florida. They would have been very upset if we came to Florida for a vacation and didn't visit them. In the last few years, they gave up their place in Florida and eventually their place in Forest Hills Queens to move to an assisted living residence in Melville Long Island very close to my mother-in-law and one of their other daughters.

Still hanging on the wall in their apartment at the assisted living residence was Jack's Stuyvesant diploma from December of 1930 (I believe). It was obviously folded at one point but then found its way into a frame and proudly displayed. Having attended the same high school although so many years later seemed to be a bond. We still have a doll house that Jack made in shop class at Stuyvesant over 75 years ago sitting on the floor of our living room.

The family met at the cemetery but there was no funeral parlor, just a simple ceremony. My mother-in-law, Renee, had wanted to celebrate his life in the tradition of an Irish wake as opposed to a somber ceremony. I think he would be very happy to see everyone get together and share fond memories and stories. Jack was the eternal optimist - always smiling with the warm look of love when seeing his family.

Right before Passover in 2005, he didn't feel well and became disoriented. While on his way to the hospital he said to his wife of 65 years, "we had a good life." He may have known. After the hospital he was in a hospice where he was fairly non-responsive for several days. The decision was made not to prolong his situation with a feeding tube or artificial respirator. He had accomplished all he was going to accomplish and there is nothing wrong with 6 great-grandkids as an accomplishment.
- Dan Steinbach '84

John T. McLaughlin '32

From the 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

President of the Vick Chemical Company.
Mr. McLaughlin worked continually during his four years at Stuyvesant and was awarded a full tuition scholarship at Harvard after his graduation m 1932. He entered the Equitable Life Assurance Society when he graduated from Harvard Phi Beta Kappa in 1936. Mr. McLoughlin moved on to Proctor and Gamble Company in 1939, where he served as Product Brand Manager. In 1946 he became Advertising and Sales Manager at Carier Products. He directed the Surgical Dressings Division of Johnson & Johnson from 1947-1954.

Mr. McLoughlin was "Vice President in charge of Marketing Domestic and Export of Easterbrook Pen Company for three years sterling in 1955. In 1958 he moved on to Mead Johnson & Company, where he acted as Vice President and General Manager, Nutritional and Pharmaceutical Division. He was made President of Mead Johnson Laboratories when Metrecal sales had reached a great height, warranting a separate division. Mr. McLoughlin became President of the Vick Chemical Company in 196l. He is also active in many community endeavors, as well as his business enterprises. He has been Vice President of the Princeton, N. J. YMCA; Trustee of the Princeton United Fund; and is Vestryman of the Trinity Church of Princeton, N.J., and of St. Paul's Episcopal Church of Evansville, Indiana.

Dr. Irving V. Glick ‘32

At Stuyvesant, Irving Glick was on the editorial staff of The Spectator and was editor of the Yearbook. He graduated from Stuyvesant at a time when the country was suffering from the Great Depression. He then attended Baylor University in Waco, Texas where he received a BA Degree in 1936. After Baylor, he returned to New York, attended New York University and then went to the University of Maryland Medical School, obtaining a Medical Degree in 1940. After graduating, he held internships and successive residencies at Mt. Sinai Hospital, Bellevue Hospital, Harlem Hospital, and Montefiore Hospital.

In 1944, during WWII, Dr. Glick entered the Medical Corps of the US Military; and with the rank of Major he was assigned as an Orthopedic Surgeon to various military hospitals. During this period he was among the first to use bone grafting in reconstructive surgery. Because of his specialty and the urgent and continuing needs of wounded soldiers certain physicians were retained or “frozen” in the Military beyond the end or formal cessation of WWII.

Dr. Glick’s last assignment in the Military was at Oliver General Hospital in Augusta, GA, a large Orthopedic and Psychiatric installation. While stationed at Oliver General hospital he met and subsequently married Tommie Wurtsbaugh, an American Red Cross psychiatric social worker, in 1947.

After discharge from the Army in 1947 Dr. Glick returned to New York City, continuing specialized training at Mt. Sinai and Bellevue Hospitals. He then opened a private practice in NYC and continued his association with Mt. Sinai and Bellevue as attending physician. During this period he joined the faculty of New York University Bellevue Medical Center as Professor of Orthopedic Surgery where he taught for over twenty-five years.
After living in NYC for several years, Dr. Glick and his wife – because of personal friendships and their interest in tennis – moved to Great Neck, Long Island. Eventually moving his office to Great Neck, Dr. Glick was one of the first physicians to work toward the establishment of North Shore Community Hospital. Increasingly aware of the need for medical care in the field of sports, he became one of the pioneers in the development of Sports Medicine.

During this period Dr. Glick was physician for the Port Washington Tennis Academy and physician for the US Tennis Open, then held at the West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills. The United States Tennis Association and the United States Open moved to the new stadium in Flushing, NY in 1970 at which time Dr. Glick established the Medical Department for the US Open and was Chief of the Medical Department for over twenty years. He has continued his interest and involvement with the USTA as Honorary Chairman of the USTA Sports Science Committee and as Tournament Physician Emeritus of the US Open. His dedication to providing excellence in medical care to the tennis players, to the public attending the games and the staff of the US Open extended also to football players and to basketball players.

After working with Coach Lou Carnesecca and the New Jersey Nets in the 1970’s , he became associated with St. John’s University basketball team, continuing to work with Coach Carnesecca. Interest in a player’s progress, health, total development and welfare – present and future – on the part of the coaching staff (a philosophy reflected by the University also) was an approach shared by Dr. Glick. This led to a remarkable, unique and satisfying association with the “Red Storm” basketball team for over twenty years – until Dr. Glick’s retirement in 1999.

Among heart-warming experiences and highlights of his long and productive career are not only verbal and written tributes from grateful patients, friends, tennis players and basketball players, but also the unique and public tribute presented and broadcast on September 3, 1999 in the Arthur Ashe Stadium at the US Tennis Open, transcribed below:

Ladies and Gentlemen, we would like to direct your attention to the President's Box. Tonight we are giving special recognition to Dr. Irving Glick. Dr. Glick was the Medical Director of the US Open Tennis Championships from 1970 through 1991, and has since been the Tournament Physician Emeritus. Dr. Glick has been a pioneer in modern day sports medicine. He laid the groundwork for the high standards of medical care that everyone recieves at the Open. He founded the USTA Sports Medicine Committee and was Instrumental in shaping the USTA and International Tennis Federation's Drug-testing Programs. He is universally recognized as a physician with exceptional clinical skills and judgement, and even more so as a compassionate gentleman. For his pioneering efforts and unique contributions to medicine and sports, Dr. Glick has recieved numerous awards, Including induction into St/ John's University Sports Hall of Fame, Induction into the Eastern USTA Tennis Hall of Fame, and recipient of the International Tennis Hall of Fame's Tennis Educational Merit Award.

The US Open is privelaged to have Dr. Glick as a family member and we ask everyone to join us in applauding this wonderful Individual.

Presented Friday, September 3, 1999
Arthur Ashe Stadium

Surrounded by family, friends, players and tournament spectators at Madison Square Garden, Dr Glick was honored at the 2000 Chase Championships. It was fitting that the award be given at the last Chase Championships held at the Garden, as both the tournament and Dr. Glick have been a trademark of professional women’s tennis.

The Sanex WTA Tour’s Irving Glick award was established in 2000 to recognize and honor Dr. Glick’s dedication, contributions and sport medicine excellence. This award will be given annually to a Sports Medicine Physician in Professional Women’s Tennis, to honor excellence and to carry on the legacy for which Dr. Glick has set the standard.

John F. McManus, '32

from the June 1962 Alumni Journal

John devoted most of his life to serving his alma mater, Cornell University, where he is presently Assistant Dean of the School of Engineering. Upon his graduation from Stuyvesant, where he was an officer of the General Organization and Arista, Dean McManus was awarded a scholarship to Cornell.

After receiving his degree in 1936, he became an assistant engineer with the Eastman Kodak Company in Rochester which provided him with a great challenge as a young engineer. In 1941 he was appointed as the director of the Engineering, Science, and Management War Training Program conducted by Cornell in the Buffalo area. In 1948 Dean McManus became administrative assistant to the Dean of Engineering at Cornell. He received the appointment to his present position in 1956.

During his years of service at Cornell many advances have been made including major construction of new engineering buildings, increase in research and graduate facilities, and an expansion of the faculty. Dean McManus also has many professional and academic affiliations. He was secretary of the Education committee of the Engineer's Council for Professional Development, and a member of the American Society of Civil Engineers, Phi Kappa Phi, and Chi Epsilon. Dean McManus terms his stay at Stuyvesant as the "crossroads" of his life, and he attributes much of his inspiration towards engineering to Stuyvesant.

Hooked

by Jules Lipcon ‘35

My strongest memories of my days at Stuyvesant are about the principal, Dr. Von Nardroff. Not that I had any personal association with him. What lies vividly in my memories are the semi-annual science demonstrations he put on in the auditorium for the entire student body. Dr. Von Nardroff moonlighted as a physics professor at Columbia University and was well-qualified for what he did. These were no ordinary lectures. They were theater; exciting and informative. Their purpose was to get you ‘hooked’ on science. He succeeded beyond all expectations.

I recall one lecture on the colloidal properties of liquids. He closed by having a cauldron of molten metal brought forth from the foundry shop. After dipping his arm in some sort of liquid, he passed it through the poured stream of red hot metal.

Another lecture was on astronomy. A pendulum was suspended from the auditorium ceiling. It swung over a smoked glass plate that was projected on a screen. You literally saw the earth turning.

With that kind of exposure, how could anyone leave Stuyvesant not being “hooked” on science?

After Graduation

by Jules Lipcon '35

I was the youngest of four siblings, the children of immigrant Jewish parents, growing up during the depression. I took a year off after Stuyvesant and then went to NYU for a degree in Mechanical Engineering.

I was drafted soon after graduating. Having a degree, I was assigned to the Ordnance Corps. I went to Officer's Training and was assigned as an instructor in training artillery mechanics. In early 1943 I was already a captain and was given command of an Ordnance Heavy Maintenance Co. We did very sophisticated maintenance of artillery, small arms, instruments, and all types of tracked and wheeled vehicles from tanks to jeeps. We were assigned to the First Army and went with the army from Normandy to Germany. I was discharged in early 1946 with the rank of Major. I used the G.I. Bill to obtain a master's degree in Industrial Engineering at NYU.

I spent my entire career at Maidenform Inc., rising to V.P. of Engineering. I was responsible for the I.E. department and also for machine development and factory and machinery maintenance. I retired in 1988. I have been retired for 15 years. I just passed my 85th birthday. The reason I retired so late in life is that we put two daughters through medical school, an achievement I am proud of. I have filled my retirement with writing, lots of culture, travel and much time spent out doors. I quit downhill skiing two years ago at age 83. I hope I haven't bored you.

My Land of Opportunity

By Nathaniel K. Zelazo ‘36

My family emigrated form Poland in 1928. I was ten years old. I knew no English and nothing of American culture. But in the bustling neighborhoods of New York, one learned quickly. And when my Junior High School teacher suggested I attend Stuyvesant High School, I did not realize how doors of opportunity and wonder would open up to me. Under the care of Stuyvesant’s dedicated teachers and staff, I began to explore the world of science. It so captured me that I devoted my life to it.

Today, I am the founder and Chairman Emeritus of Astronautics Corporation of America, a design and engineering firm specializing in displays, computers, guidance and navigation equipment, and avionics. Our products are found on military and civilian aircraft, the Space Shuttle, Air Force One, and many land and sea applications. Stuyvesant gave me the academic foundation I needed to pursue advanced degrees, the spirit of adventure to explore new applications, the courage to launch into new technologies, and the strength to take the risks one must take in order to build a company. When I think of Stuyvesant, it is with a profound feeling of gratitude. We came to this country believing it was the Land of Opportunities, and that is exactly what I found in the halls and classrooms of Stuyvesant HS.

The Navigator

Col. Leonard R. Sugerman '37 USAF (Ret.) PhD

Col. Sugerman is known for his accomplishments in the advancement of the technology, management, practice and teaching of the arts and sciences of navigation. Leonard has been assistant to the Director of the Physical Science Laboratory, New Mexico State University since retiring from the Air Force in 1975, after thirty-three years of service. His responsibilities with the Air Force included the development, production and testing of self-contained bombing and navigation equipment for tactical and strategic aircraft, missile, satellite and reentry systems; his service also included two wartime overseas tours with engineering units. While assigned to the Air Staff in 1958, he made the inertial navigation systems available to the Navy's Special Projects Office, enabling the Polaris nuclear submarines Nautilus and Skate to reach the North Pole submerged. At MIT, Leonard studied under Prof. Charles Draper, then went on to get an MBA from University of Chicago and an MPA from New Mexico State University. He is a fellow of the Institute of Navigation and, most recently, he received an honorary Doctor of Laws from New Mexico State University.

The Leonard R. Sugerman Press, established to publish The Universe is a Cloud, Some Raw Food for Thought (see www.lrsp.com/sugerman), now dedicates itself to publishing books that will stretch the imagination of the reader with ideas and concepts that, as Len describes, represent "Thinking outside of the box".

In 2005, Leonard established the Col. Leonard R. Sugerman '37 Award in Aerospace Engineering with The Campaign for Stuyvesant.

Stuyvesant High School

By Bernie Silverman '37

The year was 1936 – and Hitler was spreading his venom throughout the world. In Manhattan, every Sunday the American Nazi Bund in full German uniform would parade on East 86th Street. Anti-Semitism was everywhere including our dear High School.

In the Fall of 1936 a group of Jewish Students from STUYVESANT got together and wanted to organize a club so that they could spread accurate knowledge about Jewish culture, holidays, etc. According to School regulations we needed twenty students and a Faculty Advisor to form a Jewish Cultural Society Club and would be given room in the School and a time when to meet. We met these criteria. However, our Principal Mr. Sinclair Wilson repeatedly could not find a room for us to meet.

At that time one of the Superintendents of the Board of Education was a man named Jacob Greenberg. I did not know him but I wrote to him explaining our predicament – that our principal was continually refusing to allow a Jewish Cultural Society to exist.

I did not hear directly from Mr. Greenberg but 2 months later Mr. Wilson called me into his office and asked me “… what day would you like to have a room for the club? “

Albert Axelrod '38, 1921-2004

from www.Fencing.Net

Axelrod was one of the greatest American fencers in history and was a member of five consecutive U.S. Olympic foil teams (a 20-year span!).

Nicknamed "Albie," his first appearance in the Olympics came at the 1952 Helsinki Games, when he competed in both the team and individual foil events. While the U.S. team reached the quarterfinals before being eliminated, Axelrod reached the semifinals in the individual foil, where he finished in fourth place in his pool (the first three finishers advanced to the finals).

In the mid-1950s, Albert was one of the best fencers in the world and was ranked No. 1 in the United States in 1955, 1958, 1960, and 1970. He was ranked in the U.S. top ten from 1942-1970, missing three years during World War II for military service. Albert won the gold medal in team foil at the 1959 and 1963 Pan American Games. He also won silver medals in the team and individual foil at the 1955 Pan American Games, and the individual foil at the 1959 and 1963 Pan Am Games. Besides competing in five Olympiads, Albert also competed in six Maccabiah Games, beginning in 1957.

Albert Axelrod passed away on February 24, 2004. Albie was one of the greatest competitors of his or any generation, whose results as a foilist have yet to be surpassed. His contributions - as a coach, team leader and manager, and editor of American Fencing - are hallmarks of his life-long dedication to our sport. He will be missed.

Albert Axelrod '38, 1921-2004

from www.fosters.com

Albert Axelrod SOMERS, N.Y. — Albert Axelrod, 83, of Heritage Hills in Somers, died Tuesday, Feb. 24, 2004, at Montefiore Hospital in New York.

Born on Feb. 12, 1921, in Brooklyn, N.Y., he was the son of Esther and Morris Axelrod. He graduated from Stuyvesant High School and City College of New York. He also served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

During his career he worked as an electrical engineer in the aerospace industry, retiring from Grumman Aerospace in Bethpage, Long Island, in 1986. Until two years ago, he was an active participant in the sport of fencing, and remained active in other areas of the fencing world until the time of his death. He participated in five Olympics between 1952 and 1968, winning the Olympic bronze medal in 1960. In addition he was a four-time National Champion, also earning nine second-place, two third-place and one fourth-place finish in the National Championships between 1942 and 1970.

He is survived by his wife of 60 years, Henrietta (Chooluck) Axelrod of Somers; one daughter, Stephanie Keegan and her husband, Andrew, of Dover, N.H.; one son, Michael Axelrod and his wife, Patricia Daragan, of Westbrook, Conn.; three grandchildren, Daniel, Brian and Peter Keegan, of Dover; and his brother, Boris Axelrod and his wife, Shirley, of St. Louis, Mo.

Eugene Garfield '38

Foreword from Essays of an Information Scientist: Creativity, Delayed Recognition, and other Essays, Vol:12, p.xi-xii, 1989 by Roald Hoffmann

The other day I tried to imagine a world without Gene Garfield, Oh, he’d still be with us, but let’s say Dr. Garfield turned out to be a great organic chemist instead of what he is. In that world, I‘d saunter into the library on a Saturday afternoon, as I’ve done for twenty five years. I’d glare at the undergraduates with their feet up on the table near the new journals, those 250 multicolored objects of my obsession, bringing the week’s good news to Cornell. Actually that Saturday afternoon there’s a football game, so there’s a little less competition between the undergraduates and professors for the space of many uses in Clark Hall Physical Sciences Library.

I sit myself down, in that Gene-less world, and begin to look through the journals. I scan the titles, read some abstracts, read in more detail a few pieces of a paper, put aside a handful of articles to copy, hoping against hope that one of the five copying machines has survived a day’s abuse. In one issue of Recueil des Travaux Chimiques des Pays Bas (I’ve heard boorish Americans call it the Records of the Traveling Chemists), there is an article reporting calculations on a fascinating cyclopentadienyl thallium compIex. But that day something happens — I’m distracted, perhaps by the view across Cayuga Valley, or tired from too much country and western dancing, so I drift as I scan down the pages. The contents don’t register. I miss the article.

Which is too bad because it’s relevant, terribly relevant, to work Chris Janiak, German postdoctoral associate, and I are doing on thallium and iridium chemistry. In fact, I don’t find the article until a year and a half later, after we’ve written ours on the subject, when a critical commentator arguing with our interpretation points to this Dutch article and I get the shock full impact, of not searching the literature, the shock, reverberating back to childhood, of not having done my homework.

In that world there is no Current Contents. There is no redundancy mechanism to provide me with another chance to make up for my moment of distraction, a second scan through the riches of the chemical literature.

Then there is this insubordinate graduate student in my group. She had her own way of doing research, and resists my gentle attempts to impose a paradigm. I tell her you should really know the experimental literature of the field before you build an orbital theory. She says “Ah, hell, let’s do a calculation and see if the results are interesting, then we’ll look if anyone has made the relevant molecules.” I view this curious philosophy as a modern day perversion of the notorious Dirac fallacy of following the beauty of the equations, experiment be damned. I fight back, showing her examples from the literature that violate her orbital interaction diagrams, and in my real world I have a trick for finding these (and I will share it with her soon), namely Citation index. We’re working on explaining a molecule with a weird geometry, first seen a dozen years ago and still a puzzle today. It’s so easy to trace all the papers that reference a key finding of an anomaly, that spot the same paper that she and I took off from. The true value of this creation of Gene’s is that it is a bibliographic tool, not a servant of vanity, nor a meter stick for promotion. In the ISI-less world, I have a harder time keeping ahead of my student.

It would be a dull world without Gene Garfield’s essays. Where else could I see Joshua Lederberg and Harriet Zuckerman looking toward the space separating them, while discoursing on the post mature nature of the discovery of bacterial sex; get some name-dropping mileage among my jazzy friends out of Rudy Wiedoeft (one also learns there is a World Saxophone Congress every three years — I wonder if they have parallel sessions and if their meeting rooms are sound-proofed better than those of the chemists); where else would I see such deft side-stepping to explain why the work of Gertrude Elion and George Hitchings, who shared the 1988 Nobel Prize in Medicine, never appeared on lists of most cited papers; learn who taught Mister Rogers to fly; and find out that Gene, Josh, and I were all Peglegs.

And what would I do if I could not look forward to the fourth fifty most cited scientists in 1973-84? I mean, here the first one hundred and fifty have passed, and I’m not on the list! I have my asterisk, and yet I’m not on his list. Mind you there are scores of those perfervid molecular biologists, medicos, and their ilk, the same crew that’s swamped Proc. Nat. Acad. Sci. USA (ISI Accession Number DG 092) taking up most of the space on that list. I bet they’re all just citing each other, a thing my chemist friends would never dream of doing. They just cite themselves. But the ignominy of it all — Michael J. made the top 150, and I haven’t!

In that deprived world no one would call me to pontificate as to why Soviet physics papers are their most cited literature component, or ask me to pronounce (by Federal Express, please) ex cathedra of what this highly cited chemistry paper is a harbinger. Of fashion, that’s what. Gene certainly has a way to a man’s heart. Even if my picture isn’t there as often as Josh’s, he’s helped me make the middle-aged transition from wunderkind to sage.
I much prefer this world, where Eugene Garfield and his brainchildren entertain and inform us.

Elvyn V. Davidson, MD '39

from a tribute on the OakRidger.com

Loved and successful Doctor and citizen of the Oak Ridge, Tennessee area. Chief of surgery at Baptist Memorial Hospital, instructor at UT Medical Center, Oak Ridge hospital emergency room physician, and resident at Harlem and Bellevue hospitals. "Buffalo Soldier" serving in Italy and later served with Occupation forces in Japan. Built a successful private practice, carried on by his daughter. Treated Martin Luther King Jr. for multiple stab wounds.
Elvyn moved to NY at age ten where a Junior High School teacher and Stuyvesant HS gave him the courage and education to succeed despite a very disadvantaged background. He was interviewed as part of an oral history project for the University of Tennessee's Center for the Study of War & Society. In the interview he discusses his family, childhood, education, and career. He has many good things to say about Stuyvesant.

High Schools Provide Useful Educational Model

by Howard Greyber PhD '39 (Howard Goldgraber at SHS)...from Larry Lerner, PhD '51

December 2003:
At a time when math and science education nationwide is struggling to keep up with the rest of the world, Stuyvesant High School in New York City turns out well-educated graduates who are accepted easily into most of the top universities in the US.

Prominent graduates include Eric Holder, US deputy attorney general, and Nobel Laureate Roald Hoffman, a professor of chemistry at Cornell University. Two other Nobel laureates—the famous geneticist Joshua Lederberg and the distinguished economist Robert Fogel—also graduated from Stuyvesant. It was not the magnificent new Stuyvesant building which promoted these achievements.

When Lederberg, Fogel and Hoffman attended, the school was located in a decrepit, very crowded building on the lower East Side in Manhattan. The library was inadequate, the books tattered, the labs far out of date, and the teachers average. No grassy suburban campus, just dirty concrete sidewalks on a narrow crowded street. Neither were there school buses; students had to use public transportation; most traveled over a dozen miles daily from the outer boroughs.

Yet Stuyvesant was regularly tops or very close to the top of high schools in New York State, and in the number of students being awarded the prized New York State Regent's Scholarships for college.

The basic stimulation for achievement came from the creative interaction and friendly competition of a critical mass of bright, intensely curious students, and from the rigid, tough standards, such as the Regent exams, which set challenging goals.

Success in learning mathematics was aided greatly by a longtime custom in New York of forming math teams in all high schools which met and competed against each other. Peer tutoring is a productive technique, well known and used in the 19th century, but unfortunately forgotten or ignored by today's educational dogma. Kids will accept harsh criticism from another kid, which might devastate them if it came from an adult teacher. Such clubs and teams, competing with other high schools in all the academic subjects would help all students achieve.

Research has found that McGuffey's Readers, standard textbooks in the late 19th and early 20th century, use vocabulary three or four grades ahead of those used in textbooks today. Our textbooks have been dramatically dumbed down.

New York City public schools in the 1930s were generally regarded as the best in the nation, but no more. Tracking of students was done back then in every grade, yet today educators oppose tracking. Teachers then were happy to skip brighter kids ahead to a higher grade. Today educators oppose skipping grades. Are not these educators partially responsible for the general drop in student performance? When kids are bored, they tend to misbehave.

The perilous state of elementary, middle and high school public education is obvious to all. Many reports have been issued, such as "A Nation at Risk" in 1983, but while various dubious changes have been adopted, it is fair that impartial markers for academic achievement like SAT and PSAT scores have shown no significant improvement since then. It is a fact that when foreign visitors arrive in America and put their children in our public schools, they discover their children are two or three grades ahead of ours in most subjects.

In science and mathematics one finds that American public high school kids rank last among 16 industrialized nations. [Ed. note: This refers to results of the Third International Mathematics and Science Study (TIMSS) released in 1998, and can be understood as reflecting the fact that US high-school students take much less science, especially physics, compared to students in other countries. See Michael Neuschatz, The Science Teacher 66, 23-26 (1999).] Even more shocking is that while Asian children, who excel, do not feel they compare well with other nations, American children think wrongly that they are doing quite well. We badly need capable American workers who know basic mathematics and science for our modern, technology-intensive economy. Expensive private schools for bright kids are springing up costing up to $20,000 per year, per child.

One scintillating facet of American public high school education, shining amid the generally dismal vista, is the outstanding success of high schools of science like Stuyvesant and the Bronx High School of Science. Very few of them exist to serve our huge society of over 285 million people. Where they do exist, like the public North Carolina High School of Science and Technology, they quickly attract interest from the majority of the surrounding high technology companies. High tech companies extend assistance, equipment, visits and offer summer and part-time employment, hoping for fresh, bold ideas from the young people.

My suggestion is to revolutionize American public education, i.e., for our Federal government—in cooperation with the states and local government—to fund and to build 435 high schools of science, like Stuyvesant, over the next seven years, one in each Congressional district and locally controlled. The cost is quite reasonable. Building 63 such public high schools each year, at a cost of $3.8 billion per year, means the total cost to the federal budget is less than $27 billion over seven years—about half the cost of the Apollo Space Project when one corrects for subsequent inflation. The cost could be shared by the Education Department, Commerce Department, National Science Foundation and NASA budgets. It could be called the Second National Defense Education Act.

E.G. Sherburne, Jr. once pointed out, "While many people think that a 'genius' will thrive without any encouragement, studies tell a different story." Each year hundreds of thousands of bright American students of all skin colors are lost to science for lack of the proper challenging education. The high standards of these proposed nearby federal science schools would exert a strong positive influence on all public education, as parents of kids in the feeder elementary and middle schools in the area demand that courses in those schools be improved to give their children a chance to pass the exam to enter the local science high school.

The federal science high schools would provide student tutoring, special facilities and demonstrations to nearby schools. As President John Adams wrote, "The preservation of the means of knowledge among the lowest ranks is of more importance to the public than all the property of the rich men in the country."

A former wartime lieutenant in the U.S. Naval Reserve, Howard Greyber is a PhD astrophysicist, a fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society, and a member of the International Astronomical Union. He lives in Potomac, Maryland.

©1995 - 2003, AMERICAN PHYSICAL SOCIETY APS encourages the redistribution of the materials included in this newspaper provided that attribution to the source is noted and the materials are not truncated or changed.

Response by Jack Cazes Jan'51, Boynton Beach, FL. February 2004:

Stuyvesant Teachers Definitely Above Average Regarding the Viewpoint by Howard Greyber on Stuyvesant High School [APS News, December 2003]: for the most part, it was a pretty good overview of my time spent at Stuyvesant (Class of February, 1951), but I am disappointed by the claim that the teachers were average.

One could not be any further from the truth in this respect. All of the teachers with whom I interacted were of a very high caliber; they were extremely dedicated educators and always spent much of their own time with us (after hours) to be sure we understood and absorbed everything they threw at us.

In my own case, I took two years each of chemistry, biology, and physics. Where else could one have such an experience? Certainly not at Bronx Science or at Brooklyn Tech. Our program was as full as we wanted it to be and our teachers motivated us as no others could do.

Faculty Talent to that of a Small University

Richard Held, PhD '39

Sometime during my eighth grade in PS 6 Manhattan (1935) I began to think about the impending need to enroll in a high school since grammar school ended with the eighth grade. My parents toyed with the idea of sending me to a private school of which there were several available in Manhattan and environs. There was the Horace Mann School, the Collegiate School, the Bentley School and the Fieldston School (later referred to as Feldstein for obvious reasons) and a number of others. Most had excellent reputations but they were quite expensive. The selective public high schools of the mid-thirties also had fine reputations, they cost nothing, other than the taxes one paid anyway, and I preferred to avoid what I regarded as the social snobbism implied by private schools. Of the selective public schools in Manhattan two all-boys high schools, Stuyvesant High and Townshend-Harris, stood out the latter allowing completion in three years as opposed to the usual four. Admission to both was dependent upon receiving high marks in tests administered in the eighth grade. I took both exams and was accepted in both but preferred to go to Stuyvesant because of its strong reputation as a science-oriented school and my parents concern that I was too young to speed up my educational progress any further.

Stuyvesant’s physical plant was an unimpressive pile of bricks situated in lower Manhattan between 1st and 2nd Avenues running from 15th to 16th streets amid nondescript rows of tenement houses. It had an internal gymnasium but no outside facilities whatever. The campus was the street with a few food stores and snack shops scattered along it. The internal atmosphere literally stunk at times dependent upon what sorts of chemical reagents were being tested in the laboratory for qualitative analytic chemistry. When hydrogen sulfide was bubbled through solutions to precipitate and identify metallic sulfides the atmosphere within the school was intolerably loaded with its rotten egg smell. Other equally identifiable smells kept us abreast of the curriculum of that course.

Despite its physical shabbiness the school was in such demand that it had to run two sessions per day to accommodate all of its students. Accordingly, during the first couple of years, the students attended the afternoon session running from 12:30 to 5:00 pm while in the second couple of years they attended from 7:30 am to noon. Thus a building designed to teach 2500 students actually taught 5000. One may wonder why such an inadequate facility gained such a reputation for educational excellence. The answer was simple. Its faculty was equivalent in talent to that of a small university. A large portion of the faculty held advanced degrees and consequently many were referred to as Doctor So-and-so. At that period during the great depression a faculty position in a New York High School was one of the best paying and most secure jobs an academic could have. The consequences were clear. Most of the faculty was dedicated to their work and the better students were excited by the intellectual prospects presented to them. I learned to love this grungy place.

The faculty was a diverse lot. Among the more colorful were:
Dr. Kaplan, a teacher of advanced mathematics who was rumored to have commanded a Russian submarine during the previous war. He dressed oddly with out of date suits and spoke with a strong accent. He may have been a good teacher but could not control his classes, members of which tossed chalk at the blackboards when his back was turned. Dr. Schur taught biology with a flair that made it alive. Sig Meyers taught physics and coached the swimming team which for practice could only use the pool in the local public bath house. I joined the Y in order to practice and became the number one breast stroke specialist on the team. Mr. Pause taught English and supervised the newspaper group. Then there was Astrakhan, Mostow, and Lobsenz as international a set of names as was obtainable. My home room teacher was Miss Popo a petite teacher of French of uncertain age who reminded me of a Pekinese dog. The students were more diverse in origins than the faculty. Among my friends was Joe Hurley who hardly had money for lunch and had to wear his father’s hand-me-down suits because they were so poor. I remember his mother a handsome dignified woman who wore a large brimmed hat.

I have described the characteristics of Stuyvesant High School mostly from a more or less objective point of view. Now I want to follow that up with some of the activities that engaged me around that time and place. Many proved educational in a less formal manner than classroom instruction. Every school day I boarded the second avenue elevated train at 92nd St and traveled to 14thst and 1st avenue which was around the corner from Stuyvesant. However, during my first couple of years a companion of mine and I would occasionally start quite early and remain on the train until it reached the City Hall Station. There we would get off, walk to the City Hall, and find a seat in the balcony of the main hall where we would witness for an hour or so the entertainment provided by the meetings of the Board of Estimate. I believe we originally learned about these meetings in our Civics Class which was of course about government. The most dramatic touches were provided by the then mayor of New York City, Fiorello H. Laguardia. When he arrived the action was accelerated. Words became louder, disputes were amplified, and the whole scene was electrified. This little Napoleon was a dynamo of energy, witty, sarcastic, and entertaining. We would stay listening until it was time to go north for the afternoon session at Stuyvesant. I remember telling friends and parents that we had spent the morning with the Mayor of New York. This early extra-curricular experience allowed me to interpret correctly much later the meaning of my eminent relative’s announcement that he had just had lunch with the President. Yes, he had, together with a thousand other people.

The elevated railway with its open-ended cars was the locus of many activities of teen age boys for which it was not designed. The lure of exposure to the winds kicked up by the motion of the cars was a spur to the scientific imagination. Gliders made by folding paper would exhibit amazing trajectories when thrown into the wake of the train’s motion. Kites could be flown from the rear of the train although one risked loss of it if and when the train stopped. Perhaps the most artistic of these games was the use of rolls of paper. By weighting the front end of a roll and dropping that end onto the tracks while holding the roll on a stick as the train started, one could allow it to unroll completely thereby creating a festoon of paper down the tracks. My friends and I thus decorated the elevator tracks in a manner that clearly anticipated the artist Christo who became renowned for covering various buildings with paper. But we seem to have been all but forgotten as progenitors of that artistic movement.

Many of us enjoyed learning chemistry. But certain processes and techniques were particularly fascinating. For example, the making of gunpowder by combining sulphur, carbon, and sodium chlorate led to many bomb productions among myself and friends. The ingredients were purchasable at a nearby chemical supply house called Eimer and Amend. The production of rocket fuel was also an attractive process in which we engaged with varied success. Glass blowing proved interesting and we dabbled with it making our own fanciful objects out of glass tubes.

The swimming team took up a certain amount of energy on my part. One needed to practice continually if one was to win consistently. So all through the winter I kept training at the local Y catching one cold after the other in what seemed to be the consequence. But I kept after it. I remember swimming meets at which we swam competitively at the various high schools that had pools. I can’t say that I enjoyed it. It was more of a “must do” thing for some ulterior motive I never could clearly articulate.

Stuyvesant had no women students but it had a few older women on the faculty. One semester I was assigned to a class with a substitute teacher who turned out to be a very comely young woman named Mrs. Isaacs. The title was made very conspicuous for reasons that may easily be divined. She seemed to be about the age of an older student. The prefix Mrs. would put her out of limits for students. Such was the ethos of the thirties. I was absolutely mesmerized by her as was 90 % of the students in her classes.

Curiously enough, not long after I joined the faculty at MIT in the early sixties I met her again, twenty-five years later. She was the wife of a faculty colleague. We reminisced.

My Love for Stuyvesant

by William Solomon Jan.'40

My love for Stuyvesant High School evolved from many aspects of the four years I spent there. Obviously the most important came from the exceptional training and discipline I received from the complement of outstanding instructors. I have forgotten many of their names, but the name of Hyman Mostow stands out: Exposure to Hyman Mostow's senior year course in English made college freshman English a breeze and I needed that breeze to handle a difficult freshman year in college.

My years at Stuyvesant also eased my university engineering training and provided strong grounding for my career in many diverse engineering fields. My career included aeronautical research, supersonic military aircraft design and development, surface-to-air missile design, aerospace laboratory equipment design, nuclear submarine overhaul equipment design, water pump test facility design, and innovative water-pump performance improvement designs.

My peak career accomplishment was the aerodynamic configuration design for the Navy's supersonic attack airplane, designated the RA-5 Vigilante. One of these airplanes is now on display on the USS Intrepid at the Sea-Air-Space Museum in New York harbor. There is a plaque at the RA-5 display noting that this airplane had more state-of-the-art advances than any airplane in history.

Not to be overlooked as a career-advancing benefit of my years at Stuyvesant is the time I spent as a member of the staff of The Spectator. Our faculty advisor was a great teacher named George Dewey Pause. For an office we were assigned the broom closet by the 15th Street entrance of the school, where we worked late many nights to put out the paper on a weekly basis. There was a typewriter, an old Remington if my memory serves me, for some of us to write our stories. Others wrote longhand, generally using upper-case block lettering. Somehow, stories got typed and taken down to a linotype shop some miles downtown from the school. There we got printed "proofs" of the articles made up for us to edit and to produce "dummies' (paste-ups) of the pages that would eventually be printed at that linotype shop. Training in writing and editing The Spectator helped in my engineering career where writing and editing are a mandatory part of job responsibilities.

Bill Solomon, left, with Texas State Rep. Elliot Naishtat '61, organized the wonderful Class of '40 60th Reunion in 1999. Reunion activities included an afternoon reception next to "Bill's plane"--the RA-5 Vigilante, shown here--on the Intrepid. A special experience for all!

And then there was the Aero Club, a group of Stuyvesant model airplane-building enthusiasts. These were depression-era years and few of us could afford gasoline-powered models. So the bulk of our activity was in building rubber-powered models, competing with each other and learning how to improve flight-duration performance. During warm weather, we competed in Central Park's Sheep Meadow, a venue for which we learned to obtain permission from Park authorities. During the winter months, we competed by flying very light weight models in the school auditorium.

The outdoor airplanes were fairly large, having wingspans of about 36 to 40 inches. And they were designed to stay aloft by taking advantage of thermal rising currents for five minutes or more. Sometimes, during competitions in Central Park, one (or more) of our planes would fly out of the park, and out of sight, mostly toward Central Park West. Generally we would get notified by a finder as to where to pick up our model. No one was ever injured by one of the errant model airplanes!

The indoor models we built were very light (in the range of an ounce or two as I remember) and had a wingspan of 12 to 15 inches. The wing and tail surfaces leading and trailing edges were made of lightweight balsa wood about 3/32 square. The wings had about two ribs in each half, and the covering was a material called microfilm which was made by pouring a liquid on a water surface and attached by putting the wing structure onto the microfilm material floating in the water. Tail surface covering was effected similarly, by putting the structure onto the floating microfilm material. The propellers were hand carved out of a block of lightweight balsa about one-inch square to a paper-thin thickness.

In flight, the propellers rotated about one revolution per second. Most of us test flew these models in our parents' bedrooms where we could achieve flying times of one minute or more. In the auditorium at Stuyvesant, Aero Club contestants could achieve flying times of five minutes or more, barring someone opening a balcony door. Of course this would upset the contestant and cause much of a ruckus. We had to learn how to handle distractions such as this. Thus, participation in Aero Club activities gave us much experience and insight in the field we were preparing to enter as engineers.

The 1958 Nobel Prize Laureate for Medicine, Joshua Lederberg, PhD ’41

Joshua won the 1958 Nobel Prize for Medicine for his discoveries concerning genetic recombination and the organization of the genetic material of bacteria. His first major co-discovery was that bacteria exchange genetic materials; this established that microorganisms can reproduce sexually. Lederberg was 33 years old when he won the Nobel Prize.

In 1947, he was appointed Assistant Professor of Genetics at the University of Wisconsin where in 1957, he organized the University’s Department of Medical Genetics. In addition to his work in medicine, Lederberg has been involved in artificial intelligence research (computer science) and in the NASA experimental programs seeking life on Mars. He is President Emeritus of the Rockefeller University and continues his research activities in the field of interactions of gene functionality and mutagenesis in bacteria.

In 1958, at the age of 33, Lederberg won the Nobel Prize in medicine for his research on genetic recombination and the genetic material of bacteria. Since then, much of his research has focused on the genetics of microorganisms, but he has also been involved in various other fields. He has worked with NASA seeking life on Mars, he has done computer science research in the field of artificial intelligence, and he has been an adviser to the World Health Organization.

Joshua Lederberg Receives Honorary Doctorate of Science

Professor Emeritus Norton Zinder introduced Sakler Foundation Scholar Joshua Lederberg, who was awarded a doctor of science honoris causa at this year's Convocation. Excerpts of Zinder's remarks appear below:

Joshua Lederberg was born to do science. When he was 7 years old he expressed an interest in being like Einstein. However, at Stuyvesant High School he joins the biology club. He takes a new direction from then on in his area of interest: biology, all of biology! At Columbia College during the early war years, too young to be drafted, he works with Francis Ryan on Neurospora genetics. Graduating, he enters the Navy's medical program at Columbia. Stimulated by the work here at RU on pneumococcal transformation, he decides to look for genetic exchange: sex in bacteria. Learning from Ryan that Yale has the requisite bacterial mutants that would allow him to test the ingenious scheme he had devised for seeking sex in bacteria, he takes a leave from the program, never to return.

In the spring of 1946, within two months of his arrival at Yale, he has shown that the bacterium E. coli can exchange genetic material. We now know that the a priori probability that the strains he used would be sexy was less than one in 30. He then continued to a doctorate at Yale. In a stroke of genius, R.A. Brink, a corn geneticist at Wisconsin, hired this 22-year-old as an assistant professor of geetics. (For those of you who don't know, modern genetics was born in the Midwest, with Lederberg, Benzer, Luria, Levinthal, Novick, Szilard and Spiegelman, all at the Midwest's land grant state schools. Only when they had become famous and had created modern genetics did the coastal schools steal these scientists away.) I arrived in Josh's lab 51 years ago. For the next years, that lab was the site of a burst of invention and discovery perhaps nowhere ever equaled in experimental science. First was a procedure for isolating easily the necessary mutants for all other experiments.

Then, in no particular order, two bacteriophages, P22 and lambda, which were to be early on the most studied of all phage, were discovered; associated with them was general and specific transduction; the means for transferring genes from one bacteria to another via phage vectors, nature's recombinant DNA. They also had the ability to insert themselves into the next host's genome, presaging in totality the mechanism of action of the cancer- causing viruses. Also found were accessory bacterial chromosomes or plasmids containing many interesting genes, including those which promoted bacterial conjugation, sex at high frequencies. The genetics of the genes that caused fermentation of the sugar lactose was developed (a system later exploited by Jacob and Monod to develop their classic studies on gene regulation). At the center of it all stood the 26-year-old Josh, while circling around were two graduate students: his then-wife, Esther, and the 22-year-old, me. We were later joined by Bruce Stocker, a scientist from the U.K. and Larry Morse, another graduate student. It was quite a place and quite a time!

Josh's interests broadened. He was one of those who changed the theory of antibody formation from the instructive (directed protein folding) to the elective (preformed and then selected antibodies). This was no mean feat considering that the former theory was backed by such as Linus Pauling. Moving to Stanford and with the arrival of the space program, Josh became interested in and coined the term exobiology. Wisely he cautioned the government not to contaminate space. Perhaps not so wisely, he worried about reverse contamination.
Computers became a major focus of his interests, and with Ed Feigenbaum he developed the first expert systems beginning with the facts of organic chemistry then moving on to medicine and computer-aided diagnosis. In 1978, he became president here at Rockefeller. After a complicated 1970s, the university needed replenishment. He recruited faculty, and later in his term, he expanded the fellows program and created the first truly independent junior faculty, some of whom are currently tenured professors.

His service to both the government and the academic community in terms of advisory committees are far too numerous to mention as are the many awards he has obtained, including the Nobel Prize and the President's Medal of Science. However, all in all, I believe nothing would make Josh happier than to be able to teach a computer to answer questions the way that he does. It is with great personal pleasure that I present for the degree of doctor of science honoris causa Joshua Lederberg, one of the most important and most influential scientists of any time.

Remembering Hyman Mostow

by Saul Ferdman ‘41

I entered the morning session of Stuyvesant High School in my fifth term. The school was split into two sessions because it was physically impossible to include everyone in one session. I had promised myself that I would join some extra-curricular activities, but still procrastinated.

We had a substitute English teacher for the first three weeks of the term. An essay, “What I Owe America and What America Owes Me” was written in this spring of 1938. Our regular teacher, Mr. Hyman Mostow, returned. This man greatly impacted my life as well as many others.

To my surprise, I was called into his office shortly after he arrived and was told that I had written an excellent essay. It did not include the usual platitudes about paying one’s taxes. He talked to me further to find out what kind of boy I was and where my interests lay. He recommended that I join a few activities, which I did. By the time I graduated, I was a member of key committees, an officer in Arista, the honor society, and the Editor-in-Chief of the yearbook.

Mr. Mostow was a man of considerable energy and a warm human being with a good sense of humor. In Stuyvesant. he taught the special English class which posted averages of ninety-five percent on the Regents exam. This outpaced the grades in every other high school in New York City. This particular Regents exam eliminated many from the award of a Regents Scholarship. His was the best class in this subject.

Mr. Mostow was thirty-nine years old, of short, corpulent stature and somewhat nervous. He was married and had an infant son. He was the faculty advisor for the yearbook and responsible for student programs. Because he was talented, he was overworked. However, he was always cheerful and loved to talk with the students. I was surprised to find that he had been a former professional basketball player.

He was a believer in total education. He took the entire class to see Paul Muni in “Key Largo,” my first Broadway show. We saw the Pennsylvania Univ. Revue during the year that the number one Hit Parade song came from this show. We heard John Mason Brown lecture at the New York Public Library. All of these trips were without cost to the student. Unlike all other high schools, especially technical schools, the special English classes covered poetry, the modem novel, modem drama, and had a heavy reading schedule. The classes had much discussion and good writing. Because of Mr. Mostow, I finally enjoyed poetry, a subject that was systematically killed during all of the earlier years of my education.

Mr. Mostow had a very active life outside of Stuyvesant. He taught a nurses class at Columbia Univ., an outside literature class and directed a summer playground. In my last year, he told me that! was like a beautiful flower blooming in an unseen field. Upon graduation, my father called him concerning advice on my attending a university with aeronautical engineering courses. He convinced my father of my choice. I was the first member on my fathers side of the family to attend college. I was accepted during the spring of 1941. Shortly thereafter. I met a former classmate in Greeley Park. He told me that he had just learned that Mr. Mostow had died of a heart attack. I thought of his young wife and child. I had lost a great friend whose influence endured over my lifetime.

Stuyvesant Days

by Edward M. Bruner, PhD '42

My Stuyvesant years were the joy of my life, comparable to the time I later spent getting a PhD from the University of Chicago. They were stimulating exciting years in that in both places I felt I was learning with the best, in elite institutions.

My favorite subjects were English and History and I eventually became an anthropologist, but I had my share of math and science too. One time in an advanced math class I just couldn’t understand one of the problems. The teacher (I forget his name) glared at me and kept asking me questions which I could not answer. I boiled inside with embarrassment. Eventually, I looked him in the eye and told him that if he just left me alone that I would take the material home that evening and figure it out by myself. It took me most of the night but I did it.

I also recall a shop class in woodworking where I made two objects which I still have. In fact, I am looking at them now as I write. One is a wooden wastepaper basket which I have used for over 60 years. Let no one say that what students acquire at Stuyvesant does not last! It still works probably because it has no moving parts and no electronics. It is just a trash basket. The other object is a small wooden box on my desk in which I keep sea shells that I have collected on my travels. There are shells from Bali and Sumatra, from the Seychelles and Tanzania, from everywhere.

One day I was called into the office of Sinclair Wilson, the principal. It was serious stuff. He looked at me sternly and said that I may dress well (I still do), but I had better stop fooling around so much (I have not).

My one regret now is that there were no girls at Stuyvesant, but it took 30 years after I graduated in 1942 for the first woman to matriculate in 1972. I am glad that the world, and Stuyvesant, has changed. There was an unfortunate gender bifurcation during my formative adolescent years, in that thought-provoking conversations took place only among boys at school, whereas girls were located in a separate space outside of school, and you had to make a “date” to be with them. I was always awkward around girls anyway and having female classmates might have alleviated that awkwardness.

I had great friends at Stuyvesant—Alan Liss, Gene Salatan, John Shipley, Fred Lenox, and Hugo Boldi—and others whose names I do not recall. I don’t know where they are now. I went to the 50th reunion of the class of 42 but I didn’t remember anyone there. It was hard for our class to keep together, as Stuyvesant is a commuter school, and the war years and the postwar exodus from the city further dispersed everyone. It is too bad that I never kept in touch.

Stuyvesant is one of the great democratic institutions in New York. It was a place where someone like me could publish poems and short stories in the Spectator and not be considered out of the ordinary. I was a great reader in those days, even beyond what was assigned in class. I read Dostoevsky, Freud, and Marx, among other authors, which helped prepare me for my future career as a teacher-researcher at Yale and at the University of Illinois. Stuyvesant was a place where poor kids like me could receive a first class education. I am forever grateful for what I learned at Stuyvesant, and even more for the motivation to keep learning. I had fun at Stuyvesant, too.

Tom Dowd '42

From Thelanguageofmusic.com

A man who seemingly fit many lives into one lifetime, Tom Dowd was born on October 20, 1925 in New York City. At a young age he excelled in mathematics and physics, leading to his work from the ages of 16 to 20 on the Manhattan Project at Columbia University. In 1946, as a sergeant in the Army Corps of Engineers, he oversaw a team of radiation detection specialists at the atomic bomb tests in Bikini Atoll. After his discharge from Army, he soon began applying his science background to help revolutionize the process of recording music. While working for Atlantic Records, his pioneering work in binaural stereo recording, and later his design of the eight-track console, modernized the recording industry.

Tom Dowd produced and engineered timeless records for artists including Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonius Monk, Cream, Rod Stewart, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers Band, Dusty Springfield and countless other celebrated musicians. Dowd also formed both strong professional and personal relationships with many of these artists, including Eric Clapton, starting with Cream and leading to their working partnership on Layla and Other Assorted Loves Songs and collaborations on several of Clapton's finest solo albums.

Tom Dowd passed away on October 27, 2002, one week after his 77th birthday. He will never be forgotten

Saturday morning in October 1939

by Howard P. Aronson '42

It was a Saturday morning in October 1939. I had just transferred to Stuyvesant after my freshman year at Haaren High School, a very tough school in Hell's Kitchen. I didn’t really know anyone at Stuyvesant, but had seen a notice for a try-out for the basketball team. I thought I had some ability so I showed up that morning. Sam “Doc” ElIner was the varsity coach and his very good friend, Red Holzman, then a CCNY star, was assisting Doc in picking additions to the team. You probably recall that Red later became a noted coach of the Knicks.

There must have been at least a hundred guys who showed up that morning. They set you up in teams of five and then let you play each other for about five minutes. It wasn’t very easy to play among those tile pillars in the old gym. Then they would pick one or two of the ten to form another five and so on until there were about ten guys left. Happily I was one of the survivors of that ten who were invited to be on the team. It was especially memorable since Red personally came up to congratulate me since I was a little guy like he was.

It would be wonderful if I could finish this memory by telling you how I went on to become a star basketball player for Stuyvesant. In truth, I was no more than a journeyman player, but the memory of that Saturday morning is still fresh. Thank you for the nice things you are doing for the school.

The 1993 Nobel Prize Laureate for Economics

Robert Fogel, PhD '44

Announcing Fogel’s award, The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences said that “Robert Fogel's foremost work concerns the role of the railways in the economic development of the United States, the importance of slavery as an institution and its economic role in the USA, and studies in historical demography.” Fogel rejected the concept that modern economic growth was due to certain key discoveries, finding instead that modern economic growth is caused by many specific technical changes rather than a few major innovations. Fogel is an innovator of economic historical methodology, using counterfactual arguments and cost-benefit analysis to arrive at his conclusions. He is extremely careful and methodological in his approach and is credited with renewing research in economic history, by making it more stringent and more theoretically conscious. Constantly improving technology has allowed Fogel to examine large quantities of data in his research. He is on the faculty at the University of Chicago.

Fond memories of Stuyvesant

By Bill Greaves '44,executive producer, director, producer, writer, editor and sound technician, cameraman, dancer, drama teacher and Broadway actor.

I remember…

An exasperated Mr. Blue, our chemistry, teacher telling us, "Teaching Chemistry to this class is like shoveling shit against the tide."
Making second string on the varsity basketball team and being coached and encouraged by wonderful Doc. Ellner.
Drawing cartoons for The Spectator
Trying to get higher marks than Arthur Greenspan, the top student in my grade. No matter how hard I tried, Arthur would invariably come out on top - much to my annoyance and frustration. In retrospect, however, I probably owe him a great deal. I wonder if I would have made the Arista without Arthur and others like him setting the pace for me.

Stuyvesant was where it all began for me!

Seeds of Interest in History

By Frederick Schult, PhD '46.

One of the faculty, Dr. Roeder, who taught European history, was an excellent teacher--very inspiring--aided by an excellent textbook written by Carl Becker. His way of teaching reinforced my own desire to become a teacher -- yet Dr. Roeder planted a seed of interest in history which I pursued in college as a history major. After college I immediately took the MA in history and was from then on encouraged to continue graduate study in history for the Ph.D.

Just recently I retired from New York University after 45 years of continuous teaching in its History Department, and also serving from time to time in various administrative roles in the university (always teaching at the same time). In college and graduate school there were wonderful professors as well--but I always look back so fondly to that initial excellence that Dr. Roeder brought to his classes during the period of my attendance at Stuyvesant, l943 to l946.

There were other fine teachers in my "memory" of those days at Stuyvesant: such as Miss Lobsenz, Dr. Kelly, Mr. Hoagland in English; Mr. Wortman in Mathematics; Mr. Shabacker in Spanish; Mr. Romberg and Mr. Blue in Chemistry; and several others whose names elude me in quick recall. Stuyvesant provided such a wonderful educational and intellectual foundation upon which to build a career pursuing, creating, and imparting knowledge to new generations of students!

Just Prior to My Graduation

Richard Stenta ‘47

I remember vividly an occasion just prior to my graduation in January 1946.

In those years it was mandatory to register for the draft when reaching 18 years of age for two years of military service. I was going to be 18 on January 26, 1946 and registering for the draft meant I would have to wait 4 to 6 months before being called for service. I decided to volunteer in the Navy for a 2 year hitch in order to serve my term of duty right away to get it over with. (Companies were not hiring 18 year olds who might be drafted after being on the job for only a few months.)

I was sworn into the Navy on Jan. 26, 1946, my eighteenth birthday and was told I would be called to duty just 2 days after my graduation date.

On Jan. 27th, while attending school and just prior to a class in English, I decided to stop at the Cafeteria for a carton of milk and a cookie . . . without getting a Pass from the classroom. As I emerged from the Cafeteria, the Principal (name now forgotten) asked to see my pass. When I couldn’t provide one, he took me to his office and scolded me severely, saying he was going to make an example of me and withhold my graduation. I was terrified. I was going into Naval Service in a few days, I would not be allowed to graduate and who knew what I would tell my parents, and how would I be able to get into college after my military service without a high school diploma. In tears I reported to my English class. When the teacher (name also forgotten) saw my condition I explained to him what had befallen me. After telling me I was a fool not to have gotten a pass before going to the cafeteria, (a matter of only a staircase walk) he dragged me back to the Principal’s office and pleaded my case for me. The Principal relented but only after I promised to deliver to him papers proving I had indeed been sworn into the Navy. A close call all because of a hunger pang for milk and a chocolate graham.

I also remember classmates named Howard Willey and Richard Garza and wonder if they are still about.

I Managed to Graduate Somehow

by Bernie Brillstein ‘48

I graduated Stuyvesant in 1948. I went there because my parents knew you had to take a test to be accepted which immediately made it a great school. They didn’t know that the curriculum featured Calculus, Chemistry, Physics and Biology, none of which interested me whatsoever. I managed to graduate somehow and as I make my living doing comedy now, I guess my sense of humor got me through it all. I was also manager for the basketball team which helped the long nights seem shorter.

One for the Book

by Paul M. Weichsel, PhD ‘49

I attended a very good Junior HS in the Bronx, 118. I was a member of the "rapid advance" group which meant I was tracked with a very high achieving group of students and allowed to skip one semester. Mrs. Brown was my hard-driving homeroom teacher with a heart of gold. She made the decision for me that I would attend one of the "exam" schools in NYC. I was always a good math student but I was attracted to Stuyvesant because I had read about its program in architecture.

My first semester at Stuyvesant was fabulous. I had a marvelous Geometry teacher and because my grades were so high I was a member of Jr. Arista.

Soon after I was invited to apply for admission to Arista and as part of the process, I was interviewed by a group of mostly upper classmen. The interview made a profound impression on me. The "committee" lounged around a classroom eating lunch obviously enjoying lording it over a shy and uncomfortable 14 year old. I remember being asked a current events question and not having a clue. I was summarily dismissed, and denied admission to the intellectual Valhalla of Stuyvesant HS. I never applied again.

(50 years later, when I was in the process of organizing the 50th reunion of my Class of ‘49, I looked forward to confronting one of members of that interviewing committee who was in my graduating class. A few weeks before the reunion, I discovered that he had died some years before. When I began my career as a Professor of Mathematics I vowed that I would never use my knowledge as a club to bludgeon either students or colleagues.)

The Stuyvesant program in architecture was under the direction of a wonderful and kind teacher, Mr. Greene, who encouraged me in spite of an obvious lack of artistic talent on my part. As time went on, it became crystal clear that architecture was not for me. It was a blessing that I learned this before I committed to an architecture program at college.

My aspirations in Mathematics were dealt a near fatal blow at Stuyvesant by a disheveled student in my class named Elias Stein. I remember him being constantly surrounded by adoring acolytes. When I saw him performing in class, I was blown away. He knew things I couldn't even identify as being part of the subject, as I knew it. I concluded that if Elias Stein was the standard for a Mathematics concentration at Stuyvesant HS, then I needed to look elsewhere. I am happy to say that I finally found the courage to choose Mathematics as a career at CCNY and later on at Caltech. (Stein went on to a brilliant career in Mathematics at the University of Chicago and Princeton University.)

I was lucky to have a spectacular teacher of History in my senior year. He gave me enticing glimpses into the meaning of academic scholarship. He was very demanding and not averse to expressing contempt for the lazy and the sloppy. I remember that after being badgered by one of the real wise-asses in our class about how many words were required in a particular assignment, he answered "In your case write as much as you can, perhaps something worthwhile will slip in by accident."

This was a time when Stuyvesant instructors felt few inhibitions about dressing-down students who merited such treatment. In retrospect, it was a complement to the toughness of my peer group and to our ability to learn from such harsh lessons. It has stood me in good stead these past 55 years, although I have rarely used that tactic in a classroom.

After I left New York City in 1954, courtesy of my local Draft Board, never to live there again, I returned frequently to visit friends and imbibe the city. In the summer of 1982 I found myself in the lower East Side and I decided to have a look at the old building. The front door was open and a small group of men were sitting around a table in the hallway. To my amazement, I recognized one of them as the elevator operator from my time in the school - I had graduated in 1949. He had retired some years before, but liked to drop in from time to time to visit with his old buddies. By then girls had become firmly established and I asked him how that had changed things. He said "Oh, the place has gone to pot. They're not really interested in Science, their parents send them here because they think it is a safe place for their daughters. It's become very difficult for the advanced Physics classes to make any more."

I happened to be in the City on the first day of school in the new building. I read about the opening in the New York Times and couldn't resist having a look. What I experienced is best described as joyous chaos. I wandered around the building, no one asked me for id and I eventually found my way to the Math Department. I introduced myself as an alum and Professor of Mathematics at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign and was shown into Richard Rothenberg's office. He greeted me with great enthusiasm and asked whether I would be willing to give a talk to a Math Honors class the next time I was in the City. I was very saddened to here of his untimely death several years later.

Musings, 1946-49

by Howard Kaplan '49

Musings, 1946-49. No story line…more like Jimmy Stewart or Marley’s ghost. No timeline either; the whole thing’s muddled, anyway. The irony is that I probably wouldn’t have gone to Stuyvesant today. The reason I went was that I was terrified of girls and was scheduled to go to Erasmus. I was, however, interested in science so it wasn’t a completely fraudulent choice.
Start with Mr. Gioberti of the little moustache, mechanical drawing. While Gioberti would call us all by our given names, there was this fellow named Bates who was called on regularly and referred to as Master Bates. At the end of the term we had to submit our drawings, all perfectly rendered and absolutely clean. I spent the night before making perfect little arrows and erasing all the spurious marks. The next morning at the Utica Ave. station I put my books and the carefully rolled up drawings on the platform and waited for the first Lexington Ave. Express of the day. It rolled into the station pushing a column of air before it, which column of air lifted up my roll of drawings and floated them down on the track. Without going into details, I got down on the track to the chorus of screams of hundreds of straphangers and rescued my drawings. Imagine dying for Mechanical Drawing I.

Dr. Eddie Coyle was the oldest teacher in the world and when he enriched the Latin class by telling us of the lives of Caeser, Cataline, et al, and what it was like in ancient Rome, we knew he was speaking from personal experience. Dr. Coyle was also deaf, so we could talk freely amongst ourselves as long as we didn’t turn our heads or move our lips. One day, at a pre-planned signal (I think it was Jim Farer’s idea) everyone whipped out a stalk of celery and started munching. Dr. Coyle looked up, took in the scene, looked back down at the text on his desk and continued with the lesson.

Abby Penzer, when he wasn’t playing handball, taught an advanced biology class and gave me my first taste of experimental science. He also talked to us about a student he’d had a few years earlier who began working on his PhD research in Penzer’s class and how we should look out for him. In 1961, Joshua Lederberg won a Nobel prize in medicine for that work. I was teaching high school biology at that time and the NYC Biology Teacher’s Assoc., threw a self congratulatory party and Penzer was there receiving the kind of accolades most teachers only dream of.

Another biology teacher, Jerry Schur, was probably more responsible for my becoming a biologist. Schur was a tough, demanding instructor who terrified me until I noticed that he got more visitors just before Christmas break than any other teacher. I was able to relax and pay more attention to the subject matter and to the warmth and love of teaching exuded by Schur and I learned how to learn in that class. He was also at the above mentioned party and, although he hadn’t seen me for over ten years, he bounded across the room, called me by name and gave me a big hug.

All of the physics teachers would have fallen on their faces if it weren’t for the quiet dependability of Lionel Yard, the man behind the walls, the lab. assistant. I don’t remember any recruitment, but Mr. Yard always had a full staff of students, of which I was one, prepping, cleaning, repairing and doing whatever had to be done to keep the program running smoothly. While he was basically a private person, he was quite approachable and what formed around him was more of a club than a workforce.

Mentioned elsewhere in the book is Philip Locker and his famous command to the poor student who didn’t answer fast enough, “Sit down, brother (insert name)”. The “sit down” was delivered like the dropping sound you would get from banging on a tympani and loosening the screws, something like, “Siddaown”. Some ten years after graduating from Stuyvesant, I was riding the subway and sitting in front of me was a familiar tweed jacket. Sure enough, inside the jacket was Philip Locker. I didn’t… .

Then there was the indoor track, a 13 lap one, if I remember correctly. It became my hustle. I discovered that, if you kept up the momentum, you could use the steep banking to maintain your balance while running backwards at a fair clip. So I would challenge people to a quarter mile race, backwards, and I would always come out of it with lunch money. One person I never challenged was Johnny Gwon. I don’t know what his 100-yard time was, but I’ve never seen anyone break from the blocks faster. There was no acceleration. He was instantaneously at top speed.

I have memories of Harold, the sallow complected, hawk faced evangelist, who hung out on the 15th St. side, trying to save our souls. In looking through the yearbook, I couldn’t find anyone who might have allowed themselves to be recruited by Harold. He did teach me something. Before the Stuyvesant – Lincoln championship game, I asked whose side God was on. Harold answered, “God does not concern himself with such mundane matters”. I wish there were more people in the world who realized that.

Other vignettes… Pierre Putter, a French Jew, quietly disappearing after his first year in Stuyvesant as his family went back to France to pick up the pieces. Playing “Johnny on the Pony” with girls from Washington Irving and realizing, after a 160 lb. girl crashed down on your back, that there had to be more to sex than that. Proving Doc Ellner wrong when he invited me to basketball practice, telling me that, while he couldn’t teach one to grow (I was 6’3”), he could teach one to play basketball.

But more than anything, Stuyvesant was a door. I entered it from one world and exited into another. I grew up with certain absolutes. There was one boxing champion and Joe Louis was his name. There was one President and Franklin Delano Roosevelt was his name (since he was the one who’d been elected, Truman didn’t count). The world had one genius and he was Albert Einstein. Arturo Toscanini was The symphony orchestra conductor. Although I was a Dodger fan, Joe Dimaggio was the consummate ballplayer. They had existed from the (my) beginning. Age, time and Stuyvesant tore down the absolutes. I looked at things more critically. I questioned everything (my poor parents). When Jackie Robinson took the field, I was thrilled by his abilities, but I also realized what a momentous time it was. What I’m saying is that Stuyvesant, more than any other aspect of my life, got me started thinking, looking for causality, examining the importance of context and establishing a discipline that has made learning a lifelong pleasure. If I had to do it over again, I would.

A Profound Effect on My Life

By Milton Horowitz ‘49

I welcome this opportunity to recall my years at Stuyvesant because my time there had, and is still having, a profound effect on my life.

My parents and I were pleased that my application to the school was accepted. Living on the Lower East Side, I walked to Stuyvesant each school day. If the curriculum is as vigorous today as it was then (1946-1949), we were all aware of the heavy-duty studying need to meet scholastic requirements. I credit those studies for my Regents Scholarship Award that largely paid for my years in college.

At Stuyvesant, although emphasis was on math and science, I was able to pursue my interests in creative writing. After a time on the staff of Caliper, I became editor in chief, encouraged by the faculty advisor, Irving Robbins, who gave me, as a prize for writing, Masters of the Modern Short Story, a book I still peruse. The friendships I made at the school have mostly faded, but I still think of the late Sam Weiss and still see periodically Robert DeBoissiere.

Maybe it was genes and chromosomes, but as likely it was Stuyvesant that, years later, motivated me to become a book and journal editor at New York City publishers. After a career as a regular employee, I’m still at it, now in my twelfth year as a freelance editor.

So for me, expressions in the school song still pertain: “Stuyvesant High School, now and ever . . . “

My Teachers

by Marshall Greene, MD Jan ‘49

The great majority of the teachers I had during the three years I spent at Stuyvesant (Jan.46-Jan.49) were excellent. Four stand out in my mind.

Mr. Blue was a very small, thin man who seemed very old to me when I was 14. He was stickler for basics and made sure that we understood them cold. I never had any difficulty with any chemistry course; I took them all, except physical chemistry, during my later education. However, slight as he was, Mr. Blue could terrify the biggest of us if we didn't have a prompt answer. I'll never forget him demanding an answer from 6', 225 pound Kenny, who stood there shaking as I cowered in my seat next to him. Mr. Blue would demand "Well, answer me- yes, no, or go to hell!" To the best of my knowledge, no one ever dared to give the last response.

Mr. Smith taught sophomore world history. He was very dynamic and interesting to the history buff I was and remain. He had unique way of giving tests which never bothered me, but if you didn't spend many hours reading history for fun, it was hell. He'd always give 10 questions, divided into 2-4 parts each. The trouble was that 1a had nothing to do with 1b or 1c or 1d. If any part of the question was incorrect you lost credit for the entire question. Most of the time you either scored 100% or 90% or 20-30%.

Mr. Seligman taught senior English and I will never forget his teaching us Macbeth. He strode to his desk, slumped down and demanded: "Where's supper?" He jumped up and then played Lady Macbeth: “Drop dead!" Seated again: "What's the matter?" Lady Mac: (standing up again) "I vant to be qveen, and what do you do about it! Nothing!” Macbeth (sitting): "You want me to kill the old man? Lady Macbeth: “Yes, and if you can't do it, give me the knife, I'll do it myself!" I've seen every play in the Shakespeare canon and I've never come across any more incisive critique.

Mr. I. Lewis Gordon taught senior American history, He was a dapper, distinguished man who challenged us by insisting on concepts which he knew we would argue against. Manifest destiny was one of those ideas; we insisted it was imperialism. He also would use some phrase, perhaps “Protestant Ethic”, which would get us going; little did we know that he was a very involved Jewish activist. I organized our revenge by collecting some money from about a half dozen of my friends (Charles Levy, Al Treger and I made up part of the group but I can't recall the other three) and sending Levy, the class valedictorian, out to buy the most lurid tie he could find. We marched into Mr. Gordon's final class singing Onward Christian Soldiers and then I gave him the tie, a mostly nude dancer in the most vivid colors. Mr. Gordon responded, "What will my wife think that I'm teaching you boys?" We also gave him some cuff links to show our true regard.

All in all my years at Stuyvesant were the most intellectually stimulating of my life. Cornell was disappointing – it lacked the stimulation I had found in high school, while Medical School, and even the San Francisco Psychoanalytic Institute were very high level trade schools.

Mr. Lieberman's 'LSMFT'

by Bill Kikillus '49

Mr. Lieberman always gave us "summaries" before our exams. They were very helpful.

At the time, Lucky Strike cigarettes had an ad as follows: LSMFT (Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco). We changed LSMFT to mean Lieberman's Summaries Make Failing Tough.

Good luck with The Campaign.

So you want a piece on Stuyvesant history

Dr. Malcolm Mark Brauer, PE and CSP, '49 ("Sparky")

As a ‘preamble,’ be advised that I’ve spent my entire career (engineering) within the US Government’s research, development, test and evaluation community!

OK, here goes...
Life was peaceful, almost wonderful at Stuy...I was a happy camper working feverously to complete my ‘project’ in Electrical Shop...

All right, the Instructor was not a Kimbrig, Stoffragen or Kissane or GIANT like Blue, but he was a really nice guy. (I can’t -- but truly wish -- that I could remember his name.)

My project was building one of the first portable strobe (flash) lights that would enable me to catch better photographic (higher speed) shots at our sporting events for the Stuyvesantian and the Spectator!

The design was complete and the wiring looked great. Even the instructor seemed proud of my work. (And it was -- amazingly -- done on time.) Anyway, the capacitors had to be tested...And the instructions along with the kit’s plans advised that I should use a rather large and well insulated screw-driver to short the bank of condensers -- after they were fully charged -- to assure that they:

1. Took on the proper charge, and
2. Would be discharged, after the test, to be safe from shock.

OK, that didn’t seem too difficult, and we had the right size screw-driver in class. With the case open for this test, I bypassed the safety microswitches, turned the system on, and charged it. While the instructor was helping another student with his project, armed with the his MIGHTY screwdriver, I shorted out the bank of capacitors...

The BANG/CRACK (Report) from this discharge leveled the classroom, everyone ‘hit the deck,’ including the Instructor, and folks from adjoining classrooms came on the run. Although no one was hurt, I was never closer to being ‘expelled’ from anything before or since...

After the dust settled, all was forgiven (I had meticulously followed instructions), but for a while I was called ‘Sparky.’ We ALL learned a few vital and significant lessons (beyond that which were expected or intended from the syllabus):

1. Not all instructions from manufacturers (etc.) are ‘complete,’ and
2. Check with the Instructor BEFORE ‘final test.’

This lesson has probably been a strong motivator in my design and patent successes through the years (especially) in Safety Engineering.

My Stuyvesant Years

by Bob Shapiro '50

I entered Stuyvesant in '48 as a sophomore which meant the afternoon session starting at 12:40 and getting out 5:40P.M as I recall. Stuyvesant was on split sessions during that time and the preferred morning session from 7:40-12:40 was reserved for juniors and seniors. It was therefore impossible to try out for varsity sports until you began your junior year as the other other public and private high schools were on regular sessions with weekday sports events held in the afternoons (except for basketball which also scheduled some evening games). Freshmen and entering sophomores were also usually overwhelmed with tough class schedules, all majors and no study halls or soft courses which left no time for sports during the afternoons. I took the enriched science option which involved 5 majors and no minors. During my first year at Stuyvesant I could only envy the jocks I saw at school with their bright team jackets and school sweaters with the big chenille S identifying their varsity team. I imagined the romance of being a letterman and the girls that were waiting to appropriately recognize that status.

So as soon as my junior year began I made the rounds of team tryouts offering my body and soul to whichever coach would take me and fulfill my dreams of glory and female adoration. The football coach, Murl Thrush, grimaced when my puny 120 lb,5'5" body lined up for audition as a back. Although I caught the one short pass I was allowed, the defending back simply picked me up on his shoulders and tossed me on the mat in the gym. Coach Thrush said "I don't think this game is for you until you gain about 60 lbs and can still run the 100 in under 11. Basketball was never an option at my height nor was baseball as I wore glasses and had trouble seeing fast pitches though I was a fair fielder. This narrowed my opportunities to the swimming or track teams. I never considered fencing or the less macho sports as they didn't seem to me to be girl- worthy. I was an excellent swimmer and was offered a spot on the swim team but my eyes couldn't handle the chlorine even with goggles. This left only the track team as my path to glory.

Even at that young age I appreciated the value of being recommended by a respected team member rather than leave my selection to chance and the coach's first impression. One of the teams best sprinters was in one of my classes and offered to audition me himself rather than my risking showing up for tryouts with no idea of what event or distance to try out for. He tried me at the 100, the 220, the quarter mile and the half mile. His decision was that I was best suited to run the half mile, the 1,000 yards and the mile relay. These were also spots harder to fill improving my chances of making the team. He was right and Coach Bradshaw to accepted me as a middle distance runner and a backup for the mile relay team when they were short a man. I was thrilled I had made a varsity team and quickly became accepted by the other members when they saw I was willing to kill myself trying when the competition outclassed us which was usually the case when the Prep and Catholic schools participated in the meets. Running middle distance also meant running cross country at Van Cortland Park every Saturday in the fall. This was a grueling 21/2 mile race with a 1/4 mile stampede for position at the start until reaching the hill and a gut wrenching 1/4 mile sprint finish on the flat. I was elected team captain in my senior year not so much for my prowess in winning medals which were few and far between given the competition. My elevation to captain was mostly for following Woody Allen's advice of always showing up. Sometime this required entering two or more events when regulars didn't show.

Absenteeism of other members was responsible for ending my short career on the track team in my senior year. We were entered in the prestigious IC 4A High School Meet which ran in Madison Square Garden. Several team members failed to show up and I ran in 3 events to avoid forfeiting. I ran my regular 1,000 yard event and filled in on the mile relay and 220 yard dash. I completely exhausted myself and the next morning as I was getting dressed to go to school, I experienced severe muscle contractions which culminated in a full blown convulsive seizure. I had apparently drained my supply of minerals and electrolytes drinking only water. We didn't know about Gatorade or minerals then. My Dr. thought I had hypoglycemia and gave me sweets which I later learned could have killed me.

However I survived and gave my track pin from the Wingfoot Society to my last girl friend right around graduation. The lucky girl I pinned was from Music& Art which was also the school that 3 girls I dated earlier had attended. They too wore my Wingfoot Pin while we "went steady" with the understanding of the high honor and and intimate obligations it conferred. The last girl to wear it was unfortunately informed by one of her friends that my pin had made the rounds of M&A and "had more miles on it than her father's DeSoto". So the pin came back in a hurry but too my everlasting good fortune the girl stayed and we'll celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary this coming December.

City basketball finals in Madison Square Garden

by Herbert Finkelstein, Esq. Jan'51

As a Brooklyn and New York City sports fan, I’ve had my share of traumas—Mickey Owen, Bobby Thompson, Alan Ameche, “1941.” High on my list of sports traumas is the 1949 PSAL Basketball Championship game which ended Lincoln 41 - Stuyvesant 40.

For a time during the 1949 season, it seemed doubtful that the Peglegs would even be in the playoffs as they trailed Metropolitan in the Manhattan Division I race. But after a victory in a tie breaker, Stuyvesant was in. And then they got hot. Always an underdog—they beat Commerce and Taft and were set to play heavily favored Lincoln at Madison Square Garden for the City Championship.

Lincoln was a physically tall, powerful and an experienced team. The Honest Abes had been in the final game three straight years without winning a title. Stuyvesant hadn’t been in a final game since 1931. Doc Ellner’s boys were led by superstar Jack Molinas (a future first round NBA draft pick.). Molinas was backed up by Stan Maratos, Gary Mirsky, Artie Menaker, Stu Johnson, Reggie Gould and Joe Ciatti.

Stuyvesant played with speed and confidence. Using a stifling zone defense, it led for 31 minutes of the 32 minute game, twice by as many as nine points. Molinas paced the team with 16 points followed by Gary Mirsky with 10. The game unfortunately turned on a non-call on an obvious foul committed by the biggest Lincoln player--Sid Youngleman against Stuyvesant’s smallest player, guard Artie Menaker. Lincoln won the ensuing jump ball and Youngleman scored to give Lincoln its first and only lead. Stuyvesant missed a desperation shot and Lincoln then ran out the clock.

I was one of 10,000 fans watching the championship game in the old Garden that day—and it still hurts.

From the 1948 Indicator:
These dribbling boys are "Doc" Ellernites. But enough of euphemisms. To put it bluntly, they are the 1948-49 Basketball Team, the team that came "oh so close" to beating Lincoln at Madison Square Garden!

What do 6 semesters of shop, and mechanical drawing have to do with a science and math H.S.?

answer by Larry Lerner PhD '51

If I remember correctly, I had two double-period semesters of shop and one of mechanical drawing. In my 20 years or so of doing experimental physics, I found the experience invaluable. When you need to design an elaborate piece of equipment and communicate what you need to a machinist, it's absolutely necessary to know something about mechanical drawing. And when the machinist isn't available, or the job isn't too elaborate, it's nice to be able to make the thing yourself. In 1976, my wife and I designed our own home. Although the final plans were drawn by an architectural draftsman, it was nice to be able to show needed modifications directly, without a lot of hand-waving. (My wife, an experimental chemist, is also pretty good at a drawing board.) And when we needed some plumbing not available as standard items, I was glad to be able to put together something beginning with off-the-shelf vacuum apparatus and doing some non-standard plumbing and machining. Aside from my ability to climb stairs three at a time (which I also learned at SHS) I don't think any other skill impressed my graduate students more.

Robert Moses '52 & 'Freedom Summer' in Mississippi, 1964

Dr. Moses is one of the most influential black leaders of the Southern civil rights struggle. Born in 1935 in Harlem, he spent his early years in a public housing project. He graduated from Stuyvesant HS, Class of '52, won a scholarship to Hamilton College, and earned a Masters in philosophy from Harvard.

During the late 1950s he became increasingly active in the black protest movement, and in 1960 went to Atlanta to work with Martin Luther King Jr.'s Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). He left SCLC to work for the new Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and spent four years in Mississippi working on voter registration.

He left Mississippi in 1964 and returned to Harvard to complete his doctorate in philosophy. Temporarily changing his name to Bob Parris, he participated in several rallies against the Vietnam War, and went to Canada to avoid the military draft. He later resumed his graduate studies in philosophy at Harvard and in 1982 received a MacArthur Foundation award to continue his studies. Today he is involved in education reform, particularly Project Algebra, a national mathematics literacy effort that helps low income students and students of color gain the mathematical skills that are a prerequisite for full citizenship.

Bruno Wassertheil '53

from the San Francisco Chronicle March 7, 2004

Bruno Wassertheil, CBS News' former chief radio correspondent in Israel and a man known worldwide for his informed reports on the Middle East, delivered in a distinctive and memorable radio voice, died of cancer Wednesday at his home in Palo Alto. He was 68.

In retirement, Mr. Wassertheil gave lectures at the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism, ran a private radio service that made and sold news reports directly from Israel over a "900" telephone number and appeared as a regular guest on KGO radio's John Rothmann program.

"When I was a kid, I listened to him growing up,'' Rothmann recalled. "He was a living legend in the broadcast industry."

Mr. Wassertheil had done many jobs in journalism, including stints at the two wire services -- the Associated Press and United Press International -- and at the New York Daily News.

But his main career, in which he distinguished himself with two Overseas Press Club awards, was his 14 years with CBS News in Israel -- from 1970 to 1978, then again from 1980 to 1986. During that time, he did nearly 20,000 network broadcasts and interviewed such prominent Middle East figures as Golda Meir, Abba Eban, Moshe Dayan, Ezer Weizman, Yitzhak Rabin, Menachem Begin, Shimon Peres, Binyamin Netanyahu and Ariel Sharon.

"Bruno was, without a doubt, the outstanding journalist reporting on the Middle East in those days," Rothmann said. "He covered the Six-Day War in 1967, the Yom Kippur War in 1973 and the PLO (Palestine Liberation Organization) and Syria (war) against Israel in 1982. He was absolutely superb. When he appeared on my call-in program, every light lit up. They call Walter Cronkite the most trusted man in America. In many ways, Bruno Wassertheil was the most trusted reporter in the Middle East."

Another sense in which he resembled Cronkite, the famed CBS News anchorman from 1962 to 1981, was in the way he came across on the air.

"He had a great, great radio voice, one that's memorable," said Charles Wolfson, State Department reporter for CBS News and an old friend and former colleague of Mr. Wassertheil. "It was like Cronkite's voice, a distinctive voice, a deep voice, and he had it. He had fans and regular listeners all over the world."

Dan Raviv, a CBS News correspondent in the network's Washington bureau, said one reason Mr. Wassertheil commanded such a loyal following was that he "had a really good sense for Israeli politics. He could really explain why a prime minister did something. His Hebrew was fluent, and his voice was very familiar to Americans who care about Israel, largely American Jews."

"His reports were less than a minute," Raviv said, "but he managed to get so much (information) in there that you felt you were spending more time with him." Raviv said that "even though he clearly was happy to be living in Israel and believed in Israel's overall mission to be a Jewish country -- he was a Zionist -- it did not color or bias his reports in any way."

During his 14 years as CBS News radio's man in Israel, Mr. Wassertheil occasionally had to improvise when adverse conditions threatened his broadcasts to the United States.
"If he was filing (a report) from a place where the acoustics weren't good, or he was filing over a bad phone line," Wolfson said, "he would use this trick -- he would take a very large bath towel and drape it over his head and shoulders, then read his radio report into the phone or microphone. It was a matter of echoing and things I don't understand, but it made the people in New York happier."

Mr. Wassertheil was born in Katowice, Poland, and was on a steamship with his family heading to the United States to visit the 1939 World's Fair when Hitler's troops invaded Poland on Sept. 1, 1939. The family got to New York, settled there and never returned to Poland.

Mr. Wassertheil graduated from New York's Stuyvesant High School in 1953 and from City College of New York in 1957. From 1958 to 1960, he served in the U.S. Army and was stationed in Puerto Rico. After the Army, he spent a few years in New York, then moved to Israel, working in various jobs, including tourism promotion, until 1967, when he went to work for the AP and then, a year later for UPI. He joined CBS News in 1970.

Mr. Wassertheil is survived by his two children, Ariel and Ilana Wassertheil, and two grandchildren, all of whom live in Israel, and his companion, Estelle Macy, of Palo Alto. Mr. Wassertheil was preceded in death by his brother, David, and his sister, Rose, who was married to the late Eugene Kleiner, founder of the powerful Silicon Valley venture capital firm, Kleiner Perkins Caufield and Byers.

A memorial service will be held at 1 p.m. March 21 at the Oak Room in the Oak Creek Club House, Oak Creek Apartments, 1600 Sand Hill Road, Palo Alto, CA.

50th Reunion of the Division Champion '53 Baseball Team

by Art Horowitz '53, Captain

Our 50th reunion was great. Of the 44 baseball team players & student managers (equipment & score keepers), I located 32 living & 4 deceased players. There are so many stories I have about how I contacted everyone. Someday I will sit down and put the story to print. Twenty-two of the group plus a few other Stuy grads that I also contacted met at the new school. We were given a tour by Cindy Nieves & a couple of Stuy's coeds.

After the tour, everyone drove to my home in central NJ. We then proceeded to have a softball game, which lasted a couple of ours. I hadn't seen any of these people for 46 years, so this was a game of nostalgia.

We ended the day with a dinner at a hotel near my home. Each person got up and briefly described what they had done in life after graduating from Stuy. It will be a day I will remember forever. I am in close contact with Art Reckler, Pete Salzer, and Joe Levine of the '53 baseball team, and Jerry Smith, who played football and came to the baseball reunion to see some old friends.

A Stuyvesant Fencer’s Memories

by Joe Paletta ‘54

I entered the all-male Stuyvesant High School 10th grade (sophomore) in the fall of 1951. The school ran a two-session daily program then. Initially, I attended the afternoon session (noon - 5 PM), and later changed to the morning session (8AM – noon) for my Junior and Senior years. They had team / club presentations in the gym for the newcomers soon after we arrived. I loved baseball, but I had to wait until spring to tryout. To keep in shape in winter, I was looking for a sport to hold me over. First I went out for football. I got through the selection process and had to get a permission slip signed by my parents to play. They did not sign it, so I did not play. I thought of basketball next (most NY kids play well). I soon learned that the starting five for the next couple of years were identified, and it would be hard to break in. About this time a fencing team member, Pat Petix, approached a group of us, and invited us to see the team’s presentation in the gym. Not having seen the sport of fencing, I was curious. I had always liked swordplay in the movies and in books. I went to see what it was all about. It looked challenging, and I signed up.

We only fenced foil, and the team members did all the coaching. We had a faculty “coach”, Emanuel “Manny” Leibel, an English teacher who had never fenced. He gave us legitimacy and offered encouragement to the team. It seems to me he always wore a coat and tie, came to practice with the NY Times crossword puzzle to work, and settled in to watch us train. As I recollect, he wore glasses, which he would occasionally glance over the top of when he talked to you, and he smoked a lot.

Each fencer had to purchase his own foil, glove and mask. We were directed the Santelli Fencing, Co. to buy them. I went down to Georgio Santelli’s in Greenwich Village on a Saturday morning, and picked out a foil, mask and glove. I got a 10-15 minute lesson from Maestro Giorgio, and was on the subway heading home before noon. I remember teammate Sam Abate, who would only buy an Italian-handled foil because it looked more like a rapier than the French handled foil all of us used. Sam took pride in his heritage and proudly showed off his “Italian” foil.

The Varsity fencing team members transferred their fencing skills to us, and we all learned from each other. It was a novel and effective teaching method. We practiced daily outside the school’s auditorium; in the hallway downstairs from the main entrance on 14th street. Occasionally we could practice in the auditorium itself, when it wasn’t occupied. (I recall the Surveying Club used the auditorium to practice shooting transit sights). Practice was held in the auditorium in the front aisle at the foot of the stage. What we liked was that it provided seating for us when we were resting, and we didn’t have any people passing through. But practice in the hallway was the norm.

Remember baseball? Well when the call came out for players in the spring, I showed up for workouts/tryouts in the gym. I was on the fencing team at the time. The fencing team captain came the gym to tell me I would not be able to workout with the baseball team and remain a fencer. Schedule conflicts would prohibit it. After a long conversation, he convinced me that I could get a scholarship to NYU or Columbia as a fencer, and at this point I was not guaranteed I would even play baseball. After much thought and agony, I chose fencing and never looked back.

We looked forward to practice each day. We did exercises before actually fencing with each other. An exercise I recall was: a member would hold his glove against the wall and drop it unannounced, while the other would try to stop it from the engarde position, by extending his foil to make contact with the glove. We worked in pairs, alternating practicing basics with each other, while offering tips and encouragement. We wore sweat shirts and sweat pants, and when it was too warm we wore gym shorts. Fencing uniforms were reserved for the varsity fencing meets. Fencing form was emphasized, and we were actually graded on form at the team meets. Scores from 1 to 10 (10 = high) were given to each fencer by the meet directors/judges. The form score could decide a tie, or close bout. It was an excellent way to cement the basics into your game, and we all took it seriously. It was interesting to hear us rationalize a loss by saying “I lost, but I had a “10” in form.

Our Varity fencing team, which included Tommy Moshang, Ernie Jackson and me, won the City Championship. Tommy and I were co-captains. Our weekly HS fencing competitions were held at the all-girl Washington Irving HS. They were held on Saturday mornings in the basement gym. We would all travel independently from our homes (most of us took the subway), and meet in the gym prior to the start of the meet. The local colleges would provide fencers to be directors and judges. The HS team fencers also filled in as judges when they were not fencing. We enjoyed the contact with the college fencers and made lasting friendships. It is interesting to note that the NY Times Sunday sports section carried the results of the Saturday HS Fencing competition. I still have my Varsity fencing letter. We Varsity members bought ourselves Columbia-blue letter sweaters, and had our SHS chenille letters sewed on them. We wore them proudly.

Stuyvesant fencers had great access to the local college fencing teams. We were invited by the NYU coaches, Hugo and Jimmy Costello, to practice with their team once a week. We would walk from Stuyvesant to Greenwich Village to the NYU fencing team room. We got lessons from and trained with the NYU coaches and fencers. Many Stuyvesant grads were members of the college teams in the area. Pat Petix and John Farrell were on the NYU team when we visited. I later fenced with them on the NYU Varsity team.

In June 1954, at 16 years old, I graduated Stuyvesant. I wanted to go to the US Naval Academy (USNA), but you had to be 18 years old to enter. At graduation I was awarded the school’s Preschell Medal, awarded for fencing. Tommy Moshang went to Columbia University on scholarship (became a doctor), while I went to the NYU Engineering School. I would have gone to Columbia on scholarship also, but Columbia did not offer aeronautical engineering. NYU did. Irv Dekoff, Columbia’s coach, and I discussed that before I made my choice. I was offered and took a fencing scholarship to NYU, and attended for 2 years. I left NYU in June 1956 when I received a nomination and was selected to attend the USNA. A few years later, 1959, we made NCAA fencing history at USNA.

If life is about making good decisions, my decision to go to Stuyvesant HS was one of my best. All my wonderful memories in fencing began as a Stuyvesant fencer; in that hall outside the auditorium, where I took the first steps on my journey to National Championships, US Pan American and US Olympic teams. Stuyvesant HS has produced many notable fencers. I am proud to part of that long standing heritage.

-Joe Paletta '54 was NCAA Foil Champion, US National Foil Champion, and an Olympic Team mate of Albert Axelrod's.

Imprinted Sense of Obligation and Accomplishment

Larry Bensky '54

Stuyvesant High School took a 13 year old boy from a central Brooklyn immigrant Jewish family and placed him onto pre-dawn subway trains and buses, the New York Times and Herald Tribune his daily companions, and delivered him to a building echoing mysteriously with impressive brains and inchoate ambitions. He learned to find his level, somehow memorizing blackboards full of organic chemistry equations; writing, assigning, and editing newspaper articles; and scheduling games, purchasing equipment, and organizing logistics for the varsity basketball team. In his “spare” time, he worked after school in a commercial biology laboratory, monitored the heated, usually incomprehensible political rants in Union Square, and learned he wasn’t a decent enough pool player to save his lunch money from the hustlers at Julian’s Fourteenth Street Academy.

Somehow he also managed to develop a lifetime tendency towards dissidence, getting into trouble as editor in chief of the school newspaper with an editorial critical of the school faculty. And having watched with fascination the Army-McCarthy hearings on his family’s primitive TV set, and having lived through, in horror (and having participated in, at the age of 15, his first street protest about) the execution of the Rosenbergs, he developed a consciousness which refused to allow him to sign the loyalty oath required on the state high school Regents examination. And somehow, despite graduating 165th in his class, he sufficiently impressed the admissions offices at Cornell, Columbia, and Yale that he was their type of guy (he chose Yale).

Stuyvesant also significantly retarded his social development by denying him the daily company of females (Yale continued that nefarious condition); allowed him to develop his lifetime habit of endless hours of street exploration and observation, since practiced in such diverse places as Paris, London, Athens, Amsterdam, San Francisco, Minneapolis, Managua, Havana, and Miami; and imprinted his sense of obligation and accomplishment to the point where, fifty years after graduation, he still wakes up occasionally with a chilling sense that it’s the day of the big math test, and he doesn’t remember one, single thing.

Remembrance of Things Past à la Proust

by Joseph Dorinson ’54 & T’63, Professor of History, Long Island University

I enclose several items of interest including a remembrance of things past a la Proust at 345 East 15th Street. On this clear day one can see forever. So, let us go then you and I while the evening is stretched out against the Eliot sky to explore the Stuyvesant experience.

September 1951 marked my initiation into this special place. A product off poor immigrant parents in a low-income housing project, I was a high maintenance child. My record released by the Freedom of Information Act would reveal a profile in underachievement, truancy, and tsores (trouble.) Nevertheless, I had enough “smarts” to pass the acid test and reap the benefits of a basic Stuyvesant education. On that first day, several snotty seniors tried to sell me an elevator pass. Coming from Williamsburg, I was “hip” to their attempted “con.” My friends from the “hood,” Ivan Hametz and Irv Brazinsky joined me in tryouts for the football team. As solid sandlot players, we had a “shot” at making Murl Thrush’s spirited eleven. We worked out on a hardwood gym floor. As part of the split afternoon session, we could not practice with the varsity. As junior varsity scrubs, we functioned as fodder for the regulars. Eventually, we gave up the gridiron for study--a decision that I regret to this day. Frankly, T was too slow to play in the backfield and too light for the line. My best shot was on defense where a yiddishe kop and a keen sense of the game provided an opportunity. I blew it. Tryouts for the basketball team did not bring success either. Glory visited me briefly when my sophomore class, headed by future star Julie Molinas, won the intramural basketball championship. Almost 5’ 11”, I played forward--a power forward before the phrase was coined. A shtarker or banger, I grabbed a bunch of rebounds but left the scoring to Julie joined by Phil Herman and Eddie Vinaraub: two fleet-footed, sharp-shooting guards.

During my senior year, I joined the soccer team under the tutelage of Coach Jacobs. With more enthusiasm than talent, I played fullback on defense. My first three games went well for me though the team lost all three. In the fourth game, I injured my leg and despite lots of methyl salicyclate, my effectiveness diminished. One game--it was the same day that the Yankees beat the Dodgers in game six of the 1953 World Series as I vividly recall--Coach Jacobs benched me. As I departed the soccer field, he smirked: “Dorinson, you ran off the field faster than you ran on it.” I failed to earn a varsity letter. My sights shifted from the field of plays to academic arena. In the classroom, I excelled in Chemistry, English and History and bombed in Math and Physics. I recall one illustrative incident. In my sophomore year, I was on the verge of flunking Geometry at mid-term. The instructor, Mr.Greenberg--a Joe Stalin look-alike, asked me if I was related to a former student of his at New Utrecht High School in the late 1930s. “Yes, he’s my first cousin,” I replied. Mr. Greenberg--bless him -- was about to give me a 60. Instead, he gifted me with a most generous grade of 90, my final mark for that term. On the other hand, I shared a rare distinction with two seniors in 1954. We three scored a perfect 100 on the history regents.

Many of our teachers were victims of the Great Depression. One was almost sacrificed on the altar of Joe Mccarthy’s “Red Scare.” Fortunately, not unlike Charlie Brown’s Snoopy, Mr. Herbst hung on. Quite a few instructors ended up in SHS out of necessity. In a better economy as well as in a society not yet free of anti-Semitism, these pedagogues would have crested as college teachers or in business; science research or technological development. One teacher in Social Studies also worked full time in the Post Office. Mr. Zubow occasionally slept in class. Another teacher, an excellent advisor to Spectator, was overly friendly. Indeed, his homosexual overtures (a Pause that refreshes?) were gentle and he received gentle rebuffs. My favorite teacher was a diminutive martinet with a booming voice: Philip Locker. He grounded us in the fundamentals of history and wrote me a glowing college recommendation. Evidently, he had good taste. One carryover from the ancient regime was our homeroom teacher for two years, Ms. Dee. An “old-maid” Irishwoman, she taught by rote, a strategy that worked. She drummed the basics--facts, dates, and personages--into our heads. Spinsterish in demeanor, outmoded in dress, she encased tree trunk legs in high shoes. Her thinning hair, bleached orange, was severely knotted in the back. One afternoon, I was engaged in the usual banter with classmates. In a moment of frustration, I bellowed: “Jesus Christ!” Enraged, she demanded: “Dorinson, stand up!” Shocked and obedient, I rose to her bait. “Have I ever insulted your lord, Moses? Then, you apologize right now because you have insulted my Lord, Jesus Christ!” I did as she insisted partly out of fear that a blemished permanent record card would preclude a choice college entry and partly out of conformity to the rule of conformity, so prevalent in the placid 1950s. Often reflecting on this incident, I sensed the ludicrous nature of this encounter. Moses was not my Lord or that of any Jew, religious or secular. My right to free speech, however, had no relevance to the parochial Miss Dee. I guess religion was her whole life and the vast majority of her students were in fact Jewish, alien corn in her academic valley. Almost fifty years later, I can now empathize with her hurt feelings.

Another teacher who evoked mixed feelings was Dr. Joseph Shipley. A little man with a small goatee, he had a large ego and a resonant voice. Highly educated with a Ph.D: from Columbia, my future home, he lived to a ripe old age of 94. At Stuyvesant, however, his life was divided between his outside commitments as drama critic for the New Leader, a leftist journal and his radio broadcasts on WEVD (normally a Yiddish language station of Social Democratic leanings which honored the memory of Eugene Victor Debs) Consequently, the good doctor would absent himself from class. He would delegate tutorial duties to a series of favorites--pets if you will, who would dispense literary judgments including grades to the rest of us. No one in authority ever reprimanded Dr. Shipley for his less than total commitment to us. Our attempts to retaliate proved lame. We discovered that his second wife was named Edna. So we left graffiti on the blackboard: Crude valentines pairing Joe and Edna. He ignored these feeble attempts at mockery.

One character etched in memory is our Spanish teacher, Senor John Pitarro with a trilled “r”. He wrote our standard text and was presumably a great authority on this romance tongue. He had a high-domed forehead flecked with hairs and his face was punctuated with a pencil-thin, almost rakish, moustache. Each term would begin with filling out Delaney Cards for attendance. Invariably, we submitted one in the name of Dick Hertz. Predictably, Senor P would call out “Dick Hertz.” Pause. “Who’s Dick Hertz?” And in chorus, we horny male animals feigning intense pain would bellow: “Ooooooohhhhhhh!”

Teachers could play tricksters too. We had an ancient English teacher named Miss Lobsenz. White-haired, nearsighted with a prominent beak, she was tiny and prissy. One day, we decided to play a trick on her. We set off a stink bomb composed of hydrogen sulfide. To add substance to our plot, we also placed a pile of simulated dung in front of her collection of books. Seated at her desk while discoursing on Dickens perhaps, she did not notice the dung until the end of the period. The odor did catch her long snout but she misidentified its contents. As the bell rang, we waited for the moment of truth. It arrived with a reverse resonance. Peering down at the foreign object, she beamed: “Oh, somebody left his lunch here!” In that encounter at least, she earned the last laugh.

In a perverse way, we also enjoyed Dr. Alexander Efron who would bring pyrotechnical experiments into the auditorium in order to illustrate Newtonian laws. One involved a long string and a smoking vehicle, which inspired us to dub this intense instructor “Smokey Joe” Efron. And the name stuck.

Our critical sense dissolved in admiration for our principal, Fred Shoenberg. Gentle, cultured, eloquent, he spoke softly and carried no stick. He taught by example. Evidently, his excellence was recognized at the 110 Livingston Street for he was whisked away on a special assignment in our senior year. His temporary replacement, Jacob Wortman lived well into his 90s. I met him for the last time in Beth Israel Hospital. Both of us were garbed in hospital smocks preparing for colonoscopies. Cheek to cheek as it were, I recognized him and we chatted amiably about our common past as we prepared for medical procedures. About two years later, I was saddened to read his obituary, which appeared in the local press. For me, it marked the end of an era.

Before closing the book on Alma Mater, I must relate my brief encounter as teacher in the spring of 1963. I was attending graduate school at Columbia University. Aimless and adrift, I decided to take up substitute teaching, which paid $25 per day. After securing a full time job at Cooper Jr. H.S. 120 in September 1963, I received a call from Dr. Samuel Steinberg to come for an interview. He needed to replace a teacher at Stuyvesant. I flew downtown. Courtly and precise, Dr. Steinberg peppered me with pertinent questions. Apparently, I offered the appropriate answers and I was hired. A dream term began in early January. I entered class boldly, went to the board and wrote: Joseph Dorinson, class of ‘54 and ’63. The students, all males, cheered. I enjoyed all that followed; well, almost all. I had three classes of American history and two classes of European history for which I prepared diligently. The students constituted a true "dream team." I still have the lesson plans squirreled among my files. They proved helpful in various college classes that I have taught since.

My honeymoon period, unhappily, did not last long. My father died suddenly in early February. My mother came to school early in the morning to convey the horrific news. I burst into tears and collapsed into the arms of my mentor, Dr. Samuel Steinberg. I shall never forget his kindness. After the funeral and shiva (period of bereavement), I returned to school wearing a black emblem of grief on my jacket lapel. My students, a great bunch of young men, lifted my spirits. They included Marty Nussbaum (the youngest brother of Bernie Nussbaum, brilliant barrister, high school classmate, Columbia College buddy, and shadchen or matchmaker who introduced me to Eileen Levine, my queen and wife of 35 years), Charlie Scott, a future NBA basketball star, and Ed Moorman who contacted me after I was profiled in The New York Times.

Working with former teachers was a “blast from the past.” Somewhat intimidated at first, I gradually grew comfortable with their camaraderie and peer status. One former teacher, Mrs. Brody proved a disappointment. I adored her during my student days. As a colleague, I learned that she had become quite cozy with the administration. My informant was a young charismatic teacher as well as an effective union organizer, Bernard Flicker. Bernie became a valued ally. He introduced me to the good, the bad and the ugly long before Clint Eastwood.

My friend Flicker played an important role at Stuyvesant: mentoring the young lions like Robert Pam (a future President of the Stuyvesant Alumni Association) and Ted Gold. The latter adored Flicker but his penchant for radical politics resulted in a bomb blast that took his life in a brownstone on West Eleventh Street, lamentably.

After a stellar career at Stuyvesant, Flicker earned a doctorate from Columbia University and at the urging of associates including this writer he joined the professorate at Lehman College in the Bronx. An outstanding educator, Dr. Flicker succumbed to blood cancer at age sixty-one. As colleagues and former Stuyvesant instructors, Bernie Flicker and I enjoyed reminiscing. We remembered Abbe Penzer, Sterling Jensen, John Lindsay (poet Vachel’s son, not NYC’s mayor), “Lord” Astrachan, Mrs. Kopelman, Jesse Zubow, Anthony DePalma, Mr. Greenberg, and Mrs. Vaughan. They were poets and scientists, radicals and conservatives. Now, they fade from memory except for the dour, authoritarian, taciturn principal.

Leonard Fliedner was a mean-spirited, petty bureaucratic, paranoid pain in the ass. We shared a mutual disdain for one another. One afternoon, as I was tutoring some weaker students, he came---uninvited--into my classroom. Three students listened intently to my encouraging words. Fliedner interjected: “What are you doing here this late?” “Tutoring” I replied politely but with a slight sneer. Instead of praising my voluntary unpaid efforts, he said something about the lights and the cost of electricity. Evidently, he needed the last words: “Don’t forget to turn out the lights.” What a shmuck! I thought. No wonder, laced with contempt, Stuyvesantians dubbed him “The Flea.”

He followed up with a hostile observation report on a lesson that I did on imperialism. Admittedly, it was not the best in my repertoire that term but it was far better than most. Our next encounter stemmed from a mid-term grade I meted out to Charlie Scott. An outstanding basketball player with a fine mind, Charlie had trouble with his academic subjects. Active and well prepared in my class, he earned a respectable grade of 85. Fliedner summoned me to his office to complain about my “excessively high” assessment. He pointed out that Charlie was doing poorly in other classes, his average hovering around the 65 mark. I refused to accept his inappropriate analogy. “What Charlie does in other courses has no bearing on mine. I like him and clearly, he reciprocates. The grade stays.” But I did not. Fliedner forced me out offering some vague explanation, which was patently false. To save face, I told him that I was elevating so to speak to college level instruction. I was offered a job as an adjunct lecturer in Lehman (then Hunter) College in the Bronx. Heavy of heart, I left 345 East 15th Street, except for subsequent reunions, for the last time.

Stuyvesant High School Totally Changed My Life

by Irwin Goldstein ’55

Stuyvesant High School totally changed my life. When I entered Stuyvesant from junior high school, I was completely unprepared. In the middle of the first semester, my mother visited for open school week. She was told that I was failing four subjects and if I could not perform better, I would be asked to transfer back to my local high school. I was mortified when my mother told me about this.

I worked very hard and managed to pass all of my subjects. For the first time, I began to get a sense of what needed to be done to excel at school. From a very poor beginning, I ended up graduating in the top half of the class. I then graduated from City College (downtown) with nearly a straight A as a psychology major and I completed a Ph.D. program in psychology in 4 and 1/2 years. I am now a full professor of psychology at the University of Maryland, College Park. Last year, I completed 12 years as Dean of the College of Behavioral and Social Sciences.

This year I accepted a position as Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs for the University System of Maryland. However, with all the challenges that one faces in these positions, I have always said that learning to be successful in the face of the academic demands of the faculty at Stuyvesant High School was the critical key for success for me. I will never forget Dr. Blue teaching chemistry and throwing chalk at you when you really missed the answer. The love and caring and demands of the faculty is what Stuyvesant is to me and that is why I am also a life time member of the alumni association.

The 1981 Nobel Prize Laureate in Chemistry

by Roald Hoffmann, PhD '55

Roald won the 1981 Nobel Prize in Chemistry for theories concerning the course of chemical reactions. His work aims at theoretically anticipating the course of chemical reactions and is based on quantum mechanics, which attempts to explain how atoms behave. Hoffmann’s observations are collectively termed the theory of conservation of orbital symmetry in chemical reactions. During his early theoretical work he collaborated with R.B. Woodward, 1965 Nobel Laureate in Chemistry. Hoffmann’s method of attacking difficult and complicated problems is characterized by making generalizations through simplifications. Today his method is used by chemists studying life processes and by chemists developing drugs. In addition to his outstanding work in Chemistry, Hoffmann is a respected and prolific poet.

Blame it on Stuyvesant?

Allen Rosenshine '55, Chairman of BBDO Worldwide

Since the emphasis at Stuyvesant in the mid-fifties was largely on math and science as opposed to liberal arts, I entered college with a major in chemical engineering. The combination of lack of interest and plummeting grades over my first two years convinced me to look elsewhere. I wound up with a major in English literature but as a result of the background in science that Stuyvesant provided, my first job in what became a career in advertising was as a copywriter for an agency specializing in industrial clients. From there I went on to do the kind of consumer advertising people love to hate, which in retrospect should therefore be blamed on Stuyvesant.

Excellent Tempering at Stuyvesant High School

by Gus Constantin '55, Chairman/CEO, Phoenix American, San Rafael, CA

My name is Gus Constantin and like the character George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life I believe my life has been wonderful and to a large extent I feel that it has been because of the excellent tempering that I was subjected to in the crucible known as Stuyvesant High School. Currently I'm involved in running 4 businesses. I'm married and we have one son. I find time to run these businesses, play tennis, ski, write songs, travel extensively and exercise on a regular basis. I'm healthy, appy and truly leading a very full and wonderful life.

My life began on October 2, 1937 in Kavala Greece. Ordinarily I would have grown up and lived my life in Greece but, as circumstance would have it, the Second World War was brewing and my parents rightly decided that the prudent thing to do was return to the safety of America late in 1939. My dad was an American citizen and Greece, the country of his heritage, was no longer looking like a secure place in which to raise his family in light of Hitler's designs on Europe in general and Greece in particular.

My early years were spent growing up in the heart of Manhattan in New York City between 95th and 96th Streets on Columbus Avenue in a middle-class neighborhood. My dad owned and operated a small candy store that sold various and sundry items such as magazines, newspapers, cigarettes, candy, cigars, soda, ice cream, stationery, school supplies, as well as a variety of other items typically found in candy stores circa 1940. Neither of my parents was well-schooled or fluent in English so my early years in grade school proved to be a struggle. It didn't help that in those early formative years I was also more interested in playing than I was in studying.

In 1950 my mother, sister and I returned to Kavala, Greece to reconnect with relatives. I was 12 and my sister was 7 at that time and I missed 7 months of Junior High School as a result of our extended sojourn in Greece. While we were there I took private lessons in French, Algebra and English and did well enough on entrance exams upon our return to the States to qualify for entry into a rapid advance class that essentially completed two school years in one. As a consequence, I wasn't held back and progressed with the rest of my former classmates into the ninth grade.

My visit to Greece and my stimulating experience of having to interact with a lot of bright, capable students on my return served to stoke my desire to do well in school. It further motivated me to try to gain entry into the very best public high schools New York had to offer. I'd heard good things about Stuyvesant High School from classmates and from an older Greek boy who lived in our building and was a senior at Stuyvesant about to graduate. All of this prompted me to take the test for Stuyvesant. I also took the test for Brooklyn Polytech and would have taken the test for the Bronx High School of Science, had that been possible. I passed both entrance exams and of course chose to attend Stuyvesant.

The time I spent at Stuyvesant was a difficult, wonderful, formative period for me. It was difficult in that Stuyvesant caused me to have to spend 4 and 5 hours a day on homework in order to keep pace with a rigorous academic curriculum.

It was wonderful because the students were an elite group of individuals hailing from the four corners of the city, and it was exciting and stimulating to have had the opportunity to meet and get to know some of these exceptional and gifted individuals, some of whom went on to win Nobel prizes and others of whom have scaled the loftiest professional heights and serve society in the most prestigious professional capacities. It was also wonderful because of the excellence of the teaching staff and the obvious interest they had exhibited in their respective subjects and in us personally. It was for me a wonderful competitive time that pushed me to my limits and established a firm foundation on which to build the rest of my life. I feel greatly privileged to have had the opportunity to attend Stuyvesant and I am deeply indebted for all it has done for me to help me compete and live my life to the fullest extent of my capabilities and to the realization of my innate potential.

Thinking Back

by Stanley Cahn, '56

After I was accepted to SHS, I received a call to come down to the school and meet with the assistant principal, Jacob Wortman. Even though I was in the Special Progress (SP) class at my junior high, I had mediocre grades.

When I arrived, Mr. Wortman went over my grades with me, and suggested that I would be happier at my neighborhood high school, George Washington. He pointed out that my entrance test score was exceptional, and I could come to SHS, but felt I would stand out better in GW High because of my grades.

I pointed out to him that I had heard that the principal at GW High was a mean individual, who went out of his way to be a harsh disciplinarian to the students. I had also heard that he carried a hand gun in the school. GW High had achieved some notoriety because of a book, using the school as a backdrop, called The Blackboard Jungle.

During my first year in the school, the principal Fred Schoenberg left for a job with the Board of Ed, and was replaced by Leonard Fliedner, whose previous position was principal at George Washington High School.

Thinking Back Fliedner was not only disliked by the students but had his detractors among the faculty. His biggest critic was Jesse Lowenthal of the English department. Lowenthal who was a tall angular individual, reminded me of the Washington Irving character Ichabod Crane. He was a curmudgeon of the first order, but he loved teaching/ and his students appreciated it.

During my years at the school Stuyvesant was undergoing some renovations. There were occasional interruptions during the day when the construction workers would be using hydraulic drills. Lowenthal would collect rocks from nearby Stuyvesant Square Park and lay them on the window sill. If the hydraulics went off/ he would calmly walk to the window and proceeded to stone the workers until they stopped.

A modern sound system was installed during the renovation, which each classroom receiving a wall speaker. Now we had class-change bells, fire drills, and daily announcements from the office that came through this system. One day when Mr. Lowenthal was teaching us Shakespeare's "Hamlet," he digressed. He explained that our texts were censored, and some of the more ribald sections had been cut out. He told us that he wished to treat us as adults, and he would read us the sections of the play that had been cut from our texts. In the middle of the section when Hamlet makes ribald suggestions to Ophelia, our speaker was activated and Principal Fliedner told Lowenthal that he was to cease right now and stick to the text book. Unknown to all, including the faculty, the system not only had a speaker, but also had a microphone so that Fliedner and others could monitor what was happening in the classrooms.

Mr. Lowenthal was incensed! He took a chair, put it near the speaker, got on it he yelled into the speaker "F— You Mr. Fliedner," and pulled the speaker from the wall to the cheers of those in class. I have been told that after this incident Mr. Lowenthal was elected shop steward of the union, and he and Fliedner continued to have many disputes over the years.

From the Desk of Steve Sorkenn '56

in his letter of October 27, 2004

The Stuyvesant Centennial Homecoming 2004 was a great day, one that brought back of flood of happy memories from my association with the team during the 1954 and 1955 seasons.

Many of the memories that follow here, come from the 1955 issue of Box Seat, the school’s literary effort in the sports arena. I guess we saw the opportunity before TIME produced Sport’s Illustrated.

A few points worth mentioning:
To Coach or not to Coach That Is the Question
During the ceremonies on October 10, it was mentioned that Coach Thrush retired during the 1970’s. It was my understanding that the 1955 season was his last. You’ll note that the Box Seat issue is dedicated to Murl Thrush who “has retired as football coach of Stuyvesant.” And I have a copy of my letter to football alumni, soliciting attendance at a retirement dinner for Coach Thrush. Attendance was robust as I recall. The roast beef dinner was all of $5.00 per person, including tip. There was no subsidy provided by the school. I must have gone to a dozen eateries of the era, such as Rossoff’s, Cavanaugh’s, and Mama Leone’s, attempting to come in at a reasonable cost. I finally settled on The Brass Rail at 43’ Street and Fifth Avenue.

My Desire to Play Football and Memories of “Little Eddie.” a Great Player
Ed Faerber — his picture is on the second page of the box seat article — is someone who I will always remember. His dedication to the game and his personal skills and conditioning were extraordinary. But what I remember most vividly was the final tryout for the 1954 team. It was held on January ninth, which was, coincidentally, birthday. It was a classic NYC winter day. We assembled at a Central Park field at 9:00 in the morning grayness, with frigid winds blowing. A steady drizzle had made the field a wet mess, and there were small patches of soot-stained snow and ice left over from snow that had fallen several days before.
I had gone to Stuyvesant purposely because of football. Most of my JHS classmates opted for Bronx Science. Some were not accepted and were routed to Stuyvesant. My choice was to take the test for Stuyvesant. All or nothing. I wanted to play football. So, over my parents’ objections, I went to the first announced tryout for the ‘54 season. There I was on the field. I made the first cut at the end of November. Wow, I made the second cut. I prepared for the third and final tryout.

It was on that day in January that I came to know and respect “Little Eddie” Faeber, as he was called affectionately. I started the session as a fullback possibility. In the first hour, I was shunted to the group destined to provide a few new players to fill the guard positions. At about noon, the group was lined up in pairs. I was matched with Ed, whom I didn’t know. We set up as opposing linemen, and, on the snap count we were to do what linemen do. In an instant, Ed had upended .me. Head over heels, I hit the ground and was knocked unconscious. My eyes opened finally with Ed huddling over me, asking repeatedly, “Are you OK? I’m sorry.” The session ended as the winter sun poked through the overcast. But it failed to melt the gloom that surrounded me. My feeling that I would not make the final cut was confirmed by the roster posted early in the following week. The happy ending was that “Little Eddie” became a friend, and I became his big supporter.

The postscript: My original dream of being another Marion Motley, Jim Brown, or Alan Ameche was not to be. But I was determined to be part of the football team. At the start of the ‘54 season, I was accepted as an assistant manager for the team. I became the head manager for the 1955 team. I was at every practice - start to finish. Taping ankles, treating cuts and minor medical problems, and maintaining equipment were daily activities. I also had the privilege to stand with Coach Thrush and his one part-time assistant on the practice field at the East River park.

In reality, my dream was fulfilled. I was part of the football team. I felt keenly the aches and pains of “my” players. I shared in the happiness of winning and the disappointment of our loss to Clinton - our only loss over two seasons.

A couple of other memory flashes:

Pass the Hat
Coach Thrush was from Oklahoma. So, in the first game of the ‘55 season I suggested that he wear a cowboy hat to set him apart from the crowd. He liked the notion, and I provided a white cowboy hat, labeled “genuine” by the uncle who had given it to me. The Coach donned the hat for every game. It was noticed and mentioned in a newspaper account of one our games.

I also had a hat for game days — a red beret. On kickoffs, I’d run onto the field to retrieve the tee. I also provided water and minor first aid during timeouts. The teams stayed on the field, not going to the sidelines as I saw two weeks ago. The stands every so often echoed with the cry, “Who’s the guy in the red beret?”

Stuyvesant Football in NYC Newspapers
Results of every Stuyvesant game appeared in the NYC newspapers, particularly the NY Post, and the now extinct Herald Tribune, Journal-American, and the World-Telegram & Sun. There were even scholastic sports editors. One whom I remember was Zander Hollander, who was a nice guy. After each game, I would phone each paper the score and game highlights. In return, I received a by-line If game details were published. I was also reimbursed for the phone calls. Each Sunday, the papers devoted well- defined space to high school sports. I had counterparts at most other schools, but I never missed a deadline or by-line. Game information was accepted from only the first caller, who was usually from the winning side. (We lost one game over two years.)

In 1954. the team went undefeated. So did Brooklyn Tech. We wanted to play Tech as the final game of the season. We were confident that we could beat them. A request was sent to the PSAL for authorization. Both schools were poised to meet on the gridiron. Just a nod from PSAL officials was needed. There was just one week remaining in the season as dictated by the Board of Education.

One more time. Please, Coach
I remember sitting anxiously in the Athletics Department office with Coach Thrush and a few team members, each day for a week after classes. We hunkered down in thick dust amidst crates and piping, waiting for the go-ahead to play Tech. The school was undergoing renovations that year, and the gym area and other sections were mired in construction debris and equipment.

The call came finally. The response: “not possible.” I never learned the basis of the decision. Who didn't want us to play that game? At the time, the issue was our cause célèbre. But 50 years later, in the context of today’s world, it really doesn’t matter at all — as the song goes. But the passions of my schoolboy days remain the same. I still wish that we could have played Brooklyn Tech on a Saturday afternoon in late November, 1954. I wonder if the other team had similar feelings.
- Steve Sorkenn

Was It Worth It? You Bet It Was!

by Gerry Golub, CPA ‘57

My days at Stuyvesant were not only memorable but also helped to shape my future. I would start by walking six blocks to the Brooklyn subway, taking the train to Manhattan where I would switch to the cross-town train and then arrive at the building for learning and developing my mathematical and engineering skills. (Although while in college, I switched my field of study from engineering to accounting, my basic math and geometric training has consistently served as a strong foundation for my accounting and business skills.)

As Stuyvesant was not a neighborhood school, all of us were very challenged to build friendships. It’s not as if you could have a play-date with someone from Bronx or Queens when you lived in Brooklyn. And, at the time your neighborhood pals were out playing, you were riding trains in order to get home.

The price of this higher level of education was not cheap. The school of course was free, but with no girls in the school and the stress that the travel time added to a lack of hanging around the neighborhood, all added to a gap in social involvement and frankly for some, a short-fall in social skill development. But, was it worth it? You bet it was. What will long be remembered after everything else fades is the quality of the education one received from this great school. (Of course, the girls form Washington Irving and Hunter are to be remembered with distinction as well.)

Thinking Back – Favorite Teacher?

by Leonard S. Hyman, '57

Favorite teacher? Not a favorite then, for sure.

Dr. Edward Coyle, chairman of the language department. Tough as nails Latin teacher: crammed into us the rudiments of grammar, literature, rhetoric, classical civilization, the duties of citizenship. What you really need to succeed in the world but they do not teach anymore. Imagine that summons to stand up and translate Cicero. Stand on your own two feet. Civis Romanus sum. That was stern stuff. No better preparation for life than Dr. Coyle’s Latin class.

Significant Faculty Experiences

by Theodore W. Makarewicz '58, Col. (ret.), US Army

Back in 1955, I was a new student at Stuyvesant, searching the halls on my first day looking for the classrooms on my schedule, the school appeared to be a foreboding place. Along with others I would read the classroom numbers and try to navigate in the correct direction. After a few successes, I began to gain confidence and even started to think that I could handle this transition from junior high school without any big problems.

And then came chemistry class. As I remember I had a little difficulty in finding the room. When I finally got there, I glanced into the room to find a thin, nearly bald man dressed in a long gray lab coat. He held a Pointer in his right hand and was sitting on a tall stool. Upon seeing me he motioned me into the room and to the bank of student seats facing him. As I moved, per his hand directions, his eyes kept contact with mine. Then suddenly he reverted to tapping the pointer on the blackboard to his rear.

As I finally reached an empty desk to be seated I could see that he was directing my attention to some message written on the blackboard. The message was short but very much to the point. My first reaction was somewhere between shock and fright. But as I settled into the scene I found great amusement in observing the reactions of my fellow students as they entered the room and were greeted in the same manner. Some were cowered, while others were confused. Some looked upset, while yet others looked beguiled. Without question all anticipated what would be coming next from this odd, but obviously straightforward teacher who had written on the board "Sit down and shut-up!"

Over the next days and weeks of two terms of chemistry with Mr. Lieberman we all learned more about atomic weights, valences, balancing equations, and the other things that then made up high school chemistry, that most of us ever have the opportunity to apply. I learned a great deal more from this wonderful little guy. From the moment we entered that room he made it clear to us he knew where he was going to take us, how he was going to get there, and if we followed his lead, how happy we would be for having had the experience. He was always prepared, always organized, and always willing to help a student who needed help. There was never any question of where you stood with him because he was that "straightforward guy."

Prepared, organized, helpful and straightforward - not bad attributes on which to base a career and/or a life.

David Sarnoff Achieves Goal: Diploma from Stuyvesant High School

Excerpted from the NY Times, April 4, 1958

David Sarnoff, board chairman of R.C.A., received his first high school diploma at age 67 with admiring Stuyvesantians looking on. Principal Fliedner presented the diploma for outstanding achievement in science, industry and public affairs at an alumni homecoming day assembly of 1,700 students and alumni. He told the assembly that the diploma meant achievement of an ambition and that he recently declined a full professorship telling the university he couldn't enter the college because he had no High School degree.

Mr. Sarnoff lived near old Stuyvesant High School after emigrating from Russia as a teenager. He had to give up school to support his family after the death of his father. After working as a newsboy, delivery boy, and messenger he joined Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company of America as an office boy.

After accepting his diploma, he said "I hitched my wagon to an electron rather than the proverbial star."

Harry Okean Gave Me The Courage to Stay

by Morton Fleischner '59, ABC News

It can be said that The Spectator was my life-altering experience. I entered SHS thinking that I would one day have a career in Chemistry, but that was quickly put to rest when it became clear that I was a lousy Math student. In fact, I was a lousy student, overall.

I wanted to throw in the towel and go to my neighborhood high school, Erasmus Hall, but a kind, very understanding guidance counselor, named Harry Okean, gave me the courageto stay, work through the rough spots and find my way.

English and History were my favorite subjects. So, I joined The Spectator, starting as a reporter and learning everything I could about the paper.

Then, things began to happen. I became News Editor and, although I was a better student by then (I went from lousy to mediocre) I still found SHS invigorating and inspiring. I was inspired to get out of bed in the middle of the night, in the dead of winter of Dec., 1957 to take an early morning walk on the upper East Side with former Pres. Harry Truman and interview him about Russia's math and science education vs. ours. I was 16 and introduced myself as a reporter from one of the nation's finest high schools. What an unforgettable experience!

The Spectator was my life and I realized what I wanted to do after college. In my senior year, the paper's editors and advisor, Alfred Brandt, named me co-editor in chief with Alan Weinblatt. I also won first place in a writing contest sponsored by NBC News. The prize was a summer job in the NBC Newsroom, where I stayed part-time or full-time throughout college, working with legends in broadcast journalism.

Think back to Mr. Okean and his quiet advice. Without that, I might be selling televisions instead of producing and writing T-V news programs and documentaries for ABC News for the last 31 years.

And, I'll always remember Harry Truman's first words to me: "What's on your mind, sonny boy?"

'Mr.' Thrush - SHS '58 Football Team

By Martin Schulman '59

I was blessed-cursed with a consciousness that saw-sees everything both in terms of what it is, where it came from and how it might look in retrospect from the future. That was my experience at Stuyvesant among other places. When I recently saw a photo of the football team of 1958 in the alumni magazine I was a bit choked since I remembered-knew almost everyone of the men there and was filled with what my eye saw but more with what I knew that was outside the photo touching each of them.

Seeing Mr. Thrush's (it was always Mr. Thrush, never anything less formal even though guys with names like Murl probably couldn't take the "Mr." very seriously) name brought back a rush of memories. I had never thought of writing about him even though he was one of the great influences on my life-most of the others of that magnitude were also teachers at Stuyvesant, a reflection of the effect of going there on the development of the consciousness of a young boy.

Remembering Ed Slisky '59

by Ed Kreusser '59

“Big Slisk” (October 26, 1942-November 2, 2003) was Co-Captain of the ’58-59 football team and helped lead the "Peglegs" to a 7-1 season. This boy from the Bronx was the unanimous choice for first team “All-City Tackle" honors in the NYC newspapers. Off the grid-iron, he was an accomplished student, a member of Arista.

Ed's academic and athletic achievements landed him a full scholarship to Cornell, where he started at tackle. During his post-grad years, he helped to coach Cornell’s freshman football team.

Ed earned his undergrad degree in electrical engineering and went on to earn his MBA. He worked for IBM for many years, primarily in The San Francisco Bay Area as a systems engineer. Slisk was an avid reader; he was always curious, with a strong thirst for knowledge and ideas, a true intellectual and scholar. He loved his classical music playing in the background.

Ed was a fine athlete and participated with excellence in many sports. While blessed with an amazing, powerful, Herculean physique (how could anyone who saw them ever forget his calves?), he preferred activities demanding skill, grace, speed and finesse. He especially loved skiing; he and his wife, Irene, were on the Squaw Valley Masters Ski Racing Team.

Slisk treasured his formative years at Stuyvesant High. It was easy and fun to get him to reminisce about Stuyvesant (on rare occasions, one could twist his arm into singing “Our Strong Band"… in a word, it was… painful). He always gave a great deal of credit to Coach Murl Thrush for guidance in honing his athletic skills. He spoke often of the tremendous debt he owed to so many of the excellent teachers at SHS. Ed Herbst, to single out just one, counseled Slisk in making many successful choices.

Ed's personality belied his outward handsome and rugged appearance. A devout Catholic, he was a serene, reflective and peaceful man with tremendous self-discipline.

Edward James Slisky succumbed to pancreatic cancer on 11/02/03 at his home in Tiburon, CA. He was just 61 years old but he accepted his fate with dignity and equanimity. He is survived by his wife of almost 25 years, Irene; his step-daughter, Kathleen; 3 granddaughters, Dara, Christine and Johanna; and 4 great-grandchildren.

Slisk and I were close, lifelong friends---a friendship ‘formed at Stuyvesant High.’ Those of us fortunate to know him well, loved him and will miss him tremendously.

From the SHS Centennial book manuscript

by Richard Ben-Veniste, Esq. '60

Aside for the instruction of some truly memorable teachers, the greatest part of my education was my 1-hour commute each way by bus and subway to get to school everyday. I lived in Laurelton, Queens, so I would take the Q5 bus to the subway at 169th St. in Jamaica, the next to last stop on the E-train. One thing that was unusual about the Stuyvesant experience was its bifurcated nature. You would do your academics and sports in one place, then have your social life back in your own neighborhood. The friends I hung out with were the ones who lived in my neighborhood, most of whom went to Andrew Jackson High.

Another unusual thing about school life at Stuyvesant was the shower requirement. Mr. McGarry was nominally attached to the phys. ed. Department, but his major assignment was shower detail. There wasn’t enough shower space for the entire gym class to shower after exercising, so the class was divided into five squads, each of which was assigned to shower in lieu of sports activities one day each week. So, one day a week, we would take a shower and then get dressed again.

Dr. Fliedner was a cold, impersonal figure who did not interact with the student body on other than a formal and perfunctory basis. His face was set in the perpetual grimace of someone who had come in contact with an unpleasant smell. Rather than encourage (much less congratulate) these high achieving sons of working and middle-class families, he chose the role of disciplinarian and administrative bureaucrat.

Periodically, we got Fliedner’s goat by refusing to enter the school building as an expression of ecumenical respect for various arcane religious holidays. We’d all be out in the street, refusing to go to class. Eventually someone would call the police, who would send squad cars through 15th and 16th streets (the campus) to clear the streets for vehicular traffic. After a couple of passes, both the police and the students would go back to what they were doing – in our case milling around and discussing what a jerk Fliedner was. Traditionally, the police sweep would be followed by circulation of a rumor that “the Flea” had abolished the football team as punishment for our actions. Of course, we refused to go inside until he announced revocation of that “decision.” The superintendent of schools, who was Fliedner’s brother-in-law, would call Fliedner and ask, “What’s going on? The police are there, the neighborhood is shut down!” Fliedner would tell him we were striking because we’d heard that he’d abolished the football team. His brother-in-law would as “Well, did you?” to which Fliedner would reply “No, of course not.” His brother-in-law would say, “Then go tell them that!,” and Fliedner would retort “I can’t do that! That’s just what they want! That’s the reason they’re doing this!” Eventually, the Flea would go out on his little balcony overlooking scenic 15th Street and make the requisite announcement to the tumultuous cheers of the student body, which filed back into the building with a spring in its collective step.

A man given to bouts of paranoia, Fliedner was ill-suited for his position. Our graduation ended in a chaos – it made the front page of all of the newspapers in New York – owing to Dr. Fliedner’s exaggerated eccentricities. We graduated from a movie theater in Greenwich Village, since the school didn’t have a suitable auditorium to hold everyone. Dr. Fliedner’s performance at graduation was the culmination of four years of mostly unpleasant interchanges with the student body. He mispronounced a substantial number of the names of graduating students, he didn’t look anyone in the eye, and at one point in the proceedings observed that while “some students deserved to graduate, others did not.” This drew a sustained cacophony of boos from people in the audience in a rare display of teenager/parent agreement. After the boos, Fliedner announced “that was it, nobody is graduating,” but like most of his threats, this one went unfulfilled. Eventually, we all got our diplomas.

Four years in a school with a Captain Queeg-like principal helped me develop a healthy willingness to question authority.

In addition to being Stuyvesant’s shower czar, McGarry also had responsibilities in the lunchroom. Once I was busted by him while practicing the art of flinging mashed potatoes across the lunch room. The idea was to score a direct hit into a student’s open brief case from a reasonably challenging distance. This student was one of the super geniuses who had no idea bout anything that was going on in his zip code (which was another indication of how advanced we were, since zip codes hadn’t been invented yet). So his book-bag became a receptacle for games of skill.

What was interesting about this incident was McGarry’s reason for apprehending me: I had bent the spoon. So he took me back to one of the dishwashers, a young Puerto Rican guy whose only job appeared to be bending lunchroom utensils back into shape. McGarry said, “See?” indicating that I was in fact responsible for a lot of those bent spoons. Well, this poor guy bending back the spoons hardly spoke any English, and my Spanish was pretty good by this point, so I started chatting him up in Spanish. And his face lit up, because apparently nobody ever talked to him. He stood up and shook my hand and was very pleased. In fact, he communicated to me that it wasn’t so bad that I’d bent the spoon, there were a lot worse things they made him do in his job. McGarry watched this for a while, then put a stop to it. Needless to say that wasn’t the outcome he’d been hoping for.

Memories at Stuyvesant

by Michael J. Droller, MD '60

I believe what made Stuyvesant special was the unique atmosphere produced by the teachers in their interactions with the students. Both synergistically created a setting conducive to creativity, learning, and achievement. I remember with particular fondness several teachers who seemed to especially enjoy interacting with their students and contributing to their academic development Mr. Rubin Atkin (mathematics) may have been the most dedicated teacher that I have ever encountered. His “prize problems” were always a challenge, but his conduct of the classroom with a great sense of humor and appreciation of the learning process was very special. Mr. DiPalma (history/social studies) brought his Marine background into the classroom, and in creating a sense of discipline in thinking, conveyed to us his knowledge and was always forthright in his teaching. Mrs. Sarah Baron (English) was sweet and kind, and seemed to fill the role of everyone’s mother as she took us through some wonderful literature. Mr. Ralph Ferrara (biology) was just starting out at Stuyvesant and though a bit tentative at first, he came across as a very decent and thorough teacher. Mr. Brodie (mathematics) was the John Housman (from The Paper Chase) of Stuyvesant, insisting that dress and comportment created the foundation and scaffold for learning. These and many others created the context that made Stuyvesant special for me.

I remember as “buddies” Stanley Rothschild (now a successful orthopedist in the Washington, DC area) in homeroom, Jack Litman, now a prominent trial lawyer with whom I traveled to various junior high schools in New York to describe the advantages that Stuyvesant offered and Michael Malben (who went into social sciences and economics) with whom I shared many classes and extracurricular activities but with whom I have unfortunately lost touch. These and many others gave substance and richness to my experience at Stuyvesant. I am grateful for what my “buddies” and teachers provided in making my high school experience such a memorable one.

The Bar Was Set High

by Mike Kwatinetz, PhD '62

At Stuyvesant the bar was set high. Students were expected to apply themselves and did - whether it was writing a novel, building an organ from spare parts, or winning the National Science Fair. I never viewed that period as one of achievement for me; I always thought that Stuyvesant helped me to blossom later. But looking back I realize that Dr. Atkins was brilliant in his motivational methods. In his math classes he posed "prize problems" that were very difficult to solve. This challenge made me work harder than I ever had and I believe I was the only one to solve them all. While I didn't realize it at the time, this laid the groundwork for my pursuing a PHD in mathematics and subsequently achieving some success on Wall Street. I didn't find out until a recent reunion that the very same people whose accomplishments I held in awe were daunted by my achievements in math!

Manny Leibel's '62 Homeroom

by Edward L. Feinberg ‘62

Dr. Kelly, a very senior English teacher, sang the role every day in class. Forty years later part of that song was still stuck in my head:

Albeck a, Baumbach a, Berger, Brown, Brown get out you're no darn good.
Carol, Epstein, Feinberg, Fields, Freeman, Friendly, Golden, Goodman, ...

Near the time of our 40th reunion I rejoined the Stuyvesant world via the Class of '62 Local Events Committee. We were trying to find everyone, and the song was a way of recalling most of Manny Leibel's '62 home-roomers, who attended many classes as a whole. Barry Freeman (currently a physician and poker wizard) remembered pretty much the whole song. Barry also remembered where people sat in Leibel's homeroom. Together, and with some input from several others, we settled on a reasonably accurate representation of our homeroom’s seating chart and I proceeded to create a class picture:

Brown was our biggest mystery. Dr. Freeman just plain didn't remember him, and I couldn't forget him. Those of us that do remember him do not recall ever learning why Doc Kelly had it in for him.

Dr. Kelly, graying and aging, held class from the back of room. He had a powerful voice and would scare the S out of us with oral whippings and stingy grades, and reminded us regularly on how he had once beat baseball great Grover Cleveland Alexander in the Minor Leagues. His behavior was sometimes quite absurd, and being about 14 or 15 years old, we would often break up into convulsive subdued laughter. As he was sitting in the back of the room, he usually did not notice but when he did, his voice would boom out, "Feinberg, are you laughing at me? - wipe that grin off your face or else" - and I would almost jump out my seat.

Now Manny Leibel was a real angel in comparison, but he had 2 quirks that I remember. First, you couldn't walk behind his desk! He claimed students sometimes forget to bathe, and he didn't want them contaminating his desk. This was somewhat of a trap - the door and the desk were in the front of the classroom, so if you sat on the far side of his desk, you had to walk to the back of room, over to your aisle, and back up the aisle. Early arrivers, who got there before Mr. Leibel, had a powerful urge to cross behind the teacher’s desk unseen. Anyone caught incurred his rage. The other quirk was how Manny walked the hall during classroom switching - head down, elbows out, he bashed through the crowd.

There were many teachers I remember fondly. Marks, Bowden, Schindelheim, Jensen, and one in particular helped me immensely - Henrietta Midonick. I was somewhat of a sleepy student in her Calculus class. My eyes would droop. Mrs. Midonick noticed this, and promptly woke me with "Feinberg, what did I say?" To this day I don't know how I did it, but the last sentence or two would magically enter the conscious realm, and I would repeat the sentences verbatim, and frequently answer the question correctly. She always seemed amazed. I ended up enjoying that class immensely. She gave me a book she wrote on mathematics in other cultures "Treasury of Mathematics", which as the title suggested, I treasured.

Stuyvesant, a School that Sets No Limits

Alan Dombrow '62

I know for sure that Stuyvesant High School has enabled me to be successful at what I do through a combination of the high-caliber Math and English courses I took there (thanks to the teachers, of course, as well as the course content that they surely influenced). I know a lot of people who focus on math and science and another group of friends who focus on literature, arts and communications. Stuyvesant has enabled me to enjoy and focus on both (which is one of the reasons I elected not to go to Brooklyn Tech or Bronx HS of Science - I perceived them as lacking humanities sensitivities). In 1962, Stuyvesant produced well-rounded humanities graduates (at least those who took advantage of its educational resources).

One of my happiest and most successful achievements over the years was to develop my APR microcomputer program, a program that not only reflected requirements of federal law and has been adopted by the federal government for internal use (beginning in 1985), but that includes instructions and user-friendliness that users have enjoyed. Yet, for me, it was just a passing phase, one of many that has helped me build on and enjoy life. I'm not a computer programmer and wrote my last program around 1993. But the banks are still using my program and reading my trade articles (that began being published in 1981).

Although we all had some innate intelligence to get into Stuyvesant in the first place, I attribute my skills and positive attitude to Stuyvesant, a school that set no limits.

Another Bag of M&M's, Please

Bruce-Sean Reshen CPA, MBA '62

At the 40th reunion, Bruce took the open mike at the old Stuyvesant Auditorium and told the gathering how he was once offered a choice between a second bag of M&M's and a chance to influence the leader of the free world. It seems the first bag was for one daughter, but he had two. So, when the President of the United States paused after giving Bruce an award for his brownfield development efforts, he used the opportunity to ask for another bag of those Presidential seal M&M's.

Bruce-Sean Reshen is President and Chief Executive Officer of MGP Environmental Partners LLC, a firm that specializes in providing advisory and investment services for companies and governments that want to deal effectively with their contaminated sites. His most recent prior position was Chief Executive Officer of Starrett Corporation, owner of HRH Construction, Levitt Housing and Grenadier Management. In addition, Mr. Reshen has served as President of Dames & Moore/Brookhill LLC, a leading developer of brownfields properties. Previously, Mr. Reshen was Chief Operating Officer and Chief Financial Officer of Soros Real Estate Advisors, which managed one of the nation's largest and best known real estate opportunity funds, the Quantum Realty Fund. At Quantum, Mr. Reshen managed the successful acquisition and development of a multi-billion dollar portfolio of distressed properties. He also served as a tenured professor of Statistics and Management at the City University of New York. Mr. Reshen is a certified public accountant who holds a Bachelor of Science degree in mathematics and economics, a Masters of Arts degree in statistical economics and an MBA degree in accounting and management.

How Stuyvestant Influenced College and Career

by Anthony F. Starace '62

Most young people don't experience being with a large group of peers until college. I experienced the stimulation of highly able peers of varied backgrounds in 10th grade, when I went to Stuyvesant. These peers had strong opinions on most matters, including fields of study. The pecking order in my peer group was clear: math, physics, chemistry, biology, and then everything else. There were seeming geniuses in our class who excelled in math; I knew they were my superiors. Consequently, I settled for physics, as I found chemistry quite easy. Thus it was that my peer group at Stuyvesant that influenced my choice of career.

Stephen P. Altman '62

Steve, Of Blessed Memory, was a podiatrist in San Diego and died of throat cancer. A lovely, wonderful, brilliant student at Stuyvesant, he was the father of two boys. His mother Sylvia Altman is in Florida and Fire Island, NY.

Neal Hurwitz '62, with Sylvia and the Altman family, have established The Stephen P. Altman Fund in the Alumni(ae) & Friends Endowment Fund, Inc. Class of '62 Fund.

For further information, please contact Neal at (212) 222-9112 or nealhugh@aol.com.

On Competition or Bust

an exchange between Roger C. Schank, PhD '62, Richard Rabinowitz, PhD '62, and others... By Jeff Kestler, Esq. '64

Quite a fascinating exchange. Competition, of course, can be a very powerful positive force. The human species owes its very existence, at least in part, to competition, according to Darwin. Our country has enshrined competition as a core value and many have died to preserve it. But, perhaps the most significant rebuttal to Roger's thesis is the pride we all took and take in those who turned out to be the best of the best. Does any one of us resent our class valedictorian or those who won global honors in math? No, we realize that we all helped to make each other better. Seeing what others could achieve motivated us to do our best--not so much to outdo our compatriots, but to raise us all to the highest level we could attain. This type of competition is not only healthy, it is essential to personal and societal growth.

click here to view

Jerry R. Green '63

professor at Harvard Business School John Leverett Professor in the University, David A. Wells Professor of Political Economy

Jerry Green is the John Leverett Professor in the University and the David A. Wells Professor of Political Economy in the Department of Economics.

His current research includes work on the annuities market and the decision to annuitize pension benefits, and on the reorganization of mutual life insurance companies into corporate forms with stock ownership.

Professor Green was one of the originators of the theory of rational expectations and of a variety of concepts and methods in the economics of incentives and information. He has pursued both the theory and applications of these ideas in his work. He was an early innovator in the analysis of the strategic uses of corporate financial management. He analyzed the growth consequences of corporate and capital gains taxation, the mortgage market, the risk characteristics of private pensions and the implications of patent policy for the pace of innovation.

Professor Green developed the required graduate course in economic theory at Harvard University, with which he has been involved with since 1970. He is a co-author, with Andreu Mas-Colell and Michael Whinston, of the leading graduate level textbook, Microeconomic Theory, (Oxford University Press, 1995, of Incentives in Public Decision Making (with Jean-Jacques Laffont, 1978), and over eighty scientific articles.

He joined the Harvard faculty in 1970, chaired the Economics Department from 1984 to 1987, and served as Provost of the University from 1992 to 1994. He is a Senior Fellow of Harvard's Society of Fellows and a Syndic of the Harvard University Press.

Professor Green is a Fellow of the Econometric Society and served on its Council from 1988 to 1994. He is a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and has been an Erskine Fellow at the University of Canterbury, and a Guggenheim Fellow. He is an Oversees Fellow of Churchill College, Cambridge University. In 1980, he received the J.K.Galbraith Prize for excellence in teaching.

Professor Green chaired the National Science Foundation's Information Sciences Advisory Panel in 1980, prepared the Foundation's Ten-Year Outlook for the Social Sciences in 1983 and served on the National Academy of Sciences Panel on Taxpayer Compliance in 1984. He has been an advisor to many universities and foundations.

S.H.S. like it was yesterday

Lenny Mandel '64

I remember my first day at S.H.S. like it was yesterday. A Freshman (and you can be very sure that when the majority of y'all came to school the next year, starting as Sophomores, we knew we were different and certainly more special) walking through the halls of a major public school after spending 8 years at a Yeshiva (most of us came from some sort of 1-8 yr. religious school), my eyes wide open, and so, as most of you who knew me, was my mouth. I began by walking up the "down" staircase, getting shoved out the door and, as I entered the "up" staircase I was shoved aside by a Senior running up the stairs (did we run up the stairs to get to a class first semester of our Senior year?? not that I can recall). He screamed at me, I told him to fuck off. He told me that I was a piece of shit, I returned the compliment, he turned to come down the stairs (the "up" staircase if you remember) and there, standing beside me were Phil Jones, Mike Coughlin and Johnny Capello. The freshman class bonded very quickly but not as quickly as he turned to run as the 4 of us made a move as if we were going to chase him. Freshman year teachers; Miss Merenson, Mr.Kelly, Samuel Mischel (also my guidance counselor, he died at some point during our tenure--a very special man), Walter Stoffregen, he died near the end of my Freshman year (he was the conductor of the orchestra, and truly loved)... my memories (y'all know what crs is--and creeping towards craft) of most of the other teachers is cloudy at best.

Clinton rallies the week before Thanksgiving, Mr. Romberger on Candid Camera calmly smoking his pipe while a mouse ran amuck in a carpet store while some woman was screaming her head off, Mr. Jensen writing for Mad Magazine, the football spoof in Mad where the coach's name was Thurl Mush, Mr. Romberger, mommy Rommy, Mr.Tiger who graduated SHS in the early 50's & used to regale us with stories of his sexual proclivity (shit, I had to learn at least 1 or 2 words with more syllables than cat in 4 years),Sebastian Cavallero, Chuck Sharkey, who told one of the guys in our gym class that if he didn't move more quickly he would shove his size 9 1/2 right up his Gluteus Maximus ( I guess he thought we were all studying anatomy therefore understanding the term). Mo Davis, Mo Chusid, W2CLE, the audio visual squad (how many periods were spent trying to find a piece of equipment that never existed), the lunch room squad, Robert Born (a student) who wouldn't stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance. I remember my home room being in the cafeteria one semester, and he came to class with a "blood-stained" bandage wrapped around his head -Ketchup- we had our share!! Three Penny football on the tables in the lunchroom.

How many of you remember Susan Rosemaron (Miss Susan Rosemaron) who student taught in Mr.Haas' art class? We were 16 or 17, she was 20 and HOTTTTT!!!! Haas snapped at her one day and the class went ape (does that word still mean something?) all over him. Mr. Leseur who taught us what went on "out back behind the out- house". Mr. Goodman (Roger B.) the English Department chair who always wore paisley ties. Mr Kahn who made the 1963 Physics regents so difficult that 65% of the state flunked and they lowered the passing grade to 55. Mr Lehrman who's 1st teaching assignment was SHS 1962; he taught Bio. Leonard J. Fliedner; did we boo him out of graduation or refuse to sing "Our Strong Band"??? or is that romanticized in my memory? Lou DiDomenico squaring off to fight Jimmy Commiotes on 15th Street right before school started, Lou was feigning karate skill, kicked off his shoes as Jimmy kicked him in the balls---end of fight. Otto's on 1st Ave., Patti's (was it Patsy's) Pizza next door, Mr. Fischer's daughters, Julian's, Ames, The Italian Kitchen on 14th where the waiter explained to us; "Ravioli that's Kreplach, Cannelloni is Blintzes etc. etc. What teacher had a nervous breakdown because we wouldn't stop clicking our pens (it's a real question)? On the bus to Stratford-on-Avon (actually, the Housitanic) to see Hamlet, one of us carried a wine pouch--full, of course ---empty by the time we arrived.

The day JFK was shot most of us thought that the school was letting us out early so that we wouldn't march on Union Square screaming "De Witt eat shit" etc etc.. Mr. Zubow wouldn't let his class out as he was sure that it was a prank to start a Clinton (anti-Clinton) rally early. Mr. Zubow (yes the old Field Marshall himself) would march through the aisles, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the field of battle (class), Haldeman hair style, beady eyes darting. He was my nemesis and I his. As I read through the Indicator, chuckling at the comments, my memory solid as to their origins, many were about keeping people awake and laughing in Zubow's class. I actually had him 6th & 7th semesters, or was it 5th, 6th, & 7th.. I told him I would miss him and that my final semester at SHS wouldn't be the same without him as my teacher. In our last semester (the registrar {did we have one of those} didn't process my request for an after the 5th period dismissal) I walked into my 7th period History class ... (I don't have to tell you).They changed my schedule to a 5th period dismissal and so my History class was 3rd period. Thank G-d rid of him at last. Imagine the laughter when I walked in and came face to face with Field Marshall Von Zubow, himself. Al Angiola announcing our football games (remember walking over the bridge to get to Randall's Island). During one game Angiola announced (alright, so what if it isn't an exact quote) "...tackled on the five yard line by Lenny Mandel". Murl Thrush (& if I've got to tell you who he was ..shiiiiit) said." Mandel?, Mandel? - he's not on this team". The Hunter cheerleaders - their skirts were so short that channel 11 wouldn't show them when we played Midwood H.S. on T.V. Jeff Kestler & Frankie Lowy screaming "HEY-LA". We were perennial city fencing champs. Standing outside SHS watching the girls the day they petitioned for the right to get in. Riding the subway making comments to other kids like "Hey, I here they're making TECH coed. Yeah, they're gonna start letting boys in. "Riding the subway with Sammy Rosenblum (now Sam Rosen) et al picking a "ringing phone" out of a "fag-bag", handing it to the nearest passenger and saying "excuse me, it's for you." And who could ever forget our fabulous junior and senior proms. What, you say, what proms? I can certainly assure you that we, the members of either the jr. or sr. prom committee, worked our butts off (or was that laughed our asses off?).

I think that my stream of consciousness could go on & on & on...I will tell you that my 4 years were fabulous. You all were fabulous. No, we didn't all hang out. No, I don't remember a lot of you. Yes, I do remember a lot of you. We came from disparate places, backgrounds and ethnicity's but I doubt that any one of us didn't walk through those doors (the first time at least) swollen with pride over the fact that we made it!!! We were going to Stuyvesant High School, the #1 public high school in the U.S. - did I forget what it felt like running up that beautiful sweeping staircase, being stopped at the top and told that we weren't allowed there and had to walk back down and take the student stairwell up). Look at us, that's right, look at us (as we look at each other) we are the Stuyvesant High School class of '64, and we were, we are and we will always be very special.

A little about me: I live in West Orange, NJ with my wife of 27 years, and we have 1 son who'll be 24 this month. After Woodstock I packed up and went to Spain where, for a short time I was a DJ on Radio Nacional De Espana. I spent 2 years hanging out in Europe and Israel, came back worked in the textile industry and eventually became an auctioneer. After the Newspaper strike in '78 (broke but still smiling) I stayed in the biz for a bit and then became a broker (bonds etc.). Where am I now? I am a Cantor @ Cong.B'nai Israel in Emerson NJ, I have a day job (albeit I'm rarely there) still in finance, and I am a professional actor (meaning that I am a member of the unions, and actually get paid when I work). I've had a couple of National commercials, done theatre all over the U.S., and appeared in a couple of feature films and a TV show. I will be co-starring in a new play coming to New York this fall; The Flame Keeper. Don't miss it!! My wife and I spend our free time (not that we have much - and we'll have none once the show starts) riding our motorcycle wherever the road takes us. We take some major abuse for this as she is on the board of The Kessler Institute and the president of the Auxiliary board.

SHS64 - The Mr. Locker History 'Sit Down, Sit Down'

by Noah Perlis '64

I am not sure if this story translates as funny to those of you who were not there, but as I remember it, in a place long, long ago...

In our senior year at Stuyvesant, some of us had a history teacher named Mr. Locker for either both semesters or the spring semester. He was a methodically dry, older man, and bore a striking resemblance to Yoda of the Jedi Council in Star Wars, only without the pointy ears and cane.

He had a seating chart and routine, which, never varying, went along the following lines. He gave frequent short quizzes and regular reading assignments, and used the seating chart to randomly call on many different boys each class to answer questions based on the homework. Whenever a boy had a question or was called on, we had to stand up. He would also periodically call on a different boy to stand at the front of the room to endure his monotone interrogation of history facts from the assignment. When he was done with you, he gave the signal allowing a safe retreat to anonymity for the balance of that period by uttering that distinctive phrase each of us can probably still clearly hear, now 35 years later, "sit down."

The reason it became so distinctive is that he did not just say "sit down" in his always serious, unsmiling manner, with the same tone of voice. He would say "sit down" and most often "sit down, sit down." If one of the boys hesitated a bit or was slow returning to his seat, we would hear "sit down, sit down, .....sit down." It seems all I retained from a year of his history class was the memory of "sit down," dozens of times a class, five days a week, for dozens of weeks.

Near the end of the second semester, with only a few weeks remaining before graduation, it occurred to me and my cohort in mischief, Michael Strong, during a lunchroom enjoyment of the haute cuisine, that we can turn some of this redundancy into an exciting game to break the boring routine. There were 2 classes of boys taught by Mr. Locker, I believe back to back, with about 30 boys in each class. A betting pool was started, during lunch hours and some recesses, over about three days for $1 a chance. Each boy could win the total pool by selecting by lot a number corresponding to how many times during a pre-designated class session Mr. Locker would utter his stale directive, "sit down." Each available number between 10 and 100 had only one possible winner or a split by the two equally closest numbers. Dollars were collected from about 45 of the boys from both classes, and I was to be the "official counter" during the appointed hour.

Everyone was in on the game except Mr. Locker. The first half of the class went along fairly predictably, with only an occasional glance to me by some of the boys for a signal of what the official count was up to. Many of the boys were keeping their own tallies in eager anticipation of winning the big score. Although I could not win the pot, I was no longer bored and having a grand time in the spirit of the game. I did not suspect that I was about to find a lesson in expecting the unexpected.

The first thing that became noticeably unusual was that one, and then another, and then a regular stream of boys from the other class started appearing at the small window to the classroom door. Each was peering in towards my direction near the back of the room for the signal of the then-current official count, an eager participant hoping to become the richly rewarded honoree of correctly picking how many "sit downs" would be forever spoken for a generation to remember from that hour. It was with some difficulty that we all tried to pretend nothing different was happening and still concentrate enough on the subject of the class. After all, any one of us still had the chance to be called upon at random for a recitation.
And then it started to happen. The uncertainty of the result began to be manipulated by the cleverness of some of my classmates, certainly among the cleverest in the city, with the chutzpah to match. It started late in the period, with probably less than 10 minutes left. One of the boys, having selected a number not yet reached, was finished reciting in front of the class and was given the official "sit down, sit down" command. As he started to return to his seat you could almost see the proverbial light go off in his head as he noticeable, at least to the rest of us, purposefully dawdled in his walk back and return to being one of the seated crowd. He got what he wanted, an extra "sit down" from an impatient Mr. Locker. Contagion set in, the game had changed.

The next boy called upon to recite did not wait to get near his seat to appear laggardly, he merely stood in front after the "sit down, sit down" command until he prompted a quick extra "sit down, sit down" from a slightly perplexed Mr. Locker. He then dutifully strode to his seat with a noticeable grin on his face, having accomplished his mission of upping the count closer to his number. With only a couple of minutes now left, and time forever to run out on the higher numbers not yet reached, you could sense a rising undertow of tension among the remaining hopeful.

Someone else raised a hand to ask a question before Mr. Locker could continue. And then another question by another inquiring young mind. When called on, class custom dictated that one had to stand to ask his question, after which he would be rewarded with an additional closing directive, "sit down." Of course we all knew it was not a real question probing for an answer. These were smart kids that already had all the answers. And then one of you, I don't remember who, had the nerve to just stand up next to your seat without waiting to be called upon, to silently stare down and challenge for the desired response, like James Arness on Gunsmoke waiting for the draw. And then it came, a puzzled stare back, a hesitation, and an extra "sit down, sit down, I didn't call on you." I was stunned; this was not in the game plan! You won the battle, but not the war.

With more time still on the 24-second shot clock, another brave soul took your lead and also stood up without being called upon, and also won his round. "Sit down, sit down, sit down" fired the taskmaster, all the more perplexed. I was amazed at your moxies, even more so when the third of you had even greater nerve to fearlessly test the master gunslinger once more. And then it finally ended, not with a shot but with the bell.

I will never know how we kept our laughter in during those final minutes. Most likely the fear of having to explain overcame our need to let out the humor of the moment. All I do know for sure is that over the last 35 years, whenever I recall the story, I never fail to laugh, perhaps still looking to make up for the lost laughter I could not allow myself at that moment.

Michael Strong, having sat next to me in the back of the class, recalls that we went up to Mr. Locker after the class and explained to him what was going on, eliciting a laugh from him (although I have some lingering doubts that he was physically capable of doing so).
Anyone else out there remember the event? Who had the nerve to stand up solo, mano-a-mano? Which one of you won the pool?

P.S.. I took my lessons from that event and eventually got my MBA in public accounting so I could master my counting skills, and also a law degree so I can contract for the next staged event and eliminate any loopholes, having learned to plan for the unexpected.

SHS64 - The Mr. Locker History 'Sit Down, Sit Down'

by John J. Van Aalst '64

Mr. Locker was in one of his creative moods and had us choose characters from the Civil War to play act. He called on individual students to announce his role (slave, Lincoln, Davis, etc.) You had to have been there in this sour, joyless atmosphere to appreciate the reaction when one of our classmates announced that he wanted to be "the first Jewish Pope," to which Mr. Locker responded with emphatic contempt, "Sit Down, Mr. Feiler!"

SHS64 - The Mr. Locker History 'Sit Down, Sit Down'

by Gene Cooper '64

I also had Locker for history. My memories are that his calling on us was often in alphabetical order (according to which we were all seated), and that if the question was difficult, and nobody could answer it, he would come down the row giving everybody a zero along the way, in alphabetical order. Tension would mount as the zeros accumulated, and the question would gradually come closer and closer to me...Alvin Commiter who sat just in front of me would occasionally rescue me from ANOTHER zero, but often he would miss too, and I would have to follow, stand up, take a zero, and SIT DOWN, yielding to Steve Corwin who sat just behind me. The memorable thing about Locker was his temper (which he lost quite often), and the little blob of spit that would accumulate in the corner of his mouth, as he blew off steam. Whew. The other memorable thing about my class with Locker was Ted Kapchuck, who used to stand up to the little shit, and argue the finer points of historical interpretation with him, while the rest of us just sort of sat there in awe of Ted's erudition, and chutzpah!

SHS64 - The Mr. Locker History 'Sit Down, Sit Down'

by Dennis Mihale '64

I remember the little turd almost getting killed when he humiliated Lance Olssen for not being able to answer one of his stupid questions. I was sitting near Lance and thought he was going to break for the front of the room and I would have to tackle Lance and risk being killed myself.

I Sat One Seat Behind and to the Left of Lance Olssen

by Noah Perlis '64

In my senior year history class with Mr. Locker, I sat one seat behind and to the left of Lance Olssen, clearly the largest and one of the most physically intimidating specimens in the school. Mr. Locker was infamous for spot quizzes of 10 or 20 questions. They were frequent, took only a few minutes to complete, and allowed him to add to his statistical journal of marks, grades, checks, dashes, stars, and other similarly coded mysteries which seemed to matter to many concerned with grades. Not all the concerns were by the honor students. Some of the concerns were by students fearful of failing the course.

I recall one particular time when a pop quiz was handed out that I had an instant choice to make of my continued life or death (or so it seemed at the time). A few minutes into the quiz, with Mr. Lockers back turned to the class, I heard a "pssst, psst" coming in my direction from my right front. I looked up and saw a nervous looking Lance glaring at me and whispering "what's the answer to 7." I had an instant to make a choice. Cheating was generally not in my playbook, stupid inking of formulas on my palm notwithstanding. As uncomfortable as cheating was to me, alone, I had never entertained the thought of entering into a conspiracy. Much, much higher on my list of preferential activities, perhaps near the top, was the survival instinct. Given no choice, I would prefer to cheat than to die.

I whispered an answer. A minute later, another "psst, psst." Of course I knew what it was before I looked up. This may have happened more than twice, and I have lived with my complicity secretly in my closet until this day. I think Dennis Mihale sat in front of me and witnessed it, and may even have taken the side-benefit of the answers I passed along. Lance passed the course and graduated, going on to Purdue on a full football scholarship, and then playing professional football for a number of years. He may have been the only SHS graduate in 100 years to play pro football.

As I recalled the incident, I realized that Lance did not know the answers, and I do not recall if Mr. Locker ever gave us back the quizzes. Lance may never have known if I had given him the correct answer or not. Any answer, even a wrong one, may have sufficed to let me off the hook. Then I realized that I most likely also did not know if my answers were right. History with Mr. Locker was not one of my more studied activities. So here we had answers not known to be correct, being passed to someone who also did not know if they were correct. Of course, if Lance realized he should have asked a history honor student for the answers, he probably would have also realized he should have studied for the course.

We each had our choices. Lance chose football over studying. I chose life over death. I probably have no need to be forgiven (but, please, don't give Lance my address).

A Most Satisfying and Unlikely Victory

Jeff Kestler, Esq. ‘64

Long ago (I believe it was December of 1962), Larry Miller was the Captain of the Stuyvesant High School fencing team. It was a rebuilding year with the loss to graduation of the then (and still) legendary Bruno Santonocito, Tom Kalfa, and Mark Berger, all of whom went on to Columbia. (They had helped win the New York City P.S.A.L. Championship for two years running.) There was little hope of a repeat performance by the incumbent band of neophytes led by Larry and Tom Musliner.

Frank Lowy ’64 and I, with only one year as fencers and not a single competitive bout (no less a win) to our credit at the start of the season, were also members of the team, along with Bob Chernick and Brant Fries, both class of ’63. Week after week, we gained experience and confidence, and after defeating Roosevelt led by P.S.A.L individual champion Howie Harmetz, who went on to N.Y.U., we found ourselves (much to our amazement) in the final.

At the time, the title was determined by a three-team round-robin. The finalists were Brooklyn Tech, Jamaica, and us. We were decidedly an underdog. As we arrived, after what seemed like an interminable subway ride, we felt pretty intimidated. Many of us (including me) would have been happy just to collect our third-place medals and leave without having to suffer the public humiliation of losing. (We had a support section of one -- Larry’s dad -- who had faithfully accompanied the team.) Our feeling of despair only intensified after I lost the first bout decisively.

But Larry would have none of this. He won as convincingly as I had lost and inspired confidence in all of us. With his leadership, we suddenly believed that we could actually win! And win we did, defeating both adversaries and winning the coveted City Championship. In fifteen years of fencing that followed, including a victory together with Frank Lowy at the 1968 NCAA Championship, I never experienced a more satisfying and unlikely victory. It couldn’t have happened without Larry.

Two Bouts

by Jimmy Kuhn '65, Co-Captain of the 1965 Stuyvesant Fencing Team; Member of the 1964 team.

Two bouts will always stay in my mind on this 40th anniversary of the great team of 1964 with Co-Captains Jeff Kestler and Frank Lowy. I guess I remember most about fencing in those days was the inevitable 12th and final bout. Most of us hoped we wouldn't have to be the guy to fence the 12th bout with the team down 6-5. I had to do it twice with the City Championship on the line. In my junior year we were fencing our arch-rival Brooklyn Tech on a day where Kestler had the flu and we didn't know if or how he would fence. Our team was one of the best in Stuyvesant history. We didn't lose a match all year and we had two of the best three fencers on the east coast with Kestler and Lowy. Chuck Schwartz and David Nichtern were the two "B-slot" fencers. (They probably would have been in "A-slot" on most teams.) Mike Block and I fenced "C-slot." Two years later, Mike and I went on to win the North Atlantic Collegiate Foil Championship at Syracuse. After some ups and downs, the match went to 6-5 and I had to fence the dreaded twelfth bout. I needed to win to put us in a three-bout fence-off. I was the only Junior on the team, and I was already nervous as hell when Kestler staggered over to me and said hoarsely that I had to win at all costs for the team. Fortunately, I was able to rise to the challenge, and I won the match allowing us to win the City Championship in the fence-off on a 5-4 victory by Nichtern.

The following year we were not as fortunate. Unbelievably, against Far Rockaway, I was once again faced with a match where we were down 6-5. But this time under the rules, all I had to do was win 5-2 and there would be no need for a fence-off. I didn't give up a single touch, but due to an officiating error, we were forced into a fence-off that we lost. I went on to fence at Syracuse, and was reunited with Kestler and Lowy at the 1968 NCAA Championships in Detroit where I finished 11th. I didn't pick up another foil until thirty years later when I returned to the sport, and fenced in the veteran division, finishing 7th and 8th in the 2000 and 2001 Nationals. I regretted not having competed during all those intervening years which undoubtedly would have been filled with great camaraderie and fond memories as was my time at Stuyvesant.

Peter I. Mason ‘69, Esq.

from Freeborn & Peters Website

One of the founders of Freeborn & Peters, Peter is the Practice Group Coordinator of the Business Group. He served as Chairman of the Firm's Operating Committee from 1986-1996. In 1997, he left the Firm to become President, CEO, and Chairman of the Board of May & Speh, a publicly-held marketing technology and services company that eventually merged with Acxiom Corporation. More recently, Peter has served as CEO and Chairman of Toplander Corporation, the owner and operator of MarketsOnDemand and JobsOnline.com.

Peter currently serves as a Director of Mutual Trust Life Insurance Company and has served on many public and private boards, including U.S. Robotics and Mastering, Inc. He has also helped to launch numerous businesses through venture capital investments.

Peter currently serves as President and a Trustee of the Goodman Theatre, and is on the board of the Illinois Institute of Technology. He is a member of the Young Presidents' Organization and The World Presidents' Organization.

After Stuyvesant, Peter went to Bard College completing a B.A. in 1973, and then to Boston University School of Law, graduating cum laude in 1976.

Thinking Back—Politics at Stuyvesant

by Carl I. Schoenberger ‘68

A recent Op-Ed piece in the New York Times suggested that no one who lived through the Vietnam era could ever consider today’s political landscape too “polarized.” As a member of the Class of 1968, I remember politics as Topic Number One during my years at SHS. My buddies and I discussed every detail of the material in Mr. Irgang’s History classes in light of our analysis of works by Karl Marx, Frantz Fanon, Che Guevara, Chairman Mao, Herbert Marcuse, Leon Trotsky, and Herbert Aptheker. We would often stop in at the Jefferson Book Store on 16th Street, or at China Publications on 18th Street, on our way back to the Subway at Union Square. There we could find the latest copy of Peking (NOT “Beijing”) Review, or a copy of Lenin’s “What is to be Done?” I would start our political discussions during the morning Subway ride with classmate Alan Ickowitz (now a lawyer in Sherman Oaks, CA), continue them with other friends milling around 15th Street before our first period, resume during lunch, and again during the Subway ride home in the afternoon. In those days, young people firmly believed that a cataclysmic change was underway in the world, and, in some ways, we were right, although the changes were not exactly what we had anticipated. We were firmly convinced that we knew the proper course of action for the people of Vietnam, for the people of Europe, for the people in the Middle East, and certainly for those in the United States. Eric Brandt, another classmate, gave us the mantra given him by his Danish mother: “Ikke angst, mod modstand” (“not protest, but resistance”).

As the Vietnam war heated up, and particularly as some of us began to look more directly at the prospect of fighting in it, we went to our basement mimeograph machines (before the days of “Xerox-ing”) and made hundreds of leaflets protesting the war and calling for Draft Resistance. We carried lofty and naïve notions in our heads of the “worker-student alliance”, forgetting that most of the “workers” on the Lower East Side were far too worried about survival to care much about politics. We read about and talked about the option of conscientious objection to military service, and marched in the many anti-war demonstrations under the Stuyvesant banner.

I would have to say, in retrospect, that even though my politics today is 180 degrees opposite of what it was back in high school, that the process of intellectual awakening and analysis undertaken during that time was one of the most important passages in my life. It was at Stuyvesant that I began to question every bedrock assumption, began to search through history and literature for the ideas of others, began to examine them critically, and began to formulate what would later become my own personal philosophy of living. Most of my classmates were on the same journey back then, and I suspect it is much the same for today’s students, with our country again at war. This was one of the many ways in which my years at Stuyvesant were some of the most formative and most critical of my life.

Thinking Back - Stuyvesant Memories

by David S. Y. Lee '68

Two years after immigrating to the United States from mainland China and Hong Kong, I was fortunate enough to be admitted to the renowned Stuyvesant High School. In fact, I would not have made it to Stuyvesant by the qualifying entrance exam. Through a special program for a few potentially promising disadvantaged inner city students, I was given the green light to enroll. On the first day of school, it was so exciting to be with so many bright kids from all over New York City in a prestigious high school. I also felt that I was different from many of my peers because I was relatively new in this country. I remember one day when I was picked to read from a text in an English class of Mr. Curran. I could hear a few chuckles in the background as I was reading the passage. I could hear the same chuckles when it was the turn of a fellow Hispanic student. It was our accent that made others chuckle. I felt rather embarrassed. In spite of coming from a different background, I made many friends and assimilated quite quickly at Stuyvesant.

I ran into a classmate of mine, Richard Cantor, MD while attending a national scientific meeting for emergency physicians in Seattle a while back. We exchanged news of our classmates. He commented that there were a lot of bright people in our class of 1968; I concurred. I can say that each and every graduating class of Stuyvesant is full of many bright people. After graduating from Stuyvesant, I continued my studies at the University of Michigan, SUNY-Buffalo, and the University of Liege in Belgium. I would not have achieved as much, and I would not have the same aspirations without the Stuyvesant experience - an alchemy created by the presence of so many brilliant students and a well qualified, enthusiastic and dedicated faculty that provide an impetus for us Peglegs to strive and excel. Over the years since my graduation from Stuyvesant, I continue to both come across personally and hear about many successful Stuyvesant alumni (who hold prominent positions in various fields - law, government, media, finance, business, entertainment, medicine, sciences, academics, to name a few...) in different parts of the country and abroad. I dare say that the achievements of Stuyvesant and its students cannot be matched by any other high school.

Sterling Jensen

by Ray Lent ‘70

One of Irish actor Peter O’Toole’s most memorable roles is in the movie My Favorite Year, playing an aging Hollywood star whose joie de vivre and friendship transform a nice but average young man, igniting his passion for life. Personally, my favorite year occurred in 1969. The war in Vietnam was raging, half a million people gathered at a farm in upstate New York for a weekend of love and music, and New York City was a boiling cauldron for the country’s rapid evolution. No surprise that fellow Stuyvesantians and I found ourselves fervently involved in the evolutionary process.

Back then I was a Junior, a math and science geek who had been “chief lab assistant” and “captain of the AV squad” in junior high (doesn’t that say it all?). I found myself in an English elective class in public speaking taught by the dapper and urbane Sterling Jensen. When Mr. Jensen, wasn’t teaching, he was an accomplished Shakespearean actor (shown here as King Lear) who frequently worked at Circle in the Square Theater. Little did I know that a revolution between my ears was about to begin.

That year, using humor as a tool and voice as an instrument of change and inspiration, Mr. Jensen tirelessly worked with us to develop our skills in extemporaneous organization of thought. We grew to realize that, regardless of the integrity of our ideas, if we were unable to communicate them effectively through speech, they would often go ignored.

As I grew older and away from physical sciences, more and more I found myself relying on the skills learned in Sterling’s class. Whether I found myself speaking to a live audience of several thousand or to a television audience of millions, organization of thought and use of humor never failed me.

Recently a scholar told me, “Pity those who do not sing, for they die with their music still in them.” I guess you could rephrase that thought to illustrate the essence of Sterling’s message: Pity those who cannot speak freely, for their ideas and influence will not be heard.
Thank you, Sterling.

Stuyvesant Stories

from Denny Chin '71

In the spring of 1998, when our son Paul was in the eighth grade, my wife and I accompanied him to Stuyvesant for an orientation for incoming students and their parents. Paul had "passed the test," and he would be starting at Stuyvesant the following fall.

We walked into the school -- the "new" Stuyvesant -- and we were immediately struck by all the different languages we could hear around us. Students and parents were talking excitedly in Russian, Spanish, Chinese, Korean, and other languages I did not recognize. I remember thinking that this was the quintessential "melting pot." And I remember thinking that for all these immigrant families, Stuyvesant would be an important part of their story, just as Stuyvesant had been an important part of my story.

I graduated from Stuyvesant -- the "old" Stuyvesant -- in 1971. Of course, things were different then. We were on the East Side. There were very few girls in the school; a handful were admitted when I was a junior, but my class would be the last all-male class. And there were far fewer Asian-American students. I've gone back to my 1971 Indicator and counted, and of the 581 students in my class, forty -- less than seven percent -- were Asian-American. One was Japanese and the rest were Chinese. Seven of us were named "Chin."

I was born in Hong Kong and came to this country with my family in 1956. My parents' original Chinese passports show that we were admitted into the United States under the Refugee Relief Act of 1953. We came to join my grandfather, who had come to the United States decades earlier, leaving his family behind in China. He had come looking for the "Golden Mountain" and found instead years of hard work as a waiter in Chinese restaurants. Eventually he saved enough money to send for his family.

We moved into Hell's Kitchen on the West Side in midtown Manhattan. The neighborhood had once been largely Irish but was becoming increasingly Hispanic. We were one of a handful of Chinese families. Unable to speak English, my father became a cook in Chinese restaurants and my mother a seamstress in Chinatown garment factories. But they pushed us to study hard and we did. Eventually three of us got into Stuyvesant -- me, my brother Daly (Class of 1973), and my brother David (Class of 1974).

My commute was not easy. Each morning I would get on the "A" train and ride down to 14th Street, where I'd switch to the "LL" to go cross-town to Stuyvesant. I played football, and during the football season the commute was worse. I'd have to take a bus to the practice field in East River Park on 6th Street along the FDR Drive. Going home I'd take the bus to the "LL" and then eventually switch back to the "A." But kids came from all over the City to go to Stuyvesant, and many had a worse commute than mine.

Years later, when Paul arrived at Stuyvesant, he joined the football team. The school still had no athletic field of its own, and every day the football team still had to take a bus to East River Park for practice. One Saturday morning in his sophomore year we were driving to a game at Kennedy High School in the Bronx. We saw one of the football players walking, his football equipment slung over his shoulder in a duffle bag. He was late, and we gave him a lift the rest of the way. He had been tutoring someone in math in Queens, he explained, and he had had to take several buses to get to the game. Only at Stuyvesant would you find a 15-year old football player who would tutor someone in math on a Saturday morning in Queens before taking several buses to get to a game in the Bronx.

We saw this same kind of spirit in Paul's senior year, after 9/11. The building was being used by the rescue workers and the entire area had been shut down. The football team could not play and it could not even practice, as all the equipment was trapped in the building. Instead, the entire football team volunteered to help in the relief effort. Paul and a number of his teammates pulled an all-nighter, serving food to the workers.

The students' files were also trapped in the building, and the seniors needed them so that they could apply to colleges. Somehow, the Stuyvesant administration managed to obtain the files, and the seniors, including Paul, were able to prepare and submit their applications on time.

I remember going through the college application process myself years earlier. When the time came for me to apply, we had been in the country some sixteen years, but still my parents spoke no English. I was essentially on my own when it came to picking schools. I remember putting together my list and going to see the guidance counselor. He looked at it, we chatted, and he suggested I add Princeton. I did. I applied, I was accepted, and I had four great years there. I met my wife there and Paul is now there as well.

After Princeton, I went to law school and practiced law for many years. In 1994, President Clinton nominated me for the federal bench in Manhattan, and I was appointed a federal judge. I was the first (and am still the only) Asian-American United States district judge in the country outside of California and Hawaii. I've presided over a number of significant and high-profile cases, including Megan's Law, the Million Youth March, the Fox News effort to stop Al Franken from using the phrase "fair and balanced," and several murder and racketeering trials. Who knows what would have happened if my guidance counselor at Stuyvesant had not made his suggestion.

When Paul was a sophomore, he took a "forensics" class. This was essentially a debate class, and the students were asked to debate two cases. Both cases turned out to be mine -- Megan's Law and the Million Youth March. When the teacher found out that Paul's father was the judge in both cases, she made him argue that I was wrong!

Paul graduated from Stuyvesant in 2002, thirty-one years after I did. President Clinton was the commencement speaker. It was a special moment for all of us, and particularly for me.
One hundred years of Stuyvesant stories.
May there be many more.

Denny Chin '71
January 2005

Myron Wechsler, Mechanical Arts Teacher and Guidance counselor

Myron was at Stuyvesant for over 30 years, passed away on January 25, 2003. Matthew Mallow, Esq., '60 has set up a fund in memory of Myron and his son, Robert Mark Wechsler '70.

As a guidance counselor Myron provided individual and group counseling for students and parents. This involved discussion about career choice, college selection, and academic achievement. In the 1970's he headed the College Office which distributed information concerning entrance tests, financial aid, and merit scholarships; arranged visits, interviews, college nights, college career conferences; and processed college applications.

In his last year at Stuyvesant he helped 45 students get admitted to Princeton University, a number unequalled before or since. Myron loved the students and was totally dedicated to his work before retiring in 1978. He received a plaque for 25 years of service on the Scholarship Committee. Many former students have commented on his "Open Door" policy, and the vital role Myron played in their successful careers.

As a mechanical arts teacher Myron taught a telescope making course. A class is pictured above, standing proudly with their six inch reflectors. Myron also taught astronomy at NYU in the evenings.

Myron spoke several languages and recited poetry. He was a loving husband and father. After WWII he worked in Germany for a year with displaced persons, setting up vocational programs for them. Many people attended his funeral, including the Head of Medicine at NYU.

Karen Von Damm '73

From the University of New Hampshire Online Magazine

For one month, from Jan. 6 to Feb. 10, 2002, a crew led by principal investigator Karen Von Damm, professor in UNH's Complex Systems Research Center and professor of Earth Sciences, is living aboard the U.S. academic fleet research vessel Atlantis, the "mother ship" for the Alvin submersible. Their explorations will take them down to an undersea mountain range, formed by the gradual spreading apart of the Pacific Plate from the Cocos Plate, and comprised of many active volcanoes erupting lava that forms new ocean floor. The scientists are studying both the volcanic ridge and the creatures that live deep in the ocean, such as tubeworms that can grow to three meters in length. Twenty-five deep-sea dives with Alvin are dedicated to this mission, providing a unique opportunity to understand "black smoker" hot springs and other underwater systems. Alvin will bring the scientists down to the sea floor, nearly two miles beneath the water's surface.

The mid-ocean ridge, the chain of seafloor volcanoes that wraps around the planet for 40,000 miles, is a different world. Karen Von Damm has been going there for more than 20 years. She is the world's leading expert on "black smokers," as those seafloor chimneys are called. They were first discovered in the spring of 1979 at 210 North on the East Pacific Rise, at the mouth of the Gulf of California. In the fall of that year, Von Damm visited the site with the first scientific team to collect chemical samples at a black smoker. Those samples changed our understanding of the oceans' chemistry forever.

In the late 1960s, when Von Damm first announced her ambition to become an oceanographer, women were not even allowed on research ships. But Stuyvesant High School, the highly competitive public school in lower Manhattan that has educated many a scientist, started accepting girls just a year before she was ready to enter. Her freshman class at Yale was one of the first to include a substantial number of women. And the year she graduated from Yale and went off to MIT and the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution (WHOI) to study oceanography was the year the first hydrothermal vents were discovered off the Galapagos. Her adviser at MIT, geochemist John Edmond, was one of the three people in Alvin when that discovery was made. Von Damm entered the new field of vent research just as it was opening.

A Message to The Campaign Director

by Karen Von Damm '73

"I actually go to sea frequently using Alvin, most recently in November 2003. We're going again in March, and will be running a website that will be accessible from www.eos.sr.unh.edu.

You'll also find another Stuyvesant grad on the EOS website--Joe Hollweg '60. It turns out Joe and I grew up about 3 blocks apart in Astoria.

In 2002 we were both elected Fellows of our professional association, the American Geophysical Union. Its unusual for two people from the same institution to be elected the same year - it was even more unusual that we were both Stuyvesant alums.

Its also rather sad and ironic that on the Stuyvesant website the pieces on Anita Scheff and me follow one another--we were roommates our 1st two years at Yale."

Anita Scheff '73

From Yale '77 Website

We mourn the loss or our classmate Anita Scheff. On March 31, 2001, Anita Scheff was killed in a car accident. According to her friend Tim DeWerff (>92), Anita had flown from San Francisco to New Haven in February to attend the Yale Glee Club's 140th Anniversary Reunion. She stayed with her parents in Manhattan for about a month and then set out for a cross-country drive back to California, staying with Glee Club friends along the way. On the afternoon of March 31 she was killed in a one-car accident on I-40 in northern Texas. She had looked forward to going on the Yale Alumni Chorus tour to Russia, where she had done humanitarian work in the early 1990s. Anita's younger brother, Bryan, says that friends may write their mother, Evelyn, at 210 East Broadway, Apartment #906, New York, New York 10002. Recently, Bryan reported that her monument has been inscribed "lux et veritas."

Eric Lander '74 on Stuyvesant

by Michael Kaye

“All these wonderful lower-middle class, New York kids, all just running around the city,” comments Dr. Eric Lander ‘74, Director of the Whitehead Human Genome project. “There was this scrappiness, this edginess and an interest in everything. It was the first time in my life I had ever had so many peers who were so interested in the world. It was Stuyvesant!”
At Stuyvesant High School, where there was no shortage of brilliance, Eric Lander already stood out. At 17, he wrote a paper proving that quasi-perfect numbers exist only in theory and won the Westinghouse Prize. As team captain, he led the math team to city victory every term. He participated in the first USA and International Mathematical Olympiads—competing in East Germany before they had diplomatic relations with the U.S. He topped it off by graduating top of his class.

From there, Lander’s life map gets as complex as the genetic structures he deciphers for a living. In an odd way, it models the ideal genetic behavior, demonstrating an uncanny ability to adapt to new environments.

After Princeton, where Lander was awarded the Woodrow Wilson Prize and graduated with a Rhodes scholarship, he went to Oxford and completed a Ph.D. in theoretical math. But he realized he wanted to work with people not just numbers. A Princeton professor forwarded Lander’s resume to Harvard, and Lander was invited to teach economics—about which he knew nothing—at the Harvard Business School. So he taught himself. Then he taught others.
But economics soon lost its thrill, and Lander grew hungry for a new intellectual challenge. His younger brother sent him some papers on mathematical neurobiology, and Lander took to the material. He began auditing courses in biology and worked late in the lab cloning fruit flies.

One night after class, he got into an argument with a colleague, David Botstein—a geneticist at MIT—about the use of statistics in genetic research. Lander realized there was further investigation to be done and applied to be a fellow at the Whitehead Medical Institute. He was accepted While still teaching at Harvard, he received a MacArthur Fellowship for his research.

The mathematician turned business school teacher had become—a geneticist.
MIT hired him with tenure. Lander founded the Whitehead Institute/MIT Center for Genome Research, and as director, began one of world’s seminal projects to map the genome. Then this past April, it was completed.

“We finished sequencing the human genome as of two weeks ago,” he says warmly. “This means that we have the complete instruction set for the human being. It doesn’t mean we fully understand it. We certainly don’t. But it means that we have the genetic codes that specify each of the 30,000 genes and the regulatory sequences that turn them on and off. It’s pretty exciting!”

At 46, Lander sounds like a curious kid who runs off each day to play in the genetic forest. Recently named as the Director of the Eli and Edythe L. Broad Institute in Cambridge—a collaborative effort of the Whitehead Institute, MIT, Harvard and its hospitals to further the role of genome knowledge in medicine and science —Lander’s energy only grows, and soon he will add Harvard Medical School to the list of faculties (Whitehead and MIT) upon which he sits. Lander attributes his intellectual excitement, ambitious risk-taking and ability to expand across disciplines directly to his Stuyvesant experience.

“It was more diverse than anything I had been exposed to before,” he says. “And for me it was eye opening. It was worldly in ways that a neighborhood junior high school was not. And that worldliness had a big impact on me. Taking the train into the city, as opposed to going to high school in my little corner of flatlands in Brooklyn, opened my view of the entire world. It formed a jumping off point to Princeton and Oxford and other things. I can’t imagine that I would have done these things, had I not gone to Stuyvesant.”

Lander’s favorite experience at Stuyvesant was math team. As team captain, he was known as “the keeper of the shopping bag.” The bag contained all the problems the math team had accumulated over the years, and each morning, he would pick out the problem of the day and the topic for discussion. It was there, under the caring coach Irene Finkel, that he learned leadership and intellectual passion.

“My single most defining experience I had at Stuyvesant was the math team,” he says. “I joined it from the very beginning. I went to math team every morning at eight o’clock. The whole idea that there were so many kids, 30 kids, on the fifth floor of Stuyvesant, who came every day for math problems, that made it Stuyvesant! You wouldn’t see that at Princeton. You wouldn’t see that at any other university. It had a hugely formative impact on my life.”
This curiosity rubbed off on Lander and added to the intellectual rearing he received from his parents.

“Both my parents were lawyers,” he explains, “although my dad was quite ill with multiple sclerosis by the time I was six. He was hospitalized and died when I was eleven. My mother did some real estate law and was a teacher. From them I got one slice of the world and from meeting so many smart, ambitious kids and great teachers I got another.”

29 years later, Lander has his own family. Finally, Lander is an environment where he may be the genetically odd one out—they all paint except him. Surely the key holder to the instruction set for a human being must have some interesting story as to how he got there.
“Well, I met her at Princeton,” he says. “She just had an amazing spark. She was so interested in justice and so passionate about it and I just completely fell for her. There was never any question in mind. She was extraordinary special.”

“These are, fortunately or unfortunately,” he laughs, “very unscientific judgments. Clearly with 20 years of hindsight or more than that, I can say that it was correct. We’re very happily married and we have three wonderful kids and I couldn’t imagine my life without Laurie.”
Such true love—known instinctively it seems—begs the obvious genetic question: will they ever discover the gene for falling in love?

“I hope not.”

Senior Day

Richard Sedano '75

I had keys to most of the building, maybe because I was senior class president. There seemed to be a tradition of a few students having master keys-Eliot Rich had them before me, Michael Miscione had them after. Keys came in handy for all sorts of things, but the only mischief came on senior day. We wanted to have a "different" senior day-no egg throwing, for example. We wanted a Stuyvesant Senior Day, so we went to mind games. The two I remember were: removing all the bells on the fifth floor, so the classes on that floor wouldn't know when first period ended. The chaos was marvelous, and we were really hoping there would be no fire. We hid the bells in a rarely used third-floor supply room (the keys!). I liked Murray Kahn and did feel a little bad for how mad he got about that. I hope any statute of limitation has expired.

Another prank I remember was when we circulated a false College Office bulletin to the Juniors, announcing that recent SAT test scores were invalidated, this shocker among other items of bad news.

"When I went to college, I was startled to discover many freshmen who hated high school. I didn't have a clue what they were talking about."

I went to the Levenson mini-course -- I knew about him from TV, and it was fun. Mini-Courses stood out for me as one excellent reason Stuy was special -- innovative, creative, and making use of our best resource, us, to learn things. I was sad to learn that they passed into history

Loretha C. Jones Esq '77

As honored in NASA Quest's Inspirational Women on Take Your Daughter to Work Day in 1998.

I run an independent film and television production company with my partner, Robert Townsend in Los Angeles. We have produced several films and television shows including The Meteor Man and The Five Heartbeats. Our current television show for Warner Brothers is called The Parent'hood. Today we are also shooting a feature film called Fraternity Boys.

I grew up in the South Bronx of New York City. As a child I always dreamed of working in the entertainment industry but since I didn't know anyone in the business I didn't believe it could really happen. Instead I made plans to be a doctor. I went to a specialized high school for math and science. In college I planned to study pre-med . However, it wasn't until I was in college that I realized I had a slight problem that might make it difficult for me to be a doctor. Believe it or not, I can't stand the sight of blood. There was never any blood in my calculus, physics or chemistry classes.:o)

In my last year of college, I decided to apply to law school. I had never considered being a lawyer so I was very surprised to discover that I loved law school. I enjoyed the research process and the logical way that you had to apply your cases. When I graduated, I practiced corporate law for a short time then I switched to entertainment law where I was able to represent writers, directors and actors. Soon I began working with my legal clients on some of their creative matters. Eventually, some of these clients asked me to work with them fulltime and help them produce their projects.

As a producer I am responsible for the overall management of a film or television show. I hire the crew, the cast, the writers, and sometimes the directors. I have to figure out how long it will take to shoot a project and how much it will cost. I work very closely with the directors to make sure that they have everything that they need to visually create the project.

It may not appear obvious at first but all of the law, math and science that I studied in school comes in very handy everyday. I use law as I review and negotiate contracts and deals with actors and the studios. I use math to create my budgets and to analyze the cost of various items and individuals. And finally, science is crucial to understanding all of the technical issues involved in filming a project.

I really love my job and I don't regret that I took such an indirect route to find it because all of my studies and experiences have provided me with a really important foundation for my career.

In memoriam Barry Glotzer T'77

From Bramson/ORT Newsletter

Bramson ORT College is deeply saddened to announce the passing of Barry Glotzer, Dean of Academic Services. A mainstay of Bramson ORT for more than twenty years, Barry provided academic expertise as he guided Bramson ORT from technical institute to college.
His knowledge and carefully considered advice was of immeasurable value. His office was always open and he welcomed colleagues and students alike. Barry’s intelligence, wisdom, and friendship will never be forgotten.

Barry taught mathematics at SHS and was the faculty advisor for the Math Team in the spring of 1977.

My Secret Space

by Sara Schwatlo Taddeo ‘78 Stuyvesant

Growing up on Morningside Heights in the 60’s I used to dream that somewhere between Lieutenant Uhura and Emma Peel, miniskirts and black leather, there was a secret place where a girl could be strong and unafraid and solve equations out in space. Space was big and empty, I knew, but to us it seemed like an imaginary concept, confined to television. We couldn’t see many stars in the city: even if we left in the summer we never went far enough away to really see them blaze. I felt like the city extended forever, so space had to be inside a building, not above it. From our fire escape my brother and I spied on Columbia’s Goddard Space Center, just next door. All day long they received deliveries from unmarked trucks; people flashed badges as they passed in and out, and all the windows were blind. I thought the secrets of space (and after the riots, the secrets of government) must be inside that building next door. Maybe that’s why I read science fiction avidly in grammar school, and the only science I can remember reading was a biography of Goddard.

I was surprised to be admitted to Stuyvesant, but no one was surprised I decided to attend. Stuyvesant was like a family secret in those days, a safe place where people would give you your own space. When I entered 9th grade, in 1974, there were still comparatively few of us girls. We had a separate gym class and different gym uniforms, but in every other way we had all the opportunities and challenges we could wish for. Some of the teachers told stories about the all-male days, some may even have missed them, but none of the girls I knew ever felt we couldn’t compete. By the time I got to high school I no longer wanted to be a secret agent or an astronaut, but I was sure I would at least get to attend Columbia, which I passed every day on my way home.

I don’t remember the hour-long commute on the subway with fondness, though. I spent a lot of time trying to disguise the fact that I was a girl. I found it impossible not to be afraid. Like many other students, I did a lot of my homework in that other space, underground, between stops on the IRT. It was a necessity, but also a means of escape from making eye-contact with the other passengers. There was no space in the crowded cars, but if you stared out the front window of the head of the train, there was a limitless blackness pierced with lights and ghostly remnants of settlements along the way.

By the time I graduated from Stuyvesant I had learned to solve equations. The simple discipline of trigonometry, the crystalline certainties of truth tables, the infinite possibilities of matrices gave me command of at least a part of space. Mastering a difficult subject was worth a thousand celebrations of self-esteem, so it didn‘t bother me very much that Columbia didn’t admit girls yet in 1978; I could still take courses there. Even though I did not pursue a career in science or math, the lessons in logic I learned at Stuyvesant were the foundation for success in my chosen field. The exceptional friends I made some 25 years ago (including my husband) shared more with me than just time and place: we created a secret space, between dreams of the stars and down to earth achievement, where we could all be strong and unafraid, at least for a little while.

The Time We Thought We Knew

by Brian Greene, PhD '80

Dr. Greene's essay, "The Time We Thought We Knew", appeared as an Op-Ed contribution in the Jan.1st 2004 NY Times.

Brian Greene, a professor of mathematics and physics at Columbia, is author of "The Elegant Universe" and the forthcoming "The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time and the Texture of Reality."

His book "The Elegant Universe" articulates the relation of the scientific story and the human struggle behind the search for the ultimate theory. Through the artful use of metaphor and analogy, "The Elegant Universe" makes some of the most sophisticated concepts ever contemplated viscerally accessible and thoroughly entertaining, bringing us closer than ever to understanding how the universe works.

"The Elegant Universe" has also been the centerpiece of a NOVA television series which is available on-line, as a video DVD or cassette.

An April 2003 Interview with Irene Chang ‘80

by Dara Weinerman

Life these days, especially in New York, has a tendency to be unpredictable . . . the stock market, the global political situation, even the weather.

Irene Chang ‘80 and I were supposed to meet for an interview over dinner and karaoke on West 72nd Street. I figured it would be fun to show Irene Chang ’80 as Vice President of Legal Affairs for the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (LMDC) by day and karaoke enthusiast by night. But, April showers turned out to be April snow showers so, we talked by phone about her volunteer Stuyvesant experience and work at LMDC.

Chang’s involvement with LMDC began two months after the organization was created. In March 2001, she was made Vice President of Legal Affairs, acting as in-house counsel and setting up the new organization’s procedures and policies. Chang characterizes LMDC as a “unique balance of three governmental arms.” It focuses locally on what many perceive as the heart of New York -- the Financial District. It was created by the Governor and the Mayor. And it is funded by a $2.783 Billion allocation from the US Department of Housing and Urban Development.

Chang’s distinctive background prepared her for the challenge of working for one of the highest profile organizations in New York today. After graduating with a degree in Psychology from NYU, she worked in clinical psychological research. Four years later, she knew that she would either pursue her Ph.D. or change fields. Deciding it was time for a change, Chang headed to law school. She loved research, but felt Psychology could help one person at a time, while law would enable her to help a broader group. She credits Stuyvesant with giving her the foundation “to be a critical thinker, a logical critical thinker” something that has helped her in both careers.

After law school, Chang joined the firm of Shearman and Sterling where she handled commercial litigation as well as cases dealing with Asian-American rights and minority and diversity efforts. This lead to joining the U.S. Attorney’s office in 1997 to work on voting and civil rights. Chang enjoyed the chance to work to “do what was right . . . [to] focus on law and enforcing law.”

In March 2002 she was approached to be Deputy General Counsel at Kozmo, one of the most prominent startups of the dotcom boom. Attracted by the chance to work on a civil rights case in which Kozmo was involved, Chang took the job and wound up getting her first large taste of building an organization. She worked on setting up legal operations while learning about marketing, advertising, and e-marketing.

When the stock market turned, so did Kozmo’s business. The company shut down on April 11, 2001, but Chang stayed on for a few weeks to tie up loose ends – a process she describes as awful. April 30th was her last day at Kozmo. And on May 1st her father died.
It was time to build something new. Working with an emerging business had been more consuming than her past legal experiences. After her father’s death, Chang decided if there was a time to take a break from law – this was it. She had already invested in Tigerblossom, a new restaurant created by her niece’s husband. When the restaurant opened in July 2001, she was an active part of the marketing team and part-time manager. Using what she learned about customer service and marketing at Kozmo, Chang threw herself into the launch.

And it paid off. By Labor Day Tigerblossom was packed. On weekends there was an hour wait.

But after September 11th the restaurant, which was below 14th Street, closed for three days. Tigerblossom re-opened, but business never fully recovered. In March 2002 it closed for good, leaving Chang the chance to choose a new path. This time it was a fusion of the last few years of her life – law, startups, and lower Manhattan – by joining the LMDC.

Chang characterizes her decision to take the position at LMDC as “let[ting] her profession life meet her personal life.” As a New Yorker and a Battery Park City resident who was forced to leave her apartment for two months, Chang felt there was no other cause she would rather work towards.

It is not, however, the only cause with which she actively works. Chang sits on the board of the Asian-American Legal defense and Education Fund. She is an advisor to the Dan Bergstein Fund, an independent endowment started by members of the Class of 1980 in memory of their classmate who died on 9/11.

And she actively supports Stuyvesant by serving on the National Advisory Board of The Campaign for Stuyvesant. While working on her twentieth reunion, Chang reconnected with the Stuyvesant community. Even though Stuyvesant has students from all five boroughs, Chang compares it to a neighborhood school. “Stuy was its own community,” she says, a “floating community” that no matter where in New York City you lived you were part of it by virtue of your common Stuyvesant experience. Simply, Chang says, you formed bonds with other Stuyvesantians because the school was “the place where you grew up.”

And karaoke? Stuyvesant is where Chang discovered the “performing bug,” participating in drama productions and Sing! This lead to her studying voice at NYU, participating in revues during her law school and professional years, and to her karaoke nights after long days at the LMDC offices.

Life in New York may be unpredictable, but Irene Chang remains committed to using all her talents to make the lives around her better.

About David H. Lippman '80

A graduate of the New School for Social Research with a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and from New York University with a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism and History, David H. Lippman is an award-winning journalist who has worked in newspapers, wire services, television, and radio.

He began this series while serving as public affairs officer for US Naval Antarctic Support Unit in Christchurch, New Zealand, as Plan of the Week notes for his command. When contacted by the USS Washington Associate Unit, he offered to post the series on their web page. He has continued and expanded the series before and after his discharge from the Navy.

He has focused on the USS Washington in this series because of the ship's brilliant combat record and its unique distinction as the only American dreadnought ever to engage and sink an enemy dreadnought.

Mr. Lippman also writes articles on World War II history for magazines. One of his articles was recently published in an anthology alongside those of historians Caleb Carr, Stanley Weintraub, and William Manchester. He maintains two web pages of day-by-day histories of World War II (which have been reviewed as among the web's 100 best on the subject): WorldWar2 Plus 55; David H Lippman - Wild Bill Guarnere.

He now works as a Public Information Officer for the City of Newark, New Jersey, where he writes speeches for the mayor as well as his personal column, and lives with his wife Kathy and daughter Wallis.

About Dean Angelakos '81

by Tom Panas

As New York’s Assistant Comptroller for Labor Law, Dean Angelakas (’81) is helping to ensure fairness in the city’s robust construction industry. Dean and his department determine prevailing wages for construction workers and enforce laws mandating contractors to pay those wages. His work protects construction workers, many of whom are immigrants, from being illegally exploited, while seeking to ensure a level playing field for those who bid on City contracts.

Dean thrives on the challenge of working in a highly visible and demanding urban position that is making the world a better place. He credits Stuyvesant with providing the excellent education and necessary discipline that allows him to have this satisfying career. He is also grateful to Stuyvesant for preparing him to successfully tackle the sciences: Dean obtained a Bachelor of Science degree in Policy Analysis (Economics/Govt.) at Cornell University, with a concentration in Food and Nutrition policy.

It wasn’t only science that Dean enjoyed at Stuyvesant. He has special memories of Irish Literature teacher Frank McCourt. “It was a pleasure to be in his presence,” Dean says. “The Irish have the gift of gab and Mr. McCourt used the gift to make Ireland and its literature come alive.” Dean pauses. “And he also taught us some fine Irish drinking songs, which made my life easier as a Rugby player at Cornell!”

Dean’s love of the Irish extends to his own Greek heritage. “The Hellenic tradition, with its early roots as the birthplace of civilization, encourages intellectual independence, speaking your mind openly and giving back to the community. This duty to ‘give back’ was also taught to me during my youth as an active participant in the many social and religious activities sponsored by the Greek Orthodox church.”

These values are an integral part of Dean’s family life. He lives in Murray Hill in Manhattan with his wife, Helen, also of Greek heritage, and their three-and-one-half year old son Stephen Alexander. Hoping that Stephen Alexander will continue the Stuyvesant tradition, Dean would like to influence him in much the same way that Dean’s mother was influential in his life. It was Dean’s mother, Pagona, who encouraged him to attend Stuyvesant, one of many major roles she played in his life. She passed away recently – our sympathies and respects to Dean.

Would Dean Angelakos encourage Stuyvesant High students to pursue a career in public life? “Yes!” he replies enthusiastically. “The public arena can afford you the rewarding experience of positively impacting the conditions of thousands of citizens, while working alongside some of the most talented individuals. My only caveat is that I would encourage young people to acquire some experience in the private sector as well.”
“I am grateful,” Dean adds, “That Stuyvesant values supported so much of my Hellenic heritage. One of the wonderful things about Stuyvesant is that its values resonate with the best of many traditions, showing us the multitude of common denominators within our multi-cultural society.”

All About Eva

Eva Moskowitz '82 has represented the East Side of Manhattan in the New York City Council since November 1999 and has chaired the Education Committee since 2001. Eva is one of our City’s most forceful advocates for public education, earning the designation of The New York Times as “City Council’s unapologetically demanding voice.”

Eva’s recent hearings on the politically charged topic of the labor agreements governing our City’s schools received national and even international attention and praise. The Daily News wrote that Eva showed “moxie, vision and a sense of duty;” Newsweek hailed Eva as “a brave New Yorker;” and the Wall Street Journal said “bravo to Eva Moskowitz.”

In addition to education, Eva Moskowitz has developed a substantial legislative record. She has authored and passed many bills including the Paperwork Reduction Act, a procurement reform bill which saves the city over $200 million annually, according to the Citizens Budget Commission, the Emergency Contraception Bill, which provides victims of rape with full reproductive choice, and amendments strengthening The Campaign Finance Reform Act. Recently, Eva has co-authored the Audible Car Alarm Control Act, which bans the sale, installation, and use of audible car alarms in New York City.

Prior to entering public service, Eva was a professor of American history. After earning a Ph.D. in American history from Johns Hopkins University, Eva taught on the faculties of the University of Virginia, Vanderbilt University, and the City University of New York. As a professor, she authored a book on the origins of pop psychology in America (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001) and produced a documentary on the impact of the women’s movement on the lives of ordinary women. Eva also held two positions at Prep for Prep, as a civics instructor and as the Director of Leadership Programs. A native New Yorker, Eva attended P.S. 6 and Stuyvesant High School. She met her husband, Eric Grannis '82, while they were students at Stuyvesant. An attorney in private practice, Eric graduated from Columbia University and Columbia Law School. He and Eva have a five-year-old son, Culver (now a kindergartner at P.S. 290), and a one-year-old son, Dillon.

Notes from the West Cafeteria

by Angela Howard '82, Department of Design and Construction, Columbia University

Let me paint a picture for you. It’s lunch time in Stuyvesant in the late 70’s / early 80’s. What do you do?

a. Head to Tony’s to play pinball or Tempest?
b. Go to the park and play Ultimate?
c. Visit the “red door” on 1st Ave.? (those who did, know of what I speak)
d. None of the above.

If you hang black - not if you are black, but if you hang out with the other black people at Stuy-you head to the West Cafeteria to get in few games of bid whist. The game which originated in England and is the precursor to contract bridge is one of the prerequisites for people of color at Stuy at this time period. This is not a club. Anyone can come, but you have to come correct; and while you’re at it, turn your ring around so that when you slam cards on the table you don’t break it.

I discovered when I went to college that whist has some regional variations, but here at Stuy, it’s the same throughout. Four people / two sets of partners. Deal twelve cards each, and a six card kitty. High Joker and Low Joker marked accordingly – if the cards are of the Bicycle variety, the low joker has all the writing on it, and little else. Bid round the table and start to play. Count the cards; pay attention to what your partner plays. DON’T TALK ACROSS THE BOARD; and never renege. It will be talked about for days. If you catch someone else doing it, name the book and what was played.

Hand after had was played throughout lunchtime. People cut classes to get in a game or two. Spectators watched, careful not to give away anything about the hand they could see. We played on the boat on “Excursion Days”. We played in the auditorium before classes, and we sometimes played on the train home if we could get the seating right.
You tried to contrive to get your favorite partner, but that didn’t always happen. Sometimes two really great players couldn’t partner together. Some bluffed too much, some were too conservative, some too willing to throw it all away in a bad bid to the chagrin of their partner. Our friends in our neighborhoods played spades, but here someone suggesting a game of spades would get laughed at.

There are very few organized activities that Black folks join as a group at Stuy. Black Student’s Union, Nubian, Boosters and the Cheerleaders – who else would cheer so consistently in the cold outer boroughs for a team which never fails to disappoint? We play football or basketball. We run outdoor track and play handball. We play whist. High school is GREAT!! – How could it not be? I just ran a Boston with nothing in my hand but the Low Joker and five pieces of trump.

About Argyris (“RJ”) Vassiliou '85

by Tom Panas

“One of the most important lessons I learned from Stuyvesant was not on the curriculum,” said Argyris (“RJ”) Vassiliou (‘85). “It was time management. In order for me to benefit from Stuyvesant’s academic excellence I had to learn to become responsible for my time. I co-captained the varsity basketball team, had a long commute to school and needed to complete homework assignments on time. Stuyvesant taught me to do first things first.”

This skill helped RJ obtain his B.S. degree in Civil Engineering at Cooper Union in New York and his M.S. in Civil (Structural) Engineering at Princeton University while working each summer as a draftsman. Its lessons remain with him today at the Acme Pallet Company, Inc., in Long Island City, where he is president of the family business. Acme, the leading provider of wood pallets in the greater New York Metropolitan area, also provides warehouse layout, design and engineering services to businesses.

True to his experience at Stuyvesant, RJ still has a long commute! He drives to Acme Pallet from Stamford, Connecticut, where he lives with his wife, Ann, and children, Nicholas, four, and Alexandra, two. Residing in Connecticut will likely prohibit Nicholas and Alexandra from attending Stuyvesant, which saddens RJ since he would love the family Stuyvesant tradition to continue.

That tradition began with a true American success story. His father, Nicholas Vassiliou ’56, emigrated to America from Greece at the age of 11. Here in America, he was required to repeat fifth grade, but encountered difficulty because English as a Second Language courses were not readily available at the time. However, he passed the Stuyvesant exam, attended Stuyvesant High, went on to Columbia University and in 1974 helped pass Acme into the hands of the Vassiliou family. When he passed away last year (our sympathies and respects to RJ and his family), RJ took his place as president of Acme.

RJ is more appreciative than ever for his experience at Stuyvesant. “You can’t separate your actions in the present from your formative experiences in the past,” RJ said. “Specifically, Stuyvesant influenced the character-building aspect of my background. It has helped me adjust to the responsibilities of being company president and cope with the loss of my dad. That has been difficult because he and I worked closely here at the company so that being at the office has been a continuous reminder of what we shared in work and life.”

RJ believes one way he can honor his dad’s memory is by living each day with the integrity he and his father learned at Stuyvesant. “The best thing I can do to continue the tradition is to do a good job for our customers and teach Stuyvesant values to my children. For that, I’m very grateful.”

Friends for Life

by Erika Morgan Irish ‘86, Vice President, Business Development, Black Entertainment Television (BET)

For some people, September 11th made them realize that although they were not White Anglo-Saxon Protestants, terrorists do not discriminate, and every person in those towers were viewed as “Americans.” For others, September 11th unleashed hidden racist views towards people of Middle Eastern descent and the Muslim and Jewish populations. What does this have to do with my Stuyvesant memories? Everything. Stuyvesant was a place that fostered cultural understanding for us as teenagers in a society that is still largely racially and religiously prejudiced. For some of us, it presented the opportunity for cross-cultural acceptance despite what they were taught at home. For many of us, it was the only period of time that we existed in a cultural safe-haven. Free to be who we were, with a diverse set of friends who were as interested in your family background and traditions as you were in theirs.

Our “crew” at Stuyvesant was a mosaic of ethnicities, religions and generations. We did not have to try to be politically correct because we were so comfortable in our incorrectness. We were exposed to everything from family owned restaurants in Chinatown to Seder Dinners for Passover and Caribbean cuisine at the West Indian Day Parade. My very best friends were Stephanie Levine, Orly Samuelly, Azra Marghoob and Robin Levi. Collectively, we dressed alike, were cheerleaders together, visited my Aunt Dotty in Florida over Christmas break, stayed at Azra’s country house for the summer, and called each other’s parents “Mom and Dad”. We visited each other in college despite the distance between Albany and Michigan and Washington DC. We’ve been bridesmaids for one another and shared in the joy of new additions to the family. At this point, however, our only commonality is the true friendship, as individuals, that was developed during our time at Stuyvesant and still exists between us today. We have chosen careers as diverse as human rights law, education, veterinary medicine and investment banking. We are spread out across the country, living in New Jersey, Tennessee, California and Massachusetts. We have been witness and subject to other people’s views of what is the “societal norm” and now live in fairly polarized neighborhoods. Notwithstanding, although we have lost touch with Azra in recent years, no substantial period of time, and certainly no life event, has passed without the remainder of us being in touch with one another. I hope that never changes. Correction: I know that will never change.

Stuyvesant was the place where I made friendships with people who did not look or sound like me, from different neighborhoods throughout the City of New York that have lasted for over 20 years. Stuyvesant was a very special and unique environment that prepared us to be informed global citizens. We learned not to subject ourselves, or others, to racial stereotypes and not to react to the unknown, fear or misunderstanding with hatred. While it is unlikely that any of our children will attend Stuyvesant, they all will know the role it played in our lives and the values and cultural understanding that were amongst the biggest takeaways during our tenure there.

Erika's essay has generated this response:

Ms. Irish hit the nail on the head. I can't remember a single incident of discrimination occurring when I was at Stuyvesant. We had great students like Eusten Coppin (black), Phil DeGetano (Italian, except when he took off on Jewish holidays, telling his homeroom teacher that his name was shortened from Degetanowitz), Will Shatzkin (Jewish, of knish fame), Joe Borden (white and Protestant, who was on the wrestling team with me), Hubie Carbone (Italian, the toughest straight A student in the world), just to mention a few. Maybe we were just too busy trying not to get sent back to our local school (which Vice Principal "Mole" Meyers would do for the least offense) to discriminate. - Nat Kobitz ‘45

Jed Sunden ‘88

from Mae Sakharov, from The Beacon, New Hope, NJ

Brooklyn-native Jed Sunden ’88 has made a home for himself and his family in Kiev, Ukraine where he runs the Kyiv Post, an English-language business newspaper he founded in 1995. His high school prep teacher, Mae Sakharov, describes him as “charismatic and popular...highly intelligent and dancing to his own drummer, his practice of never taking a notebook to class during his career at the prestigious Stuyvesant High School earned the chagrin of teachers. A history buff and voracious reader, he entered Macalester College and majored in one of their specialties, Slavic languages.” After graduating, Jed spent time in Prague during the Velvet Revolution of the late 1980s. From the Czech Republic, he moved to Kiev and established the Kyiv Post.

Sam Kellerman '92

by Joe Dorinson '54

I sing the praises of Sam Kellerman who left us much too young in the October of our year 2004. In our last E-Mail exchange on 28 September, the first contact in several years, we discussed Shawn Green and the Jewish experience in baseball. Sam thanked me for sharing common ground in sports history and sent warm regards to my children.

Sam’s dad, the prominent psychotherapist and author, Dr. Henry Kellerman and I met in camp Kinderland, then situated in Hopewell Junction, New York in 1952. We continued our comradery at mittelshul (middle school) events where, trained in Yiddish and gifted in oratory, we both performed publicly to entertain our Yiddish-speaking parents and their chevra (friends). In this venue, Henry was a true superstar: the darling of doting parents and bageisterd (enthusiastic) listeners. I was merely competent. We remained friends, though not always in touch, over the years. We pursued different careers, married, raised families, and shepped nachas (derived enormous pleasure) from our children. Henry and his lovely wife Linda produced four talented, feisty, and handsome sons led by current media star, Max, followed in chronological order by the equally talented Sam, Harry, and Jack. My wife Eileen also gifted me with three wonderful children: Hilary, Paula , and Robert. All seven Kellerman-Dorinson children attended the same summer camp that originally brought die drei doyrehs (the three generations) of our families together.

That’s how we reconnected on the heilike erd (holy ground) of Camp Kinderland, now nestled in the Berkshires. There among the rolling hills of western Massachusetts, we watched our children gamboling on die grine felder (green fields). Remember the song of The Brothers Four?

Once there were green fields kissed by the sun
Once there were green fields for everyone…
I never knew what made you go away…

I see them now: radiant in that 1980s summer sun. The second Kellerman son, blonde and blue-eyed, bubbled with energy and excelled in all facets of camp life. As he matured, Sam maintained that childlike innocence and infectious enthusiasm that characterized his lust for life. He was genuinely kind, gentle, loving, and immensely talented. A true Renaissance man, he excelled in drama: as writer, director, and performer. Recently, he carved out another niche in the field of sports writing. His website brims with stunning insights and sparkling prose. What a bright future beckoned for our beloved Sam: only to be destroyed by a washed up pugilist—a brute beast pretending to be human.

Sam had a warm supportive family: loving parents and, like the Maccabees of Howard Fast, three glorious brothers. We join them in bereavement. We are stunned by this sudden, stupid, indeed incomprehensible act of murder most foul. We cry havoc and seek relief. May Henry, Linda, Max and his recent bride, Harry, and Jack take a measure of comfort, however small at this terrible moment, from your many friends who share your grief and offer their heart-felt condolences. Let the bright shining memories of life with Sam sustain you through your darkest hour. With Stephen Spender think of your brilliant son and brother as among

The names of those who in their lives fought for life...

Evenly Between the Old and New Buildings

Priscilla Cham '94

I spent my time at Stuyvesant evenly between the old building and the new building. The building on 14th Street, although old, was charming in its own way. The hallways were crowded, but you always bumped into friends as you walked from class to class. My free time was spent with my friends sitting in the balcony area of the auditorium or hanging out in the park. When we first moved to the new building, I remember feeling like I was walking through a very sterile environment. Everything was so spread out in the building and there was no time to chat with friends as you sprinted up 8 flights of stairs to get to your next class. But we all quickly got used to it and instead of the balcony, we hung out in the cafeteria, in front of the lockers or outside at the base of the Westside highway bridge. In addition, all the benefits of the building began to sink in. We now had access to state-of-the-art labs, gyms and facilities such as dark rooms and theaters. I was involved with Sing!, the gymnastics team and the yearbook staff – the facilities definitely allowed students to expand and explore their creative energies. Luckily I graduated before the swim test requirement was initiated; I would have never graduated!

But aside from the physical building, the teachers, administrators and classmates really made the experience. Stuyvesant is an amazing high school. My experience there taught me how to focus, to get involved in the community and to explore things that were new. The caliber of people at the school is amazing and I constantly bump into alumni all around the world. Attending a school like Stuyvesant is definitely a very unique experience that connects all past and current students together.

With Their Eyes

by Teacher Annie Thoms '93 and Ethan Moses '02 (The Spectator photo editor)... reviewed by Matt Warner for B&N.

New York City's Stuyvesant High School stands within sight of the World Trade Center, and on September 11, 2001, it quickly became the concern of many Americans and world citizens. As a window into this school's experiences surrounding that tragic day, a group of creative acting students from Stuyvesant have assembled this stunning collection of monologues -- originally performed on stage, now in print form -- to unite the memories and emotions of its students and employees.

Under the direction of English teacher Annie Thoms, who provided the helpful introduction to this book, the student members of the Stuyvesant Theater Company began this project about 9/11, "in which Stuyvesant students were able to tell their own stories, and the stories of others in our community." The actors talked with fellow students, teachers, assistant principals, dining hall workers, and custodians, taking careful note of each person's physical mannerisms and verbal patterns. After all the pieces were assembled and a stage was created, the actors performed "with their eyes" in February 2002 -- each student played the person he or she had interviewed, surmounting differences in age, ethnicity, or gender -- to audiences who responded with standing ovations. This book, then, is the series of monologues the students performed, along with photos from the production, a foreword from actress and playwright Anna Deavere Smith, a chronology of Stuyvesant High School events on 9/11, and extra notes on the production and staging.

Both moving and engrossing, With Their Eyes will touch all readers looking to connect with their own memories about 9/11 or seeking realistic insight into the minds of students who experienced that day firsthand. Young readers will be motivated to document their own stories or feelings about September 11th, while parents and teachers can launch meaningful discussions at home, at book groups, or in the classroom. A powerful work that steers clear of "being cheesy or maudlin," this impressive work captures voices that teach and inspire.

SHS gets High Marks from Principals For A Day

by Pola Rosen, Ed.D, from www.educationupdate.com, April 2003

Rosen, Irish, Teitel, Golub (l-r)

Stuyvesant High School had a homecoming for three illustrious alumni returning as principals for a day. Each principal represented a different discipline: Erica Morgan-Irish, V.P., Black Entertainment Television; Gerry Golub, Sr. Managing Director, American Express; and Herman Rosen, M.D., Clinical Professor of Medicine, Weill Medical College of Cornell University. For these principals it was a chance to visit the Stuyvesant building, now in Battery Park City, they never attended. The new building is ten years old, but Stuyvesant has been in existence since 1904. Greeting the visitors was the dynamic Principal, Stanley Teitel. He reminded everyone of the recent accomplishments this premier math and science high school could boast of, such as having more finalists in the recent Intel Science competition than any other school in the nation. This was tempered by pointing out a plaque dedicated to the nine Stuyvesant alums who died in the World Trade Center attack on 9/11. The new 10-story school has laboratories, an 800-seat auditorium and an Olympic size swimming pool.

The schedule was planned to allow each principal to visit classes of interest to them. Erica Morgan-Irish visited a class on video journalism, among others. Gerry Golub visited classes on great books and mathematics. Dr. Herman Rosen visited a class on vertebrae dissection, which happened to be studying the excretory system of the lamprey. Dr. Rosen, a nephrologist, was able to discuss interesting features of the fish’s kidneys. Other classes visited included robotics, medical ethics, art and architecture. The gleaming new building retains a “museum” of the old school. One of the school’s architects, Peter Samton (classmate of Dr. Rosen), included a working classroom rebuilt with the original desks, inkwells and blackboards. Throughout the building, a sentimental note was struck with the glass-encased “time capsules” with mementos from each graduating class.

Each Principal for a Day made inspiring concluding remarks to the staff and student body.

N.Y. Teen, Yin Li '04, Wins Westinghouse Competition

submitted by Alan Dash '51

Dec 8, 3:14 PM (ET) By BEN FELLER
WASHINGTON (AP) - A 17-year-old from New York City won a leading science competition for high school students Monday for research that helps explain how the brain works.

Yin Li, a senior at Stuyvesant High School, emerged ahead of five other students to win the 2003-04 Siemens Westinghouse Competition in Math, Science and Technology.

Li, who plans to study neurobiology and molecular biology in college, won a $100,000 scholarship. He discovered a protein with properties that could be related to neural function, and his work explores how protein synthesis may govern the strength of connections between neurons.

"Through creative and original research, this young scientist has increased our understanding of how the brain works on the most fundamental level," said judge Victor Ambros, professor of genetics at Dartmouth Medical School.

Select by Decade

In Loving Memory

The Campaign for Stuyvesant/ Alumni(ae) & Friends Endowment Fund, Inc.

Office

Thinkbacks & Memorials

Leo Roon '09

As reported in the June, 1962 SHS Alumni & Scholarship Association Journal (Neal H. Hurwitz '62, Editor-in-Chief)

Arnold W. MacKerer '12

From the June, 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

Charles W. Taussig '13

from the 1913 Indicator, NY Times, and FDR Library

My father Dr. Joseph T. Shipley T'14-57

by John Burke Shipley ’40 Professor (retired) University of Illinois (Chicago), from the SHS Centennial Book manuscript.

Letter to the Class of January 1949

by Edwin M. Kelly, PhD, T'14-61, from the January 1949 Indicator

Ray Arcel '17

from the Wabash Valley Profiles, Terre Haute National Bank

Abraham Taub '18

from the 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

"The Stuyvesant Training Corps"

...by Thomas Marshall Davidson, Sr. S'23

"Class of '23 City Champion Football Team"

by Thomas Marshall Davidson, Sr. S'23

William Canton '23

From the 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

Jack Pelz Jan ’30

by Dan Steinbach '84

John T. McLaughlin '32

From the 1962 SHS Alumni and Scholarship Association Journal

Dr. Irving V. Glick ‘32

John F. McManus, '32

from the June 1962 Alumni Journal

Hooked

by Jules Lipcon ‘35

After Graduation

by Jules Lipcon '35

My Land of Opportunity

By Nathaniel K. Zelazo ‘36

The Navigator

Col. Leonard R. Sugerman '37 USAF (Ret.) PhD

Stuyvesant High School

By Bernie Silverman '37

Albert Axelrod '38, 1921-2004

from www.Fencing.Net

Albert Axelrod '38, 1921-2004

from www.fosters.com

Eugene Garfield '38

Foreword from Essays of an Information Scientist: Creativity, Delayed Recognition, and other Essays, Vol:12, p.xi-xii, 1989 by Roald Hoffmann

Elvyn V. Davidson, MD '39

from a tribute on the OakRidger.com

High Schools Provide Useful Educational Model

by Howard Greyber PhD '39 (Howard Goldgraber at SHS)...from Larry Lerner, PhD '51

Response by Jack Cazes Jan'51, Boynton Beach, FL. February 2004:

Faculty Talent to that of a Small University

Richard Held, PhD '39

My Love for Stuyvesant

by William Solomon Jan.'40

The 1958 Nobel Prize Laureate for Medicine, Joshua Lederberg, PhD ’41

Joshua Lederberg Receives Honorary Doctorate of Science

Remembering Hyman Mostow

by Saul Ferdman ‘41

Stuyvesant Days

by Edward M. Bruner, PhD '42

Tom Dowd '42

From Thelanguageofmusic.com

Saturday morning in October 1939

by Howard P. Aronson '42

The 1993 Nobel Prize Laureate for Economics

Robert Fogel, PhD '44

Fond memories of Stuyvesant

By Bill Greaves '44,executive producer, director, producer, writer, editor and sound technician, cameraman, dancer, drama teacher and Broadway actor.

Seeds of Interest in History

By Frederick Schult, PhD '46.

Just Prior to My Graduation

Richard Stenta ‘47

I Managed to Graduate Somehow

by Bernie Brillstein ‘48

One for the Book

by Paul M. Weichsel, PhD ‘49

Musings, 1946-49